Paris Crush (3 page)

‘Starving.’ The steamy smell fills my nose and I reach for the curry. Mum’s leaning towards Ben, passing him pills. He’s swallowing them down with great gulps of water.
His body doesn’t make the enzymes he needs to process food so they’ll help him digest his dinner.

I spoon curry onto my plate and some onto Ben’s and wait for him to finish his pill routine before digging in. ‘How was school today, monkey-face?’ I ask him.

Ben stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth, then answers. ‘Jake let the mouse out and Megan had to catch it because Miss Eagan was standing on a chair.’ A barrage of rice missiles
fires across the table.

I swallow back a giggle. ‘Spray that again?’

Ben takes me literally. ‘Miss Eagan was standing on a chair.’

A second wave of rice strafes the table.

‘Gemma.’ Mum gives me her Look.

‘What?’ I ask innocently. ‘I was only—’

Dad butts in. ‘Why did Miss Eagan have to stand on a chair?’

Mum grabs Ben’s fork-wielding hand before he shoves in more ammunition. ‘Answer,
then
eat,’ she orders.

‘She’s allergic to mice,’ Ben explains. ‘They make her scream.’

Dad grins. ‘Did she scream this time?’

Mum’s too late to catch Ben’s next forkful. He gives another ricey reply. ‘Yeah. Really loudly.’

Mum fetches a cloth.

Dad’s still digging for facts. ‘How did Megan catch the mouse?’

‘In her pencil case.’ Ben looks proud. ‘Then she showed it to Miss Eagan to prove it was caught. But Miss Eagan just screamed more and Mr Musgrove came in.’

‘Did he have to give her mouse-to-mouse resuscitation?’ Dad asks.

Ben’s cheeks pop and he explodes with laughter. I duck the rice storm.

Dad takes the cloth from Mum. ‘Let me clear it up.’ He starts mopping up dinner debris.

Mum sits down. ‘Poor Miss Eagan.’

‘I don’t know why she was screaming,’ Ben reasons. ‘It didn’t bite her or anything.’

I write the article in my head.

‘How was your day, Gem?’ Mum interrupts my thoughts.

‘Fine.’

Dad sniffs. ‘Have you persuaded that lot on the webzine to let you write a serious piece yet?’

‘Not yet,’ I answer brightly, so no one sees how disappointed I am to be stuck handing out fake psychic advice.

‘You’ll get there soon,’ Mum encourages.

‘Get where?’ Ben wrinkles his forehead. ‘Gemma, are you going somewhere?’

I wish.
‘No, Ben.’ I think of Sal’s trip to Turkey and take another mouthful of curry.

‘Sal’s mum said there was a new boy in your class,’ Mum prompts. ‘Robert someone—’

‘Rupert,’ I correct her. ‘Rupert Briggs.’

‘Is he nice?’ Mum asks.

‘It depends what you mean by “nice”,’ I huff. ‘He tells a lot of bad jokes.’

Mum swipes a look at Dad. ‘Like someone else we know.’

Dad puts up his hands. ‘I can’t help it if I’m funny.’

Mum raises her eyebrows and points to the stray bits of rice circling Ben’s plate. ‘Next time, save the jokes for after dinner.’

I’m glad the conversation’s wandered away from Rupert. He’s the last person I want to think about. I scrape my plate clean and start to get up. ‘I’m just going to
do something on my laptop.’

Dad catches my eye pleadingly. ‘Will you wash up first, honey?’

‘OK.’ I want to get on with my horoscopes, but I like to help out, and washing up isn’t exactly hard. Besides, I can write in my head while I’m scrubbing saucepans.

Twenty minutes later, the draining board’s full and bubbles are spiralling away down the plughole. I’ve already got Treacle’s and Savannah’s horoscopes
written in my head. I race up to my room and fire up my laptop.

Pisces

I start with Savannah, remembering Marcus’s promise to take Savannah to Disneyland Paris one day.

Star-ling – rumours of a trip to France have already made your starry week more heavenly. This week the world is your oyster and you are its pearl. Now you have won the love of a true
romantic, swim with the current, my fishy friend, and it will carry you towards a sea of love.

