Star Struck Read online

  Eventually we make it to the station and, after buying our tickets, we’ve still got money left over. We both know what we want: food.

  ‘Sushi!’ says Hoshi.

  ‘No way. Burger King!’

  So we get both, and soon we’re sitting opposite each other on the swaying train, sticking fries in soy sauce and sushi in ketchup. The carriage is almost empty, just some guy asleep against a window and a woman watching YouTube with her earphones in.

  Hoshi takes the sachet of green stuff that came with the sushi and rips it open. ‘Ever tried wasabi before?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just something that tastes good with raw fish.’

  ‘But we’ve eaten all the sushi.’

  ‘We’re going to have it on a fry.’ She carefully squeezes the entire contents of the packet along two French fries.

  ‘Looks like mushy peas,’ I say.

  ‘Tastes a bit different.’ She hands me my chip. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Why? What does it do?’ I stare at the thin strip of bright green paste.

  ‘You’ll see. On the count of three.’ We hold our fries in front of our mouths. ‘One … two … THREE!’

  I stick it in my mouth in one go, just like Hoshi, and at first I just get this mustardy taste, but then then a fiery burn explodes in my mouth and shoots up my nostrils into my head. I yell and Hoshi laughs hysterically. ‘Brain … exploding,’ I gasp, then I shut my eyes because they’re watering so much. ‘Evil mustard’s making me cry!’

  She flops back in her seat. ‘So funny … Evil mustard.’ She holds up the other sachet of wasabi. ‘Truth or dare?’

  ‘Only if I can ask first,’ I say, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

  Hoshi nods and I look out of the window at the lit-up houses flashing past while I think. I want to make my question count. I look back at her curled up in the corner of the seat. ‘Why did you really leave Japan?’ I say.

  ‘Good question.’ She twists a button on her cardi. ‘I left Japan because of a kiss.’

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘How can a kiss have made you leave?’

  ‘No follow-up questions. My turn.’ She throws me the wasabi. ‘Sticking with the same theme …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘How many people have you ever kissed?’

  I think about the parties I’ve been to, Friday nights I’ve spent hanging out in town, photos of me on Facebook that I hate but will never go away. Hoshi watches me from under the cap. ‘I’ll go with dare,’ I say, ripping the wasabi packet open and sticking out my tongue.

  ‘All of it,’ she says.

  I shrug and squeeze the burning paste into my mouth. My eyes shoot open, then the burn kicks in.

  Back home we walk through the high street then out of town. Quite a few houses we go past have Christmas trees lit up in windows and flashing lights around doors. ‘It’s all wrong,’ I say. ‘It’s not even December. Christmas stuff shouldn’t happen yet.’

  ‘I love it,’ says Hoshi, gazing at a house covered in blue lights. ‘This is going to be my first Christmas in England and Mum’s coming. Dad used to visit us at Christmas and I’d spend the summers here.’ She starts telling me about Christmas in Japan, how it’s a bit like Valentine’s day, with couples going out for romantic meals, and soon we get to the estate where she lives. It’s all curving roads of quiet, perfect houses, with square lawns and cars parked on driveways. We stand together by a mini roundabout. ‘Have you got far to go?’ she asks.

  ‘Not far. Won’t your dad wonder where you’ve been?’

  ‘He thinks I’m at your house,’ she says. ‘Your mum is dropping me home at eleven.’ She looks at her phone. ‘Hey, I’m early!’

  ‘OK,’ I say. I rock on my feet. Then I pull my hoodie closer to me as I think about my walk along the dual carriageway and the dark track to the farm.

  ‘Thanks for busking with me,’ Hoshi says.

  ‘Thanks for being such a kickass dancer and getting us all that money.’

  ‘That reminds me.’ She opens up her purse and tips out some coins. ‘I owe you your share of the change. There you go.’

  I count the coins she’s handed me. ‘Thirty-two pence,’ I say. ‘I’ll try not to spend it all at once.’

  She starts to walk away. ‘I’m glad you told me to get on the wrong train,’ she says. ‘Tonight was sugoi.’

  ‘What’s sugoi?’

  ‘Awesome,’ she says. Then, with a smile and a wave, she turns and heads down the dark road, the black cap bobbing up and down.

