Paris Crush (15 page)

Marcus is chewing his toast. ‘Since when was football—’ he pauses to glance at Jeff’s book, ‘—
or
cartoons considered Culture.’

Treacle and Jeff both turn on him, nostrils flaring. ‘Excuse me?’

Savannah breaks it up. ‘Look!’ She’s brandishing a copy of French
Marie Claire
, a glossy magazine filled with more models than an Airfix factory. ‘Have you read
the horoscopes?’ The shiny pages are bent back to reveal a list of zodiac signs. ‘I wonder if they’re as accurate as Jessica Jupiter’s?’

‘They’re in French, Sav,’ Treacle points out.

‘I have my dictionary!’ Sav plonks her tiny phrase book on the table.

‘Why bother?’ Treacle takes a bite of toast. ‘Jessica Jupiter has already predicted your week.’

‘It’s for Mr Chapman and Miss Davis.’ Savannah answers like she’s addressing nitwits. ‘Didn’t you see them at the top of the Eiffel Tower
yesterday?’

I shake my head. ‘I was stuck in a lift, remember?’

‘OMG! Of course!’ Savannah gasps. ‘You didn’t see Chappie and Davis staring into each other’s eyes like they were about to dance their last tango.’ She shakes
her long hair back over her shoulders. ‘There are definitely potential fireworks between those two. They just need someone to light the fuse.’

‘And step back,’ Marcus mutters.

‘A
long
way back,’ Jeff adds.

‘Precisely.’ Savannah cranes to see over the heads of our schoolmates. ‘Mr Chapman?’ she calls.

Mr Chapman’s on the other side of the dining room, alone at a table, looking bleary-eyed. ‘
Un café
.’ He’s begging Madame Sacré Bleu to swap his weak
tea for coffee. ‘
Espresso, s’il vouz plaît
?’

She hard-eyes him and slops tea into his cup from her battered teapot.

‘Mr Chapman!’ Savannah’s not giving up.

Mr Chapman turns his tired eyes towards us. ‘Yes, Savannah?’

‘What star sign are you?’

Mr Chapman hardly blinks. ‘Libra.’ He stares sadly into his teacup.

‘That’s the same as you, isn’t it, Gem?’ Savannah’s scribbling notes in the margin of her
Marie Claire
. ‘Miss Davis is Capricorn. I asked her last
night. Let’s see what their stars say.’

‘Where is Miss Davis?’ Treacle scans the dining room.

Savannah doesn’t look up. ‘She came last in the race to the shower.’ She reads out Mr Chapman’s horoscope. ‘
Si des humeurs contradictoires animent vos
échanges, des rencontres égaient cette période et un visage se détache du lot
.’ As she starts leafing through her phrase book, a shadow looms over the
table.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Rupert arrives, yawning. Without waiting for an answer, he grabs a chair from the next table and slides it next to mine. ‘What are you doing?’ He
lifts Savannah’s
Marie Claire
and glances over it.

Jeff answers, spraying toast crumbs. ‘Translating Libra.’

Rupert shrugs. ‘I can help.’ He starts reeling out a translation that I hope is accurate.
‘If conflicting moods animate your discussions, meetings brighten this period and a
face stands out from the crowd
.’

Marcus frowns. ‘What does that mean?’

Savannah’s eyes are shining. ‘Easy. We’ve got to make Miss Davis’s face stand out from the crowd.’

Treacle slides me a look. ‘We could offer to give her a makeover.’

Savannah narrows her eyes. ‘I wonder what look would catch the eye of a geography teacher?’

‘We could paint a map of Africa around her nose and list its major exports on each cheek,’ I suggest.

Savannah snatches back her
Marie Claire
from Rupert. ‘I don’t think any of you are taking this seriously.’

‘You don’t actually believe in the stars?’ Treacle asks her.

Jeff stirs sugar into his tea. ‘They got us together, didn’t they?’

‘Precisely,’ Savannah sniffs. ‘And if it wasn’t for Jessica Jupiter, I might never have noticed Marcus.’ She pauses to give him a swoony look.

I hold my tongue. The stars had nothing to do with their relationships. But if Savannah wants to play matchmaker, I’m not going to stop her. My plans are focused on David and Barbara.

Remembering my mission, I check the Year Ten end of the dining room. I notice with a heavy heart that David and Barbara are sitting at separate tables.
Never mind
. A trip to a theme park
will fix everything; scary rides, junk food, French people dressed as cartoon characters – they might be far better ingredients for a love potion than stuffy art galleries and disastrous lift
rides.

Instantly, I can picture David and Barbara seated side by side on a roller coaster, clutching each other, united in horror until the ride slows and they turn and stare deep into one
another’s eyes, their souls trembling, and see true love shining back.

