Girl, Going on 16: Pants on Fire (28 page)

‘Well, there is just one little niggling thing,’ said Jess. She hadn’t really been completely aware of it, but talking to Dad like this now had kind of brought it to the surface, and she realised it had been bothering her, in a buried way, for some time.

‘In the show I do this – well, I’m kind of the link presenter among other things, and I do it as Miss Thorn.’

‘The beast from the deepest pits of hell?’

‘The very same,’ said Jess. ‘The trouble is, it’s really great, the script works fine, I’m just . . . well, I suppose I’m just a tiny bit scared that she’ll react badly.’

‘You haven’t used her real name?’

‘No, in the show she’s called Susie Sunbeam.’

Dad laughed. This was promising.

‘I’m sure she’ll be OK about it,’ said Dad. ‘If she got upset she’d just look a fool. But if she does get mad, you can come and live with me.’

‘Fantastic! But, Dad, can I bring Mum and Granny and Fred as well?’ said Jess.

‘Nothing would please me more,’ said Dad. ‘But, obviously, Fred would have to live outdoors until you were engaged.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Jess. ‘We can tie him to the railings. It would only be for about five years.’

They laughed. But deep down inside, Jess remained just ever so slightly terrified of Miss Thorn’s reaction to being lampooned, and hoped that, on the morning of the show, she would have the decency to break a leg and be whisked off by an air ambulance.

Chapter 34

Dad’s support was reassuring, and it was great knowing he was actually going to be there in person. She’d asked permission for Dad and Phil to come to the show and that was OK, especially as Phil was providing a lot of the costumes and all the wigs, and helping with the quick costume changes – he used to be a stage designer and was bringing loads of clothes from his boutique.

Tickets sold like hot cakes. They sold so many they had to print more. And contrary to Jess’s expectations, teachers bought them as well. The day came. The hall was packed. Jess was all ready, waiting in the wings in her Miss Thorn costume. They had borrowed a power suit from Flora’s mum, and Phil had fixed Jess’s hair so it looked just like Miss Thorn’s. Jess herself had designed her scary, flaring eyebrows. But despite her terrifying appearance, she herself had never felt so nervous in her life.

‘Oh my goodness!’ whispered Flora, joining Jess backstage. ‘You made me jump! I thought you were actually her for a moment!’

‘They’re all there!’ Mackenzie was peeping through the curtains. ‘All the teachers and everything. Irritable Powell, Thorn, the lot.’

Jess felt a terrible stab of panic. She had sort of known Miss Thorn would actually be here, but she hadn’t anticipated just how frightening it would be.

The excited hubbub was hushed as the lights dimmed. Jess’s heart was racing. She had to walk out now as Miss Thorn with Miss Thorn watching! She took a deep breath and stepped out into the spotlight.

There was uproar. Pandemonium. People actually shrieked with shocked, ecstatic laughter. Jess raked the auditorium with a snooty stare. She rubbed her thumb against her index finger, just like Miss Thorn did. She glared at the audience, flaring the whites of her eyes. She pursed her lips. Then she raised her hand. A hush fell, punctuated by scattered giggles.

‘Be quiet!’ she snapped. ‘You haven’t come here to enjoy yourselves.’

They howled. Jess waited, hands on hips, the way Miss Thorn stood when she was rattled. Eventually the audience fell silent. They so much wanted to hear her speak again.

‘My name,’ said Jess in Miss Thorn’s high, whiny voice, ‘is Susie Sunbeam. Cross me at your peril.’

More laughs. Jess began to wonder if they would ever get to the first sketch. It was a dream start.

Eventually the first sketch unfolded: the girl group talking to camera about their success. Fred, Mackenzie and Ben in big hair and miniskirts, sitting kind of scrunched up together on a sofa (the sole piece of furniture on the set, incidentally – borrowed from Flora’s granny, who had so many sofas there was a rumour she was breeding them).

At the sight of the boys dressed as a girly band, the audience fell about. Then they launched into their high-pitched American accents.

‘We really hit the big tahm aftah we played the Fruit Bowl in Sacramenno,’ drawled Fred.

‘Like, we becayme rowl mahdels,’ added Mackenzie. ‘Plus I wuz voted the girl with the cutest butt by
Music
magazine.’

‘Show ’em yo’ butt, Shirlene,’ said Ben, flicking his long blonde wig out of his eyes.

‘No, I won’t, Barbie,’ said Mackenzie.
‘
’Cos this is a family show. Oh, OK.’ He got up and whirled around, lifting his miniskirt to give the audience an eyeful of gold lamé hot pants of the sort made popular by endless music videos.

The girly band then mimed to a disco number. The audience loved it. They clapped and cheered as the girly band made their bow. Then it was Jess’s turn again. She strode on to the stage and turned to the audience with a terrifying white-eyed glare.

‘Be quiet!’ she snapped. ‘Wipe that smile off your face, Smith. Nobody’s amused.’

The audience erupted.

‘Some of you seem to think you can do what you like in here,’ she went on. ‘You at the back, stop laughing! And see me afterwards.

‘Now, as I was saying, my name is Susie Sunbeam. It has a pleasing alliteration, as you can appreciate. Alliteration is when a Christian name and a surname begin with the same letter. As in Mickey Mouse. Or Donald Duck.’

