Promtastic Read online

  To Giles

  Contents

  Cover

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Chapter One: Alex

  Chapter Two: Leigh

  Chapter Three: Charlotte

  Chapter Four: Grace

  Chapter Five: Kristyn

  PART TWO

  Chapter Six: Leigh

  Chapter Seven: Grace

  Chapter Eight: Kristyn

  Chapter Nine: Charlotte

  Chapter Ten: Kristyn

  Chapter Eleven: Alex

  Chapter Twelve: Grace

  Chapter Thirteen: Leigh

  Chapter Fourteen: Alex

  Chapter Fifteen: Grace

  Chapter Sixteen: Kristyn

  Chapter Seventeen: Grace

  Chapter Eighteen: Charlotte

  Chapter Nineteen: Alex

  Chapter Twenty: Grace

  Chapter Twenty-one: Leigh

  Chapter Twenty-two: Charlotte

  Chapter Twenty-three: Leigh

  Chapter Twenty-four: Kristyn

  Chapter Twenty-five: Alex

  Chapter Twenty-six: Kristyn

  PART THREE

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Alex

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Leigh

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Charlotte

  Chapter Thirty: Grace

  Chapter Thirty-one: Kristyn

  THE END OF THE NIGHT

  Chapter Thirty-two: Leigh

  Chapter Thirty-three: Charlotte

  Chapter Thirty-four: Alex

  Acknowledgements

  Bonus Content: Promtastic Quizzes, Tips and Activities

  Copyright

  PART ONE

  Prom Night – 7.50 p.m.

  Alex

  7.50 p.m.

  “Do you want to dance after the announcements?”

  It was exactly like a film. And she was the lead actress for once, rather than the best friend.

  He had asked her to dance.

  As in come up to her in front of everyone and asked her to save him a dance. Had her “Yeah, sure” been calm enough? She was fretting it had been a bit squeaky but he had said “Cool” back, and smiled at her, so that was all right.

  It was as if her fairy godmother had worked overtime to make this prom night the most magical evening of her life. Do wishing wands wear out? Hers must surely be about to. And the evening wasn’t even finished yet. Her biggest wish, that special moment she had begun to think would never happen – that was still to come.

  For once, she actually felt she looked pretty. Her wavy, dark brown hair was rippling smoothly down her back, thanks to Grace’s rescue that afternoon. Her floating pale pink dress made her feel like a princess. Her silver heels were made for dancing, and shining on each of her nails were crystals identical to those decorating her dress. She really did feel like Cinderella at the ball.

  And now the prince she had dreamed about for so long had asked her to dance. Her! Alex Robertson. She felt she was floating on air. She had seen the envious looks of some of the girls when he came up to her. She didn’t blame them. Tonight she wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone else. Not even Grace who was standing next to her, waiting to hear her name called out.

  Everything leading up to this moment had been perfect. Being picked up from Grace’s in the long white limo, coming out on to the red carpet. The huge Hollywood sign, the photographers taking photos of them with their fun fake Oscars, kneeling down to press their handprints in clay to make their prints. It had all been exactly like a Hollywood premiere and they were the stars.

  She was standing in the middle of a room decorated top to bottom with massive photos of the Los Angeles skyline; above her golden stars spun amid clouds of pink and white balloons.

  She knew that, at last, this was going to be her night.

  Her Hollywood night.

  She was going to have her first kiss.

  And it was going to be just like in the films.

  Leigh

  7.50 p.m.

  It was obvious that she had either:

  •died in an accident and was one hundred per cent in hell, or …

  •fallen into a massive coma and this was all a horrendous nightmare.

  Leigh took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “I am going to wake up any minute.”

  She slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her ripped dress, splattered with mud from top to bottom. Under her breath she cursed the stupid bus driver. She swore he had driven through that massive puddle on purpose. She glanced at her reflection in the large plate-glass window of a shop. An ambulance drove past, its flashing lights backlighting her toppled blonde hair, half an hour earlier so beautifully styled on the top of her head, now, falling off to one side like a blonde Marge Simpson in a strong wind.

  The stormy light of the rain-swept street made her face look ghostly pale.

  “Hey darlin’, it’s not Halloween tonight, is it?” A cackle of laughter followed a group of young men lolling out of a passing car. Leigh gave a wail of anguish, pain and frustration. She wanted to shout after them. “No, it’s not Halloween, you jerks – it’s my PROM NIGHT!”

  She tried to make a rude gesture after the car but a spasm of pain shot up her arm and she flopped down hard on the wet pavement. She sat like a rag doll on the cold stone with both legs out in front of her. Her phone fell out of her bag, her tiny sparkly pale blush bag, now drenched in rain and speckled with dirt. She picked up her phone and hurled it into the bushes. Stupid, useless, broken phone. How could she be here? Outside in the rain when she should be there? How was anyone going to manage without her? It didn’t seem possible that she wasn’t at prom. This couldn’t be happening. Not after all her hard work. Surely someone would miss her?

  But she had a miserable feeling they wouldn’t. She was alone. They would all be there. Without her.

