Free Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid by Melody James Page A

tickets to his whole fan club.’
    The doorbell goes and I shoot out on to the landing. ‘Savannah!’
    She’s hammering upstairs. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she puffs. ‘Forgot to switch on the hair straightners. I spent ten minutes trying to flatten my hair with sub-zero
GHDs!’ She races past me, a designer carrier bag trailing, and disappears into my room.
    Poor Sav . She must be in a state to make such a basic fashion error. I follow her into my room. The carrier bag’s on the floor and she’s already holding up two stunning
outfits.
    ‘Which one?’ She wafts an electric blue tulip dress in front of her. It’s fabulous. Then she does a quick switch and dangles a sequined sheath dress under her chin. The
spangles light her up like a goddess.
    ‘Neither.’ I snatch them from her quickly. ‘You’ll look the same as the rest of his groupies.’
    She gapes at me. ‘But they’re my best outfits.’
    ‘And they’re beautiful.’ I lay them carefully on the bed. ‘But what if Bethany’s there. You know she’s going to go for the same leggy, knock-out look. You
need to stand out.’
    Savannah’s face crumples with doubt. ‘Do you think so?’ She looks at Treacle.
    Treacle nods. ‘Gemma’s right.’ She picks up a long beige dress from the floor. ‘Try this. It’s slinky.’
    It is figure-hugging but we’re hoping the mushroom sheen will make Savannah invisible.
    She slides it on and turns round to check the mirror. ‘Not bad . . .’
    Not bad ? It clings to her from neck to ankle. She looks fabulous , like a lotus flower about to blossom. ‘No good.’ I grab a grey, boxy, knee-length dress that should
turn her into a dowdy secretary.
    ‘Really?’ Savannah’s still admiring the lotus dress. ‘I quite like this one.’
    ‘You’ll love this one more,’ I promise, holding out the grey dress.
    She takes it uncertainly. ‘Won’t I look like a frump?’
    Treacle raises her eyebrows at me. I know what’s she’s thinking. Savannah’s un-frumpable.
    She tries on the grey dress. I’m right; she looks like a secretary, but a secretary who’s just whipped off her specs and let down her hair to reveal her inner beauty queen. If
anything, the dullness of the dress highlights her gorgeousness.
    Treacle stares in dismay. ‘It’s not fair.’ She stands next to Savannah in her librarian outfit. ‘We’re like Before and After photos.’
    I herd Treacle away. ‘This is not a good time for comparisons. You’re visiting Aged Relatives. Savannah’s spending the evening with the King of Cool.’ Then an idea
flashes in my brain.
    Emo!
    LJ – an all-American, catwalk-worshipping, hair-gel-based life-form – is bound to think that the dark, troubled world of a classic emo is totally without Cool. But how can I sell it
to Savannah?
    ‘I know!’ I cry.
    ‘What?’ Treacle and Savannah goggle at me.
    ‘Cindy’s been doing a survey on what boys think are the hottest looks.’ OK, it’s a complete lie, but Savannah’s leaning closer, eyes wide, so I keep going.
‘As beauty editor on the webzine, Cindy is trying to discover what fashion-look gets the most attention from boys aged fourteen to sixteen.’
    Savannah claps her hands excitedly. ‘That’s LJ’s age-group.’
    ‘Precisely.’
    Treacle tips her head. ‘Well?’
    I press on. ‘Out of all the boys she surveyed . . .’ I wait for an imaginary drum-roll ‘. . . the most popular look is . . .’
    Savannah’s practically panting.
    ‘. . . emo. ’
    ‘Emo?’ Savannah echoes the word like she’s misheard.
    I cross my fingers behind my back and pray she takes the bait.
    ‘Emo,’ she says again. She starts nodding. ‘ Emo .’ It’s sinking in. ‘OK. I’ll give it a try.’
    I give Treacle a massive thumbs up behind Savannah’s back. We’re going to make her look grunge-tastic.
    Treacle starts working on her make-up while I find every piece of black clothing I own. When I turn round, arms loaded, Treacle’s already rimmed