‘Or Jess Jordan!’ shouted someone in the audience. Jess flinched. Everybody laughed.

‘Don’t even think of mentioning that name!’ hissed Jess. ‘Despite its alliteration, it has a very unpleasant sound. I would never trust a person with a name like that. It sounds somehow frightfully common.’

Everybody roared. She had departed from her script, but she had to get back on course. The gang had had enough time for their quick change – off with the wigs and miniskirts, on with the sports shorts.

‘And now – sit still when I’m talking!’ More laughter. ‘We are going to study a phenomenon which dates from classical times. The Olympics. The challenge is to apply Olympic principles to everyday life. And now over to our commentator Reg Filbert at The Pointless Olympics.’

She backed offstage, there was a brassy fanfare of heroic Olympics-type music, and Fred walked on holding a microphone and with one finger in his ear.

‘Thank you, Susie,’ he said. ‘The rather disappointing news for Team GB is that plucky Andy Kerbstone has had to pull out of the Sandwich-making with a sore big toe. But we’re able to bring you the main event of the evening: Picking the Nose While Standing on One Leg.’

Ben, Mackenzie and Flora all walked on in sports gear, doing various warming-up exercises and looking heroic and motivated.

‘On your marks, get set, go!’ shouted Phil, firing a starting pistol offstage. Immediately they all stood on one leg and started picking their noses.

‘Only one thing matters here,’ said Fred in a hushed excited tone. ‘Commitment. Obviously, the athletes have to stand on one leg – the British representative, Harriet Podge, has been training down at Walford Harriers, out in all weathers for years, standing on one leg for half an hour before most of us are even out of bed. That’s what I call dedication.’

Flora lost her balance and toppled to the ground.

‘Oh no!’ cried Fred. ‘The plucky British girl has gone! She lost it coming up to the half-minute mark! Now it’s between the Croatian and the Greek!’

Ben picked his nose and pretended to flick a bit across the stage.

‘And that’s a massive flick from the Croatian!’ said Fred. ‘It’s absolutely huge! It’s well over four metres! That’s his personal best and a new world record!’

The Pointless Olympics went down a storm. The audience particularly liked Trying Not to Cry While Thinking of Puppies Being Ill-treated.

Then, after the Olympics, came a great little sketch in which Flora and Ben tried to plan a demo protesting about the negative image of blondes in society, but their ability to organise it was hampered by their lack of brain cells.

‘We’ll . . . uh, have to have it outdoors, yeah?’ pondered Ben.

‘Er,’ said Flora, frowning in an empty-headed manner, ‘what’s . . .
outdoors
mean, exactly?’

Jess and Fred were watching from the wings.

‘Nice little piece of typecasting there,’ whispered Fred, and in the darkness he put his arm around Jess and hugged her. ‘Feels kind of weird hugging Miss Thorn,’ he went on. ‘I could really get into it.’

The blondes sketch ended, and Jess strode out into the spotlight again. She was greeted by an enormous cheer. She held up a hand. Silence. The feeling of power was amazing. But it was the power of comedy, not the power of fear.

‘Quiet!’ she barked. ‘We’re coming to the end of this entertainment now, and some of you have behaved so badly that there’s going to be a special detention after school.’

The audience cheered for Jess. She glared at them, flaring the whites of her eyes.

‘Some of you appear to think that this is amusing!’ she snapped. ‘I can assure you, there’s absolutely nothing to laugh about.’

More laughs. Jess held up her hand.

‘And now,’ she said, ‘pray silence for the school song, which has been rewritten in honour of a very important guest.’

Jess was joined by Fred, Ben and Flora, and they performed the words of the school song to the tune of
God Save the Queen
. At the very end Mackenzie walked on dressed as the Queen and did a bit of stilted royal waving as the audience applauded, cheered and drummed on the floor with their feet. Then the house lights went up. Mr Powell, who had been sitting at the front, stood up.

‘I’m sure you’d all like me to congratulate Jess, Flora, Fred, Mackenzie and Ben,’ he said. ‘This was a terrific show, and they’ve raised almost £1,000 for the Teenage Cancer Trust.’

More cheers.

‘What’s more,’ said Mr Powell, ‘their timing has been perfect. In a minute the bell’s going to go for afternoon school – so will you please file out in an orderly manner and go to your classrooms for registration.’

How very dull that sounded after all the comedy. Jess and the gang trooped off and began to unwind in the dressing room backstage.

‘It was fabulous!’ said Phil. Dad gave Jess a big hug, then got busy collecting the costumes and helping Phil put the wigs carefully back into the boxes.

Despite Mr Powell’s instructions that everybody should go to registration, the dressing room immediately began to fill up with people congratulating them.

‘It was fantastic!’ said Jodie, hugging Jess. ‘You’re a genius! So much more fun than
Twelfth Night
!’

‘Oh, don’t be hard on Shakespeare,’ said Jess. ‘
Twelfth Night
has been fun for hundreds of years, which ain’t bad.’

‘Miss Thorn was really cracking up!’ said Tom. ‘Every time you appeared as her, she covered her face and, like, cringed!’

‘Really?’ said Jess. She felt the cold spear of anxiety again. Despite Tom’s report that Miss Thorn had been laughing, Jess would ideally not wish to see her again as long as she lived. Then Jodie looked up and went pale.