Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid (17 page)

Last night, two teen journalists infiltrated a local drugs ring and uncovered the biggest haul of drugs ever found
.

Wiggins is heavy-breathing in Will’s face. ‘Why would we keep snacks in sealed boxes?’ He thumps one of the stacks crowding him.

The drug dealer, Dave Wiggins, caught one reporter and grilled him mercilessly. But the brave reporter stayed calm under questioning until his colleague raced to the rescue
.

I try to imagine the article as it will appear in
The Times
and it dawns on me that I need a picture for the story.

I grab my phone, lean around the stack of boxes and click a snapshot.

‘Hey, you!’ Wiggins blasts me with a shout. ‘It’s another one!’ he yells. ‘They’re like bloody rats!’

I back away as his gorilla lunges toward me. I jump back. The handle of the emergency exit jabs my spine. I reach back and push down hard.

It doesn’t move.

It’s jammed.

‘Come here, you!’

As the gorilla grabs my arm I swallow back a scream.

‘Get your hands off me!’ Fear turns to rage as the gorilla hauls me along the corridor and parks me beside Will.

Will flashes me an apologetic look.

I stare back defiantly. He doesn’t need to be sorry. I knew the risk I was taking.

‘Leave us alone,’ I shout at Wiggins. ‘We haven’t done anything!’

‘Oh, really?’ he sneers. ‘What about my box, you little thief?’ He points at the half-opened box Will left at the corner.

‘We weren’t stealing,’ I snap. ‘We wanted to see the dru—’

Will silences me with a kick. ‘OK, so we thought we’d steal some of your snack stock,’ he confesses. ‘We were just after some crisps for the after-gig party and we
figured we’d find some back here. Call the police and have us arrested!’ As he gives Wiggins a challenging stare, the fire door bangs open.

There’s the sound of boots stomping up the corridor. Two policemen come skidding round the corner.

‘Let go of those kids!’ one of them shouts.

The gorilla loosens his grip and I dart toward the police. ‘He’s dealing drugs!’ I say, pointing at Wiggins.

‘The club is just a cover.’ Will grabs a box and drops it at the policeman’s feet. ‘Open it and see for yourselves.’

The policeman looks curious. ‘Well, well, Wiggins,’ he growls. ‘Have you been upping your game?’

Will nudges me. ‘Get a picture, Gemma.’

I flick out my camera and prepare to take a shot as the policeman bends down and tears open the box.

I click a snapshot as the police pulls something out.

Something ginger.

And hairy.

Wiggins snatches it off the policeman. ‘Drugs?’ He’s outraged. ‘What do you think I am? These are
rugs
! Not drugs?’

Rugs?
I stare at the hairpiece dangling from his hand like a dead rat and my mind whirs and clicks into place. Rugs!
Wigs!
Dave Wiggins has been selling
wigs
on the
side.

The policeman smiles at me. ‘I’m Officer McDonald.’ He nods toward his colleague. ‘And this is Officer Benbow.’

Officer Benbow takes a handful of wigs from the box. ‘Dave Wiggins,’ he grins. ‘
Rug
-lord.’ He slides a notebook from his pocket. ‘Where exactly did you
purchase these wigs, Mr Wiggins?’

Wiggins backs away. ‘I can explain.’

‘Have you got receipts?’ Officer McDonald blocks the gorilla as he tries to sidle away.

‘I’ve lost them,’ Wiggins mumbles.

‘Well, well, well.’ Officer McDonald takes off his helmet.

Officer Benbow taps his notebook. ‘We had a report of a warehouse raid last month. Apparently the haul included a shipment of wigs.’

I snap another photo as he closes in on Wiggins.

Will puts his hand on my shoulder and steers me away. ‘Go on, Gemma,’ he says gently. ‘I’ll give our evidence to the policemen. You might as well keep out of
it.’

I glance at Officer McDonald.

‘It’s just paperwork from now on, love,’ he tells me. ‘You go back to the gig.’