  I watch her go, then start to walk out of town. I hardly feel the cold and the taste of hot wasabi is still in my mouth. I think about Hoshi flipping through the air as the Japanese girls shouted, ‘Hoshi! Hoshi!’, and I think about what I just saw in her panda purse.

  Three bank cards.

  Why does a fifteen-year-old have three bank cards? And why did that fifteen-year-old make me go busking instead of using one of those cards to buy our tickets home? And then there’s the mystery of the kiss that made her leave Japan …

  A few days ago I’d have been thrilled to find this stuff out about Hoshi. It’s just what I’ve been waiting for: evidence that she’s a fake and that she’s fooled everyone. But I’m not going to tell anyone.

  Tonight Hoshi chose to let me see her dance – something she’s kept hidden from everyone at school. She might have chosen to let me see her bank cards just then. I don’t know why she trusts me, but it feels good.

  Hoshi the secret agent, I think, my feet ringing on the deserted pavement. I’m glad she kept the cap. It suits her.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I’m standing high off the ground on a plank of wood balanced between two step ladders. Betty and Hoshi are next to me. We’re rehearsing the famous balcony scene where Juliet leans out of her window and calls out, ‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ while Romeo hides behind some bushes, spying on her like a perv.

  Right now, our Romeo is hiding behind a chair looking pretty fit in a grey short-sleeved shirt.

  ‘Miss,’ I say – the plank wobbles and I grab hold of Betty. ‘Isn’t it a bit weird that Tybalt and Mercutio are up on the balcony with Juliet?’

  ‘You’ll be in silhouette,’ she says, looking up. ‘No one will notice you.’

  Ms Kapoor has decided that sixties-style backing singers are just what Romeo needs when he sings his solo, ‘Ain’t No Balcony High Enough’. For the past two hours, Betty and I have been singing, ‘Doo-wop de doo da!’ on repeat.

  ‘Jake, this time carry straight on with your lines,’ says Ms Kapoor. ‘Ready, girls?’

  ‘Born ready,’ says Betty, and Mr Simms starts playing the piano. We begin to sway from side to side, doo-wopping in unison, and Jake leaps out and starts to sing.

  Watching us are Kat and Bea. It’s been two weeks since I tried to abandon Hoshi in London and tonight me and the girls are going round to her place for a sleepover. I glance at Hoshi and she smiles at me as she sings. A lot can happen in a fortnight.

  We didn’t tell the others what we did after their train left and this secret has stuck us together. When she walked into French on Monday, I pulled my books over and she sat next to me, the ‘SECRET AGENT’ cap pulled low on her head. Then she winked at me before stuffing the cap in her bag. Everything else followed on from that. We walked to R.S. together, met the girls at break, then hung out at lunchtime. Tiann didn’t miss me because she’s back with Max. As Hoshi and I live in the same direction, it seemed only natural to walk home together after Monday’s rehearsal, and every other rehearsal after that.

  And now we’re having a sleepover. Unless you count crashing out on Tiann’s sofa after drinking too much of her dad’s home brew as a sleepover, I’ve not been to one for years.

  The song finishes and Betty and I step to the side.

  ‘“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”’ calls Hoshi, arms stretched out.

  ‘“It is my lady,”’ says Jake, ‘“O, it is my love! O,
that she knew she were!”’ Then their epic flirting session begins.

  A couple of weeks ago, this would have been agony, especially as it’s clear that Jake isn’t acting when he gazes up at Hoshi and compares her eyes to twinkling stars. But since we went to London, those jealous feelings have been slipping away. That might be because I’m spending so much time with Hoshi: it’s hard to be jealous of someone when it’s you they want to hang around with. But even though we’ve been hanging out a lot, I still think she’s keeping something hidden from me. That’s one of the reasons I’m looking forward to tonight: you can tell a lot about someone from where they live.

  ‘“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”’ asks Jake, then he climbs up a ladder towards us. It’s supposed to be a drain pipe, but Miss says this will be sorted out when we get into the theatre. When he reaches us, he whispers, ‘How you doin’?’ to me and Betty. Each time he comes up here, he says something different to make us laugh.

  ‘“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?”’ asks Hoshi. Then she persuades Romeo to marry her. Finally, after lots of hand holding and gazing, she says to Jake, ‘“I should kill thee with much cherishing.”’

  Her words echo round the room, deadly and sweet. Then, just as Ms Kapoor has instructed, she gives Jake a push and he falls dramatically off the ladder, rolling as he lands. Only this time, he keeps rolling until he ends up on Ms Kapoor’s feet.

