You Don't Know Me (9 page)

‘So here you are!' Andy says, sad and serious as the tape finishes and we're back in the spotlight. ‘You've come all this way and it obviously wasn't easy for you.'

Even bright, bouncy, ‘my arms and my legs make FOUR' Andy Grey looks as if he's wincing behind his smile.

‘I suppose you must have really, really wanted to be here tonight.'

I did at the time. But not like this. Onstage, not looking at each other, we nod and shuffle miserably.

‘And how is Rose? Is she watching you tonight?' Andy asks, trying to keep talking over this tumbleweed moment.

‘We don't know,' I whisper.

Which, of course, makes it much, much worse, because now it sounds as though we didn't ask and we don't care. Fabulous.

He decides to avoid taking it further. Instead, he smiles his brightest smile again. Ever the professional.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, with a song from the sixties, we have . . . the Manic Pixie Dream Girls!'

Spotlights create a circle of light, centre stage, where we're supposed to stand. I'm at the front. The audience waits in silence until the start of our backing track. It's time to sing.

Yeah. We shimmy and high-kick our way around the stage in our fabulous high-heeled vintage boots and cute
little outfits.

Just the three of us. Without our fat friend, who wasn't there because we dumped her. Obviously.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toast

^‘
W
e're dead,' Jodie says, head in hands in the dressing room after our performance. ‘We're one hundred per cent toast.'

I say nothing. I'm beyond speech.

‘I'm sure they didn't mean it to look so bad,' Nell says nervously. ‘They wouldn't deliberately do that, would they? I mean, Linus really liked us.'

‘Yeah, right.' Jodie gives her a sarcastic smile. ‘The way Rolo really likes apples. He likes chewing them up and spitting them out. Come on, Nell. They always like something controversial for people to talk about, and we're it.'

‘Rose is it,' I correct her.

Jodie just stares at me.

‘You really don't get it, do you?'

‘I do now,' I say. ‘Roxanne Wills explained it pretty well.'

Jodie shakes her head.

‘Check FaceFeed,' she says. ‘See what they're saying about us.'

FaceFeed has taken over Twitter as the forum for comments about what's going on in the world. It's part of Interface, so you can always see the FaceFeed at the side of your page. I get my phone out of my bag and we all gather round it.

Sure enough, #killeract is trending, and a lot of the FaceFeeds are about us.

Hahah! Did you see the three skinny ones drop the fat one? Killer Act was on form tonight. ROFL

Loving the bit where the three skinny witches dropped the only one who could sing. #dropthefatgirl

Watch this clip: 3 pretty girls drop the fat one who can play guitar! OMG

My heart sinks. Poor Rose. Nobody deserves humiliation like this. What have I done to her?

‘See?' I say to Jodie.

She glares back at me.

‘You think this is about Rose?'

‘I'd say it's
all
about Rose, wouldn't you? Pretty much. Or does
everything
have to be about you?'

‘Stop it! Stop it!' Nell shouts. ‘It's bad enough as it is. Don't fight.'

Janet, the floor manager, appears in the doorway.

‘Time to go, everybody. We need you on the stage in five for the final wave.'

I glance at my phone screen one more time before I shut it down and put it away. There's a personal message to me, so I click on it. It's from Nina Pearson, one of the girls in my class.

I had no idea u could be such an evil witch. I hope u lose.

We step forward into the brightest lights, still holding hands. Before we wave goodbye, the judges comment on our performances. Andy asks Sebastian to go first.

‘I'm with the ukes. Sorry, Dream Girls and Street Wise. You did a good job, but the ukuleles really nailed it for me tonight.'

Then Roxanne.

‘Oh, this is So. Difficult. I loved the ukuleles. You guys are so cute! I think everyone should play the ukulele. And Street Wise, you are A.Ma.Zing. You guys have so much energy! But there's something about the Dream Girls. You've come so far. You looked great! I'm going with the Dream Girls.'

Then Linus.

‘This is the hardest part of my job,' Linus says. ‘It's up to the public anyway, so this is just my professional opinion. Street Wise, you danced your little socks off tonight. Great routine, but is it a world beater? I'm not so sure. Me and Uke, you gave it your all and it was a fantastic performance, but I don't know how much further you could go. Dream Girls – you were good, but I know you can do better. Off-the-scale better. I think there was something
holding you back tonight. You just have to let go and move on. So . . . I'm going to go with the Dream Girls.'

