Destiny Date (15 page)

Cindy pulls out the hat and wig and finds the nose and false eyelashes at the bottom of the bag. ‘This is great, Gemma. Thanks so much for doing this.’ She grins at me, her blue eyes
sparkling. ‘I can’t wait to see everyone’s face. Especially Will’s. He still thinks Jessica won’t show.’

‘He still might be right.’ I feel sick.

Cindy doesn’t hear. ‘I wonder if I should tell him that it’s you.’

‘No!’

‘But now we’re dating, it feels wrong to trick him.’

‘The fewer people who know I’m Jessica, the better.’ I look straight at her. ‘I want to be taken seriously next year.’

‘Of course.’ She shakes her hair away from her face. ‘You’ve been brilliant as Jessica, but I know how important your writing is to you.’

‘You
do
?’
Then why have you been making it so hard to get my real name in print?
I feel a surge of anger.

‘Yes,’ she says breezily. ‘Next year will be totally different. No bickering with Will. We’ll work as a team. And you can have your own column.’

‘I can?’ I stare at her.

‘Of course.’ She smiles, gracious as a queen. ‘You promise to still do Jessica’s column though?’

‘OK.’ It seems a small price to pay for my own column.

Cindy checks the clock over the door. ‘We’d better get a move on. Assembly starts in half an hour.’

Changing into the riding habit is the easy part. Getting my hair under the wig proves tricky. After pulling it over my head like she’s trying to bag weasels, Cindy sits back and sighs. The
black wig hangs limp in her hand. Then she straightens. ‘I have an idea.’ She rummages in her Louis Vuitton and pulls out a pair of tights. ‘I’m always prepared.’

She waits for me to gather my hair into a bun then pulls the tights over my head. I bite my lip as she heaves them down until my head is wedged firmly into one of the legs.

She steps back and giggles. ‘Perhaps we should introduce Jessica Jupiter as a bank robber.’

The nylon crushes my scalp. Cindy fusses over the stray ends of my hair, ties the dangling legs in a knot at the back and then slides the wig over the top. It feels tight, but firm.

Cindy admires her work. ‘Very nice,’ she nods approvingly. She pulls a mirror from her bag like Mary Poppins and stands it on a desk. ‘You put on your nose while I get my
make-up bag out.’

I use the gum the costume man sold me to fix Jessica’s nose into place. Then Cindy slathers me in foundation. ‘I’m making it quite dark,’ she tells me. ‘I think
Jessica would have a suntan, don’t you?’

I nod. I’m leaving her in charge of the make-up while I run through my speech in my head.

Star-lings. I’m so glad you asked me to speak to you today.
Not.

Before I know it, Cindy’s gluing on my eyelashes then painting my lips.

‘Done,’ she says at last and straightens. She takes the hat from its plastic bag wrapping and hands it to me.

I duck to look in the mirror as I put the hat on.

I’m amazed. I don’t look anything like me. The smile and eyes are mine. But everything else belongs to someone I don’t know. I pull the veil down over my face and the
transformation is complete.

‘What do you think?’ I turn to Cindy.

She puts her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, Gemma, we’re so clever! No one will ever guess!’

My stomach’s flipping. Assembly starts in five minutes. I fumble for the cards in the bottom of my bag. I’ve made notes that should keep me on track during my speech.

‘I’ve been so worried.’ Cindy heaves a sigh. ‘I thought this was going to be the worst end of term ever. But it’s going to be fine. And I even have a prom
date.’ Her eyes glaze dreamily. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Will asked me out. I had no idea he felt that way.’ She presses a hand to her chest dramatically. ‘I had no
idea
I
felt that way. But, when we hugged, it just felt so right. For the first time ever I don’t feel angry with him. I can’t even
imagine
being angry with him now.
Do you realize what a wonderful boy Will is?’

She’s gushing. I’m prickling with irritation at her switch in loyalties. What about Sam? She’s been trying to climb into his lap all year. Now it’s like he doesn’t
exist. And what about me? She made me believe they were dating, flashing her bracelet at me and pretending it was a present from Sam. I lift my chin and stare at her through my veil. ‘Why did
you make me think you were going out with Sam?’

