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“You’re not having her, are you, Miss?” Summer said at once. “She’s too short to be a model.”
I swear, if Mel hadn’t held on to my arm, Summer would have been a large blonde splat on the floor.
“Everyone gets a chance, Summer,” said Miss O’Neill firmly.
I held my head up and put one hand on my hip. Imagining myself in a pair of gorgeous high heels and a floaty chiffon gown, I started walking. All the magazines say that models walk like they’re on a tightrope, putting one foot in front of the other. It’s a great way of moving, and makes your hips sway like crazy. In my mind I could hear the crowds cheering and the music pumping. I could also hear Summer sniggering, but I ignored that. I just pictured her as a horse with a bridle around her head and kept going.
“Great,” said Miss O’Neill, ticking her clipboard.
“I can do it?” I said, hardly daring to believe my luck. “Really, Miss?”
“Yes, really.” Miss O’Neill smiled. “Mel? You’re next.”
Choirs of angels were singing in my head. I was going to be a model and get to wear some super-cool clothes! I stood and grinned as Mel grooved down the imaginary catwalk, fluttering her arms at her sides like a little bird.
“Terrific,” said Miss O’Neill, as Summer and her mates groaned pathetically.
“I’m in!” Lucy squealed, running up to us all pink and breathless. “Miss Rodriguez said I was great! There’s going to be a band with backing singers, and I’m one of them!”
“And Mel and me are models!” I yelled back delightedly.
This fashion show was going to be the event of the decade!
It was pretty hard to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day. Maths passed in a blur. The only thing I remember about it was Mr Hughes telling me off for sketching dresses in the margin of my maths book. (Hello? Working out the proportions of bust to waist to hips is totally about fractions.)
It’s not exactly a secret, but I’ve always wanted to work in fashion – not necessarily as a model, more on the design side. To create something original for someone to wear, that will make that someone feel a million dollars – that would be serious job satisfaction.
“Mum!” I yelled, running through the front door at full speed after school that afternoon. “Dad! Guess what!”
Dad put his head round the living-room door. “Let me see,” he said, doing one of his comedy frowns. “You’ve invented a device that brushes your teeth and your hair at the same time?”
Dad always says stupid stuff like that. But right now I was too excited to wind him up about it. “I’m going to be a model,” I said happily.
“I thought models had to be about ten feet tall,” said Dad in surprise. “And be older than twelve. You’re neither of those things, Coleen.”
I groaned. “Not like a proper Vogue model, Dad. A model in our school fashion show!”
“Who’s going to be a model?” said Mum, coming in the front door with Em.
“Me,” said Dad. He struck a stupid pose in the hallway. “I’ve always thought I had the nose for it.”
I fell over my words in my eagerness to tell Mum and Em my news.
“Fashion,” Em groaned, like it was the most boring subject in the world. She took off her crumpled jacket and slung it over the end of the stairs. It immediately slithered off and landed in a heap on the carpet.
“Thinking a bit about fashion wouldn’t kill you, Em,” I said, picking up her jacket and twirling it between my fingers. “You might learn that the dishcloth jacket is not a good look.”
“That’s terrific, Coleen,” said Mum warmly, putting her arm around me. “Well done. So what are you wearing?”
“There’s loads of stuff to do before we know that, Mum,” I said as we all went into the kitchen together. “We’ve got to work out a theme for the show, and write to all the boutiques in town to see if they’ll take part. Then there’s set design and music and scripts to write and learn. It’s not just about the clothes.”
“Scripts?” said Dad. “Since when do models talk?”
“Each section has to be introduced,” I said. “Our homework is to come up with a theme, and then argue it in front of the class next week. I’ve been thinking about it all day and I’ve come up with the best theme ever. I hope Miss O’Neill chooses it.”
“What is your fashion theme?” Em asked, doing silly quotey fingers around the “F” word.
Em should know by now that asking me to talk about fashion is always a mistake. You want me to talk? I’ll talk. And talk and talk and talk until your ears are ringing. And then I’ll talk some more.
“Time,” I said grandly.
“That’s a pretty big theme, Coleen…” Mum started.