  The most important night of her life.

  She sobbed into the cold, uncaring rain.

  Charlotte

  7.50 p.m.

  “Where is he?” She wondered as she scanned the room again.

  He wasn’t near the dance floor or the stage and she’d looked everywhere twice: under the green-and-pink neon Hollywood Cocktail Bar sign, by the striped candyfloss booth, at the hot-dog stand and next to the chocolate marshmallow fountain. She still didn’t know what it was it all doing here. She was reeling with the effort of trying to process what was going on.

  Why was she surrounded by everyone in her year dressed up in sequins and every colour of the rainbow? Why was her head teacher, Mrs Keane, up on stage banging a microphone trying to get it to work? None of this was supposed to be happening – not here, not at the Triangle.

  What if the reason she was here was a scam, a sick joke? To her horror, she felt as if she might cry and she blundered against the crowd to find a chair in a darker part of the room to calm herself down. She pulled her shades down over her glossy dark fringe to cover her eyes, glad to hide her feelings behind them. As she so often did. She didn’t care if shades were out of place here. She wasn’t dressed for this. She was dressed for a quite different kind of evening. An evening with someone who hadn’t shown up. Someone who had apparently thought it would be funny to send her here.

  She slumped down on the chair and stuck her long, tanned legs in front of her, staring down at her black suede slouchy boots. She certainly stood out from the crowd dressed in a black minidress and grey silk vintage jacket. Even in her state of high agitation, the puzzled glances of her schoolmates had not gone unnoticed.

  They must think she was crazy.

  Unless they were all in on it and all laughing at her. She flashed a quick glance around the room, but from behind her shades she could see that everyone was occupied, staring up at Mrs Keane waving
a gold envelope.

  No one was looking at her.

  She slowly got up from the chair. She wasn’t going to be able to hold back those stupid tears any longer.

  Grace

  7.50 p.m.

  “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  Grace tried to take a deep breath but failed. She was too full of anxiety.

  “Any minute now, Grace!” a voice yelled in her direction. Her heart pounded as the spotlight above her suddenly shot out a lightsabre beam, filling the distant stage with white glare.

  At this signal, everyone around her rose like huge flock of birds: a flurry of multicoloured dresses and black tuxedos flying past, all heading in the same direction.

  “Come on, Grace, you can’t stay back here – you’ve got to be close when they announce it.” Alex had grabbed her arm and was pulling her towards the lights.

  “Shouldn’t you find Evan?” Alex added.

  Grace’s heart took another lurch. The words wound her up as tightly as the strings on her violin. She must breathe: she could do it. Just keep it steady, in and out, she told herself.

  “I don’t know why you’re looking nervous.” Alex was now pushing her gently forwards. “You know it will be you. You’re the most popular girl in the year. And ridiculously pretty. Now move before I have to kill you!”

  I’m going to abandon breathing, Grace said to herself, and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. She was relieved when this seemed to work and she joined the drifting crowd.

  “I voted for you!” a girl in her French class called over.

  “Me too!” yelled Tom, as he gave her the thumbs up. “And for Evan, of course – the swim team has to stick together.”

  She managed a fragile smile but she hardly heard a word.

  Her whole life had been leading up to this moment. “It’s going to be the best moment of your life,” her mother had told her firmly. “It’s your destiny.”

  And now here she was, in her stunning lace dress, her pale blonde hair beautifully styled…

  “Grace! Bet you can’t wait. You must be so excited. I voted for you both.” Zoe pointed at two gold crowns sitting on a red velvet table, centre stage. Standing next to them was their head, Mrs Keane, banging the microphone trying to get it to work properly.

  So it had arrived. The moment that had been entwined into her life story for about as long as she could remember.

  “Grace!” Evan was standing in front of her. He grabbed her hand. He looked so tall and distinguished in his sharp black tuxedo, his blond hair smoothly styled back. His blue eyes stared straight down into hers.

  The perfect Prom King. The perfect boyfriend.

  She wound her fingers tightly round his.

  She didn’t know why she jumped like a startled cat when his name was announced and the room erupted into cheers. Of course it was Evan taking centre stage. Who else would it be?

  Mrs Keane opened the second envelope.

  “And the Prom Queen is…”

  Mrs Keane paused for ever.

  Grace felt her eyes boring into Mrs Keane’s face.

  “Say it! Say it!” she willed with all her might.

  She said it.

  Time stopped.

  Alex’s shocked face turned to her in slow motion.

  “What?” she mouthed in disbelief.

  Grace closed her eyes and took that deep breath at last.

  Kristyn

  7.50 p.m.

  Kristyn noticed Mrs Keane climbing up the stairs to the stage before anyone else did, before the spotlight was even turned on. She followed Mrs Keane’s progress across the stage with her eyes. The lively buzz of the room seemed muted to Kristyn, as if she was wearing earmuffs. She found that she was holding her breath. When Mrs Keane pulled out the card for Prom Queen and read the name on it, a rush of noise washed over Kristyn, as if her imaginary earmuffs had suddenly been removed. She exhaled in a rush.

