Charm School (12 page)

Her head was spinning. She was almost glad when bossy Cristalle poked her great puffy-haired head around the door and said to her officiously, ‘Nearly time to start! Pass me that box, please.’

Bonny looked behind her. There on the shelf was a box labelled ‘Number discs’. She handed it over. Cristalle disappeared, and Bonny turned up the microphones to hear what was happening.

In the far corner, Mrs Opalene was putting the final touches to Lulu’s cowboy-sweetheart costume. Lulu was pouting at herself in the mirror.

‘Look at me! I look
terrible
.’

‘I think you look very nice, dear.’

‘No, I don’t! I’ve got bags under my eyes,
and
skin so dry it’s almost cracking.’

Mrs Opalene tilted Lulu’s pretty gingham mob hat a tiny bit to the side. ‘Does that look better?’ She leaned over to inspect the pouting face in the mirror. ‘Have you been going round without a sun hat, dear? I hope you haven’t been forgetting the names of your dreaded Skin Enemies.’

‘No, Mrs Opalene.’

‘So you can tell me who they are?’

Lulu’s answer came promptly enough. ‘Sun. And Misery.’

‘That’s right, dear. And who are your precious Skin Helpers?’

‘Sleep,’ Lulu said dutifully. ‘And Water. Lots of water.’ Her face fell. ‘I’ve forgotten the third one.’

Mrs Opalene looked pained.

‘Oh, no, I haven’t!’ cried Lulu. ‘It’s Fresh Air!’

‘Splendid!’ declared Mrs Opalene. ‘With plenty of sleep and water and fresh air, our skin can’t go wrong!’

Ignoring Lulu’s bad-tempered muttering – ‘Well,
mine
has!’ – Mrs Opalene sailed off to help Esmeralda with her ruffles. Bonny shook her head, mystified. Sleep. Water.
Fresh
Air. All not just cheap, but
free
. How could Mrs Opalene be part of some fiendish plot to take people’s money? Surely if that were true, then she’d be busy trying to persuade poor Lulu that what she needed was a costly pot of Glamour-Puss face cream, or an expensive tube of Skin-So-Soft. And now Bonny thought about it, even when Mrs Opalene had been going on earlier about face packs and elbow bleachers and stuff like that, she’d always saved her real enthusiasm for using up things like squeezed lemon halves, and old breakfast oatmeal.

No money in those. Anyone trying to help the glop men get rich quick would definitely have had the sense to say that only Rich-Girl-Bio-Face-Soothe-With-Added-Lano-Smarm-And-Derma-Tested-Gloss-Glaze (at twenty pounds a tub) would do the trick on Lulu’s face.

And Mrs Opalene hadn’t.

In fact, she’d said as many sensible as silly things. Keep off the fried foods. Eat fresh fruit and vegetables. Drink plain old water, not those sugary fizzy drinks. It might have been Bonny’s mother talking. Toby was right. She must believe it all. The only problem was
that
she took it all so seriously. And so did they. It had become the only thing that mattered. It was the most important thing in their lives. Somehow, with all this fussing, they had forgotten how very rich and big and deep living could be. When Bonny thought about it, she realized that, all that morning, she’d never once heard any one of them turn to another and say, ‘I missed you at swim club’ (Wouldn’t that muss up their hair!) or ‘Are you coming camping this weekend?’ (What scruffs they’d end up looking!) or even ‘Meet you in the library on Saturday morning?’ (Oh, no. They’d miss a whole four hours down the shops!)

No, Bonny thought glumly, watching them twirling and spinning and practising their prettiest faces. They were doomed. They had become like all those prissy milksops in the poems, walking in beauty but not going anywhere.

It was her job to save them, that was obvious.

But
how
? She couldn’t go and talk to them because she was too busy with the sound and the lighting. And even those who weren’t warming up were still frantically putting the last special touches to their make-up or their
hair
or their fancy costumes. They hadn’t time to listen. And bossy Cristalle was already striding around with the box that she’d taken from Bonny’s room.

‘Time to choose places!’

One by one, each of them shut her eyes (carefully, so as not to smudge her make-up), whispered her own particular lucky chant, and picked out a coloured disc stamped with a number.

‘Eight!’ Cooki chortled. ‘It’s my lucky number!’

Lulu inspected her own disc. ‘Five.’ She groaned. ‘Right in the middle. Who’s going to remember anything you do if you’re right in the middle?’

‘One!’ Serena’s eyes shone with delight, though she said in pretend horror, ‘Oh, it’s
awful
going first. It’s just horrible! Horrible!’

Cindy-Lou picked her number. ‘Goody! I’m last! Everyone remembers the last one.’

One by one, each of them peeled the paper backing off their disc, and stuck the number on their music tape before bringing it to Bonny. They hadn’t forgotten the incident with the pizza, she could tell. But no-one wanted to
get
on the wrong side of her before the show, so they were all smiles and sweet voices.

‘You will remember how I want my spotlight, won’t you?’

‘If I sing too softly, please turn down the backing tape.’

‘My floodlights must stay on for the whole dance, you know.’

‘Don’t forget that my drum rolls get louder and louder.’

Bonny took notes, and put the tapes in order carefully. After all, if she was going to try and save them, it would be a whole lot easier if they liked and trusted her, and all that squabbling at the lunch table hadn’t made the best start in that. So she was as friendly as she could be, nodding and smiling as they trooped in, and reassuring them
when,
terribly nervous, they explained what they wanted again, over and over.

