Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid Read Online Free

stop myself just in time. I can’t say ‘horoscopes’. No one apart from Cindy and Treacle know that I’m Jessica
Jupiter. I grope for words. ‘My – er – the – er – lipstick review I’m doing for Cindy.’
    Cindy keeps giving me make-up to test for her beauty column. It’s her way of disguising my role as horoscope writer. She calls me the webzine’s editorial assistant, but basically
I’m a lab rat. I keep expecting animal rights activists to break in and release me back into the wild.
    ‘What are you testing this week?’ Sam asks.
    ‘Fang-Bang Ruby Lip-Shimmer.’ I cringe, wanting to explain that I joined the webzine to be a reporter, not a guinea pig for beauty products.
    Sam throws out a hand to catch the fast-closing door of the science lab. ‘Some girls don’t need make-up,’ he says as he slides through the gap and disappears into his
lesson.
    He must be talking about Cindy. Her face is more painted than the Mona Lisa’s, but I think she’d be far prettier without make-up. She has blue eyes, rosebud lips and cheekbones you
could slice cheese with.
    ‘Did you hear him?’ Savannah’s hanging off my arm, staring at the lab door. ‘He actually spoke to me.’
    I look at her, surprised. ‘Who?’
    Savannah looks at me, round-eyed. ‘LJ, of course! Didn’t you hear him?’
    Treacle puffs out her cheeks. ‘He called you “Tundra”.’
    ‘So?’ Savannah heads down the corridor. ‘Did you see the way he looked at me, Gem?’
    A wave of despair crashes over me as I follow her. She’s besotted. ‘He looked like he was trying to remember who you were,’ I remind her.
    ‘Exactly!’ Savannah pauses at the English-room door. ‘And he did remember me.’
    ‘A girl called “Tundra”’s hard to forget,’ Treacle mutters.
    ‘“Tundra”’s almost the same as “Savannah”,’ Savannah argues.
    Treacle reaches for the door handle. ‘Try telling that to a penguin.’
    I can see Mrs Dalton through the meshed glass of the door window. She’s pacing the front of the class, book in hand. Ryan’s head is resting on his desk and Sally Moore is mouthing
something to Anila. The lesson is clearly in full swing. ‘Come on!’ I nudge Treacle.
    ‘Wait.’ Savannah pulls a pot of strawberry lipbalm from her blazer pocket. ‘This weather is murder on my lips.’ As she flicks off the lid, her mouth drops open.
‘Look!’ She thrusts the balm under my nose.
    I stare at it. ‘What?’
    ‘Can’t you see it?’ Savannah sounds amazed.
    Treacle leans over the pot and stares. ‘What?’
    ‘It spells LJ!’ Savannah proclaims.
    ‘What does?’ Treacle sounds unconvinced.
    ‘The marks in the lipbalm.’ She points at a couple of smears in the pink goo. ‘It definitely says LJ!’
    I squint, trying to make out a pattern. ‘It’s just squig-gles,’ I say.
    Savannah snatches the pot away. ‘It’s not just squiggles! It’s a sign! It clearly says LJ! I knew we were meant to be together!’
    The door of the English room swings open. Mrs Dalton frowns at us over her half-specs. ‘Very good of you to join us,’ she says sarcastically.
    ‘Sorry, Miss.’ I duck past her and slide into my seat. As Treacle sits beside me, Savannah floats to the back of the class, her eyes dreamy.
    I can’t believe LJ has reduced Savannah to such a twittering idiot. I pull my books from my bag, vowing to take immediate action to end her insanity.

I’m writing Savannah’s horoscope in my head as I take the stairs to the webzine HQ. There’s only twenty minutes to the bell for the first lesson after lunch.
Escaping the lunch room took longer than I’d planned; Savannah was using me as a human shield while she watched LJ pick his way through a box of sushi.
    He used chopsticks.
    She practically fell off her chair with excitement. ‘Oh. My. God! He is so cool !’
    Substitute ‘lame’ for ‘cool’ and she pretty much got it right.
    I glance at my watch – nineteen minutes left – and open the