  “It’s me. It’s really me,” she whispered to herself.

  Her name had been the one on the gold card.

  In her fantasies she had climbed on to the stage and the boy standing next to her had moved towards her: he had looked at her with adoration, knowing she was the girl for him. And no one else in the room had stood a chance.

  That was in her fantasies.

  This was supposed to be moment that was going to make the whole of her life come right. The moment when she completely reinvented herself.

  Surely she wasn’t the only girl who had wished she could change herself. Who hasn’t wished they hadn’t said this or done that? Who hasn’t sometimes wished they could wipe the slate clean and start again?

  She glanced up at the golden stars hanging from the ceiling. The light danced off their glittery points. In the middle of each one was a photograph. She knew there was a shining star for every person at prom. Her own would be up there somewhere: twirling above her head. She remembered giving in her carefully chosen photo to Leigh. It seemed like a hundred years ago. If she had been told then she would be Prom Queen then, she would have laughed out loud.

  Yet here she was, all her dreams come true. The Prom Queen. Evan at her side.

  She scanned the crowd of faces staring up at her. Was it so terribly wrong not to want to be you? To be not the new girl who tried too hard to make friends, but the cool girl: the china-doll girl who never puts a foot wrong?

  But she already knew the answer to that question.

  Her heart was thumping as Mrs Keane picked up a crown. She looked out into the crowd: what would they say if they knew the kind of person she really was? What had made her do it? What had she been thinking? She pulled her gaze away from the hundreds of eyes on her and stared straight into the dazzling spotlight. Blinded by the beam, she imagined her star falling slowly from the ceiling and landing softly on the ground … then everyone deliberately drifting towards it and one by one crushing it under their heels.

  PART TWO

  29 Hours and 50 Minutes Earlier

  – The Day Before Prom

  Leigh

  2.00 p.m.

  “Don’t try and tell me I can’t tell one pink from another. I know what colour I want those marshmallows and if you knew who you were dealing with you wouldn’t even say the word ‘raspberry’ in the same breath as ‘powder’ to me.”

  Leigh opened her locker with her free hand and battled to pull a book out from the middle of a towering pile. Her other hand clamped her phone firmly to her ear. Failing to extract the book she needed, she tucked her phone between her chin and shoulder in order to wrest the French textbook free from the pile, then kicked the door shut with her foot. She slung the book into her bag, put the phone back to her ear and began to walk towards her lesson, ponytail swinging.

  Charlotte came up alongside her, trying to attract her attention.

  “No!” Leigh continued into the phone. “Raspberry pink is not the same as powder pink. Raspberry pink is practically a whole universe away from—”

  Charlotte took her sleeve and mimed something at her.

  Leigh pointed at the phone with her free hand, mouthing, “Not now.”

  Her friend raised her eyebrows and sighed.

  Leigh saw Charlotte’s face and felt bad but there was nothing she could do. She had left the marshmallows to someone else on the Prom Committee and look what had happened. If she wanted it done right, she would have to do it herself. All those months ago, when Leigh had volunteered to be on the committee, she hadn’t seen it as work like some of the other girls, she had seen it as a golden opportunity. An opportunity not only to create the best prom the school had ever seen and show off her organizational skills, but also to have something to put on her CV to help get her into business school like her stepsister. She honestly couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t making lists, sorting things out and working on timetables for homework or music lessons. She even liked to organize her free time into sections, though she would never admit that to anyone except Charlotte. Charlo
tte had laughed at her when she had found one of the timetables pinned up on the board in Leigh’s bedroom. “Leigh, I cannot believe my eyes. Are you seriously telling me you timetable magazine-reading and exercise?”

  “Yes,” Leigh had replied firmly. “The word is discipline, Charlotte. I do two sessions of a high-intensity military-inspired training circuit every day. I need to keep fit.”

  “For Owen?”

  “No, not for Owen. If I’m going to run my own business in the future I’ve got to get into good habits now. Exercise is important for keeping your mind quick.” Leigh had paused and smiled. “OK, and I’m sure Owen appreciates it too.”

  “You’ve always had good habits, Leigh. Even in primary school you made Mrs Bishop give you the complete class timetable and gave her a hard time if she didn’t stick to it.”

  “Well she was always trying to duck out of doing PE if it was only a tiny bit rainy!” Leigh had laughed.

  Charlotte had grinned, “Please don’t forget me when you’re running the Bank of England or, even more useful to me, the TopShop empire.”

  “I won’t – and don’t forget me when you’re a famous singer-songwriter.”

  “Would you be my manager?”

  “Nah, I’m not into bands – too risky.”

  Leigh had ducked as Charlotte threw a pillow at her.

  Owen was waiting for her outside French. He opened his mouth to speak and Leigh sighed as her phone began vibrating in her pocket again. She held out the palm of her hand to him, pulled a “Sorry” face and headed to take the call in the toilets along the corridor. If she got caught on the phone again at school she knew she’d be in trouble.