Time to Shine

I nod, because I am.

“Right, so when we Think Pink we don’t let Eva-shaped obstacles stop us from doing what we want to do, do we?”

I shake my head, because we don’t.

“Besides, you’re cool and kick-ass just like Lilly, and Eva…well, she’s neither cool or kick-ass…”

Sadie’s voice trails off and she tugs at my school cardi while doing a googly-big-eye thing.

“Um…Sades, what’s up?” I ask, trying to work out why my prettilicious pal is making really wrong shapes with her face, but then I smell it. It’s a strong and sickly-sweet scent of rose-perfumed rudeness, which can only mean one thing.

Eva Satine has entered the building.

Followed, of course, by her girl-gang, the Negative Ninas.

It’s really obvious that their straight-from-a-teen-flick corridor strut has been practiced a million times, yet it never, ever fails to impress. Not that it impresses Sadie and I, obv. No, we know they’re badness x 100. But the rest of the school…well, they just don’t see it. With a flick of her signature gold-spun locks, a fixed smile without teeth - which FYI is a neon-flashing sure sign that someone is being false - and the clickity-click of her totally-not-appropriate-for-school heels, Eva Satine really does have the pupils of Parkfield Comp in a constant hypnotic state of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs.’

Sadie and I are about to vacate the vicinity, not because we’re scared of Eva - because really, she’s not scary at all, she’s just super-mean - but because we know that if we don’t, there’s a good chance that Eva and her hang-gang members will take it as a go-ahead cue to turn their mean switch to the highest setting of all: wicked.

But we’re too late. Eva has shimmied up beside us and made her way straight to the Time to Shine audition poster.

“So Lola,” Eva says, glancing from the audition poster to me, then back to the poster with her ice-blue eyes. “It seems that a certain someone has got a tiny bit too big for their rather unattractive footwear, doesn’t it?”

The Negative Ninas all laugh out loud at Eva’s first-of-many-I’m-sure put down. Seriously, could they be any more predictable?

Answer: No.

“Do you know,” Eva coos sarcastically, “I think it’s really, really sweet that you, Lola Lard - oops sorry, Love - with your trash pink hair and over-sized…well, everything, think that you actually have a chance at playing Lilly. It’s quite possibly the sweetest, most deluded thing I’ve ever heard - what do you think girls?”

She turns to the Negative Ninas who, as if controlled by a remote control, all mimic Eva in an eager-to-please over-enthusiastic way, saying stuff like ‘yeah, she’s totally deluded, Eva. Totally.’

Ouch.

Even though I know that being mean is an Olympic event for Eva, it still feels like a hefty punch in the tummy when she delivers one of her gold-medal-winning verbal blows. Y’see, in Eva’s universe, someone like me, with my pink hair, love of writing and my go-girl ways would never, ever be a star-girl. Eva’s universe is all about the superficial. For a start, to hang in her gang, you have to be blonde. People have actually dyed their hair Eva’s suggested shade of blonde-girl-blonde in order to score a position as an official hang-out bud with the Negative Ninas. I know, how crazy is that?

But people do that sometimes. They do whatever they can to fit in and NOT stand out. For sure, being yourself and celebrating what makes you totally fabulous is quite possibly the coolest thing to do, ever, and really, it’s the absolute most sure-fire way to becoming a star-girl in your own universe, but it’s not always easy.

In fact, it can sometimes feel like really, really hard work.

Especially when every magazine, TV show and so-called ‘pretty’ girl in your school is rockin’ a look that’s so very different to your own.

Or when a mean girl, like Eva, who feels completely threatened by your go-girl ‘tude and stylin’, will do and say anything to take you from hero to zero in a nano second.

Now, I try not to let Eva make me feel bad, but if I’m really honest, that’s why I was going to skip the audition; it just seemed like the easiest way to avoid her nasty-rude comments. But the easy option really isn’t an option at all when you’re a Pink Thinking Princess. Nope, when you Think Pink, you do the right thing.

Even if it does mean having to deal with Evil Eva. Grr.

Chapter Five

I say nothing, because I know that more than anything, Eva wants me to react. That’s how girls like Eva work. She wants me to make like JT and cry an entire river, or get so mad I turn a shade of super-rage-red, but I won’t. Instead, I try really hard to force my lips into a teeth-bearing smile shape in the hope that kindness will win out.

And it does, in a funny way, because when Eva realises that this particular Pink Lady isn’t playing her bad-girl games, she tuts, she huffs and just like that, she turns her attention to something far more interesting.

Jake Farrell.

Le Sigh.

