Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid (3 page)

OK, she’s got a point. I’ve got no proof. I’m going on gut instinct. Every time I see LJ, he’s surrounded by a crowd and looking like he’s wishing he could give
autographs. But gut instinct is not enough. A real journalist needs facts. If only there was some way I could get evidence that he’s as shallow as a puddle.

A headline pops into my mind:

‘Gemma Stone?’ Miss Davis’s voice zaps my thoughts. She’s looking up from her desk. ‘Gemma?’ She scans the room.

I stick up my hand. ‘Here!’

‘Anila Zajmi.’ Miss Davis finishes the register just as the bell goes for first lesson.

Savannah’s off like a whippet. ‘Come on.’ She hooks her arm through Treacle’s and drags her away.

‘Wait for me!’ I follow them to the crush at the door.

We pass Marcus and I can’t help noticing his wistful gaze follow Savannah. Marcus asked her out last month, but she chose Josh and hasn’t looked at Marcus since, even though
he’s ten times sweeter than Josh and cute in his own shy way.

We burst out of the form room and into the hallway.

Treacle’s flapping from Savannah’s arm like washing on a windy day. ‘What’s the hurry?’ I ask.

‘We’re going the long way,’ Savannah announces. Instead of turning right towards the classroom where Mrs Dalton is thumping English Literature books on to desks in readiness
for our arrival, she veers left and scoots along the corridor towards the science labs.

Treacle gives me the desperate stare of a kidnap victim as I catch up.

‘Are you trying to shed calories?’ I ask Savannah, mystified why she should circle the entire building to get to the classroom just next door to our form room.

‘Never miss a chance to exercise,’ Savannah puffs, swinging Treacle round the corner as the corridor splits. We hit a wave of students and weave through the surge like salmon
fighting their way upstream. As we round the next corner, I understand why Savannah’s taking the long route. LJ is at the far end of the hallway, leaning next to the science-lab door.

‘Savannah!’ The sigh in Treacle’s voice is enough to tell me she’s spotted LJ too.

He’s watching his classmates file into the lesson – or rather, he’s letting
them
watch
him
. Each girl drifts past, glancing up hopefully. LJ’s gaze flicks
over them like a farmer inspecting cattle. He doesn’t crack a smile.

I suddenly realize Savannah’s disappeared towards LJ. ‘Quick, let’s rescue her before she does something stupid,’ I gasp to Treacle, who rolls her eyes.

‘Gem, if you’re worried she’s going to throw herself at LJ, she’ll have to join the queue.’

But the queue’s quickly dwindling as LJ’s classmates disappear into the lab.

‘Come on!’ I grab Treacle’s arm and drag her forwards. Savannah’s smoothing her long blonde hair with her hand and gazing at LJ.

I tap her shoulder. ‘We’re going to be late for English.’

‘One more minute,’ Savannah pleads. ‘The bell’s only just gone.’

I glance back along the corridor. It’s become ominously empty and quiet.

‘He’s not even noticed you,’ Treacle tries to reason with Savannah.

LJ’s stare is fixed on a window, where he’s staring at his reflection in the glass. He lifts a hand to re-tousle the thick, brown hair flopping over his eyes.

‘Let’s go, Sav—’ I stop as Sam looms in front of me.

‘Hi, Gemma.’ His bright blue eyes meet mine and he does one of his I’m-totally-unaware-how-gorgeous-I-am smiles. If only LJ were more like Sam, Savannah might be in with a
chance.

‘Hi, Sam.’ I nod toward the science lab. ‘Is this your class?’

‘Double Physics,’ he shrugs. ‘Not a bad way to start a Monday.’

I’m surprised to discover he’s a science-head. ‘I thought you were only into music.’

Sam grins. ‘Yeah, well, I like to stay in tune with the whole universe.’

Behind me I hear Savannah giggle and my heart sinks. It’s her flirty giggle. I turn round and find her simpering at LJ.

