You Don't Know Me (16 page)

He hands me his guitar, and I do a run-through of one of the songs I'm working on, ‘Between the Lines'. I've been practising every night and having listened to Rose for so long, I know how the thing's supposed to sound. It's starting to feel natural, too. The transitions from major to minor keys send a shiver down my spine.

Cat notices what we're doing, and strops off into a corner to practise some advanced riffs on her bass. She's much better than me, of course, and she really doesn't need to try so hard. Dan ignores her. If anything, he gets closer to me. But he seems to hesitate before putting his hands near mine on the fretboard, to show me what he means.

I am determined not to seem like a groupie, so I pretend not to notice the warmth of his skin, or how well his biceps fit his T-shirt, or the low, sexy hum of his voice as he speaks.

Later I catch him looking at me with the same sort of wonder that George Drury had in his eyes before the disaster kiss at the music festival. This time, I'm not sure the kiss would be such a disaster. But, Dan's such a gentleman that he accompanies me home with nothing more than a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Geeks And Nerds And Freaks

^‘
B
reathless', recorded in about two days flat, enters the charts at number one. Not surprising, given that the video of Rose playing it for the first time on Killer Act has now reached eighty million hits worldwide. Interface News releases an interview with her to accompany the launch. There she is, in yet another slim, belted dress, sitting on a sofa in what seems to be a posh hotel.

I watch the video on my laptop, sitting in bed and wondering slightly who this famous girl is, the one I hardly seem to recognise. She looks sophisticated in her signature half-up, half-down hairdo and dark, dark eyes to
contrast with her pale skin. She seems tired, though, and not as excited as I would expect for a teenager with a song at number one.

Perhaps it's something to do with the interview questions, and the interviewer insisting on trying to find out who ‘Breathless' is about. Looking uncomfortable, Rose keeps explaining that it's about no one in particular, just an idea of a boy. I remember how we used to talk about it a lot, listening to music in her room or mine – how great lyrics and poems can be inspired by many things, not just one specific event. Besides, she never had a serious boyfriend while I knew her. Not that serious, anyway, and I bet it's something else, like the ‘Sausages' story, that she doesn't need the world to know.

But, when they ask her about recording the song, her face lights up as she describes how incredible it was to work on it in a proper studio, surrounded by some of the greatest session musicians in the business.

‘It was one of the best moments of my life,' she says, eyes shining.

Yeah. She doesn't need to sit around in your bedroom, Sasha, talking about lyrics and ideal boys. She's got the best musicians in the world to work with now. No wonder she hasn't been returning your calls.

As I'm thinking this, my phone goes.

‘Have you seen it?'

It's Jodie.

‘Oh, hi. The interview? Watching it now.'

‘Did you see what she was wearing?'

‘Not particularly.'

‘It's Dolce & Gabbana. I've just checked it out in this week's
Grazia
. It costs over a thousand quid.'

‘It looks good on her,' I sigh. Although I'm not sure Mrs Venning would approve.

Jodie snorts. ‘I thought it made her look old.'

‘You're just jealous, Jodie.'

‘Who? Me? Yeah.
Totally
.'

‘I'm not so sure. D'you think she looks happy?'

‘Yes. Of course I do. What are you on about?' Jodie says, as if I'm mad.

Watching the screen, Rose looks blissful
now
– now she's talking about the music. Maybe I was wrong about before. Do I just
want
things to be difficult for her, because she chose singing over staying with us? Am I that mean?

Once I put the phone down, I feel a new song forming in my head. Something hurt and confused, called ‘Broken', maybe, or ‘No Way Back'.

With ‘Breathless' at the top of the charts, you'd think half the girls at school had been in Rose's closest circle, and they still haven't forgiven the rest of us for what we did. I'm getting used to being deliberately knocked in corridors every day, and Nina Pearson having the sound of me shrieking when I was Coked as the message alert on her phone. It's normal now to see photos online from parties I wasn't invited to. I used to feel sorry for the geeks and nerds and freaks and loners keeping their heads down in corridors, avoiding the looks and comments. Now I know how they feel, because that's me too.

Except that I'm
special
. Still famous. Still sucks.

