come out before Geena and Jazz. Otherwise my plan would have to wait till another day.
Oh, joy. Here he was.
Now it was up to me. I fumbled in my bag and found my bhangra CD. We had quite a few of them lying around at home, and I'd chosen one by Punjabi MC.
I sidestepped my way casually over to Rocky. He didn't see me. Then I “accidentally” dropped the CD in his path, rather like a Victorian lady might have dropped a handkerchief in front of her admirer.
“Oh, silly me—” I began.
Of course, my plan was for Rocky to pick it up, say,
“Why, Amber, I didn't know you were into bhangra! You've got good taste as well as being stunningly beautiful,” etc., etc.
It didn't work out at all like that. Oh, Rocky bent down to pick up the CD, yes he did. But at exactly that precise moment, George Botley dived in from the left to do the same. Their heads met with a resounding crack.
“George, you idiot!” I muttered.
“Ow!” George moaned, rubbing the side of his head.
“Are you all right, Rocky?” I asked anxiously.
“Yeah, I reckon so.” Rocky shot George a poisonous stare. “You want to look where you're going, mate.”
“You sure you're not concussed or something?” I went on, ignoring George, who wandered away, looking sheepish.
“I'm fine.” Rocky checked out the CD, then handed it to me. “So you're into bhangra?”
“Why, yes,” I said flirtatiously. “Isn't everyone?”
“I'm into bhangra fusion,” Rocky replied. “Hip-hop and rap mainly. I write my own stuff, you know. I like to mix in a bit of reggae and sometimes a few Bollywood beats too.”
“You do?” I breathed. Was there anything Golden Boy couldn't do?
“Yeah.” Rocky was all lit up with enthusiasm. “I've got my own recording studio with decks and everything at home. My dad's helping me set it up in the flat over our garage.”
“Where do you live?” I asked. This was the very information that might help me win the bet.
“We've just moved into Temple Avenue,” Rocky replied.
Wow. Now I was impressed. You had to be quite seriously loaded to live in Temple Avenue. The whole of our street would fit into one back garden there.
“Someone told me that there's a fantastic music shop called Shanti's on the Broadway,” Rocky went on. “Do you know it? I thought about checking it out tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh, I know it,” I said. “I go myself most weekends.” Which was almost true. I did pop in there occasionally. “Maybe I'll see you there?”
“You got it.” Rocky pointed his finger at me. “I'll be there after lunch.”
Oh, me too,
I promised him silently as he strolled off. Even if it meant locking Geena and Jazz in the garden shed. Even if it meant tying Auntie to the cooker with a length of rope. I'd be there.
“I 've got a big pile of dirty socks to be washed. By hand. My trainers need new Odor-Eaters. My hairbrush needs de-hairing, and I must have the hard skin on my feet removed.” I sighed happily. “Oh, how I love having slaves.”
“You're wasting your time with that list,” Jazz called. She was sprawled on our bed, straightening her hair with ceramic irons. “I won't end up being your slave for a day. You and Geena will be
mine.”
I ignored her. “Oh, and my pet snake's tank needs cleaning out.”
Jazz looked puzzled. “You don't have a pet snake.”
“I know,” I replied. “I'm thinking of getting one, just so you can clean it out.”
“Hmm,” Jazz said suspiciously. “You seem very confident that you're going to win this bet.”
“Quietly confident, yes,” I agreed, looking as innocent as I knew how. “I know that my charm and good looks and personality will carry the day.”
“Just how insane
are
you?” Jazz inquired.
I prevented myself from smiling even just a little. Of course, Jazz and Geena could not know about my plan to meet Rocky that very afternoon at Shanti's music shop. I had prepared myself by putting on my new cropped jeans and pink T-shirt, with
Oh, joy. Here he was.
Now it was up to me. I fumbled in my bag and found my bhangra CD. We had quite a few of them lying around at home, and I'd chosen one by Punjabi MC.
I sidestepped my way casually over to Rocky. He didn't see me. Then I “accidentally” dropped the CD in his path, rather like a Victorian lady might have dropped a handkerchief in front of her admirer.
“Oh, silly me—” I began.
Of course, my plan was for Rocky to pick it up, say,
“Why, Amber, I didn't know you were into bhangra! You've got good taste as well as being stunningly beautiful,” etc., etc.
It didn't work out at all like that. Oh, Rocky bent down to pick up the CD, yes he did. But at exactly that precise moment, George Botley dived in from the left to do the same. Their heads met with a resounding crack.
“George, you idiot!” I muttered.
“Ow!” George moaned, rubbing the side of his head.
“Are you all right, Rocky?” I asked anxiously.
“Yeah, I reckon so.” Rocky shot George a poisonous stare. “You want to look where you're going, mate.”
“You sure you're not concussed or something?” I went on, ignoring George, who wandered away, looking sheepish.
“I'm fine.” Rocky checked out the CD, then handed it to me. “So you're into bhangra?”
“Why, yes,” I said flirtatiously. “Isn't everyone?”
“I'm into bhangra fusion,” Rocky replied. “Hip-hop and rap mainly. I write my own stuff, you know. I like to mix in a bit of reggae and sometimes a few Bollywood beats too.”
“You do?” I breathed. Was there anything Golden Boy couldn't do?
“Yeah.” Rocky was all lit up with enthusiasm. “I've got my own recording studio with decks and everything at home. My dad's helping me set it up in the flat over our garage.”
“Where do you live?” I asked. This was the very information that might help me win the bet.
“We've just moved into Temple Avenue,” Rocky replied.
Wow. Now I was impressed. You had to be quite seriously loaded to live in Temple Avenue. The whole of our street would fit into one back garden there.
“Someone told me that there's a fantastic music shop called Shanti's on the Broadway,” Rocky went on. “Do you know it? I thought about checking it out tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh, I know it,” I said. “I go myself most weekends.” Which was almost true. I did pop in there occasionally. “Maybe I'll see you there?”
“You got it.” Rocky pointed his finger at me. “I'll be there after lunch.”
Oh, me too,
I promised him silently as he strolled off. Even if it meant locking Geena and Jazz in the garden shed. Even if it meant tying Auntie to the cooker with a length of rope. I'd be there.
“I 've got a big pile of dirty socks to be washed. By hand. My trainers need new Odor-Eaters. My hairbrush needs de-hairing, and I must have the hard skin on my feet removed.” I sighed happily. “Oh, how I love having slaves.”
“You're wasting your time with that list,” Jazz called. She was sprawled on our bed, straightening her hair with ceramic irons. “I won't end up being your slave for a day. You and Geena will be
mine.”
I ignored her. “Oh, and my pet snake's tank needs cleaning out.”
Jazz looked puzzled. “You don't have a pet snake.”
“I know,” I replied. “I'm thinking of getting one, just so you can clean it out.”
“Hmm,” Jazz said suspiciously. “You seem very confident that you're going to win this bet.”
“Quietly confident, yes,” I agreed, looking as innocent as I knew how. “I know that my charm and good looks and personality will carry the day.”
“Just how insane
are
you?” Jazz inquired.
I prevented myself from smiling even just a little. Of course, Jazz and Geena could not know about my plan to meet Rocky that very afternoon at Shanti's music shop. I had prepared myself by putting on my new cropped jeans and pink T-shirt, with
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