Bad Girls Read Online Free Page A

Tas yelled, barrelling her way over to the balcony, which gave an uninterrupted view of the little stage.
    This was a secret gig, of course, like all the best ones, with an invite list of London’s youngest, trendiest opinion-formers: DJs, models, music journos and celebrities like Petal, famous solely for dressing up and partying hard and being photographed at the launch of the hottest thing that week. KillBuzz, the band playing tonight, were a new discovery from Newcastle, four cool boys whose songs about going out on the lash and trying to pull were, if their record label was to be believed, anthems for the new generation of club kids.
    ‘He’s all right!’ Tas shouted to Petal over the roar of feedback as the boys, heads ducked, hair falling into their eyes, launched into their first single, ‘Sod Off If You Can’t Take a Joke’.
    Petal looked where Tas was pointing and rolled her eyes. ‘Not another drummer, Tas!’
    ‘It’s OK for you,’ Tas yelled.‘You can have anyone you want! I’ve got to know my limitations!’
    Petal couldn’t deny the truth of what, with her usual brutal honesty, Tas was saying. In the normal, civilian world, normal boys mostly liked girls who looked, well, normal, with a bit more meat on their bones than Petal. Girls with boobs and bums, girls with sexy curves, girls who ordered dessert when you took them out to dinner.
    But in Celeb World, the rules were all flipped on their head. The thinner you were, the better it was. Because the thinner you were, generally, the better you photographed. You had to lose at least the ten pounds the camera put on, and then some more. Tas was brave to hang out in Petal’s circles, where her size fourteen figure made her a comparative elephant. She was very striking, with her strong features, thick black hair and rich red-brown skin, but she had to put up with a lot of sarkiness from girls with legs the size of pipe-cleaners and collarbones so prominent you could have hung earrings from them.
    ‘He’s hot,’ Petal admitted, glancing at the drummer, with his Afro and tattoos. ‘But I like that one.’
    She pointed at the bassist, a sulky-looking boy with full lips, wide cheekbones, and heavy-lidded grey eyes that gave him a look of debauchery. Slanting a glance sideways at Tas, Petal cracked a smile of complete and extreme naughtiness. She didn’t smile much as a rule; it wasn’t cool, and it wasn’t how people wanted to see you. They wanted you bored, petulant, resentful, their image of how teenagers should look and behave. Petal was twenty now, her teens behind her. Still, the shots of her sullenly posing outside nightclubs, fag in one hand, spokesgirl for modern youth, were the ones that the paps wanted.
    But when Petal did smile, she came to life, going from pretty to completely bewitching. Twin dimples curved on each side of her mouth, like tiny extra smiles; Petal hated them, but they were entrancing. Her eyes sparkled, her even white teeth gleamed (nothing but the best cosmetic dentists for Gold’s only daughter). Her entire face lit up. She looked mischievous and naughty and completely charming.
    ‘I’m having him,’ she yelled in Tas’s ear. ‘Him, me, back of a black cab. Tonight.’
    ‘Fab. And I’ll have the drummer boy. Pact?’
    ‘Pact.’
    They spat on their hands and shook, their code.
    ‘This is so on,’ Petal said, leaning far over the balcony rail, whistling loud enough so that, the first song winding down, the lead singer looked up, head drawn by the piercing sound. ‘Not you!’ Petal shouted cheekily. ‘ You !’ And she pointed to the bassist.
    ‘I’m Petal,’ she said forty minutes later, plopping herself down on the lap of her chosen target. ‘And you’re fucking sexy.’
    He went bright red.
    ‘Um, hi,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I’m Dan Drummond. Do I know you? You look sort of familiar . . .’
    ‘I do a lot of stuff,’ Petal said, shrugging, hating to have to give her surname and watch