Cathy Hopkins - [Mates, Dates 04] (15 page)

We did as we were told
and looked around at each other.

‘How do you feel now,
TJ?’

I stood up and went to
the door. ‘Awesome. Noola. She dead.’ I put my hands on my hips Arnold
Schwarzeneggar style and said, ‘I’ll be back.
Hasta la vista, baby.’

Nesta laughed. ‘Go get
him, girlfriend.’

I went back up the
stairs. As I stood outside Steve’s bedroom, my butterfly nerves came back, so I
imagined Steve smiling at me and enjoying my company.

I went in, sat down
next to him at the computer, did a quick visualisation in my head, then turned
and gave him a huge smile.

He turned to look at
me. ‘Aaaggghh. What’s the matter with you
now
?’

‘Nothing,’ I beamed,
thinking, I am confident, I am great, stunning, brill, dazzling, fantabulous.

Steve looked at me as
though I was totally bonkers.

‘You’re
really
weird, you know that, don’t you?’ he asked.

Just at that moment,
my mobile went.

‘Scuse, Steve,’ I
said, as I put the phone to my ear.

‘Hey, TJ,’ said
Scott’s voice. ‘What you doing?’

‘Magazine. Remember, I
told you. Deadline Monday.’

‘Oh, that can wait,’
said Scott. ‘Wanna go out to the Heath?’

‘Sorry, Scott,’ I
said. ‘Busy. Later.’

Then I hung up.

‘That guy?’ asked
Steve.

‘That guy.’

‘And…?’

‘And… history,’ I
said.

Now Steve had a huge
grin across his face.

‘What’s the matter?’ I
asked.

‘Nothing,’ he beamed.

‘You’re
really
weird,’ I said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘So
that makes two of us.’

Sabotage

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The magazine looked
great. We’d done the final layout on Steve’s computer, eight full pages that
looked fun and interesting.

Steve had found all sorts
of visuals on the Internet to liven up the articles, pictures of dogs for the
Battersea Dogs’ Home article, stars for the horoscope page, herbs and flowers
for Izzie’s aromatherapy piece. Plus the mad ‘before’ and ‘after’ make-over
photographs for the centre spread.

It looked good. Very
good. I reckoned I was in with a chance.

At assembly on Monday,
Mrs Allen asked that all entries were handed in to our form teacher.

‘I know a lot of you
have worked very hard on this,’ she said, ‘so we won’t keep you waiting. We
hope to have an announcement about the winner by the end of the week.’

Five minutes later, we
filed into class and I joined the group hovering around Miss Watkins’ desk. I
put my copy on the small pile of entries from our class.

‘Quite a number
getting it all finished on time, wasn’t it?’ I asked Wendy Roberts who was
standing behind me.

‘Er,
no’
, she
said. ‘Unlike some saddos in this class, I didn’t do one. See, I have a life.’

‘Oh, I thought you
were into it.’

‘You thought wrong.
Deadlines are for losers. And, by the way, Mrs Allen said she wanted to see
you. I saw her just now in the corridor. She wanted you to go to her office
immediately.’

That’s strange, I
thought, as I hurried off down the corridor to Mrs Allen’s office. I hoped
nothing was wrong.

‘Mrs Allen wants to
see me,’ I said as her secretary looked up when I knocked on the office door.

‘I don’t think so,
dear,’ she said. ‘Mrs Allen’s in with Mr Parker. She said not to be disturbed.
Must be some mistake.’

No mistake, I thought,
as I went back to class. I suppose Wendy thought she was being funny.

Miss Watkins was at
her desk flicking through the entries when I walked back into the class.
‘You’re late, TJ,’ she said.

‘Er, sorry, miss,’ I
said, going to my desk.

Luckily, she didn’t go
on about it, as Wendy Roberts came in just behind me.

‘And you, Roberts,
what’s your excuse?’

‘Loo, miss,’ she said,
breathlessly taking her place.

Miss Watkins continued
flicking through the entries. ‘Well done girls, we have six entries from this
class.’ Then she looked at me. ‘But I thought we’d have had one more. I thought
you were going to enter, TJ.’

‘I
did
,
Miss,’ I said. ‘I put it in the pile after assembly.’

‘Well, it’s not here
now,’ she said.

I looked round at
Wendy Roberts. She was gazing out of the window, looking like butter wouldn’t
melt in her mouth.

‘Are you sure, TJ?’
said Miss Watkins. ‘Check your bag.’

I did as I was told,
but I was sure I’d put it on the desk. ‘Not there, miss.’

‘So where is it?’

Suddenly, I didn’t
know what to say. And I had no proof that Wendy had taken it.

‘Maybe it’s fallen on
the floor?’

Miss Watkins had a
quick look around, then faced the class.

‘Has anyone taken TJ’s
entry?’

