Signs of Love - Love Match (15 page)

‘I
tackled
him!’ She flings her arms wide. ‘I tackled Jeff Simpson and won the ball.’ She stops and stares at me, as happy as Cinderella the morning after the ball. ‘I still can’t believe he’s coaching our team. He says he’s going to give me some one-on-one training to help me with my dribbling.’

‘It’s your drooling you need help with,’ I tease.

Treacle thumps me, then widens her eyes like a soap star overacting. ‘Hey, I forgot. The webzine’s out today. Have you seen it yet?’

I nod, clenching my teeth.

Treacle frowns. ‘Cindy’s shed article?’

‘Top story.’

‘That is
beyond
unfair.’

As she speaks, Savannah sweeps in. Her head’s bowed. She’s reading a print-out. ‘I don’t see how Jessica Jupiter can be so right one week and so wrong another.’ She flops on to the desk next to me and pokes her paper with a polished fingernail. ‘
And if there’s a curly-haired merman in your life, beware. He may not be flapping his tail just for you,’
she quotes. ‘The only curly-haired man in my life is Josh.’ Her brow furrows. ‘Is she saying that he’s seeing someone else?’

‘Who knows?’ I answer innocently.

‘She’s an idiot.’ Savannah flicks her hair back. ‘Where is Josh anyway?’ She scans the class.

I shrug. He’s usually here by now, but there’s no sign of him. I check to see if Chelsea’s missing too. But she’s skulking by the window, one eye on the door.

Savannah sighs. ‘He must have missed his bus.’ She screws up the print-out.

‘Hey, are those Jessica’s horoscopes?’ Chelsea points at the balled paper. ‘Can I read them?’

‘Sure.’ Savannah flings the paper at Chelsea.

‘Thanks.’

I nibble on a nail as Chelsea smoothes out the paper and starts reading. I hope she doesn’t pick up my zodiacal warning. I don’t want her taking evasive action. What’s the point in raising Savannah’s suspicions if Chelsea backs off till the heat’s off? Savannah needs to find out what’s going on.

Treacle’s furiously trying to catch my eye, but I can’t look at Treacle
and
keep up the innocent act with Savannah. I flash Treacle ‘Back Off’ signals, and am relieved when Miss Davis comes in.

‘OK, class.’ Her tone tells me she’s in super-efficient mode. ‘Quick registration. I want to run through our assembly before first lesson. Susan, have you brought your music?’

Susan nods and waves her iPod enthusiastically. I notice that she’s painted one nail on each hand bright blue.

‘Good.’ Miss Davis looks at the rest of the class. ‘Have you all brought your poems?’ As she ticks off names, we rummage for our books and print-outs.

‘I’ve left mine in my locker,’ Marcus mumbles.

Miss Davis looks up, sucking the end of her pen. ‘You’re Byron, aren’t you?’

Ryan laughs. ‘More like
moro
n.’

Miss Davis ignores him. She’s searching through the pile of books on her table. She pulls one out. ‘She walks in beauty, like the night.’ She passes him the book. ‘Page 204, I think.’

I grab my rucksack, warm from the radiator, and pull out the sheet I’ve printed from the internet. I found a poem I like at last. Emily Dickinson.

It seemed an appropriate poem for an undercover Cupid.

Miss Davis calls Marcus to the front of the class. ‘Why don’t you start us off.’

Marcus is blushing as he flicks through the book and begins reading.

‘She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies . . .’ His eyes are fixed firmly on the page, face down, neck red as a raspberry.

‘Look
up
!’ Miss Davis encourages. ‘The audience are going to want to see your face.’

Chelsea coughs. ‘Are you sure, Miss?’

‘Humiliation’ should be top of the list, right next to ‘Throwing Kids in Front of Buses’ as Number One No- No for teachers. My heart aches for Marcus, but Miss Davis seems oblivious to his agony.

He ducks closer to his page, his voice a monotone. ‘And all that’s best of dark and bright.’ His gaze flicks towards Savannah, then back to the page. ‘Meet in her aspect and her eyes—’

Suddenly the door flies open and Chelsea looks up like a dog hearing the rattle of a biscuit barrel.

Josh arrives, panting. ‘Sorry I’m late, Miss. Bus was late.’ He slides behind a desk. Savannah peels away from us and takes the seat beside him.

Chelsea’s watching from the next desk. I see her mouth curve into a smile as she rips a corner from her jotter and scribbles something on it.

Savannah’s whispering in Josh’s ear, but he shrugs her away, looking for something in his rucksack. Savannah scowls and slouches sulkily in her chair. She starts flicking through her poetry book.

And then it happens.

Chelsea makes her move.

I clutch Treacle’s arm as Chelsea reaches out and flaps a note beside Josh’s knee. He zips his bag shut, leans down to stow it against the desk leg and takes the note from Chelsea.

My gaze flits to Savannah. Is she still buried in her book?

No.

She’s staring at the small piece of white paper in Josh’s hand. She snatches it from him and reads it. ‘No way!’

‘Thus mellowed to that tender light—’ Marcus continues reading, but Savannah’s yelp of horror stops him mid-sentence. The class’s attention swivels towards her.

‘What’s the matter now?’ Miss Davis sighs.

