Soulmates by Holly Bourne Page B

first song and everyone went crazy. The crowd started jumping and yelling along. They were even better than last time, more polished and tight. And their sound was infectious. I’m usually one of those girls who refuse to dance. I much prefer standing at the side, nodding my head in a hopefully nonchalant cool-looking way. But tonight my body was moving to the beat of its own accord. I looked at Lizzie. She was the same.
    I finally managed to spot Ruth over everyone’s heads. She was right near the stage, in front of Will, dancing seductively and far too slowly to the music. It was practically a striptease. She shimmied down to the floor, gyrating her crotch upwards and exposing almost all of her flesh. Will’s eyes were wide as he tried to concentrate on his bass playing. I nudged Lizzie and pointed out the spectacle. Her eyes went from Ruth to Will and she dissolved into laughter.
    As the band went straight into their second song, I turned to Frank, who, to my surprise, was also dancing along.
    “Do my eyes deceive me?” I asked him, bringing my face close so he could hear me. “Or are you actually enjoying yourself?”
    “They’re not bad,” he shouted back. “Though that guitarist looks like a right idiot. How full of it is he?”
    We both looked at Noah. His eyes were half-closed as his fingers trembled up and down the neck of his guitar. A group of girls were screaming at him, Beatlemania-style, but he remained aloof. A resolute-looking blonde girl wasn’t screaming however. She stood right beneath him, her hands clutching the sides of the stage. She was one of those girls that made you feel sick she was so unnervingly beautiful. I caught a glimpse of the side of her through a gap in the crowd as she peered up at Noah through her butter-blonde hair and slowly nodded her gorgeous head to the music, looking how I always tried and failed to look. For one brief moment she caught Noah’s eye and his face broke into a broad grin, displaying his beautiful white teeth. My stomach flip-flopped and I turned away, not wanting to see any more.
    “See, he’s a right idiot,” Frank continued. “Why is he doing that eyes half-closed thing? Who does he think he is? You’re not in Kasabian, mate.”
    To my surprise I found myself laughing. “You’re just jealous because you haven’t got any groupies.”
    Frank puffed out his chest again. “What the hell? Yes I do. You should see the girls who come and watch me play rugby.”
    “No thank you.”
    “There’s loads of them. They all cheer for me from the sidelines.”
    I grimaced. “Let me guess. None of them wear coats even though it’s freezing. They all wear a face-load of make-up even though they’re only standing in a field. And afterwards they corner you in the pub, wearing oversized rugby shirts as minidresses, and try and impress you with their knowledge of the game.”
    Frank looked confused. “How did you know?”
    I rolled my eyes. “What happened to you, Frank? I thought we bonded over our mutual hatred of people like that?”
    “Hey. I know they’re silly, Poppy. I don’t actually like them.”
    “You don’t?”
    “No. But come on! It makes me feel pretty good about myself. Even if they do have a combined IQ of about minus 208.”
    “That’s better.”
    He finished the last of his beer and threw the cup on the ground before grabbing both my hands. “Come on, let’s dance.”
    I don’t normally dance in public but, with Frank, I didn’t feel embarrassed. He twirled me around and kept turning me upside down. Even Lizzie began to thaw to him. At one moment he grabbed her and spun her round like a dad trying to make his daughter dizzy in the park. She screamed but you could tell she was loving it. Then Frank started ballroom-dancing me round the back of the club.
    “You know, don’t say ‘I told you so’ but I think I actually like this music,” he said, twirling me under his arm.
    “I told you so.”
    “Shut up. Maybe it’s just the