You Don't Know Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

others. He’s remembering, I know he is. For a moment, he seems wary, but then he switches into a different mode: cold, distant and polite. He flicks his eyes past me, as if I hardly exist. I wish, suddenly, that I had told somebody about him, because then I could explain how crushed I feel. Which is crazy – because I wanted him to pretend it never happened, same as me. Even so, the crushed feeling persists.
    I wait with dread for the others to notice my downbeat mood and ask me about it, but as George shows us where we’ll be playing and changing, nobody does. Slowly I realise that, for their different reasons, they’re all feeling worse. Nell’s terrified she’ll forget the words. Jodie’s excitement has turned to pure fear, and even though Rose couldn’t sing a bum note if she tried, her shyness is making her physically shake with the effort of imagining a hundred people packed into the barn at the end of George’s garden, all watching us and listening to every note.
    I make the mistake of thinking about it too. In two hours, a hundred cool sixth-formers will arrive, cool sixth-formers who could kill us on Interface with a singlewell-armed putdown. And all we have between us and them are three glitter belts, a silver waistcoat and a couple of moth-eaten comedy hats. We are crazy.
    â€˜I don’t think I can do this,’ Rose says, slipping into her costume in George’s parents’ bedroom, which we’ve adopted as the Manic Pixie Dream Girls’ changing room. ‘I know I promised, but . . .’
    We’ve checked out the barn, done the sound check (where we rivalled Alvin and the Chipmunks for squeakiness) and we’re supposed to be performing in forty-five minutes. Rose looks wonderful in a stripey black and white dress with the silver waistcoat. But her face is whiter than the dress, and she has thrown up twice in the ensuite.
    â€˜Just try,’ Nell says gently, rubbing her back. ‘You know all the notes. You look amazing. Don’t worry if you can’t sing when we get there. We’ll cover for you.’
    Meanwhile, Jodie is applying her makeup for the third time, because her hands are shaking so much she can’t get her lipstick straight and she keeps poking herself in the eye with her mascara.
    â€˜All those girls . . .’ she says. ‘Did you see them?’
    Indeed we did. Before we came upstairs to change, we watched a good portion of our sixth form arrive, dressed up in tiny, body-hugging dresses and skyscraper heels, with lashings of lipgloss, and enough hair products to launch a major salon. Most gorgeous of all was Michelle Lee, George’s girlfriend, who could happily body double for Cheryl Cole if she ever needed the job. She kissed me on both cheeks when she met me. I wanted the ground to swallow me up.
    In less than an hour they’ll all be crammed into the barn, watching us muck about onstage, sounding like woodland animals on helium. At least I won’t be in my pyjama top tonight – I’m wearing my best party dress under the glitter belt – but that’s not much of a comfort.
    â€˜Just think,’ Jodie announces, looking nauseous, ‘whatever happens, we’ll be able to say we played a professional gig at one of George’s parties. Nobody’ll be able to take that away from us.’
    â€˜Nobody’ll want to,’ I squeak.
    â€˜We just have to take it one song at a time,’ Nell says, squinting at herself in the mirror. She has the big advantage that she can always take her glasses off onstage, at which point the crowd will become a vague, bouncy blur. Maybe I could put them on, which would blur the crowd for me too. The thought cheers me up slightly.
    Nell’s right, though: positive thinking. I admire her attitude.
    â€˜Come on,’ I say, adjusting the straps on my platforms. ‘We’re here now. What we need is some sort of band ritual. Stand over