notes. See an older woman whisper something to a young guy with sideburns. He smiles, his eyes never moving from her face. From Stella. Maybe I am remembering a scene from a film. The girl from nowhere, rocking their world. Whatever it is, I am in the room with Stella. I can see they want her. And I wish it were me. I wish it were me.
Stella is breathless, face flushed. I have never seen her like this. Not cool. Not above it.
“You are
so
in,” she says as she pulls me off the chair.
“Stella, shut up!” I look around, worried someone is listening.
“What?” She grabs my arm and runs, leading me to the lobby. “Jude Polmear is a star!” she shrieks.
People watch as we fly out the doors. I am laughing now, breathless too. It is infectious. I pull Stella down the steps. “What did they say?”
“I was awesome. Well, you were. Your Isabella was”— she searches for the word —“touched. That’s what Ben said, anyway.”
“Ben?”
“Head of first year. Thirty-something. Rockabilly sideburns. Cute, really, if you like that kind of thing. Which you probably do.” She takes her cigarettes out of her bag, lights two, and hands one to me. “Totally fancies you, by the way.”
I inhale, then blow the smoke out slowly. And laugh. “Oh, my God.”
“Absolutely.” Stella grins.
“What else did he say?”
“That you’re a bit nerdy but they can beat that out of you.”
“Ha, ha. Come on. What?”
Stella shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just that you’d hear in a few weeks. But you’re in. I could tell. You’re in, Jude!”
And I want to be happy. I do. But . . . “What if they find out? About you, I mean.”
“They won’t.” She stubs her cigarette out on the chrome
L
of the Lab sign.
And she is so definite, so full of conviction, in herself, in me, that right here, right now, I believe her.
The train runs slowly. Signal failure at Newbury. Seven hours of sweaty commuter-packed hell. I sleep. God knows what Stella does. It is past ten when we get back.
Stella hugs me on the platform. “Remember me when you’re famous.”
“Totally. I’ll send you a Christmas card,” I joke.
She pulls back and looks at me. Her face has changed. Not laughing now. “I mean it.”
“As if I’d forget you,” I say.
She keeps staring. Then her face relaxes and she is Stella again. “So. I’m off like a dirty sock.”
“Wait. Don’t you want a lift?”
“What, with lover boy?” She nods at the car park.
I look. It’s Ed. I scan the parking lot for Dad’s van. But it’s not there. Just a couple of minivans. Wives picking up late husbands.
Ed must have called him,
I think.
Offered to do it.
“Oh.”
“Exactly. Have fun.”
“But . . . what are you going to do?”
“Dunno. Hitch. Call my dad. I have my contacts.” She shrugs.
“Are you sure?”
“God. Just go, will you?” She rolls her eyes.
“OK, I’m going. But he’s not my lover boy.”
“Whatever.” She laughs.
“I mean it,” I say. And I do. Ed is Ed. I look at him again, leaning against the Land Rover. He waves. I raise my hand. “Stell, I —”
“Like I said, whatever.”
“See you tomorrow, then?” She is already walking away. I call after her. “Not if I see you first, right?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
And she doesn’t look back. But I know she is smiling. I can feel it radiate out, seeping into me. And I keep it there as I cross the car park to meet Ed, like a piece of Stella inside me, ready to answer his hundred questions. Not caring that they will be lies. Because Stella is right. I am a star.
ALFIE HAS a new fish. A black one this time, called Jude. Named in my honor, apparently, for when I go away. Harry long forgotten. I am watching her circle endlessly around her bowl as I eat toast with peanut butter. It is three days since the audition. Dad hasn’t said much, just asked if it went OK. Alfie is full of questions, though. Did I see anyone famous? Did anyone try to mug me? Were there
Stella is breathless, face flushed. I have never seen her like this. Not cool. Not above it.
“You are
so
in,” she says as she pulls me off the chair.
“Stella, shut up!” I look around, worried someone is listening.
“What?” She grabs my arm and runs, leading me to the lobby. “Jude Polmear is a star!” she shrieks.
People watch as we fly out the doors. I am laughing now, breathless too. It is infectious. I pull Stella down the steps. “What did they say?”
“I was awesome. Well, you were. Your Isabella was”— she searches for the word —“touched. That’s what Ben said, anyway.”
“Ben?”
“Head of first year. Thirty-something. Rockabilly sideburns. Cute, really, if you like that kind of thing. Which you probably do.” She takes her cigarettes out of her bag, lights two, and hands one to me. “Totally fancies you, by the way.”
I inhale, then blow the smoke out slowly. And laugh. “Oh, my God.”
“Absolutely.” Stella grins.
“What else did he say?”
“That you’re a bit nerdy but they can beat that out of you.”
“Ha, ha. Come on. What?”
Stella shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just that you’d hear in a few weeks. But you’re in. I could tell. You’re in, Jude!”
And I want to be happy. I do. But . . . “What if they find out? About you, I mean.”
“They won’t.” She stubs her cigarette out on the chrome
L
of the Lab sign.
And she is so definite, so full of conviction, in herself, in me, that right here, right now, I believe her.
The train runs slowly. Signal failure at Newbury. Seven hours of sweaty commuter-packed hell. I sleep. God knows what Stella does. It is past ten when we get back.
Stella hugs me on the platform. “Remember me when you’re famous.”
“Totally. I’ll send you a Christmas card,” I joke.
She pulls back and looks at me. Her face has changed. Not laughing now. “I mean it.”
“As if I’d forget you,” I say.
She keeps staring. Then her face relaxes and she is Stella again. “So. I’m off like a dirty sock.”
“Wait. Don’t you want a lift?”
“What, with lover boy?” She nods at the car park.
I look. It’s Ed. I scan the parking lot for Dad’s van. But it’s not there. Just a couple of minivans. Wives picking up late husbands.
Ed must have called him,
I think.
Offered to do it.
“Oh.”
“Exactly. Have fun.”
“But . . . what are you going to do?”
“Dunno. Hitch. Call my dad. I have my contacts.” She shrugs.
“Are you sure?”
“God. Just go, will you?” She rolls her eyes.
“OK, I’m going. But he’s not my lover boy.”
“Whatever.” She laughs.
“I mean it,” I say. And I do. Ed is Ed. I look at him again, leaning against the Land Rover. He waves. I raise my hand. “Stell, I —”
“Like I said, whatever.”
“See you tomorrow, then?” She is already walking away. I call after her. “Not if I see you first, right?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
And she doesn’t look back. But I know she is smiling. I can feel it radiate out, seeping into me. And I keep it there as I cross the car park to meet Ed, like a piece of Stella inside me, ready to answer his hundred questions. Not caring that they will be lies. Because Stella is right. I am a star.
ALFIE HAS a new fish. A black one this time, called Jude. Named in my honor, apparently, for when I go away. Harry long forgotten. I am watching her circle endlessly around her bowl as I eat toast with peanut butter. It is three days since the audition. Dad hasn’t said much, just asked if it went OK. Alfie is full of questions, though. Did I see anyone famous? Did anyone try to mug me? Were there
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