Star Crazy Me

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“Don’t you take no notice! You just remember, you’ve got something girls like that can only dream of… you’ve got a voice that’s going to take you right to the top. Up there with the stars, that’s where you’ll be! Then she’ll be laughing on the other side of her face, you see if she isn’t.”

But what if Nan were wrong? What if I didn’t have a voice?

I knew in my heart that Nan wasn’t wrong; I knew that I could sing. No one could take that away from me. But no one could make me look like Marigold Johnson, either! And who wanted a rock star the size of an elephant?

I tried so hard to hear Nan again. To hear her old, cracked voice telling me to have faith, to “Go for it, girl!” But it was no use. She wasn’t there, and I couldn’t bring her back. Music was all I had left. I turned up the volume until it was almost unbearable, until my head was pounding with the beat and I felt that I was drowning in a crashing sea of sound. At least that way I didn’t have to think.

If I could have stayed plugged in I’d have been all right, but Mum came home at six o’clock and I had to crawl back into the world, without my shell. Needless to say, Mum had bumped into Mrs Henson – or, more likely, Mrs Henson had bumped into her.

“What’s all this about a headache?” she said. “I never heard of anyone being sent home for a headache. Why couldn’t they just give you an aspirin, or something?”

I mumbled that they didn’t like to give medication. Mum said, “Sooner send you back to an empty flat.”

“They didn’t know it was empty. I told them you were here.”

Mum looked at me, rather hard. “OK! What did you want to get out of?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Nothing!”

“Look, Carmen, just be honest. If it was a maths test, or you hadn’t done your homework, I can sympathise. I know what it’s like, I’ve been there! No one’s expecting you to turn into some kind of mad boffin. Just don’t lie to me. All right?”

I said, “Yeah, all right. Sorry.”

It seemed easier than going on with the headache thing. Mum’s never expected much of me, so not doing homework or avoiding a maths test was no big deal as far as she was concerned. She left school without any qualifications; why should I do any better? It would have upset her far more if I’d told her the truth. Not that I would! Not in a million years. I’d have curled up and died sooner than tell Mum.

Indy rang me after tea. I knew she would; I’d been dreading it. I didn’t want to talk to her! I wouldn’t have minded so much if she’d texted me, but Indy is practically the only person I know that doesn’t have a mobile phone. Or a computer. It makes life very difficult.

Mum took the phone call. She came back into the sitting room and said, “It’s your little friend on the phone. The little plain one.” I do wish Mum wouldn’t refer to Indy as the little plain one! I really hate it when she does that. She knows perfectly well what her name is.

“Well, are you going to speak to her,” she said, “or not?”

I dragged myself out into the hall and picked up the phone. “’Lo?”

Indy shrieked, “Carm! What happened? Where did you get to?”

“Hadda headache,” I said.

“Cos of Marigold? I knew it was cos of her! Honestly, that girl is just so putrefying! I’m glad you told her she was a moron. Everybody’s glad! They all reckon she asked for it.”

I said, “How does everybody know? Did you tell them?”

“No! It was Connie.”

Connie Li; I hadn’t realised she was there. Connie is OK. She is definitely not a Marigold groupie.

“Carm?” Indy’s voice squeaked anxiously down the line. “You haven’t let her get to you? Cos all those things she said, about her sister… they’re not really true! She hasn’t really had professional experience.”

“You mean she hasn’t appeared in a commercial?”

“Only some stupid thing for local radio. Not telly.”

“What about the demo disc?”

“Yeah, well… anyone can make one of those.”

I said, “Huh!”

“She isn’t any competition,” said Indy. “She has a voice like a… I dunno! Fingernails scraping on a blackboard. Yeeeech!”

Indy was trying really hard, but what she said about fingernails just wasn’t true. Marigold’s sister is chosen every year to sing solo when we do carols. It’s not a bad sort of voice. A bit small. A bit tinny. She couldn’t do rock! But obviously some people like it. Anyway, I couldn’t care less about Marigold’s sister. It was all the other stuff. The stuff that Indy was too kind to mention, or maybe just too embarrassed.

“You’ve always said not to take any notice of her,” said Indy. “So why start now?”

“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t give a damn.” It’s amazingly easy to lie when you’re on the other end of a telephone. You can almost, even, lie to yourself. “Marigold Johnson is just sewage,” I said.

“She is,” said Indy. “That’s exactly what she is! And we’re not the only ones that think so. Lots of people have been going on about her. It’s made her really unpopular.”

I knew Indy was doing her best to be a good friend and make me feel better, but I hated the thought of everyone knowing what Marigold had said. Everyone talking about it. Feeling sorry for me. Did you hear what Marigold called Carmen? She called her a fat freak!

“Dunno what she meant by that last remark, though,” said Indy. “D’you?”

I said, “What last remark?” Though in fact I knew perfectly well.

“Fag hag… what she say that for?”

I said, “No idea.”

“I thought when people called you a fag hag it meant you were friends with someone that was gay.”

I grunted.

“You’re not friends with anyone that’s gay! Unless she was talking about Josh. Was she talking about Josh? Trying to make out he’s a fag?”

I snapped, “Don’t use that stupid word!”

“Sorry,” said Indy. “Was she trying to make out he’s gay?”

I said, “I don’t know! She’s completely mad.”

“But what a thing to say! About Josh. I bet she’s just jealous, I bet that’s what it is, cos she used to fancy him. Probably still does. And just cos he doesn’t fancy her—”

“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t tell him!”

