Love-Struck Read online

  I took a deep breath, put down the cute netted skirt I had been holding, and pressed my hands together dramatically.

  “Do you remember what tonight is?”

  It was like the final question on University Challenge. Mum never remembers anything that I’ve got going on, and so when I ask her a question like that she always squints and thinks really hard like her whole future depends on it. Usually I think it’s funny and bless her rubbish little memory, but this wasn’t a laughing matter.

  Finally, she took a stab in the dark.

  “You’re … going out?”

  I nodded with wide eyes.

  “You’re going out … to a gig?”

  I nodded faster.

  “You’re going out … to a gig … with…” Then her mouth dropped and she squealed. “Ooooh, I remember, you’re going out with Jonah!”

  And the winner is…!

  “Yeah!” I squealed back, the excitement filling me up – but then I looked back at my room filled with clothes, none of which I could wear, and the dread deflated my bubble. “But I have nothing to wear! Nothing, nothing, nothing!”

  Mum pushed the door open (with a struggle) and came and sat on my bed.

  “Hol, you’ve got more clothes than me, Liz and your dad put together. How can you have nothing to wear?”

  I pouted.

  “I know I have clothes, I just need something different! I have to look good tonight. But not just good, like – super good. Amazing! So drop dead gorgeous that I sparkle and shine like some Christmas fairy and light up the floor. But maybe not so festive, because if I turn up looking like a Christmas tree I’m pretty sure I’ll get jumped, or laughed at, or—”

  “Stop! Take a deep breath, you’re rambling.”

  I took a few deep breaths whilst she continued.

  “What were you thinking about wearing?”

  I looked around my room.

  “I don’t know… A skirt, ’cause it will be hot inside? Or some tight jeans? Or … oh, I don’t know!”

  I collapsed into my pile of clothes, panicking.

  “Right!” Mum declared, picking up the clothes off my bed. “You’re going to go get in your bath, take off that face mask because you look like Frankenstein’s bride –” I touched my face and looked in the mirror. I did look a bit dead with the grey mask on. “– and I am going to pick you out something to wear!”

  Hmm.

  “Erm…”

  “It’s OK!” Mum exclaimed. “I’ll fix it, you’ll see! You’ll look hip!”

  Oh dear. I was a little bit worried, but she practically ushered me into the bathroom and shut the door on my stuttering face. So I just gave up, got in the bath and listened to my iPod.

  You make me feel seasick

  Because you’re so unpredictable

  One day you’re on my side

  But the next you’ve swam out with the first tide

  With all of my pride and confidence.

  I just can’t keep up the pretence

  That you and me are meant to be

  Because:

  You’re just the thorn

  In my side.

  I got out of the bath feeling good, and took my iPod back to my room, which was tidy (wahey!) with some clothes on my bed.

  I walked up and found my new tight jeans, all washed and ironed so they would make my bum look good (RESULT!) and a T-shirt.

  It was black, with frayed short sleeves and front ripped diagonally across the top of the chest. It was really hot. I picked it up, but something was weird on the back. I turned it over and saw that the back was sliced horizontally four times, so that it would hang off my back a bit.

  It was really, really, really hot.

  I dried my hair double-time, curled it and then pulled on my jeans. I looked at the top on my bed. Where on earth had Mum got it from?! I made a mental note to tell her that she was my favourite mummy and that I would love her for ever for this amazing act of … amazingness! I pulled it over my head and admired myself in the mirror. Oh my God, I looked awesome! I was going to kill at the gig.

  I was really tempted to take a picture and send it to Jonah, but Wes rang.

  “Hey babe, guess what? I’m wearing the best shirt ever!” I exclaimed, still admiring myself in the mirror. “It’s soo awesome!”

  “Erm, good for you…?” he replied. Huh, boys! They don’t get excited like girls do. I’d have to ring Jessi later and tell her, she’d get excited. “Look, I was ringing because we’ve got a slight situation with The Plan.”