That Coke video has gone viral. People are talking about it in Japan. Rose Ireland fans send me hate mail every day. And worst of all, somebody, somewhere is
watching me so closely they know what hat I'm wearing. They're thinking about me and I'm thinking about them, all the time.

I'm talking to Jodie and Nell near the vending machines as Elliot careers down the corridor towards us, practically knocking us over. A friendly geek. I see him in a new light now. And he certainly seems happy to see me, despite the awkwardness in my room the last time we met.

‘I've found her,' he says to me, out of breath and excited.

‘Her? Who?' I ask.

He looks uncertainly at Jodie and Nell, who stare at me, confused.

‘It's OK,' I say to him. ‘Whatever it is, you can tell all of us.'

He pauses for a moment and lowers his voice. ‘Your stalker. She's here,' he says. ‘She's in this school.'

‘No!'

My smile vanishes. I suddenly feel ice cold. I'm being stalked by someone in this
building
?

‘WHAT?' Jodie shrieks. ‘You have a
stalker
?'

I nod dumbly.

‘Why didn't you tell us, you idiot?'

‘Because . . . I knew you'd freak.'

‘I'm freaking NOW. You have a STALKER?'

‘You don't have to tell the whole school,' I whisper nervously.

Jodie lowers her voice and turns to Elliot. ‘So, who is it? Someone we've heard of?'

He nods.

‘It's Michelle Lee,' he says. ‘The number traces back to her phone.'

Oh my God. Michelle Lee. She's one of the most popular girls in school. The last time I saw her properly, she was giving me a hug at George Drury's party. She's his girlfriend, the Cheryl Cole lookalike. I need to sit down. Nell takes me by the elbow, clearly worried about me.

‘Do you want to go to the Head?' Elliot asks, with what sounds like a little reluctance. ‘We should report her.'

‘You bet,' Jodie says, hands on hips, eyes blazing.

But I shake my head. I need to think about this first. They take me into the nearest empty classroom and find me a chair. I breathe deeply. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Michelle Lee?
I would never in a million years have expected it to be her.

‘Why on earth would Michelle stalk you?' Nell asks.

I shake my head. ‘No idea.'

‘What did she do, exactly?'

I tell them about the texts.

‘She threatened to
kill
you, and you didn't tell us?' Jodie bellows, raising her voice again.

‘I . . . I didn't think you could help.'

In fact, I assumed Jodie would stomp around, just like she's doing, and panic, when all I wanted to do was forget it. I don't want to forget it now, though. Not since Elliot's news. I can feel my anger slowly rising to the surface, to match Jodie's tone. It was different when I thought it was some scary stranger sending me those messages. But a girl at my school? Someone who sees me every day? Making me so frightened I could hardly go out on my own?

How dare she?

‘If you do report her to Mrs Richards,' Elliot says, ‘and you should – can you just not mention how you found
out about her? I kind of used certain databases I'm not supposed to know about, and . . .'

I sigh. ‘Mrs Richards will guess, you know. She'll work it out. She's not that stupid.'

He hangs his head.

‘Yeah. Whatever.'

‘Mrs Richards is too good for her,' Jodie grumbles. ‘Way too good for her. God, if I could get my hands on her . . .'

Jodie has a point. Maybe it's possible to deal with this without bringing in the Head. I thought this person could be some crazy armed stalker, hiding in bushes with God-knows-what weapon. Now that I know she's just a girl in Year 12 with excessive hair extensions, I want answers.

‘I want to meet her,' I say. ‘I want her to look me in the eye and tell me why she did this.'

Nell looks nervous. ‘Are you
crazy
?'

‘Probably,' I admit. Being stalked by a Cheryl Cole lookalike can have that effect. But I realise I don't really want to do it on my own.

Meanwhile, Jodie is still blazing with fury on my behalf.

‘Let's do it,' she says. ‘The drama studio. Tomorrow, after school. It'll be empty then. We'll come with you, won't we, Nell?'

Nell gulps and nods. ‘Of course.'

I grin at them gratefully, get out my new phone and send Michelle a message on Interface, while Jodie dictates.

‘D'you think she'll come?'

‘When she sees it's from you, she will,' Jodie says.

Two minutes later, the message comes back.