Cindy pauses for a moment. ‘Did I?’ she asks innocently.

‘Yes.’ I’m not letting her wriggle out of it. ‘In Paris, you told me that Sam had bought you that bracelet.’

‘I didn’t say we were going out though.’ Cindy looks flustered.

‘But it’s what you wanted me to believe, wasn’t it?’ In the hat and wig and riding habit, I feel as tough as Jessica.

Cindy must sense that I’m not just a shy Year Nine any more. She can’t push me around. She sighs. ‘Yes, I wanted you to believe it,’ she admits. ‘I could see the
way he was mooning over you and I was angry.’

‘So you
did
like him?’

‘I used to, before Will.’ Cindy tips her head, drifting away. ‘Will’s so much more mature. He’s got an after-school job, did you know that? He’s saving up for
uni. Sam’s probably planning to tour Europe with his band when he’s finished school. Can you imagine anything so childish?’

Actually, I can. It sounds cool. My heart feels suddenly heavy. I’ve dreamed of being part of Sam’s future for so long that it hurts to have the possibility snatched away. My chance
has been ruined because of Cindy and her stupid bracelet.

She wafts past me and opens the door. ‘Come on.’

I pick up the riding crop that came with the costume and wonder whether to batter her to death. I decide against it. It’d upset Will.

I stride out into the corridor, comforted by the sharp clack my riding boots make against the stone floor. I look like Jessica Jupiter, but will I be able to act like Jessica Jupiter well enough
to fool the whole school?

‘Mr Harris.’ Cindy leads me forward. We’re backstage in the assembly hall among the curtains and clutter left over from the school play. ‘This is
Jessica Jupiter.’

I try not to look terrified. I hold out my hand and deepen my voice. ‘So pleased to meet you,’ I drawl. Will he buy it?

‘Miss Jupiter, what a delight.’ Mr Harris shakes my hand warmly. ‘The students have enjoyed your horoscopes enormously. You’ve been a real hit at Green Park
High.’

He doesn’t recognize me!
Excitement rushes through me until I remember it’s Mr Harris. I suspect there are days when Mr H doesn’t recognize his wife
.

‘I don’t know if you’ve prepared a speech for the students, but I thought it might put you at your ease if I asked you a few question onstage and then, perhaps, I could lead a
question and answer session with the students?’

‘That sounds fabulous,’ I gush. I finger the notes in my pocket that I no longer need.
Please, stars, if you have any power, help me now!

Mr Harris walks me through the wings. The hall’s throbbing with muffled chatter. I peek past the curtain and spy the audience. A thousand faces. At least half a million pimples. The air
tastes of Clearasil. It’s wafting to the stage on a draught from the open doors at each corner of the hall.

Mr Harris steadies me with a hand. ‘Please wait here while I introduce you.’

As he steps forward, the teachers slam the doors shut. The draught stops. Suddenly I’m sharing a spoonful of oxygen with two thousand lungs.

My breathing quickens and I stagger. Cindy presses close against me. ‘Don’t worry, Gemma. It’ll be over in five minutes.’

As she speaks, the hall explodes. The audience bursts into applause, cheering and whooping like a tribe of gorillas. Mr Harris is beckoning me forward. Cindy gives me a shove and I walk into the
wall of noise.

They’re pleased to see you,
I encourage myself, but my heart’s thrashing like a salmon.

Mr Harris waves the audience into silence.

I scan the faces for Treacle. She’s there, halfway down the hall, between Savannah and Sally. She sends me a wide grin and I smile back gratefully.

‘Miss Jupiter,’ Mr Harris looks at the gorillas. He grabs my elbow and draws me to his side. ‘As you can see, we’re all thrilled to have you here.’

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I can’t take my eyes off the gazillion faces. I try and focus on Treacle, but my mind’s racing. I’m not Jessica Jupiter. I’m a
Year Nine girl in a costume. Why did I ever think I could do this?

‘How did you start your career in astrology?’ Mr Harris is staring at me.

‘I don’t know.’ The answer comes out before I know it.

‘You don’t
know
?’ Mr Harris’s eyes widen.

Panic.

I have three choices. I can run screaming from the stage. I can stand staring at Mr Harris until everyone gets bored and goes home. Or I can make something up. The third option seems best.

