‘Hmm.’ Just think of it as work! Olivia told herself firmly. She sat up straighter, trying to look professional and confident, and scooped up a strawberry from the bowl of fruit. ‘All right, then. Why don’t you try a Cockney voice for me now?’ She smiled brightly and popped the strawberry into her mouth. ‘How bad can it be?’
‘OK.’ Jackson took a deep breath. ‘Awight, gawvanah – there’s sumwan arskin’ for ya on the doggonbone.’
‘Um . . .’ Olivia’s eyes widened as she almost choked on the fruit. She noticed one of the waiters raise his eyebrows to the other. ‘OK. I have to admit, I have no idea if that was a good accent or not. But I’m pretty sure that whatever you just said, it wasn’t in English!’
Jackson grinned, visibly relaxing. ‘It’s pretty different, anyway. But I really need to practise without my vocal coach glaring at me the whole time. So . . .’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘What do you think? Will you help me? I don’t want the whole of England laughing at me when I open my mouth on-screen!’
Olivia pressed her lips together, forcing herself to stop and think it through before she answered. What would Ivy say, if she were here?
OK, I think I know the answer to that one. Fiercely protective Ivy would not let Olivia put herself in a situation where she could be hurt again.
But on the other hand . . . Olivia wanted the movie to be good, didn’t she? And she didn’t want anyone laughing at Jackson. He may not have been her boyfriend any more, but that didn’t mean she’d stopped caring about his feelings. And if helping him out meant spending lots of time together . . .
That’s what I want, she realised. Whether it’s sensible or not! She’d been so nervous about seeing Jackson again, but the last hour had actually been wonderful. When they’d broken up, her only hope was that they would manage to be civil, but this had been way more than civil. Olivia had almost forgotten just how much fun it was to be with him!
And what is Ivy going to say about that? She smiled ruefully, imagining her twin’s reaction.
‘OK,’ she said to Jackson. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Yes!’ He pumped one fist in victory. ‘Thank you so much. You’re really saving me!’
Olivia laughed and picked up another strawberry. ‘I don’t know about that, but I do have an idea. You want to get your accent right, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ He frowned. ‘So?’
‘So, why don’t we both adopt disguises?’ she said. ‘Then we can go out and walk among real Londoners, instead of just relying on your vocal coach and her rules. We can listen to how people really talk, to get the rhythms of the speech down.’
‘Olivia Abbott, you are brilliant.’ Jackson beamed at her as he picked up a last sandwich. ‘Why don’t we try it later today?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Olivia agreed. She smiled to herself as the pod carried them slowly back down to earth.
So much for having a quiet, lazy afternoon . . . but this has definitely been a lunch to remember!
Chapter Four
Even lunchtime is a bizarre experience! Ivy thought. She stared down at her food, but couldn’t bring herself to eat it. She was too busy reeling from the shock revelations of the morning.
Not only was Franklin Grove High full of goths, they seemed to be the largest demographic – the most popular social group! Even Mr Russell, Ivy’s English teacher, had been wearing a long-sleeved black Tee underneath his collared shirt. More than that, he’d used a Destroy the Dream Boat track to inspire a creative writing session!
When Ivy had had to stand up and introduce herself, she’d received a round of applause before she’d even opened her mouth. When she’d sat back down afterwards, the girl sitting next to her had whispered, ‘How do you get to be so cool?’
Ivy was lost for words – and that never happened.
Now, she was in the school cafeteria, with a burger in front of her, surrounded by a sea of goths. They filled up the prime table in the cafeteria, just by the dessert bar and next to the doors that opened up on to the courtyard outside. Posters for Ivy’s favourite bands hung on the cafeteria walls, and a sign over the dessert bar announced their ‘Dark Special’ – a dark chocolate cheesecake, with tiny bats drawn perfectly in icing.
And if all that wasn’t weird enough, Ivy could see a group of blonde, tanned ‘bunny’ girls sat in a dark corner, pressed uncomfortably into a too-small table. But they sure weren’t acting like any bunnies she’d ever seen before.
Back at Franklin Grove Middle, those bunny girls would have been confidently chatting and laughing, well aware that they ruled the whole school. Here, though, they sat hunched and whispering, darting nervous looks over their shoulders whenever one of them made too much noise.
Between the prime table of goths and the back corner of bunnies, like a buffer zone, was a table of . . . well, regulars was all that Ivy could think to call them. And she couldn’t believe it. The regular kids had a better table than the bunnies!
Sighing, she turned back to her own table. The leader of the goths, a girl in junior year called Amelia Thompson, was in the middle of a lecture that made the younger students at the table lean forwards to catch every single word. Ivy had realised that Amelia was Queen Bee of this group as soon as everyone had crowded around her in the cafeteria line, asking her opinion on what was the right lunch to eat on a Monday.
I never knew that goths could have Queen Bees, Ivy thought glumly, as she looked around the pale, rapt faces. Just one more thing I was wrong about!
Amelia was an absolute blueprint for everything a goth should be, from the silver rings in the braided strands of her hair to the heavy black boots, the pale skin and the little kilt she was wearing. It was all Classic Goth – and she clearly knew it. Ivy listened in disbelief as Amelia lectured those around her:
‘Goths never, ever tan, so don’t get careless just because it’s turning into fall. Just because there are clouds doesn’t mean that you’re safe. Don’t ever go out without sunblock!’ Smiling, she pulled out a tube from her black shoulder bag. ‘Personally, I like SPF50, for maximum protection. I even put it on when it’s raining!’