Taurus

Treacle knows I’m Jessica Jupiter, so I keep it simple.

If the shoe fits, wear it. The unexpected gift that brightened last week will make you an expert in your field. Run with the ball, dear Taurean, and you will most definitely score.

With my friends taken care of, it’s time for Jessica to set a new romance in motion. I log in to Facebook and find Barbara’s star sign.
Aries
. David’s is Gemini. Fingers
itching with excitement, I start typing.

Aries

Star-ling, there is a time to be steady and dependable and a time to kick off your shoes and dance to the music of love. Don’t devote all your free time to your homework; pack away your
pencils and unleash your inner goddess. You have hearts to conquer.

Pleased, I move on to David’s prediction, sending my own private prayer to the stars that he’ll read my advice.

Gemini

Your stars make you one of the most inquisitive and intelligent signs in the zodiac. But there is another side to your personality – ignore it at your peril! You are fun-loving and
adventurous. Nurture these qualities – why be a Geek God when you could be a Greek God? Step away from your keyboard and seek out romance.

I can hear the TV downstairs and the sound of Dad pummelling Ben’s chest. It clears the gunk in his lungs. Dad’s singing calypso songs. Ben’s laughing between coughs. They must
be playing Ben-bongos again.

Capricorn

Sam’s star sign.

I wonder what to write. A queasy feeling pricks my stomach.

Star-ling, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a bird-brain. Your magpie eye has been caught by a shiny, pretty thing. Beware! All that glitters is not gold. Steer clear of
anyone born under the sign of Scorpio. Capricorn and Scorpio go together like honey and marmite. Watch your step, my capricious friend, or you may end up with a nasty taste in your mouth.

I stare at my PC screen. My queasy feeling is fiercer.

I didn’t realize how jealous I felt.
Don’t be dumb.
Did I really think Sam would look twice at me when Cindy was flashing her lashes in his direction? Besides, if Cindy is his
dream girl, I shouldn’t start stirring with my star-spangled spoon. It’s not fair to spoil it for him.

My heart sinks into Dad’s curry and I delete Sam’s horoscope and begin again.

‘The new webzine’s out!’ It’s Wednesday and Savannah’s checking her smartphone as we head for the dining hall.

Treacle’s heavy on my arm. She’s dragging her feet, her thoughts miles away. She’s got a match after school; I know her well enough to guess that she’s planning
goal-scoring tactics. I steer her past a gaggle of squabbling Year Eights.

Savannah’s thumbs are skittering like squirrels over her phone screen. ‘I wonder what Jessica’s predicted for me today.’

‘Gemma!’ Cindy suddenly yoo-hoos me from behind.

I unhook from Treacle and turn. ‘What?’

Cindy sails sideways towards me through the ocean of kids. ‘Have you got a minute?’

I glance at Treacle and Sav. ‘Go ahead,’ I tell them. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ If Cindy’s planning to give me her usual freezer treatment, I’d rather have
no witnesses.

‘We’ll save you a seat.’ Sav takes custody of Treacle, who’s still lost in a world of goal kicks and defensive tackles, and steers her towards the dining hall.

Cindy wafts to a halt beside me and the crowds flow like water around us.

‘Gemma.’ She’s smiling, blue eyes fixed on mine. ‘Jessica is so popular.’ She touches my arm with a beautifully manicured hand and lowers her voice.
‘I’ve decided to make the column bigger so
Jessica
—’ she mouths the word meaningfully as though sharp-eared spies are circling, ‘—can include personal
star charts for students and a Reader-of-the-Week email, as well as the horoscopes.’ She stares at me expectantly. ‘What do you think?’

She’s asking me what I think.

I open my mouth and wait for words. I’m not used to Sugar Plum Cindy; I’m usually dodging ice bullets from the Queen of Freeze. ‘I-I-I think that’s great.’ But
I’m not sure. She wants to take a dumb column and make it into a full-page spread. Is that good?

‘Great!’ Cindy beams at me.

Then I spot a familiar mop of shaggy blond hair heading towards us.

‘What’s great?’ It’s Sam.

