I Lost My Mobile At the Mall (15 page)

'
Ma belle
, you'll be the most gorgeous thing at the dance tonight,' says Dad as he reaches for his jacket.

'Look at you, just look at you!' exclaims Mum, clapping her hands, and for once she's not talking about the dog. 'Rick, get the camera.'

I pose this way and that, totally enjoying my star turn in front of the paparazzi in the Palace kitchen.

Tilly appears in the doorway in her dressing gown with her empty coffee cup and her mouth drops open. 'Hey! Isn't that my . . .?'

I'm stuttering some sort of lame apology when she just shakes her head.

'Go for it. You look amazing. I love your hair up like that, but I hate it when you look better in my clothes than I do. I
so
forgot I even had that dress.'

'No wonder, with the state of that pigsty you live in.' Mum
has
to take the opportunity to get a nag in.

'Hey, Mum,' sings Tilly as she reaches for the kettle. 'One day Elly and I won't be living here and you'll be standing in our empty rooms and missing our stinky, girly crap.'

Tilly and I both start to laugh and then I see Mum's face crumple.

'Don't,' she blubs into her hands. 'Don't. I can't stand the thought of it.'

Dad throws his arm around Mum and gives her a hug.

'Don't worry, darls! When the girls move out, we'll sell this place and I'll take you on a trip to see the real Buckingham Palace! So, Elly, let's get going. Your coach awaits!'

Mum brightens up a bit and the Royal Family of Oldcastle all have a soppy group hug.

Then I'm flying out the door on silver sandals. Princess Elly, on her way to the ball! Suddenly there's a strangled screech from behind me.

'NO, NO ELLY! NOT MY NEW SHOES. YOU CAN'T WEAR THEM!'

Too late! I sprint down the path and lock the car door behind me. Tilly owes me these shoes. She's standing on the front porch, still giving me the stare of death, as Dad backs the car down the drive.

Actually, it's more like a little kid's birthday party than a fairytale ball here at the boatshed tonight. Paper streamers and balloons are sagging from the ceiling. Streamers? Balloons? Then again, maybe they do suit the place – some of the Year Eights tottering around on their high heels look about eight years old. I wouldn't be surprised to see them with lolly bags at the end of the night. It's all a bit pathetic. Why do we have to share our dance with the grommets? Why can't they have a bouncy castle on the school oval?

The Year Elevens and Twelves all get to dress in long gowns and tuxedos and dance to a live band at their formal in November. Meanwhile, over in a dingy corner I see that ridiculous dropkick Bad Mickey B standing under a CASTLEROCK 64.5 FM banner playing DJ and thinking he's the King of the World. Standing next to him is the hideous Jai, punching the air with his fists and imagining he's in some special VIP area. It's truly, truly sad.

I'm just wondering whether Will will even make it here tonight when Carmelita catches me by the elbow and spins me round. We both give each other total five stars. Carmelita has never, ever looked prettier. She's a totally hot red-carpet babe!

We walk arm-in-arm to the outside deck and I have to admit that with the lights of Britannia reflected in the still waters of the Mersey, there might be a touch of magic about the evening. And what of Prince Charming? Again the thought of seeing him makes my stomach flip.

'CARMELITA! What are YOU doing here?' shrieks Bianca from behind us. 'Did you bring your pig? Where are your gumboots?'

Oh, v.v. funny!

I turn to see Bianca's hair so puffed up and teased and sprayed that it might double for a shipping hazard buoy on the Mersey River. What
has
she done to herself?

'Hi Bianca!
Love
your hair!' says Carmelita, as she gives me a secret kick in the shins.

'Me too,' I chirp, trying not to laugh.

'I'm just back in Oldcastle for the weekend and I thought I'd be Elly's date,' says Carmelita.

'Well, why not?' Bianca sneers. 'Doesn't look like any of the seaweed heads you usually hang with are here tonight, Elly.'

I just smile. I'm practising being inscrutable. I know it will drive Bianca crazy.

And then 'Get the Party Started' by Pink thumps through the speakers inside and we push past Bianca and hit the polished wooden dance floor, determined to show the tinies from Year Eight how it's done.

We prance on our high heels under the daggy disco lights and . . . it feels so brilliant to be dancing! Not thinking anything at all. Just dancing. Kicking up my exquisite heels with my BFF Carmelita.

'Did you smell Bianca's breath?' Carmelita leans and yells into my ear over the music. 'I think she's been drinking alcohol.'

No! I make an astonished face at Carmelita. I am just about to try and get more information when Tenzin rocks up.

'I am here to dance with both of you!' he shouts. 'The two prettiest girls in Oldcastle. This is my lucky night!'

