Free Soap Star by Rowan Coleman Page B

been anything but horribly nasty to me. Nydia was looking pleased with herself.
    “Well then,” she said airily, “all we have to do is just call Anne-Marie and we’ll see what she says, OK?There’s no harm, is there? We won’t say exactly why we need her help to start off with, just that we do, and if she turns us down flat, the worst she’ll even be able to say around school is that we tried to suck up to her. If she agrees, then she’ll have to keep her mouth shut or she won’t get your help. It can’t fail.”
    “It can fail,” I said bleakly. “In fact, it probably will fail, but, oh well, what the hell. Let’s do it anyway.”

Chapter Ten
    “OK, I’ll do it,” Anne-Marie said.
    Of course, it wasn’t as easy as that. Nydia and I didn’t just breeze up to Anne-Marie’s Highgate mansion the very next morning and sail past the video gate security. Or waltz into the marble-floored entrance hall, sweeping up the curved staircase, pop into her suite of three rooms (including her own bathroom and dressing room), sit down on her balcony and agree it all over a chilled Diet Coke.
    First off, there was the phone call. Nydia decided that if we didn’t put the wheels in motion right there and then we would chicken out the next day. She grabbed her mobile and called Anne-Marie’s number without giving herself a chance to think. I don’t know how or why she had Anne-Marie’s number, but maybe it was left over from the time when we all got mobiles for the first time ever and it seemed more important to have a lot of numbers in your phone than if the person was cool or not.
    I myself had had Menakshi’s and Jade’s numbers onmy phone for about a week before I realised they were never going to call me and I was certainly never going to call them, and I deleted them. Nydia, on the other hand, still harboured these fantasies that we were living in a real-life teen movie where the lame kids like us eventually become cool and everybody’s friends in the end. I don’t think this has to do with us going to the academy. I’m sure that even if we went to a proper school she would be just as hopeful. That’s the kind of positive, optimistic person she is. Anyway, I thought Anne-Marie would see it was Nydia calling and just cancel the call without even picking up, but it looked like she must have deleted Nydia’s number because she answered. I pressed my ear to the other side of the phone to hear the conversation. My heart was thundering in my chest.
    “Hi-iiii!” Anne-Marie sang into the phone.
    “Hi, Anne-Marie. How are you?” Nydia said.
    “Fine, fine. Who are you?” Anne-Marie replied archly.
    “It’s Nydia, um, from school? Listen, I was just wondering—” Nydia began.
    “Nydia?” Anne-Marie was clearly shocked. “How did you get my number?”
    “You gave it to me,” Nydia said, looking slightly hurt. “Anyway—”
    “I don’t remember giving it to you. I must have been ill that day. Mentally ill. Anyway, whatever it is, no. No, I do not want to come to one of your lame sleepovers, or join in with one of your stupid film projects, or even walk on the same side of the street as you, Nydia, OK?”
    Nydia looked at me and rolled her eyes. I shook my head, drawing my forefinger sharply across my throat in what I hoped was the universal sign for “Cut!”. But Nydia ignored me.
    “Hang on,” she said quickly. “Just listen for a minute. It won’t cost you anything to listen – and it could be to your advantage.” She tried to sound all mysterious, but instead sounded like she had a nasty cold. Anne-Marie nearly choked on her own laughter.
    “I’m listening because, luckily for you, I’m alone and bored and could do with a good laugh. But hurry up.” I pictured her tapping her pink nails impatiently.
    “Well,” Nydia took a deep breath. “Ruby and I need your help; we need you to coach Ruby with a scene that’s coming up on Kensington Heights. Sort of like method acting: it’s an