And all the time Bonny was secretly hoping that Araminta would come in again, just to check about her lights and her snowflakes. This time, Bonny would get things right. First she would say how sorry she was the two of them had ended up quarrelling so horribly earlier. Then she’d apologize again, about the pizza. After that, she’d throw herself on Araminta’s mercy, and beg her help in telling everyone how they were being used, and how they could be so much happier if they had other things to think about than just being pretty. Bonny worked it out in her mind. Araminta would sidle in, looking a little bit pouty and nervous. But once she was absolutely sure Bonny meant what she said, she’d listen carefully. When Bonny explained about the glop men, Araminta would look shocked, and say, ‘Oh, let me help. We must explain to everyone. And now we’re friends again, please call me Minty.’

So it was almost a surprise when Araminta pushed open the door and stood there, not halfway ready to be friends again, but scowling horribly.

Bonny stepped forward. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I was just going out to find you, to say I’m sorry.’

Araminta didn’t smile.

‘About the pizza? Or about being so mean to me earlier?’

Bonny was irritated, but she kept her temper.

‘Mostly the pizza. After all, you were mean to me, too.’

‘Not nearly as mean as you were.’

‘Oh, please don’t let’s argue,’ Bonny said. ‘Shoving a pizza in someone’s face may be worse than telling everyone that someone’s jealous. But I said sorry first, and that’s harder than anything.’

Araminta was still making a grumpy I’m-not-convinced face. The meeting really wasn’t going as Bonny expected. But she pressed on, because it was important.

‘But we have to be friends again, because I really need your help.’

‘My help? Why?’

She looked so suspicious that Bonny knew it wouldn’t work. Araminta wasn’t going to listen. And, if she did, she wouldn’t be convinced. And, if she were, she wouldn’t help.

It was quite hopeless.

Or was it? In a flash, the idea came.

‘Oh,’ Bonny said innocently. ‘I just had a little plan.’

‘A little plan?’

‘To please Mrs Opalene, so she’ll forgive me for behaving so badly.’

‘Please Mrs Opalene…?’Araminta’s eyes lit up, as Bonny knew they would. Then she made a face, and said contemptuously, ‘Now how would someone like you be able to please Mrs Opalene? It’s impossible. She only has to look at you now, to get nervous. There’s nothing you could do that would please her, except not cause any more trouble.’

‘There is,’ said Bonny. ‘And I’m going to do it.’

Again, the glint shone in Araminta’s eyes.

‘What?’

‘I wouldn’t tell anyone else,’ said Bonny. ‘But I’ll tell you. I’m going to brighten up the Curls and Purls Show.’

‘Brighten it up?’ Araminta looked doubtful. ‘Why should—?’

‘Listen,’ interrupted Bonny. ‘How many Curls and Purls shows have you been in, Araminta?’

‘This is my seventh,’ Araminta said.

‘And how many do you think Mrs Opalene has judged?’

Araminta rolled her eyes upwards as she did the counting. ‘Well, she’s been running them since my half-sister went to Hooper Road School, and now she’s getting on for twenty-two, and there are three a year, and so—’ Araminta’s eyes widened. ‘She must have watched nearly fifty!’

‘Exactly!’ said Bonny. ‘Fifty Curls and Purls shows. She must have seen every dance and heard every song a dozen times. I think she’d be delighted if someone fixed up something different. I bet she’d love a big surprise.’

Araminta was weakening, Bonny could tell. The Charm School girls would all do anything to please Mrs Opalene (especially on the day she chose the winner of the glistering tiara!). Bonny felt a bit bad about being so sneaky with someone who had come so close to being her friend, and whom she’d already upset by covering in pizza. But it was all in a good cause. The girls really should be saved from wasting any more of their lives.

So, leaning closer, Bonny whispered in Araminta’s ear.

‘Don’t you think Mrs Opalene would be thrilled with someone who arranged a nice surprise for her? Something really
different
? Just for once? Don’t you think she might even want to give them extra points?’

Araminta drew breath sharply. ‘Extra points?’

‘Not for me, obviously,’ Bonny said casually. ‘Because I’m not in the competition.’

‘I am, though,’ Araminta said, thinking fast.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Bonny. ‘You are.’ She shrugged so innocently. ‘I suppose you might end up getting the extra points she would have given me, as well. Why, you might end up getting so many you walk off with the glistering tiara!’

She peeped slyly at Araminta, whose eyes were glinting with desire.

‘The glistering tiara! Supreme Queen! Me! Oh, yes!’ She spread her arms as if she were catching golden coins falling from heaven. ‘Oh, yes! The glistering tiara!
Me!
’

Breaking off suddenly, she turned to Bonny. ‘But how do I know I can trust you? You’ve never seemed to bother about Mrs Opalene having nice surprises before. Quite
the
opposite! You’ve given her several nasty ones. And me, too. So how do I know you’re not just trying to get me into trouble? How do I know you don’t want to win a crown of your own – the Spiteful Miss Sparky crown?’

Turning on Araminta that same, deeply reproachful, look that Mrs Opalene had given her earlier, Bonny put her hand on her heart and said in all honesty, ‘I swear to you, Araminta. I’m doing this for the very, very best of reasons.’

Had she missed something? Did Mrs Opalene dish out marshmallow hearts along with the handy hints every Saturday morning? For suddenly Araminta was smiling happily from ear to ear. Reaching out to take Bonny’s hands, she spun her round and round, just like before.

‘Yes!’ she said excitedly. ‘Let’s do it! Let’s do it together! It’ll be enormous fun. And we’ll give darling,
darling
Mrs Opalene such a surprise!’