  The Plan was that Wes, Emily and I would all meet outside The Venue at seven-fifteen. Well, that’s what Emily thought the plan was. The more detailed plan was that Wes would text Emily and ask her to walk with him, then stop by Emily’s at seven, so that they could spend a bit of impromptu time alone. Genius!

  “Why, what’s up? Is Emily not walking with you?”

  “Yeah, she is,” he said quickly. “That part of the plan is going OK. She said we could walk together, so we’ll be seeing you there.”

  “Oh, that’s good!” I exclaimed, but then panicked. “So what’s wrong? Is Margo not getting her in any more?”

  “No, she is,” he murmured, a bite to his tone. “Margo disappeared a while ago. She’s probably gone to make some kids cry somewhere,” he muttered darkly. “The problem is that before she went, she told The Mother that I ‘have a date’ with Emily. She just loves to stir that pot; she knew it would wind me up – she knows I hate Mum knowing my business. Anyway, The Mother apparently found out that Emily was the newest money in town, and was so happy that I seemed to be taking a interest in someone ‘right for me’ that she said –” Wes put on his best “Mummy” accent. “– ‘Dear, you simply must bring her home, I’d love to meet her, she sounds just darling!’”

  “Ohmigod!”

  Disaster!

  “But your mum … she’s … she’s…” What was the best way I could put this? “She’s scary!” I blurted out. “And a little bit crazy! She can’t meet her, she actually can’t, she’ll scare her off and then the entire plan will fall to pieces!”

  Possibly not the best attack, but never mind. Margo always just wants to mix everything up – she loves nothing more than to make trouble for everyone else and then to watch the chips fall. I decided to re-jiggle The Plan.

  “Look,” I said, suddenly assertive. “We just need to get through tonight and then regroup. What are you up to tomorrow?”

  Wes paused, thinking. “Nothing – I’m not doing anything, but aren’t you covering a shift for Ozzie?”

  Damn.

  “Yeah, I am. Humph! Right – tomorrow night?”

  “My mum’s not in – she’s at a dinner, so you want to come round here?”

  “Perfect!” I grinned. “I’ll bring us a supply from Ozzie’s and we can fix it, no problems. But back to tonight, are you wearing what we said?”

  “You bet.”

  The doorbell rang, and my mum shouted up.

  “Holly, it’s for you!”

  I gasped. What if it was Jonah?

  “Look, I’ve got to go,” I whispered. “I’ll see you later!”

  “Yeah, all right, see—”

  “Thanks, Mum!”

  I put down the phone and chucked it on to my dresser, then checked my reflection. No make-up. Yikes! At least my hair looked good. And the top really was killer. I didn’t even hear the door open.

  “Darling, I do rather like your shirt. Very Project Runway meets … Goth. Truly a daring number indeed – so unlike your usual, ah, style.”

  I turned around to see Margo dressed to kill in the best LBD (Little Black Dress) you have ever seen (think Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, but short). She looked stunning, as ever. You would think she was going to have high tea in a Parisian
black-and-white art movie, not going to see a band. But that’s Margo for you – always doing the unexpected.

  Like turning up at my house, unexpected and alone.

  I could smell a Chanel-covered rat.

  “Erm, thanks,” I replied cautiously. “Nice dress. What’s up?”

  She prowled into the room, over to my dresser, where pictures of Wes and me were stuck inside the rim of my mirror, along with a picture of my mum and dad, and then a picture of Lizzy and me. There were three pictures of Wes and me. One from last summer, where we were sunbathing and decided to put lines across our cheeks in sun cream like we were Native Americans; we’re both cross-eyed. Then there’s one from his birthday last year where everyone had to dress up as little kids – me in huge denim dungarees with bunches and drawn-on freckles, and Wes dressed up as Dennis the Menace. The last one was the most recent. Mum took it whilst we were just messing around in the back garden a few weeks before, and I’d stepped on some glass down the bottom of the garden (probably a bit that I hadn’t managed to pick up after my last party that the folks will never, ever know about) and cut my foot. Mum had been taking pictures of Lizzy out in the garden in her sun hat, to send to my aunt. Wes had insisted on carrying me back up to the house, and Mum had just taken the picture: we were both in hysterics, I had my arms wrapped tight around his neck and was looking up at him, grinning like a loon, and our faces were inches apart but he was looking back at me, laughing and staggering like he was going to fall over. I love that picture. It’s so happy. Mum put it in black and white, so it’s all arty, too. It looks like one of those pictures you find already in the picture frame when you buy it. I look pretty in it – my hair looks all shiny and soft – so I’ve put it up with the others.