  Miss stares down at him and Betty whispers in my ear, ‘Lucky, lucky toes.’ Then she cackles with laughter, the plank wobbles and the three of us grab each other as it tips forward and we’re thrown to the ground.

  ‘Move!’ I say to Betty, who’s lying on my leg.

  ‘I can’t. My hair’s trapped under your fat bum!’

  Ms Kapoor folds her arms and looks at us scattered across the stage. ‘Let’s call it a night,’ she says.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Dad!’ calls Hoshi. ‘We’re home.’

  We follow her into the house and even though we’ve been laughing the whole way here, driving each other crazy by saying ‘Doo-wop de doo da’ in answer to every single question, we all fall quiet, even Betty.

  A man steps out of the kitchen. He’s wearing a dark checked shirt and he’s got specs and a beard, but it’s a cool one, not an old man one. ‘Hello,’ he says, scratching his head. He’s no blond.

  ‘Dad, meet my friends,’ says Hoshi. Then she introduces us and he nods at us in turn.

  ‘I’ve got some food in for you,’ he says, pulling on his trainers. ‘I didn’t know what you like or if any of you are vegetarian, so I bought lots of different things.’ He grabs a jacket and then pats his pockets until he finds his keys. ‘Have fun,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back around eleven.’ He smiles quickly, then disappears out of the door.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ says Hoshi. ‘Dad’s –’

  ‘Really hot?’ says Kat, eyes wide.

  ‘What? No!’ Hoshi kicks off her shoes. ‘I was going to say he’s shy.’

  ‘He’s young and handsome, but he’s a dad,’ says Kat. ‘Really confusing …’

  We take off our shoes, then follow Hoshi into the kitchen. ‘Dad was only twenty when he had me,’ she says. ‘He met Mum when he was in Japan teaching English.’ She starts pulling stuff out of the Sainsbury’s bags on the table.

  ‘When did they split up?’ I ask.

  Hoshi looks at me and smiles. For a second I’m sure she knows I’m digging around for information. ‘They were never really together. Dad came back to England and Mum stayed in Japan with me.’ We start to help her with the shopping. ‘What’s this?’ she says, pulling a whole chicken out of the bag. ‘He hasn’t got a clue! Why didn’t he just get pizza?’

  ‘Let’s see,’ says Betty, rummaging in another bag. ‘Hash browns, dim sum, mince pies, strawberries …’

  Hoshi holds up a bag of Haribo bears. ‘He’s bought all my favourite food.’

  ‘So sweet,’ says Kat. ‘Look, Petits Filous!’

  ‘I liked them when I was five. Dad doesn’t know me that well.’

  ‘He’s got us wine!’ says Bea. ‘And strawberry milk powder.’

  ‘Does he know how old you are?’ asks Betty, picking up the bottle.

  ‘Not sure,’ says Hoshi, putting a can of Peppa Pig spaghetti next to the chicken. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.’

  There’s hardly any furniture in the front room – just a futon, some cushions and the biggest TV I’ve ever seen. Attached to it is a PlayStation 4 and two handsets. ‘Dad only moved in here when he knew I was coming,’ says Hoshi, looking around. ‘His old place was too small.’

  Betty is looking through the pile of games on the floor. ‘Bloodborne … Call of Duty … Gran Turismo 7 …’ she says. ‘I want your dad!’

  ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ says Hoshi. ‘We can play later.’

  I let the others go first and take my time following them. All the walls are painted creamy white, like milk, and there are no carpets – just shiny laminate floor that’s slippery under my socks. At the bottom of the stairs is a pile of post and on the top is a postcard of a Manga girl wearing shorts and twirling an umbrella. I reach down to pick it up.

  ‘There you are,’ says Hoshi, her head appearing round the banister. ‘We’re all in my room.’ I leave the postcard and follow her upstairs.

  Hoshi’s got the biggest bedroom and, just like the rest of the house, there’s not much furniture: just a desk, a couple of posters and another futon. ‘It’s like a dance studio,’ says Bea, twirling in the empty space.

  Kat flops down on the mattress. ‘This is cool. I like being this low down.’

  ‘I’d rather have a proper bed,’ says Hoshi, ‘but Dad is big into Japanese culture. He’s more into it than Mum.’