He starts off confidently, but seems surprised when the audience start to hiss and boo. Maybe he hasn't looked at the internet yet. By the end of his speech, his frown lines are deep crevices in his face and I can see he's starting to regret his decision.

As soon as we get back to the dressing room, we check our phones to see what people are saying.

#dropthefatgirl is still trending, but at least Rose's Interface page is full of supportive messages. There are lots of horrible ones on my page – I scroll through them quickly – but the band page has loads of new fans, and I have over a thousand new followers on my FaceFeed, which is insane.

The most reassuring thing is that lots of people have seen the videos of Rose performing that night at George's party and most of the comments say how good she was. The link to the one of her singing the intro to ‘I See The Light' must be whizzing around the internet, because already over 10,000 people have viewed it.

Ten thousand!

Meanwhile, #selfishcows is trending on FaceFeed. So is #skinnywitches. #dropthefatgirl is second trend after something about Justin Bieber.

By the next morning, it's number one.

JUDGES TELL TEEN BAND TO ‘DROP THE FAT GIRL'

It's even made the papers in the hotel restaurant, where we sit in a corner, having breakfast. Poor Rose. It's
everywhere. Every time I see the headline, I think about how the story should have gone:
Judges tell teen band to drop their friend, and they refuse and stick together to live in happy obscurity for the rest of their lives
. Except, of course, then it wouldn't have been a story at all.

‘Why do they have to keep calling her that?' I ask. ‘I mean, going on and on about how bad she must be feeling, and reminding everyone she's supposed to be fat? Don't they see it just makes it worse for her? God, I hope her gran's looking after her.'

Because it should be me. It should be me looking after her.

‘You still don't get it, do you?' Jodie mutters, biting morosely into a croissant and holding the paper up to hide her face.

‘Get what?' I ask.

‘Forget it.'

It's not until late afternoon that I finally understand. We're back at the hotel, changing into our outfits to be in the audience for the second show, when Jodie comes over to me, holding out her BlackBerry.

‘I told you you never got the point, Sash,' she says. ‘All this time you've been worrying about Rose . . .'

‘Yes. And?'

‘My brother sent me this link,' she says. ‘He just found it. Watch.'

Her screen is set to show a video clip from a US online entertainment show. A man with slicked-back hair and a broad smile sits in front of a screen saying ‘Killer Act Backlash'.

‘It's all kicking off at Killer Act,' he says. ‘The latest competition to find the new face of Interface in the UK
went mega controversial when one of the acts dumped a singer because . . . wait for it . . . they thought she was overweight. Yes! It's really true. Where is the sisterhood when you need it, people? All day, Twitter and FaceFeed have been going crazy with angry fans of the show pouring out their support for the girl, while the others battle it out with the latest finalists for a prize to advertise Interface for a year. Remember this?'

There's a short clip of Shady doing his impression of Animal from the Muppets on the drums. It's a worldwide hit, so everyone will recognise it.

‘Well, that's the prize these Dream Girls are chasing. While
some
people have been adding nasty comments about the larger lady,' the presenter continues, ‘it's clear that the vast majority of today's teens won't stand for that kind of behaviour. They want the remaining band members off the show, and they're organising a campaign to make it happen. “Talent isn't all about size,” says hellokitty582. And, “True friends stay together, through thick and thin. Literally,” says Sharon M. Looks like Killer Act is shaping up – geddit?
Shaping
up? – to be the hottest controversy since the
Twilight
breakup. Slap hand, K-Stew. Aw. You know we love you really.'

Jodie arches an eyebrow. ‘You see?'

I take a deep breath. I see. I
get it
get it now.

My first thought is relief about Rose. Thank God there are lots of people on her side.

My second thought is that Jodie understands all this stuff way better than I do. It's taken me a while, but I'm there now: #dropthefatgirl is not about Rose being large; it's about us being mean. And we sang a song about boots walking all over people.

Right, well I'm sure that went down well.

Toast.

We are totally toast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breathless

O
n Friday, the second night of Killer Act Live, the ukulele band are announced the winners of our show. It was inevitable. When Andy announces it, I hardly feel a thing.

We sit in the audience with our families to watch three more acts perform. Only two more days to go: one watching the last three acts, and then standing onstage with the other losers for the grand final. After that we can go home, be private, and forget this whole thing ever happened – apart from the bit where I grovel to Rose again, and beg her to talk to me.

