Star Reporter (3 page)

With a bit of luck, the time for equal trousers could be just around the corner!

The weirdest thing happened today. We were sitting on the steps outside the science block at lunchtime when Kelly Anderson from Year Ten came up to us. Well, I say Kelly but actually it was her and two of her fellow goddesses, descending from the heights of Mount Popular to slum it with us mere mortals. Kelly is totally gorgeous – Liam has a crush the size of Australia on her and so do most of the other boys in school. The really annoying thing is, not only is she Disney Princess pretty, she's really nice and everyone likes her. She's smart too – she runs HEY JUDE'S!, the school magazine. So when she stopped in front of us, I knew without the slightest little doubt that I was going to show myself up. Or, if by some miracle I managed to keep my cool, either Molly or Shenice were sure to lose theirs. When Rolo gets really nervous or excited, a little bit of wee comes out – imagine if one of us did THAT…

“You're Cassidy Bond, yeah?” Kelly said.

OMG, she knew my name! An image of Rolo popped into my head, a telltale puddle by his paws. Crossing one foot over the other, I nodded carefully.

“The one who started that petition about girls wearing trousers at school?” she went on, her eyes narrowing.

My blood ran cold – how did she know about that? I mean, an amazing one hundred and twenty-six people have signed my petition already, but I didn't think Kelly was one of them. What had I done, offended her fashion sense or something? Beside me, Molly and Shenice were exchanging looks and fidgeting.

Then the unthinkable happened – Kelly smiled. “That was a pretty cool thing to do.”

All the breath went out of me in a WHOOSH and Shenice did this squeak thing.

“Er, thanks,” I managed, nudging Shen before she embarrassed us. “I just thought we should have the choice.”

Kelly was nodding and her wing girls were copying her. “Exactly. Listen, I need a Year Seven correspondent for the school paper, someone who'll do what needs to be done in the search for a good story.” She paused and looked me straight in the eye. “Are you in?”

Was I in? Is a unicorn horn POINTY?

“Could be,” I said, trying to sound like it was the kind of offer I got all the time. “Yeah, why not?”

“Great,” she said, smiling again. “We meet at lunchtime on Mondays, in the English block. See you there.”

She walked off, leaving me staring after her in a daze. Had Kelly Anderson just called me cool or was I dreaming?

“Not unless we're all having the same dream,” Molly said, and I realized I must have spoken out loud. “Wow. You're going to be a member of The Press. You'll have access all areas.”

Okay, so access all areas of St Crude's didn't mean much but it was still the most exciting thing to happen to me this term. I grinned, unable to believe my luck. Actually, I still can't. Wait until Liam finds out! Ever since his band, WOLF BRETHREN, was asked to play at the May Ball, he's been swaggering round like he's some kind of Rock God. Knowing he's not the Bond everyone at St Crude's is talking about any more might just take the bounce out of his bungee.

The scream monsters woke me up AGAIN at ridiculous o'clock. Luckily, I was having this horrific nightmare where Mum grew a moustache and became a bingo caller, so I didn't mind for once. I don't remember going back to sleep but I must have done because when I looked at the clock again, it was half past eight, which is practically midday in the twins' book. For one toe-curling second, I thought I was late for school, and then I remembered it was Saturday. And THEN I remembered that I am no longer boring old Cassidy Bond, I am C Bond – STAR REPORTER, and decided I'd better find out what a journalist does.

I walked to the paper shop, planning on picking up THE TIMES, THE GUARDIAN and the MIRROR, but the new copy of GLITZ had TWENTY WAYS TO LOVE YOUR LIFE on the cover so I bought that instead, pretending to the newsagent it was for Mum. It's practically research – who is to say that Kelly hasn't recruited me to be St Jude's celebrity gossip correspondent, anyway?

Dad was downstairs with the twins when I got back, trying to give them both a bottle at the same time and failing badly. I took pity on him and grabbed Ethel, after I'd conducted a secret sniff test, of course. Dad's rule is that whoever is holding a twin when they make a stinky is the one who changes the nappy and I've been caught out that way before.

“Thanks,” he said, wiping the milk off the end of his nose. “I thought I'd let your mum have a bit of a lie-in.”

Every now and then, I wonder what my mum sees in my dad, especially when he is crooning Elvis songs in his awful white suit and stupid black wig, but he's alright sometimes. When he's not dressed up as the King, OBVIOUSLY.

“That's nice,” I said. “According to this study I read about in GLITZ, women who get six or more hours of sleep a night are happier, healthier and live longer.”

