Generation Next (25 page)

We shoot knowing looks at one another across the kitchen, shrugging our shoulders innocently.

“Nah, it's all been pretty quiet, Mum,” Austin says, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “To be honest, I'll be glad when it's time to go back to school.”

Ava stifles a laugh and I feel Ella take my hand and squeeze it hard. I look up at her, smiling, and she winks at me and mouths, “Thank you.”

And at that moment, I feel so happy that we did it, that we got up and fought back and didn't let the bullies win. It feels pretty amazing, you know?

I can hear rain on my bedroom window when I wake up, and on top of that it's the last week of the school holidays. These two things together would normally constitute a downer, but after the enormous relief of Mum's operation going well last week, I feel on top of the world. Actually, after the last couple of weeks, going back to school doesn't seem like too bad a proposition. I mean, I think a bit of structure and normality is exactly what's called for, don't you? It's been a pretty surreal summer all in all: stratospheric success, fame, being humiliated in front of the world's media, blackmail, revenge, my mum's illness. I'm kind of looking forward to school, to be honest.

Things have gone a little quiet on the GenNext front recently, too, ever since the backlash over the disastrous interview with Harriet died down. It's a relief, as you can probably imagine. After tape-gate, taking a break from online notoriety doesn't feel like such a bad thing. The site
is still doing OK, and hopefully we can build it back up once we manage to salvage our reputation. Ella, Sai, Ava, Austin and I have agreed that whatever happens, we'll concentrate on our A levels and continue to work on GenNext on the side. Ella even got in touch with Mr. Allen, who agreed that our work on GenNext can double up as a major piece of coursework for our media production A level. Win. And after we finish school, if GenNext is still going strong . . . then who knows what'll happen. All I know is, I feel pretty good about the possibilities.

Meanwhile, I've got something even more important than GenNext to think about. Mum's been at the hospital this morning for her first round of chemo. Just as I'm thinking about it, I hear the front door slam shut downstairs and I jump out of bed, tearing out of the room in my boxers and a T-shirt.

“Is she home?” I shout from the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Yes, she's home, Jack; it only took a couple of hours,” Dad calls up.

“I'm coming down!”

I throw on last night's clothes and hurry down to the kitchen, where Mum is perched at the breakfast bar.

“Mum, you—you don't look too bad!” I say, going over to give her a hug.

“Charming,” is her response to the obvious surprise in my tone, but then she laughs. “Oi, don't squeeze me too hard; my battle scars are still a bit tender.”

Her hair is pulled back and she isn't wearing any make-up, so she looks kind of young and vulnerable, but I can see that steely determination in her eyes. After everything she's been through over the past couple of weeks—a serious operation to remove the tumor in her breast and the start of chemotherapy—that determination is still there.

“So what's the score then?” I ask, sitting down opposite her just as Dad hands me a mug of coffee. “How did it go?”

She pulls a face. “Well, it wasn't exactly a picnic. They offered me something called a cold cap, which you wear while they give you the chemo. They said it can help to reduce hair loss; it stops the chemo affecting the hair follicles.”

“That sounds brilliant!” I say. I know how worried she's been about losing her hair. As a hairdresser, her hair is a massive source of pride for her. She's always coloring it and styling it differently, and it always looks amazing. She can't bear the thought of it falling out.

She looks down. “Well, I tried it out, but I had to ask them to take it off halfway through,” she says, her eyes filling with tears. “It was more painful than the bloody chemo; it's like your head's being held in icy water. I just couldn't stand it in the end.”

“Oh Mum.” I don't know how to respond; I'm gutted for her. Dad puts his hand on her shoulder, looking like he might have tears in his eyes too.

There's a pause while Mum collects herself, and when she looks back up, the expression of determination is back.

“Look, it's not the end of the world,” she says bravely. “I'll just have to let things take their natural course, and if I lose my hair, then so be it.”

“Hair can grow back, Mum,” I say, squeezing her hand gently. “As long as you get better, that's the main thing.”

“Of course, Jack, you're right.” She squeezes back. “And the doctors had a lot of positive things to say: they were so pleased by how well the op went, and how they got everything they needed to get. They're hopeful that after all the treatment they've got planned for me, the outlook will be good. No guarantees, of course; they'll do more scans after the chemo has finished to check my progress, but they're as optimistic as they can be for now.”

The relief I felt last week rushes through me again.

“That's great, Mum,” I say, holding her hand across the breakfast bar.

