respond, Cass withdrew something with a flourish.
‘Aha. I knew it was in there somewhere. Hope you don’t mind, but I like to make some notes by hand. Helps me keep things straight in my mind.’
It was a notebook bound in battered red leather, somewhere between A4 and A5 in size and held together with a fraying ribbon. Cass pulled one end and, as the bow unravelled, the thick book crackled open.
Quirky. The yellowed pages reminded Liv of those junior-school projects where you recreated the Magna Carta by wiping ye olde wet teabag across ye olde history homework. Unexpected that this fashion-savvy woman with her sleek tech and leather Pandora would even possess such an ancient piece of tat. What next, a quill?
‘Kind of old school, I realise,’ Cass continued, ‘but I’d be lost without it; I’ve had it for years. Centuries even. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes. Dropping out.’
She cracked the notebook’s spine, smoothing the pages flat with her long tanned fingers as though she were ironing it.
‘Once this process is underway, the last thing anyone needs is to chop and change. We need everyone fully on board, otherwise it just won’t work. Honestly, there’d be no shame in calling it quits at this stage, Hetty.’
Oh God. Liv could have sworn her heart actually stopped beating. Please, please, please don’t bail. I need this so bad.
‘We’re all committed, one million per cent, honestly. I swear. She just –’
Liv hadn’t got to the end of the sentence before the sofa creaked at Jez’s sudden movement.
Bracing his hands on his knees, he said, ‘Liv, Hetty is entirely capable of speaking for herself, if only you’d give her the opportunity to –’
‘Thanks, guys, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going to quit,’ Hetty interrupted quietly, but with an unmistakeable undercurrent of determination.
‘Fantastic. So glad to hear it,’ Cass said, drumming on the notepad, rat-a-tat-tat, with a glance up at the clock. ‘Two seconds more while I jot this down.’
Liv exchanged an anxious glance with Hetty who gave an almost imperceptible shrug in return. Well, I can ask, can’t I? it seemed to say.
What was Cass writing? From across the room, it was impossible to decipher the tiny black squiggles crawling across the page. Was she ‘jotting down’ Hetty is a flake ?
Whatever it was, Het’s question had tapped right into the nagging she can’t hack this that had been buzzing round Liv’s skull for the last three weeks like a wasp. Much as Liv loved her friend, she had to admit that when she first read the Pretty Vacant pop-up, Hetty’s name hadn’t exactly leapt to mind. To be brutally honest, it hadn’t even crawled.
It had been the day after her History A-level exam (her last ever exam). A day that dawned on a clear sky of limitless future possibilities . . . for everyone else anyway. For Liv, it reverberated with the slam of a thousand doors.
She’d tried.
And as Results Day would undoubtedly prove, she’d quite spectacularly failed.
Liv woke to the sound of hailstones hitting her bedroom skylight like ping-pong balls shot from a celestial cannon. Bleary-eyed, she stared up at the grey-black clouds pressing themselves against the glass, billowing portents of doom.
Summer holidays. Ha ha ha.
With a sigh, she fired up her Mac, rolling her finger over the touchpad to open the footage she’d been editing and re-editing until the early hours. Crucial stuff, this: her final video before the National Beauty Blogger Awards.
And it was absolutely vital she nailed the pitch. Last year, she’d lost out on Most Inspirational Newcomer to that suck-up extraordinaire, Sonya Sunshine. A thought that almost twelve months later still made her want to puke. Or punch something. Preferably Sonya.
The Cinderella Project was Sonya’s baby: sourcing prom dresses to donate to teenagers living in poverty. Or as Liv preferred to call it, a pathetically transparent attempt to win votes.
Seriously, how dumb would you have to be not to get that?
As dumb as a National Beauty Blogger Awards judge apparently.
Well, this year Liv had been nominated again, and this year she was coming home with it. No way could she politely clap again while Sonya delivered a vomit-inducing speech accessorised with fake tan, fake nails and even faker tears.
She’d rather die.
But with her crossed fingers about to press upload, the screen flashed and a pop-up appeared.
CASTING CALL
If you’re over 18 and you’ve just left school, Pretty Vacant Productions could be about to offer YOU the opportunity of a lifetime!
Visit www.pvp.tv.org to find out more!
Liv’s heart pounded as she clicked on the link.
Well, hello!
Your A levels are history, you’ve kicked the dust of the schoolyard from your shoes and left your cares at the gates. Results Day, uni places . . . they’re just specks on your horizon. We’re talking freedom, baby. The freedom to live your life without a care. Freedom you’ll never experience again. This summer is YOUR summer.
The lowdown: we need FOUR friends to be the stars of This Careless Life, Pretty Vacant Productions’ new six-week special. PERSONALITY plus, that’s top of our wishlist.
Before you apply, remember we have some PRETTY strict guidelines. So if every individual can answer a massive Yeah, baby! to the following questions, then PLEASE drop a 60-second video HERE explaining WHY we should choose YOU.
Are you 18?
Have you just finished A levels?
Are you in the UK between July 1st and August 31st?
And above all: will the nation’s 16- to 25-year-olds LOVE you or love to HATE you?
So if you’d LOVE to share your outrageous, uber-exciting or totally ridiculously INCREDIBLE post-school/pre-uni summer . . . get in touch now!
‘Yes, I’m 18! Yes, A Levels! Yes, I am in the UK!’ Liv murmured to the screen. ‘And love me, they will all love me.’
And just like that a whole new door, one she hadn’t known even existed, had flown open.
Choosing three friends? That was a no-brainer. Or at least it would have been, except with the exams done, Freyja, Scarlett and Touko had departed St Benedict’s and jetted home to Brazil, Russia and Japan. Meaning Liv had to fish from a much smaller pond solely stocked with weekly boarders, and local ones at that.
Liv frowned, tapping her forefinger against her lips. Only two days until the closing date for entries. Who was still around? Who would inspire both love and hate?
Jeremiah Livingston? Head boy and all-round
