Destiny Date (12 page)

‘Jessica’s old, but she’s not that old.’

Treacle pulls a sad face and hooks the costume back. We head deeper into the shop.

She stops beside something large and green. ‘Oh, Gemma,’ she says, her voice filled with awe. ‘Let’s ditch the original idea and go with this.’ She pulls out a
green foam dragon suit. ‘No one would recognize you!’

It’s tempting, but I’m not sure that the school would be entirely convinced I’m Jessica Jupiter.

Treacle’s eyes light on something else. She shoves the dragon costume back and grabs a lump of yellow foam.

‘SpongeBob!’ she squeals, holding it up.

Snorting, I picture Jessica Jupiter in square pants. ‘Only if you join me as Patrick.’

Treacle spits with laughter. ‘Do you think we can persuade Cindy to be Mr Krabs?’

‘Stop it!’ I wave Treacle away as I imagine Cindy with big lobster claws.

‘Ooh, what about this one?’ She’s found a rainbow clown costume. Long floppy shoes are dangling around its neck.

‘Jessica could be Ronald McDonald.’ I grab a red curly wig from the top of the rack. ‘I won’t need this,’ I giggle, pointing at my hair. An idea clangs in my head.
‘I must have
clown
genes!’

Treacle lifts one of the shoes and points sadly at my feet. ‘Not big enough.’

‘Come on.’ I take the clown costume, re-rack it and steer Treacle away. ‘Let’s find a riding costume before we have Jessica dressed like a birthday cake.’

A thousand and one costumes later, we find something even better than jodhpurs. It’s a full riding habit with a long hitched skirt for riding side-saddle. I take one look at it as Treacle
holds it up and clap my hands. ‘That is
so
Jessica Jupiter!’

‘Try it on!’ She shoves it into my arms and starts herding me towards the dressing room.

I wriggle into the costume. For the first time I can imagine this might be fun. When I see myself in the mirror, I’m pleased. I look even less like a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl than when
I was Radical.

‘I’ve found a wig!’ Treacle bursts in. She’s twirling it on her finger. It’s black and silky, a short bobbed style.

‘Who’d you scalp?’ I imagine the shopkeeper weeping, bald, beside the till.

‘Put it on!’ Treacle orders and, as I do my best to cram the wig over my curls, Treacle pulls the dressage hat out of the Coleman Brothers bag. She balances it on top. It’s not
the finished look, but my reflection in the mirror is impressive. The veil obscures my face and the riding gear is nothing like anything I’d wear.

‘Star-ling!’ I lower my voice into a husky drawl, pretending to be Jessica. ‘Venus is rising. Pluto is in the house of the rising sun. This is no time to be
yourself.’

Treacle stares at me in the mirror. ‘You
have
to do that voice,’ she squeaks. ‘It’s perfect!’

‘Really?’ I look at her eagerly.

‘Absolutely.’

I scramble back into my street clothes and we pile the costume onto the counter.

The shopkeeper smiles at us from behind it. He’s ninety-six years old and looks like a pixie. ‘Buying or hiring?’ he asks.

‘Hiring, please,’ I tell him.

He lifts up the habit. ‘Do you want riding boots too?’ he asks.

‘You have
boots
?’ I ask excitedly.

‘With spurs if you like.’ He ducks out from behind the counter and leads us to a far corner of the shop where a million shoes are lined up in rows. He leans forward and plucks out a
pair of tall leather riding boots.

‘What size are they?’ I ask.

He checks the bottom. ‘Six.’

‘Perfect,’ I grin.

Treacle cocks her head. ‘Gemma wants to look
different
,’ she ventures. ‘Like she’s someone else.’

‘A disguise?’ the man asks.

Treacle and I exchange glances.

‘Yes,’ I tell him.

‘You’ll need prosthetics,’ the man says.

‘Oh.’ I have no idea what he’s talking about.

‘Let me show you,’ he offers.

He takes us back to the counter and lifts a tray from underneath. It’s lined with noses.

Treacle bursts out laughing. ‘Do they ever get colds?’

I’ve never seen anything so weird. There are pointy noses, warty noses, bulbous noses and skinny noses. ‘That one.’ I point at a perfect pink nose, slightly turned up at the
end.