There's still no sign of Will and I'm sort of glad in a way, because Carmelita and I can't take our eyes off Bianca. She's standing with Jai and Bad Mickey B behind the DJ's table and during the past hour we have both spotted her drinking what's supposed to be non-alcoholic punch, but we reckon it's something she's getting from a suspicious esky stashed behind the speaker stack.

There's a break in the music and a stampede for the supper table.

It's like a waterhole in Africa. Sir David Attenborough would love to narrate this scene for the National Geographic Channel. He'd note how the Year Eights all herd at one end of the table to feed, the Year Nines at the other end, and how the Year Tens all stand back while they let the animals lower down the food chain have their fill before they amble over to graze.

Carmelita and I load our paper plates with vegetarian pizza and little tomato and cheese tartlets and find ourselves a quiet corner.

Carmelita nudges me and I look up from my plate to see the apparition of Fergie coming towards us in full flight.

Uh-oh!

She's marching across the dance floor towards us in the ugliest sack-like floral dress and white platforms that have ever been seen in Oldcastle – which is really saying something! Tonight she's wearing her
formal
scrunchie – black polyester with gold beads sewn on it.

'Elly Pickering. Carmelita Martinez,' she says officiously. 'A quiet word.'

I gulp. Usually Fergie's yelling at full volume. This must be seriously serious.

'Bianca Ponsford is . . . er . . . unwell,' says Fergie in a hoarse whisper.

'That's because she's been drinking alcohol,' says Carmelita, who's not known for being the most tactful person on earth. 'We saw her filling her glass from a bottle in an esky.'

'Well, yes. Quite right,' says Fergie looking about and hoping no-one's overheard. 'The drink was brought into the venue by Jai McHaargh and he has already been collected by his parents.'

Carmelita and I exchange a look. It's exactly what we suspected. And Jai's already gone home? Funny no-one seems to have missed him.

'I would like you two girls, as Bianca's best friends, to see her outside and put her into a taxi. I've ordered the car and it should be out the front in five minutes.'

Huh! I look at Carmelita. Why us? Why do we have to be Bianca's minders?

'We are short-staffed tonight,' Fergie explains. 'Myself, Mr York and Mr Battenburg cannot leave the other one hundred and fifty pupils here unsupervised – one of those silly Year Eights could jump off the deck and drown in the river in an instant – so I am asking you to please, please lend a hand.'

'Can't her mum and dad come and get her?' asks Carmelita through a mouthful of pizza. We've been dancing nonstop in heels and both need to sit down and rest our throbbing feet.

Fergie looks utterly stressed out and I actually feel a bit sorry for her.

'I've rung Bianca's parents and unfortunately they've been drinking as well and are unable to drive. They are expecting her home shortly. Of course, as soon as you see her off, you can come back and join the celebrations. Bianca's waiting by the front door now, so please go quickly and quietly. I am counting on your utmost discretion.'

Looks like we've got no option. We collect our handbags and trudge towards the front door. Bloody Bianca Ponsford! What a total pain!

At the front door of the boathouse we see Bianca leaning against a tall wooden oar, trying to keep herself upright. Her inflatable hairdo is slowly collapsing into an ugly mess.

'Smelly! Camel!' Bianca turns and waves, dropping her mobile on the floor with a nasty clatter. The back springs off, and skids across the tiles. The battery rolls under a cupboard. Bianca falls to her knees with a bruising
thud
as she gropes for the bits.

Carmelita finds everything and puts the precious device back together. Then we each take one of Bianca's upper arms, haul her to her feet and steer her out into the street.

'Thank youse. I love youse,' she slurs.

The three of us are standing in the freezing night air waiting for the stupid taxi when I see Will walk up with Bombie Logan! Will is so surprised to see me that he trips on the gutter.

'HA!' shouts Bianca. 'Flipper feet!'

Which is pretty ironic coming from Bianca, who, without me and Carmelita holding her up, would fall flat on her face and be swept down the gutter into the river.

'Hey! Will, Bombie!' calls Carmelita.

'Yo! Carmelita!' Bombie ambles over and surveys the scene. He looks at Bianca with disgust. Honestly, if she saw what a disgrace her make-up looks, she would never drink again. Her lipstick is smeared halfway down her chin and her smudged mascara makes her face look like a Halloween mask.

'What's happening?' asks Bombie. I notice Will's hanging back in the shadows.

'We've got a slight situation here,' Carmelita explains. 'We're just waiting for a taxi to take Bianca home and we'll be back inside in a couple of minutes. Save us a dance?'

I dare to look up at Will and I can almost feel my legs give way too. It's my Will. He's as beautiful tonight as he ever has been.

'Uh, sure,' says Will, staring down at the ground. 'See you inside in a minute, then.'

'Cool,' says Bombie, and they both shove their hands even deeper into their pockets and shuffle past us. Will's so close to me. My old life is so near to me I could reach out and touch it. There's only one thing between me and true happiness – Bianca Pontoon Head Ponsford!