Jake Farrell is Eva’s boyfriend. Which by default should make him an extremely unattractive boy-type, but it doesn’t. Not one teeny, tiny bit. In fact, I am head over pink, kicked-in Converse heels in crush with him. He’s so sweet, he gives me toothache. He’s sunshine on a rainy day. He’s a whole lot of bass-playing, yummy-scrummy goodness. Jake has been the heir to my heart since way before he started seeing Eva, and despite his poor, poor taste in girlkind, I still can’t help but make moon-eyes at him. A lot.

“Jakey,” Eva coos, tickling his nose with the blue, fluffy feathers at the end of her pen. “Did you want me to sign you up, or do you want to do it yourself?”

He brushes the feathers away from his face and wiggles his nose in a way that sends him soaring off the cuteness scale into a whole new stratosphere of cute.

“Sign up for what?” he asks, looking genuinely confused. Now, confusion is a look he works on a regular basis, but this really is no reason to judge him, okay?

“For the role of Richie in the musical, silly!” she says, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him.

“Er, I don’t know about that, Eva,” he says, taking a step back from her. “School productions aren’t really my thing - maybe I could help out with the music instead?”

“Jakey!” Eva squeals, stepping right back into the space he’s made between them. “Of course it’s your thing! Gosh, you really are silly sometimes!” She does a perfected faux-laugh and shoves the pen back in his face. “Here, sign.”

“But Eva…” he protests, through gritted teeth, “I can’t act, I’m a musician!”

“JAKE!” Eva shouts. Foot-stomping is most definitely imminent, until of course she realises that her position as Her Majesty Queen Eva, Ruler of the Corridors, is in jeopardy, at which point she turns on her razzle-dazzle, smiles at passers by and lowers her voice. “Jake.” She smiles a no teeth smile. “Will you look at us? We’re practically Parkfield’s very own Richie and Lilly as it is. Come on, you want to really, don’t you?”

Although it sounds like she’s was asking him, anyone who knows Eva knows that when she ends a sentence with a question, she doesn’t actually require a response. So I’m slightly shocked and stunned to hear Jake still talking.

“But Eva,” he pleads. He’s persistent; I’ll give him that. “I don’t think I want to.” Oh, and brave. Definitely brave.

“Jake,” Eva says, changing tack, cocking her head to one side and fluttering her far-too-much-mascara-ed eyelashes right at him, “I’m not altogether sure that matters. What does matter however, is that you love me, and if you loved me, you’d do it.”

Oh, that’s a really low blow. It’s not altogether surprising though - mean girls like Eva can apply emotional blackmail as easily as Pink Lady Angel applies lip-gloss.

Jake lets out a sigh and throws his arms above his head in submission.

“Fine, whatever,” he says, looking deflated and defeated. “Seriously, do whatever you want Eva, you normally do!”

Eva smiles a sickly-sweet smile of satisfaction, plants a lipstick-y kiss on his cheek and takes his comment as a green light to write his name under ‘Richie auditionees’.

In my Jake-filled dream scenes that really ought to be coming to a screen near you soon, this would be the moment where Jake, in all his square-jawed glory, would say, “Enough is enough, Eva - we’re through!” in a suitably American-o daytime soap type way, at which point his eyes would lock with mine, our surroundings would become soft focus, and Jake would finally realise that the girl he should be with - that’s me btw - is right here in all her pink-tinted fabulousness.

What really happens is nowhere near as entertaining.

Jake catches Sadie and I trying to pretend we’re not eavesdropping, when quite clearly we are, and shrugs his shoulders in a ‘what can you do?’ motion just as a jock-boy in knee-high socks and football boots gives him a boy chum greeting. The kind that involves lots of grunting and back-slapping, which personally, looks nowhere near as fun as squidgy, girly hugs.

Although he might not want the role of Richie in Time to Shine, Jake really is pretty much perfect for it. Just like Jake, Richie is a jock-boy and just like Jake, he plays in a band too. Except, unlike Jake, Richie finds himself falling for the super-kooky Lilly who isn’t part of the so-called cool clique - she’s not part of anyone’s clique she walks her own path, making pink kitten heel-shaped footprints as she goes. He’s never met anyone like her before, and he’s totally mesmerised by her whimsical and slightly off the wall ways.

Oh Jake, I could totally be your Lilly.

Sadie shakes her head in disbelief. “Did that just happen?” she whispers.

“Uh-huh.” I confirm. “Poor Jake, huh?”

“Er…no, Lo, not poor Jake at all,” Sadie says, pulling me to one side out of Eva’s earshot. “It’s because people like Jake let her get away with her insecure, bad-girl behaviour that she keeps on doing it. If Jake’s not big enough to stand up to her then fine, but there’s no way I’m going to let her stop you from auditioning, okay?!”