The man peels it off the tray and lets me try it on. He drags a mirror along the counter for me. I peer in.

My humble fourteen-year-old nose is transformed into a haughty snout. ‘What do you think?’ I ask Treacle.

‘Perfect,’ she tells me. ‘All you need now is some false eyelashes and plenty of make-up.’

I look at the costume laid out on the counter. I’m suddenly hyper-aware that on Friday I’m going to be wearing it in public. ‘It’s a shame I can’t hire
courage.’

After dinner, I retreat to my room. Jessica’s costume is hidden in my wardrobe. It’s easier than explaining why I’m giving an end-of-term speech.

I snuggle into my desk chair and, drawing my feet under me, I flick on my laptop. I can hear Dad droning while Ben chirps next door. It’s bedtime and they’re reading stories.

I start work on next week’s horoscopes.

Ryan first. I’m happy that last week’s stars pointed him in the right direction, but if his relationship with Sally is going to last, he’ll need to improve his boyfriend
technique.

Leo

You idiot. Stop playing for laughs. It might work in class, but in a relationship you’ll get booed and boohooed. Think before you speak or you might end up dancing with yourself at the
prom.

Will’s next. Now that Jessica has his attention, it’s time to guide him towards a little happiness.

Aquarius

Star-ling, work is your first love, but it’s time you found a second. Cut the grind and work up a sweat doing something fun. Last week, an unexpected gift brightened your day; this
week, an unexpected hug might signal the start of romance.

The chances of anyone giving Will an unexpected hug are remote. I decide to increase them.

Aquarius

My watery friend, love is in the air. It’s time you surfaced and took a gulp. A grouchy classmate may turn out to have a tender side. Why not shower a little love on the unlovable.
Don’t forget: a hug is never wasted.

That’s at least one twelfth of Year Ten covered. Just to make sure, I decide to spread the word through another twelfth. I pick the next sign on my list.

Scorpio

Put your sting away. Your stars are lined up in Venus this week. Love will blossom wherever you go. Embrace your allure; scatter affection on everyone. You may sow the seeds of a new
romance.

Feeling warm with good intentions, I move on to Capricorn.

My warmth chills.

Capricorn is Sam’s sign. I try to remind myself that he’s not the
only
Capricorn in the world and aim for something non-Sam specific.

Capricorn

Celebrate the end of term by trying something new.

Bitterness gnaws at me.

Loyalty, for example.

How can I be non-Sam specific? Every other thought features Sam. I quit trying to be general and get personal.

I know it’s tough for an independent sign like you to commit, but stop weighing up your options. You’ve chosen your date for the prom. Stick with it before you break another
heart.

I hope he reads it. Even the Ice Queen deserves a boyfriend she can trust. I feel an ache where my heart used to be and try to ease it by writing my own horoscope.

Libra

Don’t panic. With the end of term looming, you find yourself facing a difficult week.

It’s End of Year Assembly
and
the prom on Friday. I’m not looking forward to either.

If you find yourself in the spotlight, let the stars be your guide. They haven’t let you down yet. Friday might feel lonely, but don’t forget you have friends and family who love
you. If you’re single, make the most of your freedom. It may not last forever.

Perhaps I shouldn’t go to the prom at all.

Then I remember my webzine article. I open a copy onscreen.
Make the Most of Being Single.
There’s no way I can dodge the prom. By Friday, half the school will have read my ode to
the single life. I
have
to turn up and show them I really don’t care about not having a boyfriend.

I delete the title. It sounds too apologetic. In its place I write
No Prom Date? No Problem!

I just wish it were true.

It’s drizzly on Monday. The dark sky’s so heavy, it’s scraping rooftops. To lighten the dullness in the webzine HQ, an unshaded light bulb flickers
half-heartedly above our heads. It’s the editorial meeting and we’re here to check each other’s articles before Wednesday’s publication.

‘I’ve got hard copies.’ Cindy waves a wad of printed A4. ‘Who wants to check what?’

‘I’ll check your Beauty feature, Cindy,’ Barbara offers.

‘Thank you, Barbie.’ Cindy peels the first page from her pile.