After Friday's show, Jodie's mum tries to get backstage to talk to Linus, or Ivan, or Janet, or
somebody
about
what's happening to us online, and how to deal with it. After all, it must be happening to them too: Linus was the person who came up with the idea of dropping Rose. He doesn't come out of it much better than we do. Except, of course, that he wasn't Rose's best friend. Anyway, he obviously doesn't want to see us. Nor does Ivan Jenks. Everyone we meet says that the judges and producers are ‘busy', or ‘tied up'. It's true that when we do catch sight of them, in the distance, they seem deep in urgent conversation about something. One of the TV production runners hustles us out of the building.

‘You go back to your hotel and relax. We'll see you tomorrow.' He checks a piece of paper. ‘You'll be sitting near the front, so you'll have a good view. Just have a nice day, OK?'

I challenge anyone to have a ‘nice day' when they discover (as Jodie does) that there's a new page dedicated to their band called ‘I hate the Manic Pixie Dream Girls' and it already has over 28,000 ‘haters'. Or while they watch a clip of themselves being discussed on the morning news by someone saying they are ‘the encapsulation of everything that is wrong with teen culture at the moment – the total focus on fame and body image. It was quite cruel what they did to that girl. I hope they're ashamed of themselves today.'

#dropthefatgirl is trending worldwide now. So is the translation of it into Spanish. And, as far as we can tell (using Google Translate), Arabic and Chinese.

Nina Pearson has messaged me again.

Glad you got it, witch-face. You totally deserved to lose, you loser.

This time, something makes me show the message to Jodie, although up to now I've kept all the personal insults I've been receiving to myself.

‘Rose would laugh at that one,' I say. ‘Tautology. She can't take it seriously when people don't get their grammar right.'

‘What's tautology?'

‘Repeating yourself unnecessarily. Of course a loser loses.'

I wish Rose were here to raise an eyebrow at Nina's grammar and make the moment a little lighter. But of course she's not, and that's the point.

On Saturday, we arrive back at the studio along with the rest of the audience for the third evening's show. Jodie's dad arrived early this morning, speeding up the motorway to join the trio of mothers and offer his moral support. It's sweet that any of our parents think they can protect us from all this stuff. They can't. But at least they can help take our minds off it. Mr Evans spends ages saying how he could have sworn he saw Rose's granny driving her old BMW up the motorway on the way here.

‘What on earth would Aurora be doing in London?' Jodie's mum asks. ‘She hardly ever leaves the farm.'

It's actually great to share her mum's endless theories about what Rose's gran could be doing in any county other than Somerset, and her dad's criticism of the build quality of the studio (he's an engineer). It's even good sharing Nell's mum's excitement at seeing the next set of acts.

‘I've checked out all the videos and I really think the little boy who sings opera is going to get it. Aiden, is he?
He's wonderful. I always wanted him to win. Apart from you girls, of course. Until . . .'

She stops herself. Until we got voted off two nights ago because of an internet hate campaign. Yeah, that.

‘Just wait till you see Roxanne Wills,' she continues, hurriedly, to Jodie's dad. ‘She's extraordinary. She looks normal-size on TV, but in the flesh she's practically minute . . .'

Soon, the lights go down and a producer comes on to tell some jokes and get the audience in the mood. When it's time for the show to start, Linus, Sebastian and Roxanne appear in the spotlight, announced by a booming voice over the sound system, before taking their seats at the judges' table.

‘
Tiny
,' Nell's mum observes, leaning across to mine. ‘Isn't she?
Tiny.
'

There's a strange atmosphere in the studio tonight. The judges look nervous. Jodie leans over from my other side and whispers to me:

‘Did you see the look on Linus's face this morning? It was on breakfast TV. Someone stopped him in the street and called him a tired old body fascist. They said people like him were responsible for half the eating disorders in the country. He looked like he'd been punched in the face.'

I sit there for a minute or two, trying to imagine what it would be like to feel sorry for Linus. Nope. Still not working.

Andy Grey comes on to introduce tonight's first act: Lucy, the female soloist. We see her backstory video (a dog saved her life when she was six – yes, animals are cute), and she sings a pitch-perfect pop song. After her, Andy
introduces the boy band, What Now, in what feels like a hurry. Backstory . . . act. Backstory . . . act. The acts and the adverts seem to pass by in a blur. Aiden, the little opera singer, comes on and performs a beautiful song in Italian, but when Andy Grey comes back to congratulate him, there still seems to be plenty of time left. Have they rushed too much tonight? Are they ahead of themselves? Could Ivan possibly make that sort of mistake?

Andy stands centre stage and grins into the nearest camera. On the big screen behind him, a close-up of his sincere smile lights up the stage.