‘Are you OK?’ Rupert breaks into my fantasy. ‘You’re staring into your teacup like you’re trying to read your fortune.’

There are tea leaves floating around on the milky surface.

Savannah peers at them. ‘They’re forming a heart shape!’ she squeaks excitedly. ‘Perhaps it’s a sign for Miss Davis and Mr Chapman?’

‘Shouldn’t it be in
their
teacup?’ Marcus asks.

Savannah wrinkles her nose at him. ‘Do you have to be so practical?’ She looks back at
Marie Claire
. ‘Can you translate Capricorn too, Rupe?’

He reads the French with a perfect accent. ‘
Ne laissez pas vos yeux dans votre poche.
’ His translation sounds less convincing. ‘
Don’t leave your eyes in your
pocket
.’

Jeff eyes Savannah’s toast. It’s lying on her plate, ignored. ‘Are you going to eat that?’

Savannah waves it towards him distractedly. ‘Help yourself.’ She’s frowning. ‘
Don’t leave your eyes in your pocket
? What does that mean?’

Treacle snatches a bite of Jeff’s stolen toast. ‘Clearly, we have to get Mr Chapman’s eyes out of his pocket so he can see Miss Davis’s face standing out. It’s
simple really.’

Savannah’s face lights up. ‘Of course!’

I’m lost. ‘What?’

‘Eyes in pocket must mean a camera!’ she announces. ‘We have to get Mr Chapman to take a photo of Miss Davis. She’ll be flattered, he’ll see how totally photogenic
she is and they’ll fall in love.’

I take a sip from my tea. ‘That’s not a bad idea.’

Savannah leaps up, eyes shining. ‘Has everyone finished?’

Jeff’s got hamster cheeks. He’s carrying enough toast in them to keep him going until lunchtime.

Treacle swallows down her last bite, stands up and calls over. ‘How are we getting to the park, Mr Chapman?’

Mr Chapman’s gulping aspirin. ‘The coach picks us up at nine.’

‘French time or English time?’ Savannah looks at her watch.

‘French time.’ Mr Chapman takes a swig of tea. ‘That’s forty-five minutes.’

‘Excellent.’ Savannah glows. ‘Let’s find Miss Davis and see if we can lend her some mascara.’

I follow Savannah upstairs, Treacle racing behind me. We track Miss Davis down outside her room. She’s dressed practically, in jeans and a sweatshirt.

‘Not exactly material for a photo shoot,’ Savannah whispers.

Miss Davis spots us. ‘Hello, girls. Did you leave something in your rooms?’

Savannah ignores the question. ‘What happened to that pretty blouse you were wearing on the coach?’

Miss Davis looks down at her sweatshirt. ‘I don’t know if it’d be suitable for a trip to a theme park.’

‘Of course it would!’ Savannah trills. ‘It’s so colourful. If any of us get lost, you’ll be far easier to spot in a crowd.’

Miss Davis looks thoughtful. ‘I hadn’t considered that. But won’t I be chilly?’

Savannah’s ready with a plan. ‘I’ve got a coat you can borrow.’

‘No, no.’ Miss Davis is heading back into her room. ‘I’ve got my pacamac.’

‘You can’t wear a pacamac in France!’ Savannah’s already racing up to the next floor. ‘It’s a crime against fashion. Change into your blouse, Miss Davis,
I’ll be back in a second.’

Miss Davis blinks at us, puzzled, and then disappears into her room.

‘Looks like Savannah’s stolen your job as chief stargazer,’ Treacle whispers.

‘She’s welcome to it,’ I tell her.

Treacle nudges me. ‘Admit it. You love matchmaking.’

She’s got a point. If I have to be Jessica Jupiter, I might as well enjoy it. But it had never occurred to me to use the stars to make
teachers
fall in love.

Miss Davis’s door swings open and she steps out looking
way
prettier in a print blouse that makes her pale hair glow with a strawberry tinge.

‘Your bun looks too tight.’ To my surprise Treacle starts primping Miss Davis’s hair.

‘Really?’ Miss Davis has the look of an ambushed cowboy, but she doesn’t fight back, as Treacle eases her bun into more of a soft twist.

‘That’s better.’ As Treacle steps back to admire her work, Savannah hammers downstairs. She’s holding out her cornflower blue mac. ‘Try this on.’

Miss Davis looks suspicious. ‘What are you three up to?’ Savannah and Treacle look to me for help.

‘It’s for the good of the school,’ I blurt out. ‘You don’t want French kids thinking English teachers have no sense of fashion.’

‘Don’t I?’ Miss Davis touches her hair warily.

‘Just slip this on.’ While Miss Davis frowns suspiciously, Savannah slides her hands into the arms of the blue mac.