“I won’t,” said Indy. “I wouldn’t!”

“I s’pose people are gossiping?”

“Not about that so much. They’re more saying how Marigold got what she deserved… you calling her a vegetable!” Indy giggled. “Someone said she ought to have a new name – she ought to be called Cabbage. Then someone said she ought to be a root veg, cos of you telling her to take root, so we’re all, like, trying to think of root vegetables, like Turnip. Turnip Johnson!”

I said, “Yeah, that would suit her. But please don’t tell Josh about the other thing. Please!”

“I won’t,” said Indy. “I won’t! Don’t worry!” She added that in any case it was so stupid it was ridiculous. “No one’s going to believe it.”

I said, “That’s not the point! I don’t want him to know.”

If word got round, it would be all my fault. I should just have kept quiet! I’d done what I always swore I wouldn’t: I’d let myself be provoked. I’d insulted Marigold in front of her groupies, and now she’d gone and dragged Josh into it. He was going to think I’d betrayed him! Why, why, why couldn’t I have kept my big mouth shut? Just a few weeks earlier, before I’d even known about the Top Spot contest, I’d gone round to Josh’s place and we’d written a new song – How Cool am I? – and afterwards we’d sat and talked, cos Josh and I do a lot of talking, and he’d said he had something he wanted to tell me. And then he’d hesitated, and I said, “Well, go on! What?” and it all came out in a great rush.

“I’m not absolutely certain but it’s this feeling I’ve had for a long time… I think I might be gay!”

I said, “Oh.” And then, “Really?” And then, “Gosh.” Like something out of Enid Blyton. I gave up reading Enid Blyton when I was about five. To make matters worse I then added, “Wow.”

Josh said, “Yeah. Wow.”

“Well, but I mean…” What did I mean? I didn’t mean anything. I was just, like, totally thrown. It’s not very often I’m at a loss for words, usually I have too many, but for once I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. So I went and said something even stupider than wow, I said, “How do you know?”

“I dunno,” said Josh. “It’s just something I feel.”

“Mm.” I nodded. “OK. So…”

He looked at me, rather solemnly. “So how do you feel?”

“Me? I feel like – so what? What difference does it make? You’re still you. So long as we’re not going to fancy the same guys!”

I said that just to show him that I was cool. That now I’d got my head round the idea I was just, like, totally and utterly relaxed.

“You’re the only person I’ve told,” said Josh.

“Not even Robert? Not even Damian?”

Josh said, “Specially not Robert or Damian.”

They are two boys in our class. They’re clever, like Josh. The three of them tend to hang out together.

“Why specially not them?” I said. “Don’t you reckon they’d be OK with it?”

“I guess – yeah! Probably. It’s just… I don’t particularly want anyone else to know.”

“Just me?”

I think that was one of the proudest moments of my life. That Josh had chosen me! But I still had to ask him. “Why me and not anybody else?”

He said, “Cos I feel you’re someone I can talk to. Maybe the only person I can talk to.”

“Not even your mum and dad?”

“God, no!” He reared away in horror. “I’m not gonna tell them!”

“Why not?”

“Are you mad? Would you tell your mum?”

I said, “N-no. But I’d tell yours!” Josh’s mum and dad are really nice. Really supportive. “You should tell them,” I said. “Otherwise you know what’ll happen… they’ll start teasing you about girlfriends, and it’ll just be, like, so embarrassing. It’s what my mum does about boys. It curls me up! You should tell them now,” I said, “so they have time to get used to it. You don’t want to spring it on them later.”

Josh said he didn’t want to spring it on them at all. “There isn’t any reason for them to know. There isn’t any reason for anyone to know.”

Just me. I assured him that I wouldn’t breathe a word to a soul, not even Indy, and I snatched up my guitar and started singing the song we’d just written.

How cool am I?

Think about about about a

NICE cube

Think about about about a

NICE cream

Think about a nice dream

Ice dream

Well, it went on for a bit and now I’ve forgotten the rest of it. But it did seem significant that we’d written it that particular day.

“See?” I said. “How cool am I!”

“I knew you would be,” said Josh. “That’s why I knew I could tell you.”

Everyone needs someone they can tell things to. Josh had told me he was worried cos he thought he might be gay – but I couldn’t tell Josh that I was worried cos I thought I might be too fat to be a rock star. I was too ashamed. I didn’t have anyone I could tell.

He said, “Promise me you won’t say anything!” and I gave him my word. I promised him. He had confided in me in strictest secrecy. He had trusted me. And now that hideous hag Marigold had gone and blown it. How had she found out? I hadn’t told a single solitary person. It had nearly killed me keeping it from Indy, cos me and Indy tell each other everything, but I hadn’t even so much as hinted. I wouldn’t do that to Josh!

My only hope was that everyone would be so busy gabbing about how Marigold had called me a fat freak and I’d called her a moron that they’d forget the words she’d yelled at me as I stalked through the door. Maybe Josh would never get to hear of it.

But I knew that he would. School is just like a seething cauldron when it comes to gossip.

CHAPTER THREE (#ue67c1f34-f02f-563f-b0c7-3ef69b84e525)

Next day was Wednesday. Only Wednesday! I felt like I had lived through a whole week already. Mum was on early turn. She came breezing into my bedroom while I was still wrapped in the duvet with my eyes gummed shut. She started making noise almost before she even got through the door.