Paperwork?
I feel disappointed. As adrenaline stops swamping my thoughts, I realize that our huge drugs bust has turned out to be petty theft.

The policeman holds out his hand. ‘Thanks for the tip-off, love.’

I shake it and smile. I guess it’s not bad for a first case.

I’m trembling as I push through the fire door and head back to the dance floor. I let the music and warmth warp around me while I deep-breathe my way back to calmness. Then I scan the
crowd for Treacle and Savannah.

LJ and his crowd are still hanging by the bar, but there’s no sign of Savannah. And the table where Treacle and Jeff were sitting is filled with other kids. I weave through the crowd till
I bump into Sally.

She jumps like I stood on her tail. ‘Gemma!’ Her greeting is bright – and guilty. Like I’ve just caught her copying my homework.

‘Where’s Sav?’

She glances toward the entrance. ‘Dunno.’

I’m suspicious, but I don’t question her. Instead I follow her nervous gaze and push through the door into the foyer.

Savannah and Marcus are huddled in a corner. Savannah’s head is bowed on to Marcus’s shoulder. As Marcus spots me he murmurs something into her ear.

Savannah snaps away from Marcus like he’s on fire. ‘Hi, Gem!’ she cries in the same über-bright voice as Sal.

‘What’s up?’ I ask. As usual I start guessing headlines.

Schoolgirls in Nightclub Cover-up. Teens Caught in Dance-floor Shocker
.

‘You look like you’ve murdered Treacle and are trying to hide the body,’ I joke.

Savannah pulls a guilty face. ‘It’s worse than that.’ She steers me away from Marcus.

‘You sold her to the Russian mafia?’ I’m trying to keep joking, but the serious look on Savannah’s face is starting to worry me.

She whimpers pitifully. ‘OhGodohGodohGod!’ She’s jabbing her finger into her temples like her brain’s trying to escape.

‘What?’ I can’t stand it any longer.

‘I’m soooooo sorry,’ Savannah whines. ‘Please don’t kill me.’

‘I will if you don’t tell me what’s going on.’

Marcus is looking shifty in the corner. Is he her accomplice?

Savannah pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

‘What’s the matter, Savannah?’

She blabbers it out in a rush. ‘I’vefallenforMaracusand hekindoffeelsthesamewayaboutme.’

Fortunately, I speak fluent Savannese. I translate into Slow-speak. ‘You’ve fallen for Marcus and he feels the same way about you.’

She nods wretchedly. ‘I’m
really
sorry, Gem. I know you like him but it was just like . . . he suddenly . . . and I . . .’ She covers her mouth with her hands.
‘I’m
so
sorry.’ The words are muffled by her fingertips.

I’m jubilant. It’s all I can do not to run a winning circuit round the foyer. I stand there grinning like an idiot while Savannah slips into Super-explanation Mode.

‘You see, Gem. I overhead LJ talking to his friends and he was
making fun
of me.’

My smile dies.

‘I know,’ she says seriously. ‘He was actually making fun of me because I liked him. He was talking like I was a pre-schooler or something and I was just so upset.’ Her
eyes start brimming at the memory. She flashes them toward Marcus. ‘And he was
so
kind.’

‘Who? Marcus?’

‘Well, duh!’ Savannah gives me an idiot look. ‘Did you think I meant LJ? He’s, like, the
opposite
of kind. He’s horrible. I don’t know what I ever saw
in him. I can’t believe Jessica Jupiter was right again. I shouldn’t have been chasing the American Dream when I’ve got a perfect English Muffin right in front of my eyes.’
She gazes goofily at Marcus, who blushes. Then she remembers the terrible crime she’s committed.

‘Oh God, Gem. I’m sooooooo sorry.’

I hug her. ‘You idiot.’

She looks at me, stunned.

‘Do you remember I told you I wasn’t interested in Marcus?’ I tell her.

She nods dumbly.