‘Before we go to voting, we have a treat for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Based on your feedback – the literally thousands of emails and messages we've been receiving – we've decided to break the rules and invite one of our earlier contestants back on the show. The judges want to give her a second chance. And I promise, you won't be disappointed. Here tonight, singing a song she wrote herself, is . . .'

He lets the silence linger for as long as he possibly can, but already I know what he's going to say. I reach out and grab Mum's hand so tight that she squeaks in surprise. I wait, and Andy takes a breath to say her name:

‘Rose Ireland!'

As the lights go down, a screen slides up to reveal a revolving stage with a grand piano, and a girl already seated in front of it. She's wearing a long red dress, with her hair in a tousled bun and a diamante headband peeping out of it. Nell squeals. Mum squeezes my hand back, but I don't turn to look at her. The cameras will be on us, I'm sure, waiting for our reaction, and I want to
seem calm. I don't want them to capture a flicker of the emotions I've been feeling since the moment Andy said ‘singing a song she wrote herself' and I suddenly knew it would be Rose.

No point in even trying to feel sorry for Linus: he's brilliant. How can people possibly blame him for being mean to Rose if he's brought her back? We're the only villains now. He and the team will want us to look shocked for the cameras. I won't give them the satisfaction.

Most of all, I don't want people to see how I feel about Rose. How could she not
tell
me? She must have been busy making plans to come all this way to perform tonight, and not a word. She must actually hate me to have kept this a secret, knowing how I would be feeling now: hurt, abandoned, guilty. Above all, guilty. And nervous for her, too. Rose, who hates performing so much without the three of us around her. How have they persuaded her to put herself through this?

And all the time the sound system is playing a backing track of stirring violins, while the cameras get into position, and she nods that she is ready to begin.

She looks different tonight, though. Every hint of shyness has gone. She is calm and serene. If anything, she looks more beautiful than usual. She's on her own and that's OK. I've never seen her like this.

There's a ripple of excited murmuring around the audience. Some applause, quickly extinguished, some whispers, and then a hushed silence. A spotlight picks out Rose's hair, the serene concentration on her face, the soft smile on her lips. She breathes in, she pauses for a moment, she settles her fingers on the keys for the first chord. She plays.

Something has changed.

This is not the girl who stood white and glaring in the corridor. It's not the girl who hung back at the audition and worried about ‘jiggling', or who faced me in her kitchen saying she needed to work out who she was.

It's the girl I always knew she could be. The butterfly, escaping from her chrysalis. I shiver as much as anyone else in the audience. This girl is something special, and now everybody knows it.

The tune she plays is sad – bluesy and haunting. Rose's voice is sad too, as she begins to sing the words. I've never heard her pour out so much emotion. I don't think she's ever dared. But I am sure of one thing: she
has
been checking Interface – or Ivan has told her about her supporters. When more than ten thousand people tell you how good you are, it gives you the confidence to sing.

You can hear the gasp around the audience as her voice soars and her song fills the room with its warm, jazzy tones. A
stand-out
voice, as Bert said. One that makes you want to listen to every note. With growing power, Rose lets the sound build and build, as members of the audience are torn between whistling, cheering and wiping the tears from their eyes.

I doubt they even had to persuade her much to come here. She seems at home, at last. This is what she was born for.

‘What's everyone saying?' Mum whispers, leaning across me to check the screen of my iPhone, where FaceFeed is open.

‘Give it a chance!' I say. ‘She's only been singing two minutes.'

#killeract is trending, but I don't want to miss the actual moment of seeing Rose nail the song.

She sounds as though she's been preparing for it all her life. It's a song she wrote last summer, called ‘Breathless'. I recognise the tune as the one she was working on at the end of the holidays. But we got caught up in the com -petition and I never heard what she did with it, or what lyrics she wrote. I assumed she was shy about sharing it because it wasn't ready. It is now.

After all that build-up, the final verse is quiet, almost like a whisper, although we can still make out every word.

She repeats the last two lines, her voice fading gradually to nothing. Concentrating on the keyboard as she plays the final chords, she doesn't seem to notice the camera moving in for an extreme close-up of the intense emotion on her face. She's there, alone, until the last note fades and she looks up at the audience as if surprised there's anyone watching.

People stand. In twos and threes at first, then whole rows, then everyone. The judges, too. Everyone in the
auditorium, almost, is applauding as hard as they can, and many people are crying too. I am watching fame happen, right in front of my eyes.