“We've still got a way to go, Jack,” Dad chimes in, pulling up a chair next to me. “Chemotherapy is pretty tough, and today was very difficult for your mum. We're going to have to really look after her over the next few months.”

“Of course we are,” I say. There's a pause. “Actually, Dad, I think Mum's got far more chance of copping it from your cooking than she has of anything else. We all have.”

My stupid joke breaks the tension and Mum starts to laugh. She momentarily winces with pain, gripping under her arm, before convulsing again. Dad and I start laughing too—it might all sound a bit manic, but it's a much-needed release from the heavy emotions and stress of the last week.

“How did we manage to raise a son with such a twisted sense of humor?” Mum asks.

“I don't know,” Dad says, deadpan. “It must come from your side of the family.”

Mum nods and gets up from the breakfast bar, heading toward the kitchen door.

“Right,” she says. “I'm going to have a quick wash and get changed, and then I've got a hot date with Jon Snow. I've got the whole of
Game of Thrones
season five to plow through, and I expect to be waited on hand and foot by the pair of you while I watch it.”

“Yeah, Dad can take the first shift,” I say, laughing. “I'm diving out to the gym for an hour, if that's OK with you guys.”

Mum disappears up the stairs and I follow suit, throwing on a clean T-shirt and grabbing my gym bag. As I close the front door behind me, I breathe in the damp air and let out a huge sigh of relief. The first round of chemo is over. I know she's got a long way to go, but she's home and she's OK, and that's what matters for now.

As it turns out, my gym workout is much needed. Apart from being the first bit of training I've done for God knows how long, it's been a hectic few weeks and it feels good to blast away some of the stress and emotion with a good old-fashioned endorphin rush. And yes, I am struggling a little, to be honest. During the GenNext whirlwind I haven't exactly had much time to pump iron, but if I'm going to be dating the most beautiful girl in the school, I have to at least keep in shape, right?

By the time I get back to the changing rooms, I've had, like, seven missed calls from Ava. Plus she's sent me a WhatsApp containing such massive overuse of exclamation marks and emojis I just can't ignore it.

I shower, change and drag my slightly aching body out of the gym, calling her as I head along the street to catch the bus home. Of course I'm intrigued, but by the time I reach her, she's already been on the phone to Cooper, so she's buzzing like a nutter . . . to the point where I think she's going to explode just talking to me.

“Slow down, Ava,” I yell, while she babbles at me down the line. “You're supposed to be the cool, calm and collected one amongst us. Now tell me slowly, what's the deal?”

“The deal is that Cooper wants GenNext!” she says, calming down only marginally.

“Wants GenNext? What does that even mean, Ava?” I say, leaning back against the bus stop.

“Look, I just called to ask him for a favor. He obviously knew about the disaster with Harriet Rushworth in LA—everyone does, no offense, babe—so I was going
to throw myself on his mercy and ask if we could come down to the gig and take some shots and maybe do a quick interview, you know? I told him that with him being the huge rising star that he is, it would help us get a bit of kudos back and regenerate our popularity. I mean, we need something to get us back on track, right?”

“I guess.”

“Anyway, he was totally on board with it, but then he said that a few of the big online music channels were fighting over who gets to stream the gig itself . . . so why didn't he just let us do it?”

Ava finally stops talking and I can hear her panting on the end of the line.

“Are you serious?” I can hardly believe what I'm hearing.

“Deadly serious. The gig sold out in, like, four seconds, and Cooper said that he would give GenNext the exclusive on the show and the interview. His record company will insist he does some others but ours will be the first . . . and we'll be the
only
people filming the gig! That's why I've been so desperate to get hold of you. Do you think we could get something like that together, Jack? It's pretty big.”

“Of course we can,” I say, now as crazy excited as Ava. “There's no way we can pass up an opportunity like this. AJ will be able to help us pull it together and get us whatever we need. OK, I need to go away and think, and then I need to talk to AJ and the others . . . but call Cooper
straight back and tell him yes, Ava. Tell him thank you and a
massive
yes.”

After a few days of hardcore brainstorming by the GenNext team and some swift organizing on the part of AJ, Cooper's gig is upon us. This is exactly what we needed—working together again, even just being together, has helped us lay the weird events of the last two weeks to rest and get back to what we're all good at.

By the night of the gig, it's gone around like wildfire that Cooper's show is being live-streamed on GenNext, and the fact that you can't get a ticket for love nor money means that for a lot of people, it's the only way they're going to get to see their brand-new musical hero doing his first major gig. AJ and the team at Metronome have pulled in a decent-sized sound and camera crew for the broadcast, and although it won't exactly be the Brits, it's a cool little set-up and more than adequate to make everything look and sound super-slick and professional.

