Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid (9 page)

Treacle slumps against the form-room door. ‘I wish I was going to the gig instead of meeting Jeff’s parents.’

Savannah starts bouncing again. ‘You could
get ready with us
!’ she gasps. ‘Then we can give you moral support, and you can help Gemma with her hair.’ She glances
at my curls, wild now the morning straightening has worn off. ‘I don’t think I can manage it alone.’ She gives me a wicked grin.

Treacle hugs me protectively. ‘Gem’s hair is gorgeous,’ she protests. ‘Her wild, windswept look is cool.’

Savannah tips her head. ‘Less windswept, more hurricane survivor!’

‘Hey!’ I belt her with my bag and she escapes squealing into the classroom.

‘Help me!’

I chase her in, ignoring her pleas for mercy until she cowers behind a desk. Marcus, feet up on a chair, is leafing through a comic at the back of the classroom. ‘Do you need
assistance?’

Savannah looks up eagerly. ‘Yes!’

Marcus winks. ‘I was talking to Gemma, not you.’ He sounds relaxed. Like he’s deleted our lunchtime soap-opera moment. Savannah gawps at him while I collapse into relieved
giggles and spare her life.

We calm down and settle in our usual spot beside the radiator. Treacle clings on to it, breathing in the rising heat.

Savannah stretches out her long legs. ‘Friday is going to be so great.’

Treacle looks at her doubtfully. ‘For you, maybe.’

I bite my lip. Doubt creeps into my mind. What if LJ ignores Sav completely and she’s devastated? Or, even worse, makes a move on her? What if I fail to find anything to report back to
Will? He’ll never take me seriously and I’ll be stuck on the horoscopes for life. I start chewing my thumbnail, suddenly worried. Friday night might turn out to be anything but
great.

‘How are we going to make Sav look terrible?’ Treacle is sitting on my bed, reviewing my brilliant plan to bomb Savannah’s chances with LJ.

It’s Friday night and the bus leaves in an hour. I look at my watch. Savannah’s fifteen minutes late. If she doesn’t arrive soon, there won’t be time to turn her from
beauty to beast.

‘Savannah’s way too pretty,’ Treacle points out. ‘She’d even look great in
this
!’ She looks down at the caramel cardigan and neat turquoise dogtooth
checked skirt she’s borrowed from her mother.

Jeff’s parents will think he’s dating a librarian.

I peer out the window at the empty street. ‘We’ve made you look like Ugly Betty,’ I argue. ‘We can do it with Sav too.’

My bedroom is awash with discarded clothes. Treacle’s tried on everything I own, but decided in the end caramel and turquoise is the only way to go.

My outfit was easy to choose. I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just after a good story so all I need are trainers for creeping around backstage, a pocket for my phone, and jeans
so I can climb out a window in an emergency.

I check my watch again. She’s sixteen minutes late now. ‘Hurry up, Sav!’

‘Are you sure this is fair?’ Treacle asks me, a worried look on her face.

‘It’s the only way I can think of to save her from LJ.’

‘Does she need saving?’ Treacle suddenly seems doubtful. ‘She really likes LJ.’

‘I know,’ I concede. ‘But the only person LJ really likes is himself. We’re just trying to protect her.’

‘Perhaps he’ll be different with Savannah,’ Treacle says. ‘He did give her a ticket.’

‘I bet he gave tickets to his whole fan club.’

The doorbell goes and I shoot out on to the landing. ‘Savannah!’

She’s hammering upstairs. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she puffs. ‘Forgot to switch on the hair straightners. I spent ten minutes trying to flatten my hair with sub-zero
GHDs!’ She races past me, a designer carrier bag trailing, and disappears into my room.

Poor Sav
. She must be in a state to make such a basic fashion error. I follow her into my room. The carrier bag’s on the floor and she’s already holding up two stunning
outfits.

‘Which one?’ She wafts an electric blue tulip dress in front of her. It’s fabulous. Then she does a quick switch and dangles a sequined sheath dress under her chin. The
spangles light her up like a goddess.

‘Neither.’ I snatch them from her quickly. ‘You’ll look the same as the rest of his groupies.’

She gapes at me. ‘But they’re my best outfits.’

‘And they’re beautiful.’ I lay them carefully on the bed. ‘But what if Bethany’s there. You know she’s going to go for the same leggy, knock-out look. You
need to stand out.’