‘Meet me behind the bike shed after school?’ Savannah’s reading the note out loud. She glares at Chelsea, her eyes blazing. Chelsea smiles, long and slow. Savannah’s rage fixes on Josh. ‘How could you?’

The whole class is enthralled. Then I notice Marcus. His eyes are round, like a dove’s. There’s no satisfaction there, only sympathy as he gazes at Savannah.

Savannah hasn’t finished. ‘And with
her
?’ She points at Chelsea. I can see Savannah’s eyes brimming with tears. Guilt surges through me.

It’s not your fault
, I tell myself. It’s Josh who’s been two-timing and Chelsea who passed the note. I just tried to give Savannah an early warning.

Savannah blinks, her eyes clearing. ‘I thought you liked me, but clearly you prefer fish that are easy to catch.’ She throws Chelsea a withering glance. ‘We’re finished, Mr Merman!’

Josh gapes at her. ‘What?’

‘Jessica Jupiter was right!’ Savannah tosses back her hair. ‘If you want to flap your tail at Chelsea, go ahead. You can swim away into the ocean and drown for all I care!’

‘Go, Savannah!’ Sally shouts, punching the air.

The class break into a spontaneous cheer. Treacle’s whooping beside me. I feel a flood of pride.
Well done, Savannah!

‘Now, now, class!’ As Miss Davis flaps like a dodo making one last attempt at flight, Savannah hunches down in her seat. I want to give her a hug. She looks like she could use one, and when the bell goes, I manage to catch her before we split up for the next lesson.

‘I’m sorry, Savannah,’ I sympathise.

Treacle bobs in beside us. ‘It’s better you found out now.’

Savannah’s half hiding behind her hair. She doesn’t look angry any more, just really, really sad. ‘It’s so embarrassing,’ she mutters.

‘Only for him.’ I throw Josh a death-stare. He’s exiting the classroom with the rest of the class, steering clear of Chelsea who’s eyeing him like a hopeful puppy. Red-faced, he slides into a gaggle of boys and glances ruefully back at Savannah.

Savannah shakes her head. ‘But
Chelsea
?’

‘He clearly doesn’t have good taste.’ Treacle raises her voice loud enough for Chelsea to hear.

‘We’ll talk about it at lunchtime, OK?’ I give Savannah a quick hug. She’s got German; we’ve got Spanish.

‘Yeah.’ She heads away down the hall. ‘Thanks.’

I glance at Treacle. ‘I hope she’s OK.’

‘We’ll cheer her up,’ Treacle promises.

‘Savannah!’

I hail her across the lunch hall, bobbing and weaving through the crowds to her table, trailing Treacle in my wake.

Savannah is looking surprisingly OK. Sal and Anila are clustered at her table with Marcus.

Laughing, Anila snatches a piece of paper from Sal and starts reading out loud. ‘Aries.’ As she reads on, I recognise Jessica’s words.

‘Star-ling, I have wonderful news. This week may seem to be littered with nothing but empty bubblegum wrappers . . .’

(I’d been staring at the overflowing wastepaper basket in the webzine HQ.)

‘. . . but don’t despair. On Friday a surprise lollipop will add a little sugar to your life.’

(Guess what I was sucking as I typed?)

‘It may not satisfy you, but it’ll keep you going until Saturday when a shopping trip turns out to be sweeter than you think. Just make sure you have your toothbrush handy or you might find a little plaque with your name on it.’

Sal’s clapping her hands like an overexcited seal. ‘This woman’s a genius!’

Savannah’s nodding. ‘How did she know Josh was sneaking around with Chelsea?’

On the other side of the lunch hall some shouting breaks out. A Year Eight girl is waving a piece of paper in front of an embarrassed-looking boy sitting next to her, who I assume must be her boyfriend. ‘Well, you must have done something,’ the girl shouts. ‘Jessica doesn’t lie.’

Her boyfriend runs his hand through his hair. His curly hair. Oh, dear. I hunch over my sandwiches and don’t dare look at Treacle.

‘Listen to this!’ Anila’s reading again.
‘Wednesday morning will bring a nasty surprise.’

(Will had walked into the room while I was typing and made me jump.)

‘OMG!’ Sal claps her hand over her mouth. ‘She knew about the German test!’

Anila slaps the paper down on the table. ‘She’s psychic. No question.’

I lift my lunch box to cover my smile. If only they knew how random my predictions were!

‘I don’t know about you . . .’ Cindy pauses and gazes dramatically around the storeroom. ‘. . . but I don’t think there’s
anything
here fit for publication.’ She drops a thick wad of papers into the bin beside her desk.

We’re reviewing the article submissions sent in by our readers.

I stare at the bin and grind my teeth. I know what it’s like to be cold-shouldered by the Ice Queen. She’ll probably be picking through the submissions later, looking for something to steal. I imagine her like a bag lady – fingerless gloves, skewed hat, scuffed boots – crouched over the bin, chuckling as she snatches at the discarded papers and scours them for inspiration.

Will’s leather jacket creaks as he shifts in his seat. ‘For once, we agree.’

Sam looks out from under his hair. ‘The article on improving school dinners was OK,’ he ventures.

Will snorts. ‘Who eats school dinners?’

‘We do,’ Phil pipes up.

David nods. ‘They’re really not that bad.’

Will holds up his hands. ‘Well, in that case they don’t need improving.’