Airhead - Cabot Meg (читаем книги онлайн без регистрации TXT) 📗

And for another, her shiny blonde hair flowed smoothly down past her elbows, not a strand out of place, even though she was practically running — despite her heels — across the store. Strangely, her filmy dress seemed to cover everything it was supposed to too… despite the fact that it was the lowest-cut thing I’d ever seen — aside from what Whitney Robertson wore to school last year on Picture Day. How did Nikki keep those thin straps of material over her nipples, anyway? Double-sided tape? I’d heard about that kind of thing of course, but never had a chance to observe its use in real life.

And it was a good thing too (that Nikki had thought to use tape to hold in her breasts, which weren’t huge enough to need their own zip codes or anything, but — unlike my own — definitely stood to attention when called to duty).

Because she was carrying a tiny ball of fluff that appeared, at first glance, to be a pompom and, at second glance, to be a small dog, trying frantically to burrow its head between her boobs and get away from all the crazy lights and sounds in the store. If it hadn’t been for the tape keeping him out, well, that dog would have dived right inside Nikki’s dress.

Frida was still going on about what a bad example of feminism I am (about which, can I just say, Hello, Pot? This is Kettle. Yeah, you’re black), completely oblivious to what was going on behind her — even though everybody else in line was staring, slack-jawed, at the rapidly approaching supermodel and her entourage of dog, some kind of agent or publicist (red-haired lady with a briefcase jabbering into a headset), hairdresser (man in a silk shirt and leather trousers, carrying a can of hairspray) and the Number One FON herself, Lulu Collins, an equally skinny, equally pretty seventeen-year-old girl in a faux snakeskin-print wrap-dress, who couldn’t seem to stop looking at her Sidekick, even to watch where she was going.

I swear, it was just like at school when Whitney and Lindsey and the rest of the Walking Dead start their morning promenade from the front of the building to their lockers. Every single person in the vicinity just stopped talking and stared as if transfixed.

And not just the people all around us either. I noticed that Nikki had caught Gabriel Luna’s attention as well. He was still smiling at the girls clustered in front of him thrusting CDs (and their phone numbers) at him.

But he was also keeping a pretty close eye on Nikki…

… as, I might add, was Christopher.

It was at that moment that Frida finally turned round to see what Christopher — his mouth slightly agape — and I were staring at.

And completely lost it.

‘Ohmigodohmigodohmigod,’ Frida cried, waving her free hand (the other was still clutching her cell) in front of her face as if she were fanning tears from her eyes. ‘Ohmigod, it’s her. It’s her. It’s HER!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Free,’ Christopher said. ‘That Gabriel guy maybe sensitive and all that. But he is totally staring at her chest.’

‘Um, he wouldn’t be the only one doing that,’ I muttered, noting — with dissatisfaction — the direction of Christopher’s gaze.

He realized what I meant and began to turn bright red. But I noticed he didn’t look away.

Funny how, all of a sudden, I wasn’t feeling so fine any more.

‘Ohmigod, you guys,’ Frida said, clutching my arm. ‘Lulu Collins is with her! I have to get their autographs. I have to!’

But at that very moment, the line in which we’d been standing for the past hour reached the very table that, mere minutes before, had seemed so very far away and out of reach. Gabriel Luna himself was within autographing distance. Heck, he was within TOUCHING distance.

Not that, you know, I was going to reach out and grab a big hunk of his shirt, or anything. I’m just saying I could have. If I’d wanted to.

Up close, he looked even better than on stage. Up close, I could tell he definitely didn’t have any tattoos. Nor was he wearing eyeliner. His eyes really were that blue. And his gaze really was that piercing.

Except that it wasn’t looking anywhere near mine. It was, in fact, still glued to Nikki.

‘Frida.’ I found myself as unable to tear my gaze from Gabriel Luna as he was apparently unable to tear his own away from Nikki Howard. ‘Uh. Frida?’

Except that when my sister didn’t reply, and when I finally forced myself to look in her direction, I saw that Frida had actually stepped from the line and was heading towards Nikki and her entourage — not like she meant to be doing it, but like she simply couldn’t resist the pull of Nikki’s celebrity… kind of like how Leander was drawn into the Dark Castle by the beam of the Ring of Ashanti in the Journeyquest movie (which sucked).

‘Frida?’ I called after her. Then, realizing that Gabriel Luna had finally stopped staring at Nikki and was instead looking curiously at me, I turned towards him slowly and heard myself murmur, ‘Um. Hi.’

‘Hi,’ Gabriel said back. And then he smiled.

And — I’m not kidding — it was like reaching level sixty in Journeyquest. No, it was even better than that… it was like waking up in the morning and hearing your mother go, ‘Guess what? They just cancelled school. It’s a Snow Day’ Seriously, that’s what his smile did to me — gave me a jolt of pleasure that was almost physical, it was so strong.

Which is weird, because I’d felt something very similar just minutes before when Christopher had called me fine. Boys are confusing.

Of course I couldn’t say anything. Of course I could only stand there gazing at him with my mouth hanging open, wondering how anyone so beautiful could be real, and not a product of airbrushing or computer animation.

‘What’s your name then?’ Gabriel asked in his gorgeous English accent.

‘Um.’ Oh God. He was talking to me. He was talking to me. What should I say? Why was this happening? Where was Frida? Where the frack was FRIDA? ‘Em.’

‘Em?’ Gabriel smiled some more. ‘Short for Emily?’

‘Um,’ I said. Oh God. What was wrong with me? Normally I had no problem talking to cute boys. Because normally, all the cute boys I met – Christopher excepted of course — were sexist creeps who needed to be taken down a peg or two. They weren’t sweet British hotties with a voice like an angel and blue eyes that seemed to pierce my soul. ‘No… ’

‘Do you have a CD you’d like for me to sign?’ Gabriel wanted to know, looking questioningly at my empty hands.

Oh no.

‘Hold on,’ I said, my heart pounding. ‘My sister —’

I spun round to find Frida and ran smack into Christopher, who was still staring at Nikki. Only now he wore a look of concern. ‘Uh, Em,’ he said. ‘Look —’

What happened next seemed to unfold as if it was in a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare. I saw my sister walking towards Nikki Howard and her posse.

At the same time, I saw a guy standing nearby suddenly throw open his trench coat to reveal an ELF T-shirt… along with a paintgun. A Megastore security guy in an earpiece, seeing this at the same time I did, grabbed Nikki by the wrist and jerked her back. Meanwhile, Paintgun Guy, grinning balefully, raised his rifle and fired at the plasma TV hanging directly over Nikki’s head, leaving an enormous yellow splotch across the screen where Nikki’s boobs had been. Actually, it looked like she’d been eating a hot dog with mustard that had slid out on to her chest … something that happens to me not infrequently.

Only this time, the plasma screen came loose from the wires suspending it from the ceiling. First one wire popped. Then a second one.

And standing directly beneath it stood my sister Frida, still holding her pen towards Nikki for an autograph.

‘Frida! Move!’ I yelled, my heart giving a lurch.

I darted forward to push her out of the way just as the last wire holding the giant television in place broke with a pinging sound that was easily audible, even over the music blasting from the Stark Megastore’s speakers.