Paris Crush (5 page)

‘This is so cool,’ Treacle grins. Then she freezes. ‘But what about Savannah?’

I stop dancing. ‘What?’

‘Don’t worry.’ Savannah flicks her hair over her shoulder.

‘Don’t worry about what?’ I’m on the bed beside her in an instant. ‘Isn’t Marcus going?’

Savannah shrugs. ‘I don’t even know if I’m going yet.’

‘
What?
’ I can’t believe it. Savannah’s the coolest babe in Year Nine. And her Dad drives a Merc.
Of course
she’s going to Paris.

‘You know my dad.’ Her legs are crossed and she’s swinging her foot. ‘He’s just being overprotective, as usual.’

Treacle sweeps Savannah’s hair away from her cheek. ‘You’ll persuade him, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’ Savannah’s trying to sound breezy, but I can see a worried shadow in her eyes. ‘I just need to dazzle him with a few health and safety stats. He thinks
I’m going to choke on a baguette or get kidnapped by onion sellers.’

Treacle tips her head. ‘What if me and Gem talk to him?’ she suggests. ‘We can promise we won’t let you out of our sight.’

Savannah looks thoughtful. ‘That might work,’ she murmurs. ‘He thinks Gemma’s Miss Sensible.’

Treacle bristles. ‘And
I’m
not?’

‘Not since you started dating a footballer,’ Savannah apologizes. ‘He thinks you’ve turned WAG.’

Treacle crosses her arms.

Savannah nudges her. ‘You have gone a bit glam lately.’ She tugs the pretty-pink sleeve of Treacle’s blouse. Before Jeff, Treacle was strictly football boots and striped
jersey. Now she says things like, ‘Do these shoes match?’ and ‘Can I borrow your tartan mini?’
Old
Treacle never borrowed anything except lip balm to stop her lips
chapping on the pitch.

Treacle huffs. ‘Just because I dress better doesn’t mean my brains have shrunk.’

Savannah wriggles away from us and leaps off the bed. ‘Why are we worrying about what my dad thinks when there are far more important things to discuss?’

I snuggle up against my pillows. ‘Like what?’

A wicked glint twinkles in Savannah’s eye. It sparks a similar flash in Treacle’s.

‘What?’ I demand. Clearly, they’ve been swapping gossip without me.

Treacle grabs my foot and wiggles it. ‘Your new sweetheart.’

‘What?’ I sit up like a rabbit at the sound of gunfire. ‘Who?’

Savannah smiles. ‘Ru-pee.’

Who?

‘Rupert Briggs,’ Treacle teases. ‘He’s been following you around like a lost puppy all week. He’s totally smitten.’

I leap to my feet. ‘No way!’ Savannah and Treacle swap looks.

‘Methinks she doth protest too much,’ Savannah singsongs Shakespeare at me.

‘Rupert drives me nuts!’ I splutter. ‘Have you heard his jokes?’

Treacle grins. ‘
Everyone’s
heard his jokes.’

‘About a zillion times,’ Savannah adds. ‘But he’s probably just trying to cover his shyness.’

‘Why cover it?’ I mutter. ‘Shyness would improve him.’

Treacle tugs my foot. ‘Ah, Gem. Give the guy a chance.’

Savannah joins in. ‘He’s new. It must be really tough for him. The least you could do is make him feel welcome.’

‘Yeah, Gem.’ Treacle round-eyes me. ‘Give the boy a chance. Beneath that lame exterior there may be a really sweet guy trying to get out.’

Savannah squeezes in beside me. ‘Remember how you tried to get me to see Marcus’s inner sweetie?’

I grunt. ‘I guess.’

‘Promise us you’ll give him a chance,’ Treacle pleads.

I chew on my bottom lip. The thought of dating Rupert feels weird. But the Cupid Twins are staring at me imploringly. And maybe it’s time to stop being Miss Sensible and join the
girlfriend brigade. ‘OK,’ I grumble. ‘I’ll give him a chance if it’ll make you happy.’

It’s Friday lunchtime and the webzine HQ is so crowded that the windows are steaming up. Outside, a heavy sky glowers over the schoolyard and raindrops trace wandering
paths down the clouded glass. Inside, the air is thick. The whole team is here, working on their pieces for next week.

I’ve already slipped off my blazer and hung it over the back of my chair. The damp weather has sent my hair frizztastic.

‘Crack open a window, Cinders.’ Will looks up from his keyboard. ‘We’re suffocating in here.’

Cindy is leaning over Sam’s shoulder, reading his review of the Elastic Funk gig he went to last night. Her sleek, silvery hair slaps his cheek as she snaps her head up and glares at Will.
‘Do it yourself.’

‘Are you scared Sam’s spelling will slip if you leave his side for a second?’ Will crunches down hard on the end of his pencil.

‘I’m the editor, not the office junior,’ Cindy sniffs.

Will leans over and tugs one of my corkscrew locks. ‘Hey, Lizzie Siddal, go open a window.’

I scowl at him. ‘Lizzie Siddal?’ How did he come up with that nickname?

‘Google it, doll-face.’ Will turns back to his keyboard and starts hammering.

Cindy leans closer to Sam. Sam’s got his eyes fixed on the monitor.

‘Give the poor lad some air,’ Will growls, without looking up. ‘He’s probably choking on your perfume.’

