In Sarah’s Shadow. Karen McCombie

at your jokes.

      Instead, I raise my eyebrows in what I hope comes across as an expression of intelligent questioning, but which probably looks more like the look on a bunny’s face two seconds before the juggernaut splats it.

      “You know this Battle of the Bands competition that’s coming up?”

      I nod. Of course I do. Haven’t I been singing the words to Ash’s Girl from Mars every spare minute of the day since it dawned on me that that was what Conor and Sarah were rehearsing together in her room on Saturday night?

      “Well, there’s only two weeks to go and there’s a hell of a lot of work to do with the school band that’s entering—”

      Wow! You mean something involving my sister isn’t gold-plated perfection?!

      “—actually, it’s more a case of sorting out everyone else, like the lads who are doing the lighting for them, and the crew in the art department who are supposed to be coming up with a backdrop…”

      Whatever. But why exactly is he telling me all this? I don’t think Mr Fisher even knows my name – he only joined Bakerfield at the end of last summer, long after I’d opted out of Music.

      “Anyhow, the point is, it’s like spinning plates, and I can’t manage to co-ordinate everything, and put the band through their paces, all on my own. I need help.”

      “Oh,” I mutter, open-mouthed, for lack of anything else to say. Now I must look like a cross between a startled bunny and a cod, for God’s sake!

      “Yeah, so I was having a moan to Miss Jamal about it just now, telling her that what I really need is a runner – someone to zoom around and help me sort everything out – and she suggested either you or…”

      He’s bumbling now, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Pamela somewhere out there in the brightly-lit classroom. Told you he didn’t know my – or my friend’s – name.

      “Pamela,” I reply, helpfully filling in the blank. “And I’m Megan.”

      “Megan. Yes, of course,” he grins, knowing he’s been caught out. “Anyway, Miss Jamal said that you two are always very willing to offer your services, and usually—”

      He glances around at the general untidiness swamping the floor.

      “—very efficient. So what about it?”

      “Um…what?” I mumble, knowing exactly what he’s saying but too stunned to believe what I’m hearing.

      “What about helping me out? Being my runner? It means sitting in on every after-school and weekend rehearsal, and then coming to the Battle of the Bands competition too. You’d need the afternoon off school, but I’d sort that if you’re up for it.”

      “I’m up for it,” I mutter, hardly able to move the frozen muscles in my face to make the words come out.

      He must take my lack of facial expression to mean I’m not keen.

      “Are you sure? Because I can always ask Pamela – if she doesn’t have permanent amnesia after these books scoring a direct hit on her head!”

      “No!!” I squawk a little too loudly. “I mean, yes, I’d love to help out. And, um, my sister’s actually in the band.”

      “Yeah? You mean…Sarah?” I see Mr Fisher frown, instantly ruling out Angel and Cherish as obvious relations and settling on Sarah by a process of elimination.

      I can see he’s struggling to see the resemblance. But I don’t care. I’m not offended; I’m elated – already a change is happening in my life, and it seems to be a change of luck. OK, maybe that’s not the exact change I wished for over my PJ Harvey plastic CD cover a couple of nights ago, but it’ll more