Destiny Date (9 page)

I stare in horror at the string of models strutting along the runway. One by one, they turn and head back.

My heart lurches as they advance on me like a freakish doll army.

Invasion of the Cindytrons.

I swallow as, one by one, they file past and disappear behind the curtain.

Suddenly I’m alone at the head of the runway. The applause thunders louder.

‘Go on!’ Purple Man hisses behind me. ‘You’re the star of the show.’ He shoves me and I stumble forward.

I’m onstage again and this time I don’t even have a tambourine.

Help me, please!

My high heels feel like stilts and it’s all I can do to balance.

What would Savannah say?

I quickly remember her lecture on the carpet catwalk in my bedroom.

You’re a supermodel not a tightrope walker. Hold your head up! And swing your arms!

I throw back my shoulders and put one foot gingerly in front of the other. The crowd stands. Bulbs flash.

I wish Sam were here. He’d find it funny.

Imagining his warm, friendly smile gives me courage. I lift my chin and swing my arms.

I’m the Gemmanator.

I begin to get the hang of walking and start to move to the rhythm of the music. The crowd clap me along. Terror flips into excitement. This is great! I press back a grin as I reach the end of
the catwalk.

I’m doing it! I’m a supermodel.

I turn with a flourish and my heels rock beneath me.

No!

My heart jumps into my throat as the world suddenly reels. Gravity has hooked me. Panicking, I flap my arms. The momentum sends me backwards over the edge of the runway and, bum first, I fall
into the front-row seats.

I land on something squashy.

It squawks in my ear.

It’s a woman.

I struggle from her lap and scramble to my feet.

‘I’m so sorry!’

The room hushes. The music stops. Cameras flash in the eerie silence. I spot Cindy, glaring from an aisle. She clearly recognizes me. And she doesn’t look happy about my new career choice.
I drag my gaze from hers and stare at the woman I’ve just bombed. I recognize her from the picture in the foyer.

Anna De Vine.

Mortification sets in, burning my cheeks, then engulfing the rest of me. ‘Sorry!’ It’s the only word I can say. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Anna De Vine is staring at me. Her strange, stretched face is stiff with shock.

I wish I were back at home, lying on Ben’s bed, telling bedtime stories.

I’m the Gemmanator
.

What would Ben expect me to do?

He’d want me to get up again.

I’m invincible.

I bend and unbuckle my deadly shoes. Slipping them off, I hook a finger through the ankle straps and I turn. Lifting my skirt, I clamber back onto the runway and face the audience. I flash them
a huge smile and drop a curtsey. The crowd erupts into cheers. Music explodes from the speakers and the room is thumping again. I turn on the balls of my feet and, swinging my hips, pad back up the
runway in bare feet.

‘Darling, darling!’ Purple Man rushes from behind the curtain. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me to him, firing squelchy air kisses at my ears. ‘Such
style
!’

I peer over his shoulder and see Anna De Vine. She’s on her feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd. Fashionistas clamour round her, squawking like excited peacocks. She looks up and
catches my eye.

Was that a wink?

I grin and wink back.

My gaze flicks to Cindy. She stands in the aisle, scowling like a jilted bride. It’s time to leave.

Purple Man doesn’t notice me slide out of his embrace. He’s being swamped by models who are streaming from behind the curtain to hug their leader. I dodge past them and burst into
the dressing room. I’m relieved to see it’s empty. Everyone must be onstage.

I reach for the zip of my dress. In two minutes I’ve slipped out of it and am scrambling back into my school uniform. As I hook on my ballet shoes, I hear voices from the catwalk.

I escape into the corridor, so pleased to see the chipped tiles and dirty lino I could kiss them. I don’t. Instead, I charge back towards the red-carpet hallway and run for the foyer,
taking the stairs three at a time.

As I screech to a halt beside the reception desk, I spot Cindy.

She marches from the show hall, her face thunderous. ‘What on earth were you doing?’

I smile, shrugging modestly. ‘I was modelling.’ I’m too happy to apologize. I’ve just swapped winks with Anna De Vine.

The woman behind the reception desk leans forward. ‘Is everything OK?’

I smile at her. ‘Everything’s wonderful.’ I head for the front door.