Cindy turns her perfect nose towards Sam. ‘I’m not crowding you, am I, Sam?’

Sam’s flushing. ‘Not really.’ His eyes meet mine and I look away like he’s caught me spying.

‘I’ll do it.’ I get up and head for the window, but Sam’s already on his feet.

‘Let me.’ He slides his hand under mine and takes the stiff metal handle and cranks it open. ‘Elizabeth Siddal was an artist’s model,’ he whispers.
‘Will’s just turned in an English essay on the Pre-Raphaelite painters. She had hair like yours.’ Before I can answer he’s gone, sliding in beside Cindy.

‘Thanks, Gemma.’ Barbara looks up at me gratefully. ‘I was boiling.’

‘Sam opened the window, not me,’ I point out.

‘It’s the thought that counts.’ She’s working with pen and paper, sketching out next week’s feature. I notice her nails are painted today. And her chair is turned
towards David’s desk.

David is huddled beside Phil as they surf the web, looking at Amazon’s top ten gadgets. ‘We could put together a list of the five most affordable cameras with the best
reviews,’ David suggests.

‘And a list of the five with the worst reviews,’ Phil adds.

Cindy looks up. ‘Just make sure you quote your sources,’ she warns. ‘I don’t want the webzine accused of plagiarism.’

‘What’s plagiarism?’ Jeff stops typing.

I scowl. ‘It’s when someone steals another person’s work and pretends it’s all their own.’ I throw a meaningful look at Will, but he carries on typing.

I feel Sam’s gaze on me. ‘If someone tried to steal my work, I’d stick up for myself.’ His blue eyes are dead serious.

Is he trying to tell me I should have challenged Will about stealing the limelight for our article on Dave Wiggins? I head back to my desk.
Easy for you to say, Sam.
I slam down into my
chair.
You’re not a lowly Year Nine.

Cindy rests her hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone steal your work, Sam.’

Will grunts. ‘Keep your friends close, but your editor closer,’ he mutters.

Cindy flicks her hair back and ignores him. ‘Have you checked your inbox, Gemma?’ She’s prodding me towards Jessica’s fan mail.

‘I was about to.’ I pull my monitor close so no one can see what I’m working on. I need to find an email for Jessica’s Reader-of-the-Week feature.

The first is asking my advice.

My shoulders slump. Now I’m doing cat horoscopes.

I save it for later and open the next email.

I squash back a smile and click Reply.

I move on to the next fan mail.

‘Gemma?’

I hardly hear Sam calling me.

‘What?’ I stare at my screen, heart racing with excitement. This email
has
to be from David. He’s a Gemini. He must be asking how he can get Barbara’s
attention.

‘Are you going on the Paris trip?’ Sam’s question buzzes at the edge of my whirling thoughts.

‘Why would Gemma be coming on our trip?’ Cindy sounds indignant. ‘It’s Year Tens only. Barbara and I have been looking forward to it for weeks.’

Will answers. ‘Madame Papillon has invited some Year Nines to fill up the places. Are you scared she’s going to ask you to babysit?’

I have a light bulb moment. Cindy just said Barbara is going on this trip. What better place to fall in love than Paris? ‘David?’ I lean round my monitor. ‘Are you
going?’

David drags his gaze away from his screen. ‘To Paris? I haven’t decided yet.’

Barbara shifts to the edge of her chair, her pen twitching in her hand.

I leap in. ‘You
must
go,’ I blurt. ‘Think what a great experience it would be.’

David frowns thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it would be interesting to see the Métro. And the Channel Tunnel.’

‘Precisely,’ Cindy chimes in. ‘The more Year Tens, the better.’

You mean more Year Tens, fewer Year Nines.
I ignore her and press on. ‘I bet you could pick up some great comic books.’

Jeff looks up. ‘I’ve been researching the shops.’ His eyes are shining. ‘There are some great bookstores with whole floors full of graphic novels.’

‘France is the home of Tintin,’ I add.

David grins widely. ‘
Tintin
was my first graphic novel.’ He glances at Phil. ‘OK. I’m going.’ I fight the smile that wants to burst all over my face.

Barbara’s staring down at her work, her cheeks pink.

‘So are
you
going, Gemma?’ Sam asks again.

‘Yeah.’ I’m busy wondering how I should answer David’s email.

‘Who cares if Gemma’s going?’ Cindy moves to block Sam’s view. ‘She’ll be in the Year Nine group anyway.’ She taps his screen with the end of her pen.
‘Do you really think your first line is punchy enough, Sam?’

As he looks back at his screen, I start typing.

I tip back in my seat and imagine David and Barbara under the Paris moon. Then I remember in a flash that I’m going too! I can’t wait to smell the boulangeries and
the fresh coffee, and see the elegant women clicking along the smart pavements in high heels, wafting Chanel. I vow to capture it all in a feature article that will share my Parisian experience
with all our readers. I’ll make it so good, Cindy will
have
to publish it.

Finally, I’ll be taken seriously on the webzine. And if I can help Barbara and David fall in love at the same time, it’ll be perfect!

Pleased with my plan, I email Cindy a copy of my answer to David’s lovelorn email so she can paste it into her horoscope feature page, then power down my PC. With Jessica in charge, what
could possibly go wrong?