TK Maxx is maxed out; Monsoon is flooded. I’m in Mizz-tique with Treacle and Savannah. Thumping music vibrates through the soles of my shoes. Light pools on clothes-rail islands. Shop assistants hover in the shadows. ‘Gemma!’ Treacle tugs my arm, shouting over the noise. ‘What about this one?’ Blue taffeta swishes past my face as she swings a ball gown towards me. It’s so ruffled she could hide a dozen cats in the skirt. ‘You’re going to a prom not a carnival,’ I yell back. Term ends in two weeks and, with exams over, everyone’s obsessing over the school prom. ‘But will Jeff like it?’ Treacle bellows. I study the ruffles. ‘He could get lost trying to reach you.’ ‘Look, Gem!’ Savannah’s zigzagging between the clothes racks towards us. She’s waving a slick, pink, sequined dress. It looks like it’s just been peeled off an Oscar nominee. ‘Marcus will need shades just to look at you,’ I tell her.