“Dawn, morning, afternoon, dusk, evening, night,” I rushed on. “It’s perfect, and dead flexible. We can have misty-type dresses for dawn, maybe some sunrise colours for morning. Afternoon can be cool summer outfits in the blues of the summer sky. Dusk can be all moths and that.”
“Moths and that,” Dad repeated.
“Fluttery grey and black cobwebby stuff,” I explained.
“Plenty of that in the corners of your bedroom ceiling, Coleen,” Mum murmured from behind her cup of tea.
“Evening will be all glitter and sequins, and night could be…” I stopped. I hadn’t exactly worked out night.
“Duvets?” Dad suggested.
“Da…ad!” I wailed, pushing him as Mum and Em started laughing. “You never take me seriously!”
“Believe me, Col,” said Dad with a grin, “I do.”
He gathered me in and kissed me on the top of my head.
It’s hard to stay mad at him when he does that.
“Whatever you come up with,” Dad said as he released me, “we’ll all be in the front row of this fashion show, cheering you on. But promise me something.”
He looked so serious that I felt worried for a moment. “What?” I asked.
Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Promise you won’t forget your poor old dad when you get famous.”
I laughed, relieved. “Don’t be daft,” I said. “But you know what I’d really like?”
“A palace with a garden full of cantering white ponies,” said Dad promptly.
Em giggled.
“I’d really like to design the clothes as well as model them,” I said in a rush. “That would be…” I stopped because I couldn’t think of a word gorgeous enough.
“I think you might actually explode with excitement if you did that,” said Dad. “So maybe it’s not such a good idea. I don’t fancy sweeping up the bits.”
“Gross, Dad!” Em squealed.
“Who’s for a chocolate biscuit?” Mum said, flipping the kettle on for another cup of tea and reaching into the cupboard to take out the biscuit barrel.
“Me!” Em and I both shouted at the same time, pouncing on the tin.
“I don’t think so, Col,” said Em cheekily, snatching my biscuit and stuffing her face with it. “Chocolate is sooo bad for a model’s figure…”
That night, my dreams were full of rainbow silks and sequinned ribbons. For once, I couldn’t wait to pull on my uniform and run for the bus.
A huge black four-by-four roared up the road past me, choking me with the stink of petrol fumes. Coughing, I looked up to see Summer Collins’ stupid face grinning at me out of the tinted back window. Summer’s dad always drove her to school, like maybe his baby’s legs weren’t up to running for the bus like the rest of us.
What if Summer Collins gets to model all the cool stuff in the show and you get something tacky? a sneaky little voice whispered in my mind.
Coleen, I said firmly to myself, drowning out the sneaky voice, when it comes down to it, you will get something great to wear. And even if you don’t, you’ll work your special magic and make it look so hot that the catwalk will sizzle!
Feeling better for my little pep talk, I decided to try out my model walk the last few yards to the bus stop. Walking with a wiggle really makes you feel good. Except when you trip over a Coke can and land flat on your face at the last minute, just as the bus pulls into the stop and half of your school laughs themselves sick out of the windows. That stinks.
From his usual seat opposite Ben, Dave Sheekey cheered as I sat down next to Lucy and Mel and tried to sort out my bruised knee and injured pride.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Lucy comfortingly. “He’s an idiot. I don’t know what my brother sees in him.”
I took several deep breaths and imagined Dave Sheekey wearing a really bad pair of pants and nothing else. It cheered me up immediately.
Mel’s next words, however, brought me flat to the pavement with my nose inches from that Coke can again.
“Mum says I can’t do the modelling,” she said, staring at her knees.
“WHAT?” I screeched, horrified. Lucy put a comforting arm around Mel’s shoulders. “But why?”
“She says modelling ‘objectifies young girls’, if you want her exact words,” Mel sighed.
“But that’s crazy!” I spluttered. “Couldn’t you persuade her to let you do it, just this once?”
“You know what my mum’s like,” said Mel. “Once she has an idea in her head, she sticks to it like gum.”
I gawped at my best mate. This was awful! This was worse than awful!