I take a deep breath and remember the first time I slid into Jessica’s persona. I was home, comfy on the sofa, remembering the glamorous old movie stars from the black-and-white films I
used to watch with Mum. I’d slipped into character as a fun way of livening up a dull project.

‘I don’t know,’ I repeat, this time using Jessica’s husky drawl, ‘because I wasn’t there.’

Mr Harris leans closer, intrigued. ‘You weren’t there?’

‘I was working as a hack on some rag in New York, trying to make enough to pay the rent on my downtown apartment. One morning, I simply walked into the newsroom and Lou, the editor, yells
at me across the room: “
Jessica!
. . .”’ I slip into a screeching Brooklyn accent I learnt watching Sky. ‘“
Psychic Sal just got hit by a bus. You’re
our new astrologist. I want five hundred words by midday.
”’ I turn my wide gaze on Mr Harris. ‘I was so surprised I gave him a thousand.’

The audience chuckles. I lift my chin. I might pull this off after all.

‘Where did you get your name, Jessica
Jupiter
?’ Mr Harris probes.

I touch his arm. ‘Oh, darling!’ I give a throaty laugh. ‘I’ve had so many names, I’ve lost count. I hardly remember what I was called as a child – Pippa
something, I think. After four husbands and myriads of pseudonyms, I’ve ended up with Jessica Jupiter.’ I eye Cindy in the wings. ‘It’s a dumb name, but it works for me so I
keep it.’

‘Four husbands?’ Mr Harris is fascinated. ‘Is that how you came to live in New York?’

‘No, no. I didn’t marry an American until
much
later.’ I put my hand to my throat. I’m starting to have fun. I’m lucky stories come so easily to me.
‘I won’t bore you with the details.’

‘Oh, please,’ Mr Harris coaxes. An enthusiastic murmur ripples through the audience.

My mind hops and skips ahead, researching ideas. ‘I was on the run when I came to America,’ I tell him. ‘From husband number one. He was a brute. Rich as a lord, but a terrible
cad. He once chased me down Bond Street waving a revolver. He wouldn’t divorce me. So I took the first flight I could get and landed in New York with nothing but my favourite pair of shoes
and a typewriter. I had to make a living and you can’t do much with a pair of shoes. So I used my typewriter and became a journalist.’

‘A typewriter?’ Mr Harris stares at me. ‘It must have been a long time ago.’

‘Are you referring to my age?’ I turn to the audience and raise my eyebrows. ‘How dreadfully impolite.’

They hoot and clap and I smile.

Mr Harris raises his voice over the noise. ‘Forgive me, Miss Jupiter. But you look younger than I expected.’

‘I sacrifice virgins and drink their blood, Mr Harris, like any self-respecting woman.’ I glance at the audience again. ‘Virgins are cheaper than cosmetic surgery.’

‘Not at Green Park they’re not,’ yells a Year Eleven girl.

Her classmates howl in agreement and the hall bursts into laughter.

I see fear glint in Mr Harris’s eye. I’m straying off topic and he brings me back sharply before there’s a riot. ‘How do you come up with your horoscopes?’ he asks
loudly.

The audience quietens. I pause. What do I say now? I can’t tell them that I write anything that comes into my head. My first horoscope predicted a cheese-related incident because I was
staring at crumbs on a plate when I wrote it.

‘I map the stars,’ I announce at last. ‘And check their alignment. It’s the cosmic tug of war between heavenly bodies that causes changes in our destiny.’ I’m
guessing wildly now. ‘Of course, a lot of what I write is based on intuition.’
And luck!

‘Why do you think you resonate so much with young people?’ Mr Harris asks.

That’s easy to answer. ‘Because I’m young at heart,’ I tell him honestly. ‘Inside, I’m fourteen years old. I know what it’s like to face each day
wishing and hoping your dreams will come true, but never knowing for certain. I hope I offer certainty in an uncertain world.’

Mr Harris presses his palms together. ‘Thank you, Miss Jupiter. This seems like a good time to ask the audience for questions.’ He turns to the face-sea. ‘Would anyone like to
put up their hand if they have a question for Miss Jupiter?’