Geek Girl books 1-3: Geek Girl, Model Misfit and Picture Perfect

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Oh, God. Left or right? Right or left?

I’m changing my mind by the millisecond, and as I walk, I’m making almost unnoticeable movements towards each direction. They’re so small, I don’t think the audience can tell. But Fleur can, and the look of panic on her face is getting more and more pronounced. It’s like we’re in a game of chess, trying to second-guess the other’s movements.

We’re almost in the middle now and I still don’t know which way to go. I can feel myself starting to wobble. I’m going to lose my balance and topple, even on these low heels. And then it hits me: that’s what Shola wants. She doesn’t want a collision. She wants me to fall over.

Which means I have to keep going. At which point everything starts happening in slow motion. Fleur starts to wobble too. She sways from side to side like a tree, except that her heels are much, much bigger than mine. And they can’t take it.

Time almost stops.

One of her ankles buckles completely.

And – with the smallest of gasps – Fleur plummets like a stone on to the runway.

(#ulink_d11fd3bb-ad34-53c8-9397-f316e67372e4)

’m paralysed with horror. The whole audience has taken one loud, audible breath.

I have just ruined an entire fashion show.

And it’s all my fault.

I stare numbly at Fleur, who is now desperately trying to stand up. Her heels keep slipping, and I can see her eyes filling with tears and her cheeks starting to flame, even under the thick make-up. And with a sick lurch of my stomach, I recognise the humiliation and shame, the disbelief and horror. It’s like looking in a mirror. I’ve just done to Fleur what I promised I would never, ever do to anyone.

I’ve turned her into me.

The entire audience is staring, but the only thing I know now is I have to do something to help her. Anything. Just so Fleur knows she isn’t on her own. So I take a deep breath and sit down on the stage next to her.

There’s a stunned silence. And then, from somewhere at the back, comes the sound of one person clapping as hard as they possibly can.

“Wooooooooo!” Dad shouts at the top of his voice. “That’s my girl! Woooooo!”

The whole audience turns to look at him and Fleur grabs my hand. Slowly, we stand up.

And together we walk off the runway, back behind the curtains.

(#ulink_f2ad2604-e4e3-556c-bbba-0240d6760667)

s soon as I’m backstage, I find the nearest table I can and crawl straight under it.

I don’t know much about fashion shows, but I don’t think that’s how they’re supposed to go. And I have a suspicion I’m about to get into really, really big trouble.

“Harriet?” a voice says after about forty minutes, and a pair of black trainers appears under the tablecloth.

“Monkey-moo?” another voice says and a pair of shiny orange shoes with blue toes appears next to them. There’s a bit of whispering and then I hear Wilbur say: “Is it, like, some kind of fetish? Is it just tables, or all types of furniture?”

“She’s frightened,” Dad explains. “She’s done it ever since she was a baby.” And before I know it he’s crawling under the table next to me. “Harriet, sweetheart,” he says gently. “What you did was very noble. Nobody’s going to shout at you.”

Wilbur sticks his head under the tablecloth. “That’s not necessarily true,” he amends. “Yuka’s on her way backstage now and I’ve never seen her lips so thin. The bottom part of her face looks like an envelope.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, with my knees pulled right up to my chest. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Sorry?” Wilbur gasps and he puts his hand over his chest. “Baby-baby Panda, Baylee couldn’t have bought that much publicity if they’d hung Yuka Ito upside down from the chandelier with her trousers down around her ankles.”

“Which they’re not going to do,” a cold voice says from somewhere beyond the tablecloth. Another pair of shoes appears: black and shiny and spiky. “I’m a fashion goddess. Goddesses don’t wear trousers.”

“Yuka, darling!” Wilbur says, retracting his head. “I didn’t see you there! Mainly because I don’t have eyes in my bottom.”

“Fascinating, William,” Yuka snaps. “Harriet? I am going to speak to you immediately. I would therefore prefer it if this conversation was not held with a piece of laminate wood.”

I look at Dad, take the biggest breath I can find and crawl out from under the table. “I’m sorry, Yuka.”

“I don’t recall asking you to do anything other than wear a dress and walk in a straight line. It really shouldn’t have been that difficult.”

“I know,” I mumble. “Am I fired?”

Yuka looks at Wilbur. “William? How did the front row react?”

“It’s bur not iam,” Wilbur points out, sighing. “The editor of Elle said Harriet was fresh. Harper’s said she was delicious. Vogue thought she had unexpected warmth.”

“My daughter’s not a loaf of bread,” Dad points out in surprise.

Yuka raises an eyebrow at him and then looks at me. “In that case, Harriet, you’re not fired and neither is Fleur. But in future, if I want you to sit down, I shall ask you to sit down. I shall give you a step-by-step plan, an X on the requisite spot and a detailed description of how I want you to do it.”

“OK,” I say, feeling my spirits starting to lift. The more I get to know Yuka, the more I like her. She reminds me of Annabel.

Yuka looks at her watch. “There is an after-party being held in the penthouse suite of our hotel. The other models have gone there, and every important editor and celebrity in Europe is currently drinking my profits.”

My stomach twists uneasily and Dad’s face starts to beam.

“Yuka,” I start anxiously, “I’m not sure that—”

“Obviously,” Yuka continues as if I haven’t opened my mouth, “you will be going straight to bed and you will go nowhere near it. If I so much as catch you out of your room for the rest of the evening, there will be a world of pain.”

I sort of want to hug her. I’m so tired. This has probably been the longest day of my entire life.

“Oh, what?” Dad moans under his breath. “This is so unfair.”

“The same applies to you,” Yuka says to him sternly, narrowing her eyes. “A world of pain. Understood?”

“Understood,” Dad says in a shamed voice, staring at the floor. Which makes me feel even more at home.

Because that’s exactly what Annabel would have said as well.

(#ulink_c692e8c0-1309-5089-a308-cb4133d5d144)

omehow, I manage to get a full ten hours of sleep. Despite Dad doing everything he possibly can to sabotage this. I’ve been given the queen-size bed and he has the sofa on the other side of the room “as befits a sidekick”.