Destiny Date Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘Where am I supposed to put my feet?’
    Savannah’s got her head in my wardrobe. ‘You can lace up football boots,’ she calls. ‘A few straps shouldn’t confuse you.’
    Treacle flops into the beanbag with a resigned sigh and shakes off her trainers. I crouch beside her and help her guide her toes between the straps.
    By the time we’ve got her lashed safely in, Savannah emerges from my wardrobe. ‘There’s not much haute couture in there,’ she comments. ‘But let’s see what we
can do with these.’
    I stare in horror. She’s found the experimental corner of my wardrobe, where I hide my impulse buys. There’s a blue sequined top I was convinced made my eyes sparkle until I got it
home and realized it made me look like a Christmas bauble, and a long clingy skirt in faux PVC that I bought for Halloween. I sprayed my hair green, aiming for zombie-freak, but the damp autumn air
frizzed it till I looked more like a palm tree.
    Savannah flings them both at Treacle. ‘Put these on.’
    ‘Why do
I
have to be the model?’ Treacle complains.
    ‘Because Gemma has to practise being the audience,’ Savannah tells her briskly. ‘Hurry up.’
    Grumbling, Treacle shimmies into the blue sequins and slinky skirt. She looks surprisingly glamorous, teetering in her heels.
    The music’s still thumping.
    ‘Start walking.’ Savannah waves Treacle on with flapping hands.
    Gingerly, Treacle heads along the carpet catwalk. She holds out her arms to balance herself.
    ‘You’re a supermodel not a tightrope walker. Hold your head up! And swing your arms!’
    Treacle lifts her chin and strides boldly forward.
    Savannah claps elegantly. ‘Divine!’ she calls. ‘Magnificent.’ She leans and whispers in my ear. ‘Watch the front-row seats. If the people there are nodding, follow
their cue and applaud. If they’re shaking their heads, look disappointed.’
    ‘But what if I think the dresses are gorgeous and they don’t?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter what you think,’ Savannah tells me. ‘The critics decide what’s hot and what’s not. You just have to wear it.’
    Treacle’s lurching from side to side, the heels wobbling beneath her. As she reaches the door, it flies open. She staggers back with a shriek and thumps, bum first, into my laundry basket,
which concertinas under her weight.
    Ben is standing in the doorway, his hands over his ears. ‘Are you having a disco?’ he yells.
    I leap from the catwalk and switch off the screaming music. ‘We’re having a fashion show.’
    Ben stares at Treacle. ‘Why’s Treacle wearing fancy dress? And why’s she sitting in your knicker basket?’
    ‘We’re practising a fashion show!’ Treacle glares at him. She’s wedged in the laundry bin, her arms and legs flailing helplessly. ‘Help me out!’
    Ben grabs her hands. He heaves enthusiastically and Treacle tumbles out, her feet flapping dangerously. I reach for Ben and drag him clear of the sharp heels as Treacle untangles herself
ungracefully.
    Savannah’s watching with a despairing look on her face. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I bother,’ she sighs. ‘It’s like being friends with the Chuckle Brothers.’
    ‘It’s not my fault.’ Treacle hauls herself to her feet, flicking her hair back indignantly. ‘Ben startled me.’
    Savannah waves her aside. ‘Let me show you how it’s done.’ She nods at Ben. ‘Music, please.’
    Treacle hops off the catwalk and stands beside me as Ben pushes the Play switch and the room starts vibrating.
    Savannah pushes back her shoulders, lifts her chin and sashays along the carpet-catwalk as though she’s been modelling since she was born.
    ‘You need a checklist in your head,’ she shouts to me. ‘First, check the hairdos. There’s bound to be a theme to the show. Straight and smooth, sculpted and wild.
It’ll give you a clue about what the designer’s trying to achieve with his look.’
    Savannah spins and struts back towards us.
    Ben leaps onto the catwalk behind