“Okay!” I agree, hugging Sadie tight.

Eva may have pretty hair, get good grades and date the bee-you-tiful Jake Farrell, but I’ve got one thing that she hasn’t got. I’ve got an amazing, sparkly-gorgeous Sadie, and if you ask me that makes me by far the luckiest girl in Girlsville. Fact.

Chapter Six

“Lola, can you come in here for a minute, please?”

For a second I fail to recognise the nice, not-at-all-shouty tone of my ma-parental, but as I’m in our house, passing our living room, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s definitely her, it’s just that the new-and-improved ma-parental is still taking a lot of getting used to.

It’s not that I don’t like this version, because I absolutely, positively do, but I sometimes worry that the holler-back ma-parental, whose voice would echo through the entire neighbourhood, might come back and make an appearance one day, and well…I’d hate for that to happen.

I poke my head around the door to see the ma-parental, sitting on the living room floor, crossed legged, in a mess of silver wrapping paper and sellotape, being circled by Cat.

“What do you think?” she asks, holding up a length of black beads with a small black Buddha hanging from it.

“Well, it’s not really you, Mum, is it?” I say, which is a totally fair comment to make, because it really isn’t. In fact, up to about six months ago, I’d have bet my favourite pink polka-dot prom dress on her not knowing what a Buddha even is.

FYI: If I’m honest, six months ago, I didn’t know what a Buddha was either, I thought it was just a really cool statue of a super-smiley guy with a round belly that you rub for good luck. But Bella has actually been to countries like India and Thailand - I know, how awesome is that? - And because I’m a sucker for learning - not maths though (ick) - I insisted Bella gave me an Eastern philosophy 101. Deep, huh? Bella really does know ever such a lot about a lot of things; she just doesn’t want to know about me right now, and that makes me sad.

“It’s not for me, Lola!” the ma-parental giggles. Giggling is yet another new addition to her ever-growing repertoire of ways to express joy and happiness, something that has deffo been lacking from her world. “It’s for Lawrence,” she says, smiling.

Lawrence?

Woah - back up. When did we start calling yoga-dad Lawrence? I know it’s his name and all, but, the ma-parental and I have always referred to him as ‘Bella’s yoga-dad’ - that’s just how it’s been. We’ve NEVER called him Lawrence, not once. I know that, just like Bella and I have become friends, so have the ma-parental and yoga-dad, but hearing her call him his actual name, Lawrence, well, that implies that they might be getting close or something.

“Is it his birthday?” I ask.

“No, I just wanted to get him a little something to say, I…” The ma-parental pauses and slips into a trance-like state. And it’s then that I see it. The face. She’s making the same face that goddess-girls in old black and white movies make when they’re in L.O.V.E. This is weird. This is all kinds of crazy-weird. And not in a good way. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head free of any dream-like thoughts, “I just wanted to get him a present to say…thank you, I suppose.”

“Oh,” I say, not knowing entirely what to say. I don’t want to ask her outright, because, y’know, we’re still working on the whole mother/daughter thing and while there’s definite progress, I don’t think we’re at a place for me to ask if she’s dating my gal-pal’s dad.

Also, I’m not sure I really want to know the answer, especially if that answer is yes.

“Well, I think he’ll really like it, mum” I say, because while I don’t know yoga-dad all that well, thanks to my Eastern philosophy 101, I do know that both he and Bella are big fans of all things Buddha.

The Mothership smiles with satisfaction and like a mirror, I find myself reflecting a smile right back at her because despite the icky feeling I’m feeling in my tummy, I’ve not seen the Mothership this happy in a long time, and I like it.

“I’m just heading over to Sadie’s,” I tell her as I hold down the paper ready for sellotaping. “She’s just texted me to say that her and Ooh-la-la Charlie are planning one of Sadie’s famous soirées, and they want me to help!”

“Is Bella going with you?” Ma-parental asks, sticking the sellotape over my fingers. Turns out we’re not altogether too good at wrapping.

“Er…I don’t think so,” I tell her. “She’s not really talking to me at the moment.”

“Really? Why?” Mum asks, peeling the back off a self-stick silver bow.

This is a definite first in my movie, Livin’ La Vida Lola.

It seems that the Mothership and I are about to enter into what they commonly refer to as a mother/daughter convo, and apparently, we don’t suck at it either, because I find myself telling her all about the school production, how Bella got angry at me, the fact that I’m going to audition tomorrow and how Evil Eva is too - all the stuff I usually would have told my Aunt Lullah if she was here and not in swanky NYC, but would never, ever have dared tell the ma-parental, because…well, she just wouldn’t have got it.

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