I've never been to The Garage, but it's a pretty impressive room with a wooden floor—no seating—and a good-sized stage. By the time I walk in, there's already a cool young crowd all vying for positions close to the stage for the best view. Before the show, I run backstage to say a quick hi to Cooper, and I have to say, it feels quite weird when I poke my head around
his dressing room door. Cooper just looks like the same long-haired guitar geek I watched sitting by a tree playing at Hunter's party only a few months before—same ripped jeans,
possibly
a new T-shirt—but here he is, number three on the iTunes chart, one place above the new Justin Bieber release. It's mad.

As soon as he sees me, he jumps up, bounds over and hugs me.

“Jack, it's so good to see you, man. What's happening?”

“A fair amount,” I say. “Too much to go into right before all this glamorous stuff happens.”

“Ava tells me that you and Ella are a thing now; about bloody time,” he laughs.

I feel myself blushing slightly. I mean, I can hardly believe it myself if I'm honest.

“It's early days,” I say, “but yeah, we're definitely a thing.”

“That's very cool, Jack,” he says, genuinely pleased.

“Look, Cooper, I know you're getting ready for the show and all that, but I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for doing this for GenNext. It means a lot, you know?”

Cooper shakes his head, and for a moment he looks like he might cry.

“Jack, do you remember that day outside the sixth-form common room when Hunter's mates started on me? Calling me all those horrible names?”

“Yeah, of course. They smashed your bloody guitar,” I say.

“I never told you this at the time, but you were the first person who ever stood up for me when something like that happened,” he says, “and trust me, it's happened quite a few times over the years. You probably don't realize how much that means to me, do you?”

“I haven't thought about it much since,” I say, slightly taken aback.

“I have,” Cooper smiles. “And that's what tonight's all about. It's not just a big night for me; it's something for all of us. OK?”

I smile back at him—this is pretty cool. “OK.”

“Cooper, you've only got ten minutes!” Suki appears from nowhere, looking stressed and holding a shirt that looks far more fitting for a rock star than the screwed-up thing Cooper is wearing. “Oh hey, Jack, sorry, I'm in a mad rush right now, but we'll see you after the show for the interview, right?”

“You definitely will,” I say, heading out the door. “Later, guys.”

Before I know it, I'm out in the crowd watching Sai and Ava in semi-panic mode, tearing around and making sure everything is running smoothly with the cameras and sound equipment, even though AJ totally has it all in hand. I'm happy to leave them to it and do my bit after the show. Instead, I'm standing side by side with Austin, Jess and, of course, Ella, who looks cool and beautiful in a short red dress and fire-engine-red lipstick to match.
The atmosphere in the room is electric, and when Cooper walks out on to the stage to a massive roar, we all feel really proud.

The gig itself is as amazing as we all hoped and expected. Sai and Ava join us during the fifth song, yelling over the noise about how brilliantly it's all going and how many hits and new subscribers GenNext has picked up in the last fifteen minutes.

“Yes, dudes, GenNext is back in the room, and bigger than ever!” Ava shouts, shoving herself between Ella and me and draping her arms around us both.

By this time we're all well into the gig and dancing away like lunatics. It's funny, however much we took the piss out of Cooper's earnest ballads and songs of unrequited love in the past, we all knew he was super bloody talented, but with a hot band around him, his voice and his songs soar, filling the venue, and his latest, more up-tempo material literally tears the roof off.

Halfway through the gig, Cooper waits for the applause to die down and then walks toward the microphone.

“This one's for Jack and Ella!” he yells, immediately bursting into “One Moment,” the song he played while he was sitting by that tree at Hunter's party. For a moment it seems like that happened a hundred years ago . . . and then it seems like it was only ten seconds ago. The music and the lyrics swirl around us:

“Oh my God, I can't believe he did that!” Ella squeals, looking at me with the widest smile . . . and that's when I finally kiss her, deep and long, my hands firm against her back, moving upward until they're sweeping through her hair. We kiss for ages, and when we finally break apart, grinning at each other like lunatics, she moves her mouth up to my ear.

“I really
really
like you, Jack Penman,” she says.

“Well, Ella Foster, I can officially confirm that I really,
really
like you too.”

“That's all right then,” she says. “In fact, it's pretty damned perfect.”