I'm terrified and excited. I know it's probably the wrong thing, but it feels so good to be doing
something
finally.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Don't Know Me: Part 2

A
s soon as I get home I pull out the guitar, to help me understand how I'm feeling. It's becoming second nature these days.

Before, making music was just a game – something we did to have fun and relax. Now, it's what I do when I need to find the real me again. It's how I explore my happiness and sadness. I'm starting to understand those days when Rose was composing songs and she didn't need to see me. I used to feel a bit hurt, though I never told her, but if she was making things out of words and sounds the way I am now, I get why she needed to be alone for a while.

I've already filled up my first notebook with lyrics, and now I write them on an app I've downloaded onto my new phone. Some are hopeless – in fact, many of them are. Others are pages long and contain only two lines that I might seriously use. Others are brief and perfect – to me, anyway. They seem to capture moments of pure emotion. Some already have their tunes attached, in my head, or recorded on my phone, using Molly the guitar.

The very worst is probably ‘Nina? Be seein' ya': a funny, angry verse I wrote one day when I got in from school. I sing it often, because belting out those words as I strum the guitar is as good for the soul as one of Mum's chocolate gateaux. The best, I think, is ‘You Don't Know Me'. I thought that song would turn out angry too, but it didn't. It twisted away from me as I wrote, and ended up hopeful.

I do love that little song. Tonight, I sing it over and over, thinking of Michelle.

Somehow, capturing all my fear and anger and frustration, and fragmenting it, then recombining it into the words of a song, makes it easier to bear.

Afterwards, I Google Rose on my computer again. It's become second nature by now. According to the E!
channel, she's lining up a tour of America. She'll finally get to see all those places we dreamed about. She recently sang at a birthday party for a visiting Hollywood star. She supports two animal charities. She's working on an album.

The news on FaceFeed is that she has hired a tutor to help her with her GCSEs. His name is Jamie and he is tall, blond and fit. They go out on dinners together a lot. There are endless pictures of her arriving with him at expensive restaurants in a black, fur-trimmed coat and dramatic makeup, looking ten years older than she really is. Jodie was right about that. It's partly due to the makeup and partly because she looks tired. Very tired. I'm sure it's not just my imagination. But then, she's a busy girl.

Her Interface page states that she's finally recording the advert that was her prize for winning Killer Act. Rose's face will be projected onto several large buildings in major cities in England, the US, Japan and China when the ad launches in May. Our school will be bursting with cameras and news crews for the big moment. The song is expected to become her second number one.

Oh yes, and she's not only coming back for the launch. She's going to be moving back to Castle Bigelow for a little while, so she can work on the new album. According to her Interface page, she:

Who
writes
this stuff for her? Why does she let them? And, more to the point, why on earth didn't she tell us she was coming home?

Finally, according to the celeb-watching sites, she has
lost weight, but is still ‘attractively curvy'. She is planning on buying a flat in London, and she has already bought her granny a car.

I don't know how much of the news is accurate, but it's true about the car: it's a little red Fiat, parked in the lane leading to the farm. Aurora Ireland admitted to Mum that she doesn't dare drive it in case it gets scratched or dented. She likes to admire it from her bedroom window, though. It reminds her of Rose.

‘She's beyond up herself now,' Jodie grumbles at lunch next day. ‘She's gone through herself and out the other side.'

‘I must say, I'm surprised,' Nell admits. ‘Did you see that bit about her fainting at a fashion show? They thought she might've been drinking.'

I shake my head. ‘Don't be silly. That doesn't sound like her. They'll say anything.'

Nell picks at her unappetising pizza topping. ‘I suppose so . . .'

‘But you know these pop stars and their crazy lifestyles,' Jodie shrugs.

‘Was she really not going to tell us she was coming home?' I ask. This is the thing that's been bothering me most.

‘What d'you mean, not tell us?' Jodie says. ‘Didn't you get the invitation?'

‘What invitation?'

‘Haven't you checked your email today?'

Actually, I haven't. For about the first time in my life, I was so busy thinking about meeting up with Michelle Lee later on, and wondering if she'll really show up, and if
she'll bring half of Year 12 with her, that I totally forgot to turn my phone on this morning. I haven't checked it since last night.

