Destiny Date (2 page)

Treacle checks her own reflection. ‘It’s like playing dressing-up when we were kids.’

Savannah turns puppy eyes on me. ‘Try something on, Gemma.
Pleeeease!
’

Perhaps I’m just being superstitious or maybe playing make-believe is no fun when you’re the only one pretending.

‘Maybe another time,’ I tell Savannah as I quickly back out of the changing room.

My heel hits a lump on the carpet. The lump moves and an agonized grunt makes me spin round.

‘Sam!’

Sam Baynham is outside the changing room, hopping. He’s clutching his toes with one hand.

‘Did I tread on your foot?’
What are you doing here?

‘Yup,’ he gasps through gritted teeth.

‘I’m so sorry!’ I’m flushing red, burning with embarrassment.

Another voice calls his name. ‘Sam? Are you OK?’

A woman, about Mum’s age, pushes through the racks towards him.

‘I’m fine, Shirl.’ He stops hopping as she reaches him. ‘This is Gemma.’ He shakes the mop of blond hair from his blue-blue eyes. ‘Gemma, this is my
mum.’

Oh!

My!

God!

He’s shopping with his mum. That’s
so
cute.

‘Hi, Gemma.’ Shirl smiles at me. Her smile is wide and warm, just like Sam’s. ‘Is this Gemma from the webzine?’ she asks Sam.

Sam nods, meeting his mum’s eye. I can see them passing messages like telepathic aliens.

He’s mentioned me!

He grins. ‘Shirl’s helping me pick out my prom dress.’

‘Prom dress?’ I gaze at him stupidly.

Shirl raises her eyebrows. ‘Ignore Sam. We’re picking up a dress for his cousin Amy.’

Sam nudges her. ‘Don’t spoil it, Shirl.’ His blue-blue eyes flash mischievously. ‘She nearly believed me.’

‘Come on, Sam. We’ll be late.’ Shirl tugs him towards the checkout. ‘Nice to meet you, Gemma,’ she calls over her shoulder.

Sally bounces up beside me. ‘Who was that old woman with Sam Baynham?’

‘His mum.’ I watch his blond hair bob away through a sea of heads. My heart twists. Sam’s so nice. Why is he going out with the Ice Queen?

‘How embarrassing!’ Sally’s gawping beside me.

Sam doesn’t look embarrassed.

Sally follows my gaze. ‘I’d have died by now.’

‘If only.’ Ryan cuts in on the conversation. His arms are swathed in dresses.

‘Tough.’ Sally picks through them, frowning. ‘I think I’ll just try these on to begin with.’

‘To
begin with
?’ Ryan’s mouth drops open.

‘You don’t have anything better to do.’ Sally slides into the changing room. ‘Wait here and I’ll be out in a minute to show you the first dress.’

As Ryan slumps beside the entrance, Treacle wanders out. She rests a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘Hang in there, soldier.’

Ryan sighs. ‘I’m starting to wish I had gone insane in the Channel Tunnel,’ he mutters. ‘Then this would seem normal.’

‘Peel these, love.’ Mum hands me a bag of carrots and the peeler.

I’m helping her make dinner. I take the carrots and drag out a chair from the kitchen table. I sit and start peeling, watching the pale slivers of skin curl into a pile in front of me.

Mum chops onions behind me and I can smell the olive oil heating in the pan beside her.

Ben is whooping in the living room and every few moments I catch a glimpse of him through the doorway as he chases Dad with a plastic sword.

They’re playing pirates.

‘Prepare to be boarded, lubber-head!’ Ben yells.

I hear Dad
oomph
as Ben leaps onto him. Pirates is currently Ben’s favourite game. Once he’s boarded Dad, he’ll get piggybacked round the house until Dad’s red
in the face and panting.

I spot them gallop past, Ben clinging on, still sword-waving. As they thunder upstairs, Mum pours a glass of wine and carries on chopping. ‘How was the mall?’ she asks. ‘Did
you see anything you like?’

‘Savannah and Treacle found perfect prom dresses,’ I tell her.