  I go to look at some photos on the window sill. Behind me, music comes on and the girls laugh at something Betty’s said. I pick up a heart-shaped frame and Hoshi comes over. ‘That’s me and Mum,’ she says. I look at the small smiling lady wearing a red dress and holding a fat baby with one dimple. ‘Dad had already gone back to England then. You don’t get that many single mums in Japan. Luckily my nan and granddad are very cool and helped her out.’

  ‘Are these your friends?’ I pick up the next photo. Four girls stand side by side, their arms linked, wearing identical checked skirts, knee-high socks and white jumpers.

  ‘Yep. My friends back home.’

  ‘No. Way!’ Kat shouts. We turn round to see she’s disappeared inside a cupboard. ‘My ultimate dream: a walk-in wardrobe. Girls, you have to see this.’

  Betty and Bea follow her inside and I can hear them oohing and aahing. ‘Hoshi,’ says Bea, sticking her head out. She’s got a tiny, glittery top hat balanced on her curly hair. ‘Your clothes are insane.’

  They start pulling things out to show me: polka-dot frilly skirts, sequinned waistcoats, candy-coloured trainers. ‘How many pairs of stripy knee-high socks does one girl need?’ asks Betty, searching through a plastic bag.

  ‘About seventeen?’ says Hoshi with a laugh.

  I push past Betty and squeeze into the wardrobe next to Kat and Bea. I run my hands over a blue frilly dress covered in unicorns and lace. ‘How come you never wear any of this stuff?’ I ask.

  ‘Because everyone would laugh at me,’ says Hoshi, peering in. ‘Can you imagine me walking down the high street in that?’

  I pull out a lacy tartan skirt. ‘So did you wear this in Tokyo?’

  ‘Only if I wanted to dress up.’ We all start trying on Hoshi’s clothes and she tells us about the different looks in Japan. ‘I’m mainly a Decora girl, but occasionally I do a bit of Sweet Lolita.’

  ‘Nice,’ says Kat, nodding like she knows exactly what Hoshi’s on about.

  ‘Explain,’ I say as I try to squeeze my feet into a pair of pastel pink lace-up boots.

  ‘Decora is about bright colours and wearing tons of kawaii accessories – cartoon hair grips, that sort of thing. Kawaii means “cute”. S
weet Lolita is basically short frilly dresses. Usually they’re pink. Oh, and curly wigs.’

  ‘Found a wig!’ shouts Bea, who still hasn’t come out of the wardrobe.

  ‘Bea, have you looked in the mirror recently?’ says Betty. ‘That wig is basically your hair … but purple.’

  Hoshi sits on the futon watching as we parade around in her clothes. She’s wearing baggy jeans, an oversized T-shirt and a pink cartoon whale necklace. I now realise this is the most normal she can possibly look.

  ‘Stop,’ says Kat, pulling off a silver wig. ‘I’m hungry. Who can cook whole chickens?’

  It turns out I’m the only person who can cook whole chickens.

  ‘Stick it in the oven,’ says Kat. ‘Let’s have a dinner party!’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Two hours later, the chicken is ready. I’ve done the cooking (wearing the unicorn dress), Hoshi’s laid the table and sorted out the music, and Bea (wearing a pink tartan mini skirt and white furry boots) has lit the candles. Our dinner party is basically everything Hoshi’s dad bought. Once we’ve put it all on the table it looks like a crazy feast with bowls of sweets sitting next to a pile of hash browns and mince pies.

  ‘Can we have the wine?’ asks Betty. Somehow she’s managed to squeeze into a tiny pair of white dungarees.

  ‘I don’t like wine,’ says Kat.

  ‘Me neither,’ says Bea.

  ‘I’m having strawberry milk,’ says Hoshi, filling up a glass with milk.

  ‘Well, I know someone who won’t say no,’ says Betty, wiggling the bottle in my direction.

  I look at the bottle and think about all the Friday nights Tiann and I have gone to the rec with everyone else and then shared a bottle of wine, waiting for something to happen. I shake my head. ‘I’ll go with pink milk,’ I say.

  Betty puts the bottle down. ‘You’re all boring,’ she says, holding out her glass for some milk.

  We eat the chicken with the Peppa Pig spaghetti, then dip strawberries in the Petits Filous. When Betty says the dim sum look like ‘lonely boobies’, Bea laughs so much that yogurt actually comes out of her nose.