Cindy gives a tiny gasp of surprise and glows at him. ‘Sam, I’m so glad to see you.’ She drops her lashes until they’re sweeping her cheeks. Then she slides him a look
like she’s eight years old and too shy to ask for a lollipop. ‘There was something I wanted to ask you.’ A giggle slips out. She’s almost blushing.

I watch, fascinated, and wonder how much of Cindy’s ultra-girliness is fake and how much is real. Sam’s staring at her like she’s pouring honey into his shoes and he’s
not sure if he likes it or not.

‘I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?’ Cindy lets a full blush flood her cheeks.

Sam smiles. Clearly, he likes honey shoes. ‘Yeah.’ He pushes his hair from his eyes. ‘That’d be nice.’

Cindy squeezes my arm. ‘So, you’re fine with that, Gem?’

Is she asking my permission to have lunch with Sam?
No! I’m totally NOT fine with that.
I stare at her blankly.

Cindy clarifies for me. ‘I mean fine with . . . what we were talking about before Sam arrived.’

‘The “great” thing?’ Sam probes.

‘Now, now,’ Cindy chides sweetly. ‘You must let us girls have our little secrets.’

Oh, please.
I try not to gag. ‘Yes, that’s great.’
She’s talking about the Jessica spread.
I fix a smile as they head for the dining hall, then trudge after
them.

As Cindy and Sam walk towards the Year Ten tables, I spot Savannah waving at me. She’s squished at our usual table beside Marcus, who’s happily sipping from a can of Coke.
Sally’s next to him and Ryan’s leaning back on his chair at the other end. Treacle’s arranging salt pots and drink cans in front of her to create a classic four-three-three
sweeper formation as she plans tonight’s match. I reach the table and sit down. Moving her pepper-pot goalkeeper, I plonk my sandwich box down.

Treacle stares at me indignantly. ‘You’ve just let the other team score.’

‘Sorry,’ I mumble. I can see Cindy practically sitting in Sam’s lap on the other side of the dining hall. Treacle lets it pass and adjusts her formation while I flip open my
lunch box and start nibbling a sandwich.

‘
Bonjour, bijou
.’

I nearly choke on a tomato slice as Rupert drags up a chair and pushes himself between me and Treacle.

‘
Bijou?
’ Savannah’s staring at him, eyebrows arched.

‘It’s French for gem.’ Rupert sweeps Treacle’s whole team aside and unpacks his lunch: two boxes, a smoothie and a selection of fruit.

Treacle gives him a death-stare. ‘Excuse me!’

Rupert blinks at her, confused. ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ he asks plummily.

Savannah starts lining up Treacle’s pots and cans. ‘She’s working on tactics for tonight’s game.’

Rupert picks up the salt pot and stares at it. ‘This is a player of some sort?’

Treacle snatches it off him and slams it down onto the table. ‘It
was
my centre half,’ she snaps.

Savannah soft-eyes her. ‘Take it easy, Treacle. He’s a newbie. How’s he meant to know?’ Her gaze slides towards me. I recognize the teasing spark flashing beneath her
lashes. ‘He just wants to sit near Gemma. It’s tough being the new boy and Gemma’s so gentle and sweet.’ She swivels back to Rupert. ‘She’s lovely, isn’t
she?’

I glare at Savannah as Rupert nods enthusiastically.

‘She’s just about the nicest person I’ve met so far.’ He looks at me. His eager puppy stare is starting to get on my nerves. What can you do with it? I’m not a
puppy-kicker, but I don’t want to spend the rest of Year Nine house-training Rupert.

‘Thanks,’ I mutter through gritted teeth.

Rupert clicks the lid off one of his boxes. There’s chicken salad inside. He unwraps a fork from a napkin and start gorging. ‘So, Treacle?’ He’s not afraid to speak with
his mouth full. He and Ben must be soulmates. ‘What’s the game? Netball? Hockey? Lacrosse?’

‘Football.’ Treacle gazes despairingly at the food-cluttered table. There’s no space left to arrange a team.

‘Are you a cheerleader?’ Rupert asks her.

I swap looks with Savannah. Then we both watch Treacle and wait for the explosion.