Free Drama Queen by Chloe Rayban

eyebrows at Clare in the mirror.
    Christine set about putting on lip-gloss while talking nonstop to her awestruck audience. A feat that takes some doing. She was describing in minute detail what she was going to wear to the Cranshaw Ball.
    The Cranshaw Memorial Ball was held by Cranshaw High – the private boys’ school where her boyfriend Matt went. To receive an invitation to it was a real cornerstone of status in our school. And as it happened, it was Cedric’s school too. I could see that Clare had overheard Christine.
    â€˜It’s got shoestring straps and is really low-cut at the back …’
    â€˜It’s a pretty cheesy affair …’ I whispered comfortingly.
    Clare stared at me. ‘Just because
you
haven’t been invited.’
    â€˜And I’m going to wear those really shiny flesh-tone tights …’ Christine continued. ‘With sling-backs and …’
    â€˜Nor have you … ‘ I whispered back.
    Clare looked up with a hurt expression in her eyes. ‘
Yet
.’
    Having finished the task of demoralising us by occupying the central position in the mirror and brushing her perfect fall of glossy blonde hair, so that it kind of
whooshed
all over us, Christine swept out of the cloakroom, leaving a scent of musk and sandalwood behind her.
    Clare turned to me. ‘He’s
got
to invite me.’
    I nodded. ‘Sure thing. We’ll have to put the pressure on.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Think!’
    â€˜An image upgrade?’
    â€˜What’s that?’
    â€˜New clothes, new make-up,
new image
.’
    We agreed on an after-school shopping session the next day. I was determined that Clare wasn’t going to settle for her favourite totally characterless beige. However, despite my protests, she managed to lure me into Gap.
    We were sharing a cubicle while Clare tried to decide which of the six different cuts of chinos was the most flattering. The pair she had on squeezed her in at the hips so that a little rim of superfluous Clarebulged over the top. Catching her reflection at an unfortunate angle, she said in a kind of broken voice, ‘I know what the problem is. It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it?’
    â€˜No way!’ I said. But I don’t think I sounded very convincing. She’d caught me off my guard. I mean, Clare is kind of rounded in places where I’m not, which could be seen as an advantage. No, let’s face it, to be honest, she could do with shedding a few pounds.
    â€˜You’re lovely,’ I tried reassuring her. ‘You’ve got incredible skin …’ (I could hear myself saying it – skin is like the meagrest of compliments) ‘ … and wonderful eyes and hair to die for. If Cedric can’t see that he must be blind.’
    But Clare was insistent. She was skewing herself round so she could see her entire back view. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘Check it out. You see all that there? That’s cellulite.’ Her eyes were brimming now. ‘I’m gross. I know it.’
    â€˜That is just
so
untrue.’
    But Clare was adamant. She was groping for her clothes and dragging them on blindly. ‘That’s it. I’m going on a diet. I’m not going to eat another thing until I’m like – ten pounds lighter.’
    â€˜Look, Clare, that’s mad. You don’t need to diet. Just cut out something like, say – chocolate.’
    â€˜There, you’ve admitted it. You
do
think I’m fat.’
    â€˜No. No way. I don’t!’
    The Gap girl chose that unfortunate moment to intervene. She had just taken a breath and was about to come out with her standard patter of how great Clare looked in her chinos – you know, ‘
retail reassurance’
, all that ‘
confirming your choice
’ stuff – when Clare stuffed a waving sea of beige legs into her arms.
    â€˜Is everything all