“Good to know,” Dad said, giving me the thumbs up. “If she's in a good mood later, I might talk to her about having a summer holiday this year.”

My ears pricked up. Liam and I had talked about the chances of going ANYWHERE good when school broke up and we'd decided we had more chance of winning the lottery. “Really?”

Dad nodded. “I think we can manage a couple of weeks somewhere sunny.”

That sounded promising. Two weeks in the sun would definitely take the edge off my painfully white skin, although I hoped it wasn't Spain – that would really rub Shenice's nose in it, especially since Shenice was positive her mum had been on another date with the mysterious Julio. I opened my mouth to suggest Florida but Dad beat me to it.

“So how does a de luxe camper van in Cornwall sound? We can even take Rolo.”

I stared at him in shock, all thoughts of Mickey Mouse flying out of my head. “A camper van? All of us? In Cornwall?”

“Okay, a caravan then. We can't go too far – imagine flying anywhere with these two.”

I pictured a long flight with the Wide Awake Club and shuddered. Okay, so maybe Florida was out, but a caravan ANYWHERE with them would mean even less sleep than we got now. It was the stuff of holiday nightmares.

“Come on, it'll be fun,” Dad said, picking Joshua up and patting his back until he let out the kind of burp that sets off avalanches. “With a bit of luck there'll be entertainment on the campsite. And if there isn't, I can volunteer my services and earn a few quid at the same time.”

I stared gloomily at Ethel, guzzling her milk in blissful ignorance of the embarrassment in her future. Liam wouldn't be impressed when I broke the news, either. It is going to be the Worst Holiday Ever. Normally I can rely on Mum to stop Dad from embarrassing us, but she is living on borrowed brains. I am telling you, if Dad is serious about getting up onstage while we are there, I am definitely not going.

I wonder when Zippo's Circus is next in town? Maybe Shenice and I can do a double act.

I woke up this morning to discover my e-petition has gone totally crazy. It has over three hundred signatures from complete strangers, in places like Glasgow and Belfast and Scunthorpe. There was even one from this girl in Pratt's Bottom, saying that I have inspired her to start her own school campaign, although I'm not sure there is really a place called Pratt's Bottom and wonder if it is actually Dad, trying to be supportive. Yesterday, he called me the Che Guevara of St Jude's. I thought that was some bloke from off the telly until I tapped his name into a search engine and found out that he was this amazing revolutionary who really rocked the beret and got a lot of stuff done. Liam was all grumpy about it, saying it was a waste of time and that the school will never listen to me, but secretly I think he is impressed. I am starting to think that we might actually get enough signatures to make the Prime Minister notice – imagine that! St Jude's would have to change the rules then.

Molly and Shenice came over after lunch and we planned what we would wear to march on Downing Street – trousers, obviously, but I had this idea about getting my mum to make one gigantic pair that we could all wear at the same time. Molly said we could probably go for the world record of most people in one pair of trousers, which sounds a bit warm. I go all red-faced when I'm hot and I wouldn't want to be on the front page of all the newspapers looking like a tomato. It reminded me of Liam's threat to send my stripy legs in to that website, so I looked it up and it turns out he wasn't kidding – JOJ actually exists!

It stands for JUICE ON JUDE'S and seems to be some kind of blog about our school. There are all these funny stories and pictures about everyone. Some of them are pretty funny, like the photos of the Year Seven raft-building exercise in Wales that sank as soon as it was launched. I don't know whose idea JUICE ON JUDE'S was but it MUST be someone at school. Who though? No one knows. We spent over an hour reading the old posts and giggling at the pictures. There was no sign of my stripy legs on there, thank goodness – maybe Liam is only mostly moron.

Now that my fake tan disaster has faded and I am no longer part Oompa Loompa, I am really looking forward to my first school mag meeting tomorrow. Who knows, this could be the start of a twin career as a wrong-righting journalist and a political activist. Maybe Fighting Social Injustice is going to be my Thing!

E-PETITION Number of signatures: 399

I think I may have died and gone to heaven. Not only did Kelly Anderson nod hello to me in the corridor this morning, but Nathan Crossfield stopped by my table in registration today to congratulate me on becoming the Year Seven school mag correspondent. The actual Nathan Crossfield, a boy of such sub-zero coolness that even the sixth-formers know who he is, and the only boy in the world (apart from Liam) who knows I used to be into fairies in a BIG way. The gut-wrenching memory of Rolo dropping a pair of fairy knickers at Nathan's feet last year might stop me from sleeping at night, if the twins didn't already have that covered.