Page 12 of I Would Die for You

Amelia nods. “Yeah, they’re flying to Paris this afternoon, so we’ll head to Heathrow after here.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” asks Cassie, wishing she had the inside track on their movements. “And how does Ben know your name?”

Amelia shrugs, though her apparent nonchalance is laced with a smug superiority. Cassie doesn’t blame her; it’s clearly a powerful position she holds, both in the band’s inner sanctum and that of the fans’ world, though there’s no doubt she picks and chooses who to share her valuable knowledge with. While other girls look at her with unbridled hope, praying that she sprinkles some of her stardust on them, it seems it’s Cassie who is once again elected as today’s lucky recipient.

“Come on,” says Amelia, reaching for her hand and pulling her further along Wood Lane, away from the prying eyes of the ever-alert security presence.

“Where are we going?” giggles Cassie, already loving the adventure she knows she’s about to embark on.

“We’re going in,” says Amelia as she gets a footing on the six-foot fence that runs around the entire perimeter of the TV studios.

Cassie looks up at the world-famous circular building, its curved walls stretching up seven or eight floors. “Are you completely mad?” she asks. “It’ll be like a maze in there, and the security guards will be hunting us down like we’re the IRA.”

“I know what studio they’re in,” says Amelia, her eyes dancing at the idea of being rebellious. But then, Cassie imagines she spends her whole life refusing to live by the rules.

“This is such a bad idea,” says Cassie as Amelia falls onto the grass on the other side in an ungainly heap.

“I bet you won’t be saying that when you’re face to face with Ben Edwards in ten minutes,” says Amelia with a grin.

The thought makes Cassie’s stomach somersault as she climbs up the railings and carefully lifts herself over the forbidding metal spikes. There’s a snag, a pulling-up, and for a second she can’t work out what’s going on, but as her jeans get tighter and tighter aroundher bum, she realizes her belt has caught on a railing, giving her the wedgie of all wedgies.

“Oh no, you haven’t?!” shrieks Amelia, her rounded cheeks looking fit to burst.

“I bloody have,” replies Cassie, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as she hangs there helplessly, like a pig in an abattoir.

“Wait, hold on,” chokes Amelia, struggling to contain her hysteria. “I need to…” She rummages in her bag and pulls out her Instamatic camera.

“Don’t you dare,” says Cassie in mock indignation.

“This is too good to miss,” cackles Amelia as she reels the winder. “Say cheese!”

“Help me!” cries Cassie through tears of laughter.

Amelia wraps her arms around Cassie’s knees and attempts to lift her. “Just a bit more,” she says, breathless from giggling. She jerks her upward and suddenly the belt’s released and the two of them are sent crashing to the ground, falling onto one another in a jumble of limbs.

“I like you, but not likethat,” says Amelia, laughing as their faces come uncomfortably close to one another’s.

Cassie abruptly pulls away, the comment taking her back to last year when Suzanna accused her of leering at her when she was getting changed for netball. It had been wholly untrue, but an off-the-cuff remark has a habit of sticking, especially when it comes from the girl who everybody fears the most. So, Cassie had spent the past two terms going out of her way to prove that it was boys she was attracted to. Perhaps that’s why Ben is such a big deal; it gives her a chance to demonstrate what really floats her boat.

“I don’t fancy you, either,” she says, scrabbling to get to her feet.

“Youdon’t?” says Amelia, looking put out. “Well, I can’t pretend that I’m not disappointed, because if Ididswing that way, I would definitely fancyyou!”

Cassie can’t help but smile, buoyed by Amelia’s devil-may-careattitude. She’s everything Cassie wants to be, if only she could shake off the shackles that bind her to a life of conformity.

They cross the lawn as if they’re in an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, heading for a door that’s held ever-so-slightly ajar by a block of wood. As they step into a dark abyss, it reminds Cassie of how she’d imagine backstage to be, with huge lights fixed to the heavily rigged ceiling and sound checks echoing around the underbelly of a seating stand. A frisson of adrenaline sets her nerves alight—the thought of how close the band might be, conflicting with the very real danger of trespassing and a vision of what her father will do if she’s caught.

“Come on—this way,” calls out Amelia, stepping over cables the size of tree trunks, each color-coded to mean something to somebody.

Following the draw of a white light, they push through some double doors, out into a corridor where a man is pushing a trolley piled high with film reels. A woman in red patent high heels sashays past him in the opposite direction.

“Good morning, Miss Francis. How are you today?” the man chirps. He looks disappointed but not surprised when she doesn’t respond, and Cassie can’t help but wonder if the same exchange occurs every day.

“Hi, Fred,” says Amelia, reading his ID badge as she stops beside him. “I need to get this visitor to Studio Seven as quickly as possible.” She nods in Cassie’s direction. “What’s the best way?”

What the hell is she doing? They should be using the shadows to escape detection, not stepping directly into the light. Cassie waits for the man to make a grab for the walkie-talkie attached to his belt, sure that they’ve reached the end of the road, but instead his face lights up.

“Well, if you go down those stairs, turn right and take the second left, you’ll be able to sneak in the fire door.”

---