Coleen McLoughlin - Rock that Frock!

“Now you just need the multicoloured hair,” Mel said as I gave her and Lucy a Bubbly-look twirl by the car-park entrance.

“Mum would never let me,” I explained regretfully.

Loads of people were around, all lured out by the sun. The whole of the Hartley central car park was buzzing, music was playing from various parts of the market and there was this festive feeling you usually only get on holiday.

There’s something about sunny days that makes me want to spend money – especially at car-boot sales, where the stalls all groan with cheap goodies. Before long, I was the proud owner of two studded leather wrist-straps, a handful of postcards, two CDs and a thin gold belt that wrapped twice around my middle. Then Lucy found a stall selling little china animals and spent ages deciding between getting a cat and a bear.

“Psst,” I said, suddenly grabbing Lucy. “Isn’t that Ben over there?”

Lucy’s big brother was walking down the next line of stalls along from us with his on-off girlfriend, Jasmine Harris. They are both in Year Ten, two years above us.

“Oooh, Ben,” Mel said in a silly-swoony voice. “I lurve you…”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said impatiently. It was true that I had a crush on Ben Hanratty, but it was hardly news. I’d liked him for what felt like half my life. No – I had a much more important question to ask Lucy.

“So are Ben and Jasmine back together then?”

“Looks like it,” Lucy said, shrugging. “Who knows with those two?”

To my horror, Ben and Jasmine were kissing now. I heaved a sigh. One day Ben Hanratty would notice me. But it wasn’t going to be today.

“What do you think of this?” Mel said, pouncing on something at the china-animal stall. She held up a little red, white and blue ceramic elephant with a raised trunk.

“For your mum?” Lucy asked, finally buying the cat. Mel’s mum collected elephants and had them all over their flat.

Mel nodded, looking delighted as she handed over twenty pence to the stallholder. “It’s exactly the same pattern as this huge one Mum’s got by the fireplace,” she said, and put the elephant carefully in her pocket.

Lucy’s mobile rang. “It’s Dad,” she said, looking at her screen. “I’ve got to go, guys – we’re going to my gran’s for Sunday dinner.”

As we waved goodbye, I caught sight of something that made me forget everything else in an instant.

“Look!” I gasped at Mel, pointing to a bright red poster that was fluttering on the side of a nearby car-park ticket machine.

Are you aged between 12 and 16?

Think you’ve got what it takes to rock?

Make it happen!!

I snatched down the poster and studied it. “Qualifying rounds are in two weeks!” I read. “There’s four all across town, with the final taking place in the Town Hall a month after the qualifiers. Contestants must sing a cover version of a well-known song for the qualifying round,” I continued, squinting at the tiny print that ran along the bottom of the poster. “Original songs must be performed for the final.”

I looked across the top of the poster at Mel. “There’s a trophy !” I gasped. I’d never won a trophy in my whole life. “You know what I’m thinking?”

Mel goggled at me. “You want to enter Battle of the Bands?” she said. “But we haven’t got a band!”

“We can fix that,” I said, tucking the poster into my pocket. “Lucy’s got the voice, and you and me have got the attitude. What do you reckon?”

“What about a song?” Mel protested. But she was smiling, so I knew we were getting somewhere.

“We could cover Wave Like You Mean It for the qualifier,” I said, almost crazy with excitement at the thought of performing a Bubbly song in front of a cheering crowd. “We know it off by heart, don’t we? And as for the original song – I’ll write one tonight! I mean, how hard can it be?”

“Coleen!” Mum shouted up the stairs. “Bed, now !” I stared hopelessly at the mountains of paper that lay all over my bedroom floor. I’d started about a million songs since tea and hadn’t got past the second or third line for each one. I mean, have you ever tried to find a rhyme for “orange”? Forget it! Even “love” is tough to rhyme after a bit.

“Love is a dove in a glove,” I said mournfully, staring at my latest creation. “I don’t think so.”

Mum knocked on the door. “It really is time for bed, Coleen,” she said. “You’ve got school in the morning.”

“Do you think ‘enough’ rhymes with ‘love’?” I asked hopefully.

“Not really,” said Mum, trying to be kind.

“I’ve got to write a song if we’re going to win the Battle of the Bands trophy,” I said as I pushed back my chair and wandered reluctantly over to my bed. “But it’s way harder than it looks.”

“You’ve still got to get through the qualifying round, haven’t you?” Mum pointed out. “Don’t you think you should be worrying about that first?”

“I want to be prepared,” I yawned, snuggling down.

“Prepare for school by sleeping,” Mum advised, tucking me in. “Night, love.”

Something niggled vaguely in the back of my head as I tried to settle down and stop rhyming things in my mind – something I should have done…But I was too tired to work it out. I slid into a weird dream-world of doves in gloves instead. It wasn’t the most restful night of my life.

“Earth to Coleen!” Mel poked me in the side ten minutes into our maths lesson the following day. “Anyone in there?”

“Hmph?” I said, my eyes flying open.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Lucy said, looking at me with wide eyes.

“This is maths,” Mel pointed out. “You can see Coleen’s point.”

“Of course I didn’t fall asleep,” I said at once, though I had a nasty feeling that I had. “I was just – daydreaming.”

“Coleen?” Mr Hughes the maths teacher was looming over me, holding out his hand and looking at me in this enquiring way.

“Hi, Mr Hughes,” I said, shaking his hand. I was still only half awake, to tell the truth. The class roared with laughter. It took me a couple of seconds to work out what was so funny.

“Your homework, Coleen,” Mr Hughes repeated. “Do you have it for me?”

The bell of doom rang through my head with a mighty bonnggg. Last night’s niggling thought… homework! Everything flooded back to me. We were supposed to work out percentages on a list of revised recipes – you know the kind of thing, how much extra fruit you have to add to an apple pie to make it stretch to six people instead of four like the recipe said. I’d planned to do it on Sunday night. But the Battle of the Bands poster had totally knocked it out of my head. And I’d wasted my Sunday night thinking about doves in gloves.

“You know, Mr Hughes,” I said, desperately fishing around for a decent excuse, “there’s a funny story about my homework.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Mr Hughes. “Your dog ate it.”

Summer Collins wasn’t even pretending not to laugh. She and her mates were cackling like chickens as I felt my face flood with heat. Mel and Lucy gazed sympathetically at me as I floundered about.

“Not exactly,” I mumbled. “I mean, Rascal did once eat ten quid out of Dad’s wallet so he obviously likes the taste of paper – but…well…the truth is…”