Cindy storms after me. ‘You were meant to be
note-taking
!’ she hisses.

I try and work out why she’s so angry.

She explains helpfully. ‘You humiliated me, you humiliated Green Park High and you humiliated yourself.’

‘No one knew who I was.’ I stroll past the rows of cars, enjoying the sunshine. I can see Mr Harris’s elbow poking out of his car window. ‘They thought I was a model
called Radical.’

Cindy screeches to a halt. ‘
Radical?
’ She’s clearly heard the name before. She starts pointing at me with a jabbing finger. ‘How can
you
be
Radical?’

‘That’s what I thought,’ I tell her breezily. Nothing is going to bring me down from the cloud I’m floating on. I just walked a catwalk, fell off it and climbed back on.
If there were an Olympic medal for Cool, I’d be holding gold. ‘I tried to tell them I wasn’t Radical, but they just kept putting make-up on me and curling my hair.’

Cindy’s eyes bulge. Her mouth gapes. Eventually, she finds words. ‘
Your
hair doesn’t
need
curling.’

It’s a lame shot and it sails past me. I wave to Mr Harris. ‘Mr Harris! We’re finished.’ Ignoring Cindy, I walk to the car and climb in the back.

Mr Harris turns in his seat and stares at me. ‘Gosh.’

Cindy tugs open the passenger door and thumps down into her seat. ‘Gemma decided to hijack the show,’ she snorts.

‘I thought you were just reviewing it,’ Mr Harris ventures.

Cindy crosses her arms. ‘So did
I.
Clearly, Gemma had
other
plans.’ Her words are so pointed you could use them for kebabs.

‘I didn’t
plan
anything!’ I hurl back at her. ‘It just happened.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Mr Harris obviously senses tension and decides to make a move. He starts the engine. ‘You were quicker than I expected.’ He backs out of his parking space. ‘Did you get any
good pictures?’

‘Oh, yes.’ I hear a sudden smirk in Cindy’s voice. ‘I got
plenty.
’

That sounds ominous.

Mr Harris pushes on bravely. ‘Did you manage to get an interview with a designer?’

Cindy’s head snaps round and she shoots me with freeze-beams. ‘Did
you,
Gemma? You seemed to be pretty friendly with Reuben.’

‘Who’s Reuben?’ I ask.

‘The
designer
?’ Cindy rolls her eyes, exasperated. ‘The man in the purple shirt who was hugging you.’

Mr Harris twitches nervously behind the wheel. ‘There was a man hugging you?’

‘It was the end of the show,’ I explain. ‘Everyone on the catwalk was hugging.’

‘You were
on
the catwalk?’ Mr Harris’s steering slips and the car jerks a little.

‘Mr Harris,’ Cindy says sternly. ‘Please concentrate on your driving. Gemma hijacked the fashion show, that’s all. It’s nothing important.’

Mr Harris fixes his gaze on the road. ‘It sounds like it’ll make a good story for the webzine,’ he ventures. ‘Will you be writing it, Gemma?’

I don’t get the chance to answer.

‘No, Mr Harris,’ Cindy growls. ‘
I’m
the fashion reporter. So
I’ll
be writing the story. I’ll be sure to mention Gemma’s
triumph.
’

I don’t like her tone.

For the rest of the journey, Cindy is wordless in the passenger seat. She’s not even texting. Mr Harris drives quietly and carefully, never braking too hard and pulling
away so gently I can hardly tell we’re moving. It’s like he’s transporting nitroglycerine. One bump or shake and
BOOM!
we’re body parts and the car’s spread
over half the county.

‘We’re here,’ he says at last, pulling into the school car park.

‘Thanks, Mr Harris.’ Cindy lets herself out. She heads towards the cloakroom.

‘Thanks for driving us, Mr Harris.’ I tug my door handle. ‘I had a great time.’

Mr Harris smiles at me past his headrest. ‘It sounds like you had quite an adventure.’

‘I did.’ I grin back. ‘I can’t wait to tell Treacle and Savannah.’

I climb out and run past the cars and up the slope to the field. There’s two minutes till the bell for afternoon registration. Students are wandering across the grass towards school. I
spot Savannah and Treacle lounging beneath the horse chestnuts. When I wave, they spot me and leap to their feet.