No one spoke.

‘This is very serious.
If TJ says she put her entry on the pile then either she’s lying or someone’s
taken it. Is anyone going to enlighten me?’

Again no one spoke.

‘She
did
do
an entry,’ said Lucy. ‘I saw it. Honest, miss.’

Miss Watkins looked
upset. ‘This is
very
unfortunate, girls. It’s almost the end of term
and next year, you’ll be going into Year 10. You’re not beginners any more and,
frankly, I’m disappointed in this sort of behaviour. However, I’m going to ask
you to act like mature adults and sort this out amongst yourselves.
Twelve-thirty this lunch-time is the deadline for entries, so unless you find
it, TJ, or someone owns up, I’m afraid there’s not a lot more I’m prepared to
do.’

‘That cow,’ said Lucy,
as we filed out at break-time. ‘I’m sure it was Wendy Roberts.’

‘Did anyone see
anything?’ I asked.

Nesta shook her head.
‘She must have taken it from Miss Watkins’ desk when you went to see Mrs
Allen.’

‘There was a whole
crowd round Miss Watkins’ desk,’ said Izzie. ‘Anyone could have taken it. You
know how competitive everyone’s been.’

‘But Wendy did come in
after you, TJ. You know, before lessons started. Remember?’ said Izzie.

‘To the loos,’ said
Nesta. ‘Let’s go.’

We ran down the
corridor to the cloakrooms. Lucy looked in the cubicles while Nesta searched in
the bin.

‘E
rlack
,’ said
Nesta, as she rummaged around amongst bits of old tissue and paper towels.

‘Oh,
noooo,’
I
heard Lucy say, as she reached the
third cubicle.

She came out holding a
sopping wet pile of ripped paper. ‘I’m
so
sorry, TJ, it was in the bin
next to the loo.’

Izzie took what was
left of the magazine. ‘It looks like she’s run it under the tap first.’

‘But
why?
I
said. ’Why has she got it in for me?‘

‘Doesn’t have to be a
reason,’ sighed Nesta. ‘Some people are just very
very
sad. They can’t
stand to see anyone else doing well.’

‘I reckon she never
got over being made to look an idiot when Sam Denham was here,’ said Izzie.
‘You know, when he praised your answer and dismissed hers.’

‘What are we going to
do?’ I said, leaning back against one of the sinks. ‘I can’t hand it in like
this.’

‘We could go to Mrs
Allen,’ said Nesta.

I was gutted. ‘We
could, but what will that achieve? Only make Wendy hate me more. The main thing
is, my entry’s unreadable.
All
that work, wasted.’ I was near to
tears.‘And all your contributions.’

Lucy got her mobile
out of her bag. ‘What time is it?’ she said.

‘Eleven,’ I said.

She began dialling
frantically.

‘Who are you phoning?
I asked.

‘Steve,’ she said.
‘His year’s doing exams and stuff so their timetable’s all over the place. He
might be at home revising.’

‘Brill,’ said Izzie.
‘He’s got the mag on his computer. It will only take a minute to print out.’

That’s if he’s there,‘
said Nesta.

Lucy listened as the
phone rang, then she grimaced. ‘Voicemail,’ she said. ‘He must be doing
something.’

‘Leave a message
anyway,’ said Izzie. ‘It’s our only chance.’

We went back into the
next lesson, but I couldn’t concentrate. And neither could Nesta, Izzie or
Lucy, by the looks of it.

‘If you look at your
watch one more time, TJ Watts,’ said Mr Dixon, ‘I’m going to take it off you.
And Lucy Levering, if whatever you’re staring at outside the window is so
fascinating, I suggest you go and stand there for the rest of the lesson.’

I glanced across at
Wendy Roberts. She looked up from her book and smiled smugly.

You just wait, Wendy
Roberts, I thought. It’s not over yet.

We flew out of the
classroom at lunch-time and out into the playground towards the gates. No one
there.

Lucy got out her phone
again. She dialled, then shook her head. ‘Still on voicemail.’

I checked my watch.
Ten past twelve.

Twelve-fifteen.

Twelve-twenty.

‘Did you say what time
the deadline was when you left the message?’ asked Nesta, looking up and down
the street anxiously.

‘Yeah,’ said Lucy. ‘I
said twelve-thirty. I’ll try ringing again.’

She was about to dial,
when Izzie grabbed my arm. ‘Here he is,’ she cried, as Steve came flying round
the corner on his bike.

He screeched to a stop
and pulled an envelope out of his rucksack.

‘Good luck,’ he said,
as he handed it over.

‘Thanks,’ I called
over my shoulder as I ran back inside.

This time I wasn’t
taking any chances.

I went straight to the
staff room and asked for Miss Watkins. I wanted to put my magazine into her
hands myself.

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