Jeff scratches his nose. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for Sam?’

‘Is he coming?’ Phil asks. ‘I saw him heading for the gates.’

‘If he’s not, he hasn’t told Cinders.’ Will flicks his head towards the Louis Vuitton bag on the chair beside her. ‘She’s already parked her
placeholder.’

Cindy scoops up her bag and swings it onto the desk behind. ‘I just don’t want it getting dirty on the floor.’

Will snorts. ‘Poor Cindy. The real world is so grimy.’

Cindy stares at him. Her blue eyes are rimmed with pink. Has the Ice Queen been sobbing? ‘You’ve been picking fights with me all year, Will. It’s our last meeting. Can you give
me a break?’

Will holds her gaze for a moment then looks away. ‘OK.’

It’s probably the most civilized conversation they’ve ever had.

I hold up my hand. ‘I don’t mind which article I check.’

‘Will you do Phil and David’s game review?’ Cindy hands me a paper.

‘Sure.’ As I take it, I hear footsteps outside.

Sam comes in. He’s damp from the rain. His face glistens and a dark blond curl clings to his cheek.

‘We thought you weren’t coming,’ Cindy comments.

Sam shakes out his hair. ‘I went to the shop.’ He takes a bottle of Coke from his pocket, unscrewing it as he sits beside Cindy, and takes a swig.

He hasn’t smiled. Or made eye contact. I’ve obviously evaporated from his vision. I focus on Phil and David’s reviews.

Best RPG, Best MMOFPS, Best SHMUP.

I scribble a note in the margin:
Explain abbreviations?

Will shifts beside me. ‘Can I proofread Jessica’s horoscopes?’

My pencil freezes on the page.

‘I’m surprised, Will.’ Cindy hands him the sheet. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in horoscopes.’

‘I’m open-minded,’ Will concedes as he takes it.

He’s interested!
I smother a smile.

Cindy eyes Sam. ‘Would you like to read my article on the fashion show?’ She offers it to him hesitantly.

Sam doesn’t even look at it. ‘I’d rather read Gemma’s piece.’

‘Gemma’s?’ Cindy flushes. ‘O-of course.’ She rifles through her papers and plucks out my article.

My stomach is tight. I’m fighting the blush that’s rising in my cheeks. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t written about something so personal. Please don’t let Sam recognize
he’s
Prince Charming.

As Sam starts reading, I try to focus on Phil and David’s game reviews.

‘Does
anyone
want to check my fashion piece?’ Cindy holds it up forlornly.

‘I will.’ I wave Phil and David’s game reviews. ‘I don’t understand enough of this to give an informed opinion.’ I have no idea what Rezzers, PUGs or Casters
are.

‘I’ll check it.’ Eagerly, Jeff takes my sheet of gobbledegook.

I sneak a peek at Sam as I take Cindy’s article. He’s frowning as he reads.

Oh, no!
Has he got to the bit where I call him a lame, immature, heartless boy yet?

I fix my eyes on Cindy’s prose.

Too Radical for London?

At Reuben’s show for Teen Couture, a behind-the-stage mix-up resulted in Reuben’s signature gold dress taking a tumble.

Sam hasn’t moved. It’s like he’s turned to stone.

My gaze flicks back to Cindy’s article and I skim-read to the middle.

Gemma teetered downstage as elegantly as a poodle on stilts.

Cindy’s cruel review is making no impact. I can’t drag my thoughts from Sam. He must have finished it by now.

Her hair looked like a warehouse fire.

He’s staring blankly at the page, his gaze fixed. I’m hardly breathing, but I force myself to keep reading.

If Gemma Stone thought she was the bomb, she certainly proved it as she fell with explosive style into the lap of top fashion critic Anna De Vine.

‘I’ve got to go.’ Sam’s voice makes me jerk up my head.

‘Sam?’ Cindy looks at him anxiously.

‘I’m starving.’ Sam’s on his feet and heading for the door.

‘But you just went to the shop—’ The door closes behind him before Cindy finishes her sentence. She picks up my article, which he’s left on his chair, and looks at it.
‘I thought it was cute for a first effort,’ she says.