‘Hi, Gemma.’ A familiar voice sounds behind me. I turn and see Sam loitering at the top of the slope.

He whistles as I face him. ‘You look great.’

I’d forgotten about my hair and make-up. Suddenly self-conscious, I touch my hair with my hand. ‘A bit over the top, isn’t it?’

‘It really suits you.’ Sam looks sheepish. ‘I love curly hair.’

‘Really?’ I blink at him, flattered.

‘Yeah.’ He casually scuffs a pebble with his shoe. ‘It’s much better than straight hair.’

Joy floods me. I feel like punching the air. One-nil victory for curly hair! Then I remember Cindy – the straight-haired girl he’s dating.

I freeze.

What a creep!

Does he tell Cindy he prefers
straight
hair?

Rage boils under my skin. How dare he? I can’t believe that Sam is such a fake. I thought he was lovely. Suddenly memories are flashing in my head like danger signs. The way he’s
always really kind to me at webzine meetings. The way he turns up out of nowhere, like a stalker. Is he using me to make Cindy jealous? Or is he the kind of boyfriend who thinks it’s fine to
hit on other girls? Either way, for the first time
ever,
I feel sorry for Cindy.

‘Gemma!’ I hear Treacle and Savannah hurtling closer. I don’t want them to see I’m angry with Sam. They’d want to know why. I barge furiously past him and head down
the slope. They catch me up as I reach the car park.

Treacle hugs me. ‘You’re back!’

‘You look fabulous!’ Savannah stares at me admiringly. ‘Where are the photos?’

I glance back at Sam. He’s standing at the top of the slope like a dog that’s lost its stick. I scowl at him and turn away. ‘I had the best time
ever
!’ I hook my
arms through Sav’s and Treacle’s. ‘I bet you can’t guess what I did.’

‘She can’t waste her new look.’ Savannah wide-eyes my mum. ‘It’s been created by
professional
stylists.’

Mum leans against the kitchen table and crosses her arms. ‘It’s a school night.’

‘We’ll be home by nine,’ Treacle promises. ‘How many times does a girl get a makeover like that? She needs to make the most of it. It’ll be smudged and messy by
tomorrow. She has to go out tonight.’

Savannah and Treacle hatched a plot during double history. They decided that we
had
to spend the evening at the skating rink, showcasing my hair and make-up. When I reminded them about
Mum’s strict not-going-out-on-school-nights policy, they escorted me home.

Now they are in our kitchen, pleading, while I stand in the doorway, chewing my knuckles.

Savannah’s laying it on thick. ‘If you’d just been turned into a supermodel, you’d want to show it off, right?’

Mum sucks in her lips. ‘You’ll be home by nine?’

‘Of course.’ Savannah’s eyes sparkle.

‘Homework done before you leave?’

‘Haven’t got any,’ Treacle tells Mum. ‘It’s nearly the end of term.’

‘OK.’ Mum nods and I whoop with delight.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I push past Treacle and hug her.

‘Nine o’clock
at the latest
,’ Mum insists.

‘At the latest,’ I agree.

We’re on the seven o’clock bus to the ice rink. We bag seats on the top deck and watch the buildings flash past, bouncing up and down as the driver tries to break
the sound barrier.

‘Sal and Ryan are meeting us there.’ Savannah’s looking cute in a pink minidress with a flared skirt.

‘Sally said Chelsea and Josh will be there too.’ Treacle’s glossy black hair cascades over the shoulders of her blood-red jacket. ‘Chelsea has a skating lesson on
Thursdays. Apparently, Josh always meets her for a Coke afterwards.’

‘That’s
so
romantic.’ I fake a sarcastic swoon onto Treacle’s shoulder. I’m dressed low key, in a dark green tartan pinafore. I’m letting my flaming
curls and carefully preserved make-up do the work. I don’t know what brand the stylists used, but it’s set into a doll-mask. I wonder if my cleanser will be strong enough to strip it
off.

‘Do you think any Year Tens will be there?’ Savannah asks. She looks at me and I can tell by the sly glitter in her gaze that she’s hoping to pair me off with a boy.