Savannah’s face crumples with doubt. ‘Do you think so?’ She looks at Treacle.

Treacle nods. ‘Gemma’s right.’ She picks up a long beige dress from the floor. ‘Try this. It’s slinky.’

It
is
figure-hugging but we’re hoping the mushroom sheen will make Savannah invisible.

She slides it on and turns round to check the mirror. ‘Not bad . . .’

Not
bad
? It clings to her from neck to ankle. She looks
fabulous
, like a lotus flower about to blossom. ‘No good.’ I grab a grey, boxy, knee-length dress that should
turn her into a dowdy secretary.

‘Really?’ Savannah’s still admiring the lotus dress. ‘I quite like this one.’

‘You’ll love this one more,’ I promise, holding out the grey dress.

She takes it uncertainly. ‘Won’t I look like a frump?’

Treacle raises her eyebrows at me. I know what’s she’s thinking. Savannah’s un-frumpable.

She tries on the grey dress. I’m right; she looks like a secretary, but a secretary who’s just whipped off her specs and let down her hair to reveal her inner beauty queen. If
anything, the dullness of the dress highlights her gorgeousness.

Treacle stares in dismay. ‘It’s not fair.’ She stands next to Savannah in her librarian outfit. ‘We’re like Before and After photos.’

I herd Treacle away. ‘This is not a good time for comparisons. You’re visiting Aged Relatives. Savannah’s spending the evening with the King of Cool.’ Then an idea
flashes in my brain.

Emo!

LJ – an all-American, catwalk-worshipping, hair-gel-based life-form – is bound to think that the dark, troubled world of a classic emo is totally without Cool. But how can I sell it
to Savannah?

‘I know!’ I cry.

‘What?’ Treacle and Savannah goggle at me.

‘Cindy’s been doing a survey on what boys think are the hottest looks.’ OK, it’s a complete lie, but Savannah’s leaning closer, eyes wide, so I keep going.
‘As beauty editor on the webzine, Cindy is trying to discover what fashion-look gets the most attention from boys aged fourteen to sixteen.’

Savannah claps her hands excitedly. ‘That’s LJ’s age-group.’

‘Precisely.’

Treacle tips her head. ‘Well?’

I press on. ‘Out of all the boys she surveyed . . .’ I wait for an imaginary drum-roll ‘. . . the most popular look is . . .’

Savannah’s practically panting.

‘. . .
emo.
’

‘Emo?’ Savannah echoes the word like she’s misheard.

I cross my fingers behind my back and pray she takes the bait.

‘Emo,’ she says again. She starts nodding. ‘
Emo
.’ It’s sinking in. ‘OK. I’ll give it a try.’

I give Treacle a massive thumbs up behind Savannah’s back. We’re going to make her look grunge-tastic.

Treacle starts working on her make-up while I find every piece of black clothing I own. When I turn round, arms loaded, Treacle’s already rimmed Savannah’s eyes with red eyeshadow
and is working on a thick lining of black.

I wait while she adds the finishing touches: whitening Savannah’s complexion till it’s vampire-pale and then mixing Savannah’s crimson lipstick with a drop of eyeliner to make
a lip-stain so dark it’s scary.

‘Now for the clothes,’ I smile.

Between us, we manage to cover most of Savannah. We swathe her, head to foot in black. Ripped tights, tight dress, all swamped by a flowing coat I borrowed from Mum three years ago when it was
already fit for the recycling bin. I’ve got some purple hairspray left over from Halloween to tint a few strands around Savannah’s face.

I look at my watch. Finished with five minutes to spare.

‘What do you think?’ Treacle asks as Savannah looks in the mirror.

Personally, I love it. She’s a gothic nightmare. Dracula would eat her up. But clean-cut, carb-cutting LJ will recoil in horror.

‘I look a bit pale.’ Savannah pinches her cheeks. She doesn’t look entirely in love with the style-change.

‘Come on.’ I start hustling her toward the door before she bails. ‘We don’t want to miss the bus.’

Treacle gasps. ‘I’ve got to be at Jeff’s in fifteen minutes.’ She’s first downstairs and out the front door.

I follow with Savannah, ushering her after Treacle before I poke my head round the kitchen door.

Mum looks up from the stove where she’s stirring risotto. ‘Are you off?’