Nell sees my blank look. ‘We've been asked to have a special meeting with Rose when she comes. Next week. For that Rose Ireland Special thing she's recording. They want us to get together and confront our issues. They say it will be a good way to get closure.'

It's quite funny to hear Ivan Jenks's vocabulary coming out of Nell's mouth. You can almost see the quotation marks in the air.

‘Did they mention preserving the drama, by any chance?'

‘No,' Nell sighs. ‘Not this time.'

‘Well, I'm not doing it,' Jodie says firmly. ‘Why should we? You were right, Sash. They're just going to make us look stupid again. Mum says we should keep our heads down until this whole things blows over.'

‘I suppose that's true,' I agree, reluctantly. ‘But—'

‘Anyway,' Jodie goes on, ‘can't you just picture it? Us all huddled round one of these tables in our school uniforms and Rose wafting in in some designer number and fifteen layers of control pants? She used to be so cool, but I swear they make her look more like Roxanne Wills every day . . .'

‘Oh, it wouldn't be here,' Nell says. ‘It's wherever Rose is staying. Wait.'

She gets out her phone and scrolls around to find the email from the TV people. While she does so, I mouth, ‘Wherever Rose is staying?' to Jodie. She rolls her eyes.

‘I know. I mean, it's not as if she can stay with her own grandparents, right? Not when she's got a whole entourage of people with her. God, I never believed she could turn
into such a monster. She's like Queen bleeding Elizabeth the First now, doing her progress round the country. She needs a mansion.'

‘Here we go,' Nell says. ‘It's a place called Lockwood House. Isn't that the posh hotel on the road to Bath? I'll check it out. Hey, you're right!'

‘Right how?' Jodie asks.

‘It's Elizabethan. Look at it. All Tudor beams and stuff. It's really, really posh. They do four-poster beds and horse riding in the grounds and there's a spa and English teas with champagne. I wonder if we'd get one of those . . .' She goes all dreamy for a moment.

‘We're not going, remember?' Jodie says.

‘Oh, right.'

Nell puts her phone down on the table in front of her, looking dutiful but slightly disappointed. I lean over to get a look at Lockwood House. It is a gorgeous, ancient, stately-home affair, with a sweeping drive lined with vast oak trees and what look like Rolls-Royces and Aston Martins parked outside.

I have to say, if I was offered the chance of staying there for a few days, instead of my room at home, I'd certainly have to think about it. Actually, I wouldn't: it would be Lockwood House every time. I turn the screen towards Jodie and say nothing.

‘Blimey!' she splutters.

‘And we wouldn't be in school uniform,' Nell adds. ‘We could wear nice stuff.'

‘And it would give us a chance to find out how she is,' I muse aloud.

‘Oh yeah,' Jodie scoffs. ‘And it would give
her
a chance to find out how
we
are.'

I nod. ‘Well yes, that too.'

The mood shifts. We all sit around, brooding, while Jodie scrolls through more pictures of the hotel. Whereas five minutes ago it seemed obvious that this meeting was a stupid, crazy, rude idea, now it seems like an interesting, crazy, rude idea. We get to see Rose, finally – and goodness knows, I need to. We get to see Lockwood House close up. We possibly get to sneak some champagne, if we're lucky.

True, we remind the public who we are, which is the last thing we need, but perhaps we really will get some sort of ‘closure'. Closure: coming to terms with a bad experience. It's a horrible, horrible word – not a Rose word at all – but I actually need some. What's going on between us now still hurts.

‘So?' Jodie says eventually. ‘I take it we're going?'

Nell and I nod.

‘We're going to regret this,' she continues.

She's probably right. We've done a lot of stuff we've regretted. We're good at it.

‘Do you think Mrs Venning will lend us some stuff?' she asks. ‘You're right, Nell: we need to look the part.'

‘I'm sure she will,' I say, with a little sigh.

It's not a happy sigh. Not an ‘I'm going to be an English lady at a posh country house hotel' sigh. Not even Jodie's ‘I'm going to give Queen Rose a piece of my mind' sigh. It's not jealous or angry, it's melancholy.

Melancholy – which
is
a Rose word. I don't know what's happened to her, exactly, but I still miss her.