  Margo went over and picked it out of the mirror, looking at it as she talked to me.

  “Dear Winston is taking Emily to The Venue tonight, is he not?”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “Hmm. The two of you usually do this kind of thing together, do you not? But instead Emily is going with my brother?” she drawled, putting the photo back in its place.

  “Yeah,” I started defensively. “Because he likes Emily, and I’ve got Jonah.”

  She moved her head to the side on a tilt.

  “Jonah?” she asked, as if uninterested. “Jones?”

  “Yeah,” I said again, but this time defiantly. “Jonah Jones. I’m meeting him tonight.”

  “Are you? Emily is going with Winston, and Jonah with you. And you will all meet up together at some point in the duration of the evening?”

  I nodded.

  “Now that is interesting,” she cooed, surveying me with her unfathomable eyes.

  “And why would that be interesting?”

  She was beginning to get to me. There was something in her eyes, a dark twinkling. Then it was gone.

  “No reason at all, darling, of course!” She moved to my door, and was just about to leave.

  “And darling, don’t fret when you bump into Emily and Wes, and she and Jonah are so familiar with one another. They should know each other quite well by now, I expect. After all, they have been texting back and forth all week! Have a lovely evening, Holly, dear.”

  How was I expected to have the best night of my life after that?!

  Margo left and I sat down heavily on my bed and thought hard.

  Emily liked Jonah – she said so in English the other day. Jonah liked Emily, platonically at least, because he offered help to her “anytime” when he picked up her books. They’d been texting. Jonah hadn’t texted me. But he had come around to my house, which was better than a text. And he had asked me out.

  After looking at the evidence, I came to the conclusion that I was the one who Jonah was meeting at half past seven at the bar, not the long-legged bimbo. And besides, she’d been texting Wes too. So she must like him. And after the gig, she would know that Jonah was interested in me, not her, and so everything would be all right. Margo just couldn’t keep herself to herself; she could never just let things lie.

  Well, not this time.

  I chucked on another CD and put on my make-up, dancing around the room and singing into my hairbrush. Tonight was going to be just that little bit awesome, I was going to dance like crazy and no one was going to ruin it!

  I walked, because it was a perfect summer night, warm without being sticky. The moon was out already, with the sunset starting to take place, so the air seemed sort of magical. As I strolled along, I got the feeling that anything could happen – Mum would have said it was a night when pixies come out and play: a night for romance and mischief.

  I got to The Venue a few minutes early, and walked up to the queue already forming outside. Teenagers from Cathen and surrounding villages and towns were in the queue; I knew a few who like the music scene around here and who I bump into frequently at gigs I go to. I love The Venue building. It’s big and black, with posters all over the walls where windows should be – posters of all the bands that have played there, posters from the Midsummer Raves before this one, and on the door was a massive poster advertising this year’s MSR, with a list of all the bands playing down the right-hand side. Halfway down in big black letters was “THE FAERIES”. I felt a thrill of excitement down my spine. Next week they would be on this stage! In seven days I would be, like, metres away from Robin. My heroes close enough to touch! The thought was like a blaze of fire running through me, making me feel indestructible and red hot. THE VENUE was written in thin silver letters above the door, tarnished like they had never been looked after.

