Free Signs of Love - Love Match by Melody James Page A

heart’s dived and is plummeting towards the rocks. But I keep my smile going. ‘I can catch up with some schoolwork.’
    ‘Can’t Treacle come over?’ Mum’s looking worried again.
    I shake my head. ‘She’s busy.’ My heart splatters on the rocks as I realise I’ve got to break the news to Treacle.
    I flip out my phone and start composing a text. Sorry, Treacle, can’t come to gig. Mum and Dad need me to babysit tonight x
    She answers straight away. No!!!!
    I text back. U can still go with Sav and maybe Jeff will be there x
    OK . Her reply feels less than enthusiastic. But it won’t be the same w/o u.

 
    I glance round the sitting room. The coffee table’s crowded with cups. A crumby plate is balancing on the arm of the sofa; Dad left it there after shovelling in a quick snack before leaving.
    I could tidy up.
    I’m trying to keep the one thought out of my head that most wants to be there. The thought that Treacle and Savannah will be getting ready for a night of fun at Sam’s gig.
    How is that fair?
    Ben needs me here, I remind myself. Mum and Dad deserve a night out. I check on Ben again. He’s sound asleep, flat out and angel-faced. I wander back to the living room and start to gather up some mugs.
    My mind slips back to my webzine assignment. I bet Jessica Jupiter wouldn’t be tidying up. An image shimmers into my mind. I see a woman – half Miss Duvall, a ballet teacher I used to have, and half Bette Davis, an actress in the old black-and-white movies that my mum loves. The woman I’m imagining has bobbed platinum hair, scarlet fingernails like bloody daggers, a cocktail dress and heels. She’s firing words like a machine gun, simultaneously ordering someone else to clear away the mess while composing next week’s horoscopes.
    ‘ Darling .’ I let the mugs clatter back on to the coffee table and address the empty lounge. ‘I see your future before me.’ I lift my chin and stand on tiptoe like I’m wearing four-inch stilettos. ‘And honey, you’d better duck because it’s coming at you fast.’
    I smile. Being Jessica Jupiter might not be so bad after all, as long as no one walks in and finds me talking to myself. I scuff across the carpet, my puppy-faced slippers peeping out from under my jeans. My backpack is leaning against the bookcase. I rummage through it and drag out my jotter.
    Flopping down on to the sofa, I put my feet up and rest the notepad on my knees. I reach for the pen I know will be tangled in my hair. This is the only thing curly hair is good for – pen storage. I slide out a purple sparkly gel pen from somewhere at the back.
    Leo
    I underline it.
    Leo
    What a week you have in store!
    I frown. What else? You’ll be kidnapped by aliens? You’ll win the lottery? I could make anything up.
    What would Jessica Jupiter write? She wouldn’t be writing for a start; she’d be dictating to a humble secretary. I picture Jessica seated at her dressing table like Miss Duvall getting ready for a performance. Jessica’s dabbing her nose with a big white puff, the fur-edged sleeves of her gown swirling face powder into clouds. Her secretary leans forward on a footstool, quietly choking in the dust-haze while scribbling on to a pad.
    So you think you’re king of the jungle, Leo?
    Jessica’s dictating. I’m scribbling.
    Well, you’re right! Don’t be afraid to show your teeth. You are the mane player in this week’s drama.
    Mum’s mobile suddenly beeps. I look up, surprised. Didn’t she take it with her? I spot it sitting in the fruit bowl. Mum’s always picking up the wrong thing by mistake. There’s probably an apple in her handbag.
    It gives me an idea.
    Keep your phone close at hand this week, Simba. Someone will want to contact you with news, which might turn out to be surprisingly fruitful. On Friday . . .
    I spot the corner of the rug, rucked up like a mini mountain range, just waiting to trip someone.
    . . . you’ll get news of an unexpected trip. Pack everything,