“It won’t be the same if you aren’t modelling in the show too,” I gasped. “There must be some way of persuading her—”
“Believe me,” Mel interrupted me sadly, “there isn’t. And talking about it isn’t helping, OK? Mum won’t let me model, and that’s that. Can we talk about something else now?”
Three (#ulink_0daa0904-7b75-5b1f-be96-72b280456889)
Gutted just doesn’t come near how bad I felt for Mel. She hardly said a word during PE that morning. Given that you can’t usually shut Mel up, that was extremely weird. Every time me or Lucy asked her anxiously if she was OK, she muttered “Fine” and rushed off to the next piece of gym equipment like her shorts were on fire. It was like she didn’t even want to be near us, because we were going to be in the fashion show and she wasn’t.
“We have to do something, Lu,” I said urgently as we lined up at the climbing wall.
“I know,” said Lucy, biting her lip. “It’s not normal seeing Mel so sad.”
“What if we wrote her mum a letter?” I said.
Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Behind Mel’s back? No way.”
Lucy was right. I tried again.
“We have to talk to Mel’s mum ourselves then, and see if we can make her change her mind,” I said. “Can we go over after school this week?” I was struck by a brainwave. “A sleepover!” I said eagerly. “That’ll give us plenty of time to talk Mel’s mum round!”
“Great idea,” said Lucy. “But you should be asking Mel, not me.”
Mel walked past, her head bowed.
“Mel…” I started.
“Later, Coleen, yeah?” Mel said, not looking at me as she ran towards the tumbling mats.
Mel couldn’t avoid us forever. Lucy and I perfected our plan in time for break. And then we cornered her by the snack machine.
“Please don’t start,” Mel begged as I opened my mouth. “Don’t you think I’ve been going crazy about this? You’re not helping, Coleen – honest you’re not. Mum won’t change her mind!”
“Quit being such a wuss,” I snapped. I was getting quite angry now. “Come on, Mel! This isn’t like you. You’re rolling over before the fight’s even begun! Lucy and I have a plan. We just want you to listen, OK?”
“Like there’s a choice,” Mel muttered.
She didn’t look like she was going to break into a run, so Lucy and I grabbed her, steered her towards a chair and sat down on either side of her, like prison guards or something.
“Why don’t we have a sleepover at yours this weekend?” I began.
“We could put on a mini catwalk show for your mum,” Lucy said, watching Mel nervously.
“I’ll bring round some great accessories, and we’ll all dress up and have a fab time,” I said. “We’ll show your mum how fun a catwalk show can really be.”
“A sleepover?” said Mel slowly. “We haven’t had one of those in ages.”
Lucy and I looked at each other in excitement. Mel liked our plan!
“It’ll be totally brilliant,” I said, feeling enthusiastic all over. “Lucy will do the soundtrack. We might even get your mum to dress up in something too!”
“Mum does have some pretty cool outfits,” Mel said. “She’s kept loads of stuff from the eighties in the back of her wardrobe. She might even let us borrow some.”
“Oh Mel,” I said happily, pulling my friend into a big squashy hug. “It’s so great to see you smiling again.”
“And even if your mum doesn’t change her mind about the school fashion show, we’ll still have a great time,” Lucy added.
Mel had her old positive face on again. “Who knows what Mum’ll say by the time we’ve finished?” she said mischievously. “Pigs can fly – sometimes. Erm…maybe?”
Somehow, the rest of the week zoomed by. Em had an after-school football match on the Wednesday that we all went along to watch. Then I had to walk Rascal after tea and believe me, I did some walking. I was literally dragged to the park on my knees. Then Nan came over for tea on the Thursday. Finally, I was so busy planning which accessories I was going to take for Friday’s sleepover at Mel’s that I didn’t even rise to Em’s teasing about how I might end up wearing hideous purple dungarees at the school fashion show.
I have a billion and one accessories. They drive Mum mad, because most of the time they are scattered around the house. You know – a scarf draped over the post at the bottom of the stairs, an earring under the settee – that kind of thing. But accessories are brilliant – and they’re cheap, too. You can make the same old tee look totally different: dress it up one day with a red patent belt, then dress it down the next with a bunch of funky badges. Ta-da!