‘That’s because I wasn’t interested in Marcus.’

‘Really?’ She’s catching up. ‘But why not? He’s wonderful!’

‘I know.’ I gently turn her round and push her toward him. ‘You’re wonderful too, Sav. You’re made for each other.’

She sighs happily as she melts into his arms. ‘We’re a match made in heaven.’

Marcus winks at me. ‘Thanks for being cool about it, Gemma.’

‘No problem.’ I watch them wander dreamily out of the club.

‘Are you coming?’ Sav calls over her shoulder.

‘I want to find Treacle.’ I wave them away, feeling like a mother hen marrying off another chick.

I feel so happy all of a sudden I want to swing from the glitter ball. Jessica is a brilliant matchmaker and I’m a fabulous journalist. So what if it was wigs not drugs; I still helped to
nail a bent businessman. Not bad for a first assignment.

‘Gemma!’ Treacle blares like a foghorn behind me. ‘
There
you are!’ The door to the dance floor is still swinging as she bursts from it, Jeff on her tail.
‘You were
brilliant
!’

My brain wheel-spins, trying to catch up. Has she found out about the Wiggins story already? How did she know it was me who unmasked his dodgy scam?

‘I was so psyched when you came out on the stage!’ Treacle hangs off my arm. ‘With the tambourine? You were great! I didn’t know you were part of the band! How did that
happen?’

I thread my arm through hers. ‘It’s a long story.’

Jeff jumps ahead and opens the door for us as we head out into the night. Savannah and Marcus are already at the bus stop, nuzzling each other like shy deer.

‘What’s that all about?’ Treacle gasps.

I tug her arm. ‘You really need to keep up, Treacle,’ I laugh. ‘Things move fast round here.’

I fly through Double Maths on Monday afternoon. I can’t wait to get to the editorial meeting and bask in the glory of our scoop. I mailed Will the photos I’d
snapped and my notes and he wrote up the article. It’ll have hit Cindy’s inbox by now.

My mind is buzzing with questions. What if the story is picked up by the local newspaper? What if it goes national?

My imagination takes over. Suddenly, I’m back in the London newsroom, waiting for the call.
Gemma Stone, youngest ever winner of the World News Prize
.

Mr Baxter’s voice cuts into my thoughts. ‘Gemma, have you finished?’

I pick up my pen and flip the page in my text book. ‘Nearly.’ I’ve still got five problems to solve and the clock’s ticking closer to the end of lesson.

Fortunately my brain’s on high-speed. I’ve worked through them by the time the bell rings.

Close book. Stuff bag. On my feet.

‘I’ll phone you this evening!’ I call over my shoulder as I leave Savannah and Treacle still packing and race to webzine HQ.

Will’s already there, slapping printed copies of our article on to each desk. His leather jacket’s hanging off the back of his chair and he’s stripped to his shirt sleeves,
acting like this happens every day.

‘How does it look?’ I pick up a copy, thrilled to see our work in black-and-white.

‘Not bad.’ Will drops the rest of his stack on Cindy’s desk and slides into his seat.

Rugs Bust at Local Club by Will Bold
.

My name’s not next to his. I feel a stab of disappointment. Maybe it was too much to expect a byline on my first story.

A raid on Sounds nightclub on Friday night uncovered a haul of stolen goods
.

There’s my photo of PC Benbow holding a hairpiece, Wiggins in the background looking like a kid who just got busted stealing from his mother’s purse.

A consignment of wigs was discovered by reporter Will Bold in a tense undercover investigation. And when police raided the nightclub after Bold’s tip-off, the wigs turned out to be just
the tip of the iceberg.

Sam enters the room, slides his backpack on to the floor and starts browsing through the article.

Almost one hundred car sat-navs and a host of other electrical goods were seized from backstage at the club during a performance by local band
Hardwired
.

‘Thanks for the mention, Will,’ Sam says, leaning back in his chair.

Will runs his hand through his hair. ‘No problem.’