GRRRRR! Ten minutes have gone by now and the ghost taxi still hasn't come. Forget a foil-wrapped chocolate, I'm turning into a frozen Golden Gaytime! Carmelita's stamping her red stilettos, trying to keep warm.

'WHERE'S THAT STUPID TAXI?' she wails.

Bianca's been trying to call someone on her mobile the whole time. She's been randomly stabbing at the keypad and I wouldn't be surprised if she's managed to ring Tenzin's family in Tibet and their house is surrounded by Chinese soldiers by now.

Then Bianca is startled by a
ping
on her mobile and she reads the message.

'NOOOOOOO!' she moans. She stumbles forward, executes a startling 360-degree turn and falls dramatically backwards into my arms. Weeping blue eyes ringed with black and purple sludge stare up at me.

'It's Jai!' she sobs. 'JAI!'

She thrusts her mobile in my face and I scan the screen:

Georgie.SUL SWHT.Luv U.Jai xxxxxx

For one moment I can't tell what it means. I've been without my mobile for so long it's like a code I can't recognise.

'Look, look!' Bianca whimpers. '"Georgie. See you later, sweetheart. Love you. JAI!" It was for Georgie Daniels, but he sent it to me! WAAAAAAH!'

And then Bianca tears herself from my arms, leaps down a flight of stairs with amazing speed and runs along the path winding beside the river. I see her pause under a streetlight long enough to fling her mobile into the inky depths of the river. Carmelita and I grab at each other's hands and are squeezing tight when we hear a far-off, depressing
plop
.

'BIANCA! BIANCA!' Carmelita has screeched Bianca's name so many times she's almost lost her voice.

As I stomp through the long dewy grass beside the path and poke under every bush looking for Bianca I'm thinking of Tilly's gorgeous silver sandals. They're utterly ruined and she will go absolutely mental.

'Oh God! Where's that idiot gone?' asks Carmelita for the millionth time. 'We probably should go back and tell Fergie we can't find her. Why, oh why didn't I remember to pick up my phone on the way out?'

We're now so far along the river that it'll take another half-hour to walk back and our feet are already blistered. Carmelita couldn't fit her phone into her tiny evening bag, so it must be on the floor underneath a chair back at the boatshed. Brilliant! If only I had mine! This is exactly what I've been trying to tell Mum and Dad – that I need it in case of an emergency. And an emergency is what we've got right now. What if Bianca's fallen in the river? Although we would have heard a splash and a screech, surely, and we haven't heard a thing. Bianca has just vanished!

Where could she have gone?

'We should try to find a public phone and ring your parents, Els. I wouldn't be surprised if Fergie's already been on to them, we've been gone so long. This is a nightmare! BIANCA! BIANCA!'

We push our way through dark prickly bushes that tear at our frocks and stumble out onto the deserted road that runs through the park. We start looking for a phone.

'What is it with Jai anyway?' Carmelita asks as she pads down the asphalt in bare feet, her red stilettos dangling from one hand. 'Why's he always chasing the Year Twelve girls? Like that sleazoid has got a chance in hell!'

I feel really bad for Bianca. I remember how awful I felt about Will and I know she must be so upset. Could I have stopped it? I've constantly been wondering if I should have told her everything I heard about Jai. Would Carmelita have told her if the three of us were still hanging around together?

'Well, Els, it's really hard,' sighs Carmelita. 'It's not like you had actual evidence he was going behind her back – not before tonight anyway. Besides, Jai would have denied it and then Bianca would have totally hated your guts. In the end you just have to stay out of it, I suppose.'

I have to agree. There's no logical reason for who you fall in love with. I probably shouldn't have told Bianca that Jai was no good for her. After all, she never complained about Will to me. Maybe I'll tell her I'm sorry when we find her.

'You mean
if
we find her!' Carmelita groans. 'BIANCA!'

And then it starts to rain.

We walk for another twenty minutes with our evening bags on our heads to try to keep the rain off, but it's useless of course. Our gorgeous dresses are ripped and soaked through and look like dishrags. It's creepy out here, under the sickly yellow streetlights that cast reflections in the puddles.

I can't help thinking of Will back there at the dance. He'll probably think I've seen him and decided to go home.

'I wish Henry was coming down the street on his tractor to rescue me,' whines Carmelita.

We finally spy a phone box under a massive dripping tree and we huddle under its cover, a couple of shivering, drowned rats. We search in our soggy evening bags for a few coins and then find that the coin slot is totally clogged with green chewy!

'There's not going to be a public phone that works in the whole of Oldcastle,' moans Carmelita and I agree through chattering teeth.

'So, we should . . .' Carmelita tries to think of what we can possibly do next, and then we hear the sound of sirens blaring. We see blue and red lights flashing through the trees and in the next instant we are both frozen stiff in the blinding glare of full-beam headlights.