‘What about you?’ Her tone is breezy, which means she’s doing sums in her head. Money’s tight at our house. Ben’s cystic fibrosis means Mum can only work freelance
so she can be around when Ben needs her. Spare cash is spent on nebulizers and physio tables and tutors to help Ben catch up with his schoolwork when infections put him in hospital. Things will
change once I’m a prize-winning journalist. When I’m rich and famous, I’ll be able to help. The first thing I’ll buy them is a holiday.

‘Gem?’ Mum presses gently when I don’t answer straight away.

‘I don’t need a new dress,’ I tell her. ‘The prom’s only a big thing if you’ve got a date.’

‘Really?’ Mum stops chopping and glances at me. ‘I didn’t know you thought that having a boyfriend was so important.’

‘I don’t,’ I tell her quickly. ‘But without a date, a prom’s just a chance to hang out with your friends, and I don’t need a special dress to do
that.’

Mum cuts into another onion. ‘I was looking forward to seeing you dressed up.’

‘You can see Treacle and Savannah,’ I tell her. ‘They’re going to look great.’

‘What are their dresses like?’

‘Treacle’s got a big puffball thing. It’s totally outrageous for Treacle, but she looks great. And Savannah looks like a film star in hers.’ I finish peeling the last
carrot. ‘Shall I chop these?’ I don’t want to talk about the prom any more. Sam keeps wandering into my thoughts, which would be OK if he didn’t have Cindy hanging off his
arm.

Mum’s clearly not interested in carrot-chopping. ‘Is Treacle going to wear her hair up or down?’

I shrug.

‘What about Savannah? I bet she’s already scanning
Vogue
for inspiration.’

‘Probably,’ I mumble, wishing Mum would stop asking questions about the prom.

I imagine Sam waltzing Cindy round the hall like he’s Prince Charming and she’s Cinderella.
Cindyrella.
I push the carrots away. ‘I’m going to go and make a
start on my homework,’ I tell Mum.

‘But it’s only Saturday.’ She glances at me suspiciously.

‘I’ve got to work on the webzine tomorrow,’ I explain.

‘OK.’ Mum takes the hint. ‘Dinner will be ready in about half an hour—’ She drops onions into the pan and the sizzle drowns her voice out.

I head out of the kitchen and grab my schoolbag as I pass it in the hall. As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear Ben’s voice from Mum and Dad’s room.

‘Land ahoy!’

I guess they’re sailing the bed around the seven seas.

I slip into my room and heave my bag onto my desk. Textbooks slide out and I pile them on one side, then power up my laptop. Homework can wait. I want to start work on Jessica Jupiter’s
horoscopes. I sit down and start typing.

It takes me five minutes to get Sally’s horoscope down since it’s already written in my head. I save it and lean back, wondering what Jessica Jupiter should tell Ryan. Does he even
want a girlfriend?

Of course he does. He’s a boy.

How can I get them together? I log into Facebook and find Ryan’s star sign from his info. He’s Leo.

Leo

Star-ling, wake up! You’ve been acting the clown long enough. Someone has a crush on you, but you’ve been too busy joking around to notice. Stop kidding and get serious or you
might miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I grin. If Sally and Ryan follow my advice, they’ll be the newest couple at the school prom.

I hunch over the keyboard. It’s time to add a little spice to Savannah’s life.

Pisces

You lucky little fish-face.

I check the five-day weather forecast in my browser. It’s going to be hot.

This week will bring sunshine and love. Keep your sunblock with you at all times, but don’t forget your chapstick. Even in the height of summer, kissing can dry out your lips.

There’s a knock on my bedroom door.

‘What?’ I call.

It opens and Mum pops her head round. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’ She throws something. I duck as a banana boomerangs round my head.

‘That’ll keep you going until tea.’ Mum slides out and shuts the door.

With a grunt, I retrieve the banana from where it landed behind the desk. I peel it and type a final line onto Savannah’s horoscope.

Watch out for flying fruit.

It’s Marcus’s turn.

Sagittarius

If your love life is blossoming, you’re luckier than most.

I lean back in my seat, scanning my room for ideas. I can’t see the floor for the heaps of clothes and scattered books.