‘Oh, Miss Davis!’ Sally Moore appears at the top of the stairs. ‘You look fabulous!’

The mac brings out the rich blue of Miss Davis’s eyes. A tendril of hair escapes her bun and curls softly round her cheek. She’s starting to flush as we stare at her in unashamed
admiration. She really does look like a babe.

Miss Davis’s eyes glitter with worry. ‘I don’t look too flashy?’ she asks.

Savannah shakes her head. ‘Totally understated.’ Before Miss Davis can change her mind, Savannah hooks her arm and leads her to the stairs. ‘You’d better have some
breakfast,’ she advises. ‘It’s a long time until lunch.’

‘Which way did they go?’ Savannah’s scanning the crowds inside Parc Astérix, like an assassin picking out a hit.

The coach has just spewed out its load of Green Park High students. Our schoolmates are heading away towards the rides while we look for Miss Davis and Mr Chapman.

‘There they are!’ Treacle points excitedly. ‘They’re heading for the Menhir Express.’

Jeff and Marcus are loitering behind us.

‘We’re not really going to spend the day trailing teachers?’ Marcus asks sulkily.

Savannah gives him a withering look. ‘Have you got a problem with that?’

He surrenders without a fight. ‘No.’ Adjusting his backpack, he lopes after Miss Davis and Mr Chapman.

Jeff takes Treacle’s hand. ‘I still don’t see what having your eyes in your pocket has to do with a camera.’

‘It’s a metaphor,’ Treacle explains. ‘Don’t worry. We just need to make sure Mr Chapman takes one photo of Miss Davis and our work is done. We can spend the rest of
the day on the rides.’

I suddenly wonder where Rupert is. I glance over my shoulder expecting to see him rushing towards me with a chair. But there’s no sign. Then I spot him sliding through the crowd after
Cindy and Barbara. David and Sam are following. I should tag along. It could be my last chance to get Barbara and David together.

‘Come on, Gem.’ Treacle grabs my arm. When I resist, she follows my gaze towards Cindy, Sam and Rupert.

‘Oh, Gem!’ Her eyes go round with hurt. ‘You’re not going to ditch us for your webzine friends again?’ Before I can tell her I’m on a mission for Jessica
Jupiter, she gives me a one-way guilt trip ticket. ‘You spent all yesterday with them. Can’t you spend today with us?’

‘What?’ Savannah swivels round and stares at me. ‘Is Gem going to dump us for her Year Ten friends again?’

Savannah, Treacle, Jeff and Marcus are staring at me like I’m about to pop the head off a squirrel with my thumbs.

‘Of course I’m not!’ Smiling broadly, I hook my arms through Savannah and Treacle’s. ‘I want to spend the whole day with you.’ A wave of happiness takes me by
surprise. Of course I want to spend the day with my best friends. I’ve let Jessica Jupiter boss me around for too long. Even now I can hear her in my head.

You traitor. I give you the stars and you give me the cold shoulder. How will true love ever find its way if you refuse to act as its guide?
I can picture her tight blonde curls trembling
with rage. Her red lipsticked mouth is pursed, her brow furrowed. She grinds a high heel into the ground, flinging the end of her mink stole crossly over her shoulder.
Call yourself an
astrologer! Where’s your dedication? Where’s your commitment to love? The stars don’t align themselves, you know—

Before she can finish, I stick a sock in her mouth and push her off a cliff. Her evening gown flashes in the sunshine as she plummets head first into the sea.

The stars can wait!
I yell after her.
My friends need me!

Feeling suddenly as light as candyfloss, I drag Savannah and Treacle through the crowds.

‘Where are we going?’ Savannah asks.

‘The Menhir Express, of course,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve got a plan, haven’t you?’

Savannah breaks into a grin. ‘I bet you a hot dog Mr Chapman and Miss Davis will be an item by home-time.’

We slip in between the crowds, moving through the waves of tourists, expert after years surfing school corridors. Jeff and Marcus keep up bravely.

‘Over there!’ Treacle points to Mr Chapman crossing a path. He bumps into an old lady, apologizes and then trips over a bin. Miss Davis grabs his arm and steers him towards the end
of the queue for the Menhir Express.

‘What’s wrong with Mr Chapman?’ Savannah asks anxiously. He’s taken a string of tickets from his pocket and is blinking at them like a mole.

Miss Davis takes the tickets from him and rips two off. She pockets the rest and they shuffle forward with the queue.

As we tag onto the end, Savannah slides her camera out of her pocket. She squeezes through the queue, apologizing as she pushes her way towards Mr Chapman and Miss Davis.

‘Wait here,’ I tell Treacle, Jeff and Marcus and scoot after Savannah. She leaves a disgruntled queue in her wake. I catch up as she reaches Mr Chapman.