‘Got to catch the bus.’

‘What about dinner?’

‘Save me some,’ I tell her. ‘I won’t be late.’

‘Half past ten,’ she calls as I head for the front door.

‘OK,’ I yell back.

Ben is standing in the living-room doorway, staring after Savannah as she flutters out of the house like a bat. ‘Is it a fancy dress party?’ he asks.

‘Shh!’ I’m terrified Savannah will hear. ‘It’s just a look she’s trying out.’

Ben looks thoughtful. ‘She doesn’t look pretty any more.’

I wave him away, secretly pleased. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Ben.’ Before he can say anything else I follow Treacle and Savannah on to the driveway.

‘Bye, Treac!’ I say as we part at the corner. ‘Good luck.’

Treacle wanders away, shoulders drooping as she heads for Jeff’s.

‘You’ll be fine!’ I shout after her.

‘Don’t forget to smile!’ Savannah calls.

Savannah and I head for the bus stop, arriving just as the bus does. ‘
You
mustn’t smile,’ I tell her as we get onboard. ‘Smiling isn’t part of the
look.’

Swaying as we head upstairs to find seats, I start to feel like a freak next to Sav. I look stupidly normal by comparison and I’m kind of embarrassed to be seen with her. Guilt pricks me
and, when I spot Marcus with Ryan, Bilal, Sal and Chris McClaren at the back of the top deck, I feel even worse.

‘Oh my God!’ Sal comes racing down the aisle. ‘What have you done to yourself, Sav?’

I cringe.
Shut up, Sal. It’s for her own good!

‘What?’ Savannah’s blinking at her.

‘You
do
know LJ will be there, don’t you?’

Savannah flicks a purple strand of hair over her shoulder. ‘Well, duh!’

‘So why are you dressed like Kurt Cobain just died again?’ Sal is clearly in shock.

‘I’m trying out a new look.’ She gazes at me fondly. ‘Gemma told me boys think it’s hot.’

Sally looks over her shoulder at Ryan, Bilal and Chris. They’re sniggering and poking each other, glancing at Savannah. They don’t exactly look over-heated. Then she takes in my
clean-jean ensemble. ‘Not hot enough to try it herself, I see.’

I defend myself, guilt choking me. ‘I’m – er – not interested in anyone . . .’

‘I’m glad.’ Sal switches her attention back to Savannah. ‘If we had one more Goth on board, we’d reach critical mass and implode into a black hole.’

Savannah’s red-rimmed eyes spark with worry. ‘Do I look silly?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Sally comforts her. ‘It’s good to see you trying something . . .’ She fumbles for words ‘. . . new.’

Bilal hoots with laughter while Ryan turns away. Marcus isn’t laughing. He’s staring at Savannah, his eyes soft. My guilt eases a little. Once again Marcus has proved he’s the
best boy for Savannah. If only she’d realize it.

But she’s sunk into a seat and is slouching against the window. ‘Oh God,’ she whines as I sit next to her. ‘What have I done? I can’t believe I agreed to wear
this.’ She fixes me with an earnest look that nearly kills me. ‘Are you sure Cindy’s survey said
emo
?’

‘Definitely.’ I try to ignore the snickering at the back of the bus and focus on the fact I’m saving Savannah from heartbreak. She insists on walking into the lion’s den
– I’m just making sure she looks more like a cabbage than a honey-glazed ham. I sit back in my seat and persuade myself it’s going to be a great evening. LJ will snub Savannah and
Marcus – sweet, sweet Marcus – will be there to mop up the tears. They’ll be dating within a week and living happily ever after by Easter.

We get off near the nightclub. As we reach the door, Savannah starts acting like a shrunken violet, hunching inside her flapping black coat. She shows her ticket and slinks past the doorman.

I follow, sliding my arm through hers. ‘You look great, Sav,’ I tell her. ‘LJ is going to go nuts for you.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she mutters bitterly.

The club is packed. Familiar faces from school dot the crowd. On the stage at the far end of the room, Sam is fiddling with a microphone, adjusting the height. I wonder if he’s nervous.
This must be his biggest gig yet.

‘Hi, Savannah.’ A familiar American twang plucks my ear.

LJ steps from the crowd, his entourage filtering out after him.

Savannah looks ready to die. Her gaze is darting everywhere. She looks like she’s trying to escape her body.