‘Hi, LJ. How’s it going?’ she asks.

Treacle pulls a face at me, sticking out her tongue like she’s about to heave.

LJ looks down at Savannah. ‘Oh – er – hi . . .’ He frowns like he’s fumbling for a long-forgotten memory. ‘I know you, right?’ His American accent
sounds more American than the ones on TV. ‘You’re – er – Tundra, aren’t you?’

Sam jabs him in the arm. ‘She’s
Savannah
, you idiot.’

LJ scratches the side of his nose. ‘I knew it was some kinda climate zone.’ He turns and disappears into the lab.

Savannah watches him go like a leper who has just been blessed by the Pope.

Sam shakes his head. ‘That new kid is not the brightest tool in the box.’

‘“Tool” is right,’ Treacle mutters beside me.

I elbow her sharply, hoping Sam didn’t hear, but he’s looking at Treacle, eyes narrow. ‘I thought every girl in Green Park was in the LJ fan club.’

Treacle wrinkles her nose. ‘He calls football “soccer” and thinks it was invented by Americans,’ she huffs.

Sam’s eyes twinkle beneath his shaggy blond hair. ‘Maybe he’s still jet-lagged. Hopefully he’ll catch up soon.’ His gaze flicks back to me. ‘Are you coming to
the webzine HQ at lunchtime?’

I nod. ‘I want to start work on my—’ I stop myself just in time. I can’t say ‘horoscopes’. No one apart from Cindy and Treacle know that I’m Jessica
Jupiter. I grope for words. ‘My – er – the – er – lipstick review I’m doing for Cindy.’

Cindy keeps giving me make-up to test for her beauty column. It’s her way of disguising my role as horoscope writer. She calls me the webzine’s editorial assistant, but basically
I’m a lab rat. I keep expecting animal rights activists to break in and release me back into the wild.

‘What are you testing this week?’ Sam asks.

‘Fang-Bang Ruby Lip-Shimmer.’ I cringe, wanting to explain that I joined the webzine to be a reporter, not a guinea pig for beauty products.

Sam throws out a hand to catch the fast-closing door of the science lab. ‘Some girls don’t need make-up,’ he says as he slides through the gap and disappears into his
lesson.

He must be talking about Cindy. Her face is more painted than the Mona Lisa’s, but I think she’d be far prettier without make-up. She has blue eyes, rosebud lips and cheekbones you
could slice cheese with.

‘Did you hear him?’ Savannah’s hanging off my arm, staring at the lab door. ‘He actually
spoke
to me.’

I look at her, surprised. ‘Who?’

Savannah looks at me, round-eyed. ‘LJ, of course! Didn’t you hear him?’

Treacle puffs out her cheeks. ‘He called you “Tundra”.’

‘So?’ Savannah heads down the corridor. ‘Did you see the way he looked at me, Gem?’

A wave of despair crashes over me as I follow her. She’s besotted. ‘He looked like he was trying to remember who you were,’ I remind her.

‘Exactly!’ Savannah pauses at the English-room door. ‘And he
did
remember me.’

‘A girl called “Tundra”’s hard to forget,’ Treacle mutters.

‘“Tundra”’s almost the same as “Savannah”,’ Savannah argues.

Treacle reaches for the door handle. ‘Try telling that to a penguin.’

I can see Mrs Dalton through the meshed glass of the door window. She’s pacing the front of the class, book in hand. Ryan’s head is resting on his desk and Sally Moore is mouthing
something to Anila. The lesson is clearly in full swing. ‘Come on!’ I nudge Treacle.

‘Wait.’ Savannah pulls a pot of strawberry lipbalm from her blazer pocket. ‘This weather is murder on my lips.’ As she flicks off the lid, her mouth drops open.
‘Look!’ She thrusts the balm under my nose.

I stare at it. ‘What?’

‘Can’t you see it?’ Savannah sounds amazed.

Treacle leans over the pot and stares. ‘What?’