But don’t let clutter build up in the rest of your life. It might just trip you over when you least expect.

I move onto Treacle. She knows it’s me forecasting her week, so I can write what I like.

Taurus

Beware! There are pirates on the horizon.

Dad and Ben are sword-fighting in the hall.

Hoist the mainsail and head for land.

My bedroom door swings open and Dad backs into my room. He’s swinging a foam cutlass at Ben, who’s beating him back with his sword. As Dad wades backwards through my floor clutter, I
dive and snatch my make-up bag clear a moment before his foot lands.

‘Get out!’ I grab a pillow and fling it.

‘Sorry, Gem.’ With a roar, Dad advances on Ben, driving him back through my doorway. I leap up and slam it after them, checking my clutter for damage. There are a few squashed
library books, but my make-up is safe.

I return to Treacle’s horoscope.

Move fast and with any luck you won’t lose your treasure.

Aquarius next. Will’s sign. He’s the most arrogant writer on the webzine. He scoffs at everyone else’s work,
especially
my horoscopes. I decide that it’s time he
started taking Jessica Jupiter seriously. He won’t be able to sneer at this prediction because I’m going to make sure it comes true.

I finish typing with a smile and move onto Sam’s sign.
Capricorn.

Sam’s horoscope is always the trickiest. I want to warn him against getting mixed up with Cindy, but she knows I’m Jessica Jupiter. She’ll spot the sabotage and, if I mess up
her love life, she’ll never publish any article I write.

I sigh and decide to write my own horoscope instead.

Libra

Don’t despair. Doe-eyed couples may surround you, but there’s more to life than love. Keep your attention fixed on your ambition not your heart. If you try, you can achieve
anything you want. This will be your week to shine.

Maths is the last class on Monday. I’m sitting at the back next to Treacle. Savannah and Marcus are sharing the desk in front. We’re working silently through
equations so brutal they’re probably used as torture in rogue states. Mrs Monroe is at the front of the class, gloating over the answer book.

I’ve got one eye on the clock as I switch
x
s and
y
s with
a
s and
b
s on my page. The webzine meeting’s after school and I’m determined to ask
Cindy if I can write a serious article before the end of term.

My mind flits from killer idea to killer idea:
Bullying in Social Media. Can Video Games Kill? Is Home Education the Answer to the Crisis in Our Schools?
I want to pitch an article that
Cindy can’t refuse. Could I dig up some dirt on the teaching staff? Has the Head been hacking student phones? Has Mr Chapman been claiming expenses for training he never attended? Perhaps I
should start trailing the teachers and sifting through their dustbins for evidence.

No.

I don’t want to bombard our readers with gossip. That’s hardly better than flinging horoscopes at them. I want to write something that they can identify with. An article that
expresses what they feel. I want to give them a voice.

Treacle’s long black hair trails across my page as she leans close. ‘What did you get for question six?’

I twist my book so she can peek.

‘Really?’ Frowning, she looks back at her own.

‘Are you having trouble, Miss Stone?’ Mrs Monroe’s staring accusingly at me from her desk. Put her in a wig and hand her a gavel and she’d look like a judge.

‘We’re just discussing question six,’ I tell her.

‘If you’ve got a question, ask me,’ Mrs Monroe snaps. She’s not into peer sharing.

‘It’s OK,’ I reassure her. ‘I’d rather work it out for myself.’ How long before schools catch up with the concept of collaboration and crowd-sourcing? I bet
Facebook’s coding department doesn’t have a No Talking policy.

My pen freezes on the page.
I could write a piece on Facebook.

I dump the idea at once. David and Phil are the webzine’s tech reporters. They’ve already done social networking this month:
Ten Networking Tools You Can’t Live
Without.
And Barbara has written a piece for her lifestyle column:
Do You Follow Back? The Essentials of TwEtiquette.

Besides, I want to write about something more important than how to make friends and influence people.

Mrs Monroe’s chair scrapes the floor. She’s on her feet, wielding a marker pen. She turns to the whiteboard and start scribbling. ‘Right, class,’ she barks. ‘Write
this equation down in your books. I want you to try it at home and we’ll discuss it next time.’