Читать книгу Cupcakes and Glitter Shakes - Lisa Clark - Страница 4

“Bella,” I say as calmly as I possibly can, “can you come reread this for me please, I think there’s a chance I might be dreaming!”

Pink Lady Bella crawls across my pink bedspread and rests her head on my shoulder. She mutters the words as she reads from the screen, and when she gets to the end, she lets out a really loud squeal in my ear.

“Lo, Lo—the ed of Missy magazine has just asked you to go be her intern—this is huge, this is may-jah!” she says, doing a stompy boot dance in honour of quite possibly the best news I’ve ever had.

So, I wasn’t dreaming.

Bella had just confirmed it.

The ed-girl—my idol-girl—of my most favourite magazine, Missy, has asked me to be an intern.

What did I go and do so right to deserve this?!

And um…more importantly than that I guess, what was an intern?

“It’s what Americans call work-experience, Lola!” Bella informs me, when I ask her. Which makes sense because like Bella, Tori Frankel—ed girl extraordinaire, is an American-o too.

“I thought that’s what it meant!” I say, which isn’t altogether true, which is why I asked. You should never be afraid to ask questions, y’know, no matter how silly they seem, because imagine if ‘internship’ meant something completely different like, I don’t know, eat maggots or clean toilets. If I hadn’t asked, I could have arrived on the first day and been in for a complete icky shock.

This was a BIG deal.

Missy magazine was my most favourite magazine and while I didn’t want to pester ed-girl Tori Frankel, after I met her, I thought it would be crazy not to take the opportunity to keep in contact—so I emailed her. I emailed her a copy of my new zine and I thought up lots of cool ideas for Missy, just so she knew I was serious about it. I even made a mood board to go with the ideas—cutting out pictures and words and colour schemes that went with them—it took me ages, but it didn’t matter.

If it meant I got to work at Missy Magazine, one of the only magazines in magazine-y world that doesn’t get all hung up on body bits and instead writes about cool stuff like, 15 year old girls doing kick-ass things with their lives, and fashion shoots with real-sized girls, then it would be worth it. I know I do my own thing with my own zine, which I love, but I want to learn all about how a real magazine works so that when I’m ready, I can make my magazine the best magazine in the world ever.

My computer pings again. Bella and I both rush to the screen in anticipation. It’s my Aunt Lullah. When she lived here, and not in swanksville New York, city of my dreams, we always used to joke that she wasn’t really my auntie and that she was actually my psychic sister and it turns out she really is (psychic that is, not my sister, coz that would just be weird) because I really wanted to talk to her!

I click the IM icon on the screen and pull up a blank message box.

I’m literally buzzing with excitement as I type, because Lulllah is my number one inspir-o-girl and I just know she’ll be as excited as I am about me entering the land of my pink-tinted dreams—real magazines.

Ah.

The Mothership.

Bella, who has been reading over my shoulder, pulls a knowing face. This is because she knows the full-on craziness that is my mum. Well, she should do, what with my mum spending A LOT of time with her Yoga Dad.

Yep, this is, in case you were wondering, the very same mum who threatened to call the police about her cult-like neighbours when Bella and Yoga Dad first arrived in the ‘hood. For a while they’ve just been ‘hanging out’ or whatever parental types call spending time together, but now, according to Bella, it seems they might, y’know, like each other. Mum hasn’t told me this herself, but that’s because mum and I don’t talk in the same way as Bella and Yoga Dad talk. I’d kinda guessed something might be going on, as her volume switch had been re-set to normal and she sometimes had a smile where her perma-frown used to be. I don’t think they’re dating or anything, just think enjoying spending time together, what with them both being single. That, I’m cool with.

I think.

I mean, parentals deserve to be happy too, right? And when my particular parental is happy, I no longer get hurty ears. And Yoga Dad, rules. He’s a chilled out zen dude, who couldn’t be more unlike my earring-wearing, traveller dad, if he tried. But as much as I love Bella, when she jokes about the idea of them actually dating, and maybe getting married, and us becoming sisters, it turns out I’m not that cool about that in the slightest. In fact, can we change the subject please?

I let my fingers hover above the keyboard before typing back to Lullah. Writing is my most persuasive medium, so I’d better make this good.

Which was absolutely true.

Lullah might be mum’s younger sister and she might be across a huge expanse of sea, but there really was no-one wiser to the workings of the Mothership? than Lullah.

I love Lullah. She’s the greatest.

I especially love how she doesn’t even think the internship won’t happen. She always looks on the bright side of things, and lives her life by her most favourite saying, ‘what you think about, you bring about.’ She would always write cute li’l things like that on Post-it notes and leave them round the house when she was staying here. The Mothership? used to shake her head, tut a little bit and put them in the bin. Positivity was not a word my parental was familiar back then. But I’d collect the notes and put them in my journal. They’re the perfect pick-me-ups for sad days or just days when you need a reminder that life really is sweet. I particularly like ‘thoughts become things—choose the good ones!’ I have it on my mirror, next to my own mantra, ‘I’m feisty, fun, fearless and fabulous!’ which is written on a lip-shaped Post-it note in pink ink—natch.

Lullah is just the tiara-wearing princess of positivity and is my real life proof that if you have a dream, work hard and believe you can do it, you can actually have that dream come true, she’s not my number one inspir-o-girl for nothing, y’know!

I swivel round on my chair, to see Bella lying on my bed and Cat lying on Bella. Cat, or Catitude as I like to call her, takes one look at me, realises she has no interest at all in the pink-haired girl-shape—she never does—and returns to licking her paw.

“So, what’s the score, Miss Magraw?” Bella asks pulling her head up from the pillow, trying hard not to disturb Catitude’s extensive grooming procedure.

“It’s good news, Miss Ma-pooz, Lullah’s on it!” I say, joining her back on the bed. “She’s going to ask her BFF, Skye if I can stay with her in London and then she’s going to deal with the Mothership…Cool, huh?”

Bella picks Cat up from her belly and places her on the bed beside her. Cat is not impressed. For an animal that belonged to such a positive person like my Aunt Lullah, Cat really is quite the grumpster. She has an array of not-impressed faces that vary from mildly annoyed, to utter distain. This one was definitely a peeved’. She jumps off the bed and pulls a totally un-Cat-like pose. It seems that since Yoga Dad has been on the scene, Cat has become a wacky yoga-doing kitty.

Oh, and if you stare at her pulling crazy shapes, she will stop and give you the look—as if you’ve walked in on her naked or something. A look that says ‘Excuse me, do you mind?’

She’s deffo a quirky one, that’s f’sure. That’s why I secretly quite like her, but ssshhh, don’t tell her.

“So, Lo-Lo,” Bella says, trying to watch Cat out of the corner of her eye. “I know this is this coolest news ever and all, but I think you’ve forgotten one teeny-tiny thing…”

“What?” I ask inquisitively. “I’ve covered everything, haven’t I? Parental, accommodation—what else is there?”

Bella reaches across to my bedside table and holds up my invite to a garden party tea dance.

“Err…the small matter of a Sadie soiree?”