‘It spells LJ!’ Savannah proclaims.

‘What does?’ Treacle sounds unconvinced.

‘The marks in the lipbalm.’ She points at a couple of smears in the pink goo. ‘It definitely says LJ!’

I squint, trying to make out a pattern. ‘It’s just squig-gles,’ I say.

Savannah snatches the pot away. ‘It’s not just squiggles! It’s a sign! It clearly says LJ! I knew we were meant to be together!’

The door of the English room swings open. Mrs Dalton frowns at us over her half-specs. ‘Very good of you to join us,’ she says sarcastically.

‘Sorry, Miss.’ I duck past her and slide into my seat. As Treacle sits beside me, Savannah floats to the back of the class, her eyes dreamy.

I can’t believe LJ has reduced Savannah to such a twittering idiot. I pull my books from my bag, vowing to take immediate action to end her insanity.

I’m writing Savannah’s horoscope in my head as I take the stairs to the webzine HQ. There’s only twenty minutes to the bell for the first lesson after lunch.
Escaping the lunch room took longer than I’d planned; Savannah was using me as a human shield while she watched LJ pick his way through a box of sushi.

He used chopsticks.

She practically fell off her chair with excitement. ‘Oh. My. God! He is
so cool
!’

Substitute ‘lame’ for ‘cool’ and she pretty much got it right.

I glance at my watch – nineteen minutes left – and open the door.

The webzine HQ is basically a storeroom on the first floor of the school. The caretaker kindly cleared out most of the clutter and now, apart from the shelves of aging textbooks and glue pots
that line the walls, there are six battered desks, each with a computer and a chair.

No one’s here. I’ve got the room to myself. I wonder where they are. It’s deadline day. I can’t be the only one who’s not finished their piece. Maybe the rest of
the webzine team have already been and gone. Maybe amazement at LJ’s chopstick skills slayed them and they’re lying dead in a corridor somewhere, their faces frozen in awe.

The ticker tape starts running in my head.

The old school clock above the door is ticking away the seconds noisily. I cut the internal monologue.

I breathe in the lovely old paper-and-wood smell of the storeroom as I settle behind a desk. It’s how I imagine a newsroom might have smelled in the days before plastic and high-speed
communication. I’ve bagged the fastest PC, pleased that Will’s not here to elbow his way to it like he usually does. By the time I’ve got the PC humming, found this week’s
horoscope document and opened it, Savannah’s stars are already written in my head. It takes me two seconds to slip into Jessica Jupiter’s voice and type them into the PC.

Pisces
. You are the most idealistic and dreamy of all the star signs, but don’t be fish-brained, Star-ling. Before you dive into a new
romance, check the depth. You may think you’ve found your heart’s desire but, my dear Fin-derella, your Prince Charming may turn out to be all charm and no prince.

I pause, leaning back in my chair. It may not be enough to convince Savannah. I know from experience that when she’s smitten, the smit runs deep. Frowning, I tap my fingernails on the desk
– I gave up biting my nails when I became Jessica. Somehow, chewed stubs for fingers didn’t suit the glamorous image I’d given her. Though I still have to fight the urge to
nibble. Then an idea strikes. I could encourage Marcus to ask Savannah out again. It might distract her. After all, a real date beats a fantasy date. I’ve actually only ever had fantasy
dates, so I don’t know for sure, but it seems logical. I can do a quick search on Facebook to find out Marcus’s birthday – then I can work out his star sign and lace his horoscope
with gentle encouragement to try again.

As I log in to the website, the storeroom door swings open.

‘Hi.’ It’s Sam.

I half look up from my keyboard as I type Marcus’s name into the search box. ‘Hi.’

‘Have you heard the news?’ He sounds excited.

‘What news?’ I ask, looking up properly now.

Sam’s perched on the desk opposite, staring at me with eager puppy eyes. ‘About my band.’

‘Your band?’ I hit the return key to enter my search.