  The thing about The Venue, though, isn’t the look. It isn’t the posters, or the impressive list of names on the outside, or the friendly, rock-star-dressed staff – it’s the atmosphere. The Venue just sort of calls you in: it just feels alive. On band nights the bass calls to you from deep inside, like the heartbeat of some giant melodic monster sleeping on the pavement. You can feel it as you walk past: its heartbeat calling yours to come and dance and rave and just beat in time with it. It really does take your breath away. Coming here is like a drug that leaves you on an unbeatable high, so I make a point of coming here and overdosing at least once a week.

  I arrived at the front of the queue, waiting where I said I would meet Wes. No one was allowed in yet, so the doormen weren’t busy. Well, I say doormen – more like door boys.

  The taller of the two spoke into his radio.

  “Salut? Salut! OI TK! You plonker – oui, c’est Remi! – ask Len if we can let ’em in yet, over.”

  Remi is the only person in Cathen who talks like that. A sweet French accent from his mother, and then a harsh British one following it, from his friends – he’s so strange, but awesome. I’ve been friends with the twins pretty much for ever, because we used to play together when we were tiny and we all grew up in the same town, went to the same primary school and then to the same secondary school, and are now in the same form.

  We’re all into the same kind of music so we used to come to The Venue together a lot. Then their band (The Mechanicals) picked up and they started playing here, I used to come and watch. They’re pretty good, and they play with some of the other local acts, which is fun. They took part in the Cathen Battle of The Bands last year and won, so they’re doing pretty well! And because they play here, they managed to swipe themselves jobs!

  It’s so not fair; it’s like the dream place to work for your average Cathen teenager. OK, so the twins are the doormen, they wipe up spillages, they clean the whole place afterwards, but still – they work at The Venue! It’s skivvy work but it’s more than worth it. The reason everyone wants to work here is because it means that they get free tickets to everything (yes, even MSR) and they get to go backstage and – this is the best part – they MEET THE BANDS. That’s right – in a week’s time, they would meet The Faeries! I would clean up a thousand spillages if it meant I could meet them. Remi a
nd Arno are so lucky!

  But it’s also a perk having them as your friends – it means that you can jump the queue a bit, and you get a heads up on what tickets are coming on sale. So it’s pretty good to have friends in the business.

  “Hey, boys!” I called over the metal fence. “How’s tricks?”

  Both blond-headed boys turned around, grinned and walked over to me.

  “Not bad, Comic Book Kid, not bad at all,” Remi replied, looking me up and down. “You’ve scrubbed up a bit, haven’t you? You’re not offending my eyes as much tonight as you usually do!”

  “Yeah, what’s the occasion?” asked Arno. “You don’t have to get dressed up to see us, you know that.”

  I laughed and smiled. “Tonight’s no ordinary night, gentlemen,” I proclaimed. “I have to look a little bit kick-ass.”

  “Mission accomplished!” Arno said with a cheeky wink. “So who’s the bloke?”

  “Must be a blind date,” Remi stage-whispered, whilst still looking at me. “Else if he knew what she looked like, why would he come out with Hockers?”

  Arno laughed. “Maybe it’s got something to do with her knoc—”

  “Actually,” I interrupted, leaning on the gate and trying to look serious. “It’s neither a blind date nor anything to do with my, ahem, looks. We’ve got common interests.”

  “Each other’s tonsils?” supplied Remi.

  “Jumping around in the dark, surrounded by lots of other people?” guessed Arno.

  “No!” I couldn’t stop myself from laughing this time. These boys just don’t let you take things seriously. “Music, blates!”

  They looked disappointed.

  Arno’s radio crackled and he turned around to answer it.

  “So,” Remi smiled, running a hand through his hair, trying to be light and offhand. “Is Margo coming tonight?”

  Oh, he’s so sweet. Margo isn’t right for him because she’s way too mean and he’s just so nice, but it doesn’t stop him being completely head-over-heels gaga for her. She’s like this goddess to him, and when she’s around no one else gets a look in. The sad thing is she knows that he wants her, and she uses it to her advantage. Talk about manipulative, jeez! I thought back to my room, Wes telling me that she had told his mother, then her trying to mess up my head about Jonah – the thought of her made me bristle.