Bhangra Babes Read online

  “It's because I've known you for eight years that I can tell exactly what you're up to,” Kim replied.

  I really felt that this might have developed into a full-blown argument if we hadn't walked straight into a bust-up between, of all people, Rocky Gill and George Botley

  What happened was this. George was playing football with a gang of boys from our year. As Kim and I walked out of school, George was running backward to head a high ball. He crashed straight into Rocky, who wasn't looking where he was going either, and didn't hear anything because he had his headphones on.

  “You idiot!” yelled Rocky. Those were not his exact words, you understand. They were a good deal ruder. “Get out of my way!”

  He gave George a hefty shove. George staggered and went flying, landing in a large, deep puddle. Dirty water splashed everywhere, soaking his sweatshirt and trousers.

  “Right!” George scrambled to his feet, his face bright red, fists clenched. “I've had enough of you!”

  “Fight, fight, fight!”

  Testosterone levels soared as all the males who were watching began baying for blood.

  “I think not,” I said briskly, stepping between the two of them. “George, come into school with me, and I'll help you clean up.”

  George looked reluctant, but I grabbed his soaking wet arm and dragged him away. The crowd of boys looked disappointed.

  “Amber's just saved you from getting a pasting,

  Botley,” Rocky yelled as George and I went into school. “Stay away from me, you moron.”

  George turned a darker red. He tried to pull away from me, but I hung on with both hands. Kim, who was bringing up the rear, hurriedly closed the outside door behind us.

  “That guy's a complete and total prat,” George ranted as Kim and I escorted him down the corridor to our classroom. There was a washbasin in the corner, and while I filled it with warm water, Kim handed George some paper towels. “I just don't know what you see in him, Amber.”

  “Who said I see anything in him?” I muttered.

  But George was so worked up, he wasn't listening. “Someone said he's going to play at your auntie's wedding,” he went on. “You must be crazy!”

  That did annoy me. “Why?” I said sharply. “Rocky's into bhangra and hip-hop, he writes his own stuff and he DJs too. He's got his own studio at home. He wants to do it professionally when he's older.”

  “Have you heard him?” George snapped.

  “Well—no,” I admitted. “Have you?”

  “No.” George stared crossly at me. “But just because he's handsome, it doesn't mean he's any good.”

  “That's true,” Kim agreed.

  “Oh, be quiet,” I said.

  George's remarks had worried me slightly. Oh, it wasn't that I didn't have faith in Rocky's ability. But maybe it would be better to get some idea of what he

  was actually planning to do at the wedding. Some hip-hop lyrics could be a bit—well—near the bone. I didn't want elderly aunties fainting away and ruining the reception. I was 99 percent sure I could trust Rocky. But still … It would be better to find out exactly what he was going to do.

  And it was remarkably easy to arrange. After Kim and I had cleaned George up, we went outside to find Rocky with Geena, Jazz and Kiran. I sent George safely away in the opposite direction and went over to them. Geena and Jazz were, of course, ready with some tiresome and suggestive remarks about me and George, which I treated with the contempt they deserved. Then I launched straight in and asked Rocky if we could hear the stuff he planned to do at the wedding.

  “Sure, no problem,” Rocky agreed. “Why don't you all come round to my place tonight after school? I'll play you a set.”

  “We'll have to tell Auntie,” Geena said, taking out her phone. “I'll give her a ring.”

  Kiran was shaking her head. “Sorry, I can't,” she said, quite abruptly. “I've got something else on.”

  I glanced sideways at her. She had rather a strange look on her face. Was she jealous? I couldn't quite tell

  I'd already guessed that Rocky's family was very well-off, but even I hadn't guessed just how posh they were. Their house in Temple Avenue had a drive the size of our back garden at home. The silver Mercedes

  and a white van were parked in front of the enormous house, and there was a black BMW in the open garage.

  “We'll go straight to my studio,” Rocky said casually. He led us to a flight of stairs next to the garage, and up to an apartment that was bigger than our living room. It was filled with recording equipment, lights, record decks, speakers and shelves and racks full of CDs and records. There were also a couple of plush, velvety designer sofas, as well as a tiny kitchen.

  “There must be hundreds of pounds' worth of equipment here,” Kim whispered in my ear. Her eyes were out on stalks.

  “Make yourselves at home.” Rocky opened the silver fridge and handed round cans of Coke. “I've just got to set things up.”

  We sank down onto the comfy sofa cushions, clutching our drinks, as Rocky put on a pair of headphones. I, for one, felt as if we'd wandered into a copy of Hello! magazine and were living a celebrity lifestyle.

  “This is fabulous,” Geena sighed. “It's the kind of thing I was born for.”

  “Money doesn't make you happy,” Kim said piously.

  “No,” I agreed, “but at least you can be miserable in luxury.”

  “I wonder what the rest of the house is like,” Jazz said, her eyes gleaming greedily.

  “All right, you chicks.” Rocky pointed a finger at us. “We're ready to rock!”

  Geena's face darkened. “Chicks?” she repeated in a scathing tone.

  “Shhh!” I hissed.

  “All right, bhangra-loving dudes, listen up. This is the one and only Rocket Man!”

  A loud, thumping bass began to pour out of the massive speakers behind us, almost blowing our heads off with a remixed bhangra version of “Eye of the Tiger.” Rocky began dancing around behind his desks while we watched, mesmerized.

  “And I'm here today to play you some thumping tracks that are gonna blow this roof off! These tracks are bee-yoo-ti-ful—almost as beautiful as the bride!”

  “He's a bit cheesy, isn't he?” said Kim doubtfully as Rocky went through some dance moves behind the decks.

  “It's a wedding, Kim,” I replied. “A bit of cheese is OK.”

  Rocky treated us to a bit more of his DJ patter, then stopped the music abruptly. He grinned at us. “I'll do one of the raps I wrote last week,” he said eagerly. “It's called 'No Time for School.'”

  We all clapped politely as a backing track with a bhangra beat began to blare out. Rocky raised the mike and went for it.

  “I ain't got no time for school, I ain't got no time for history, I ain't got no time for geography, I ain't got no time for AtoZ …”

  Now, I know a bit about bhangra. I know something about rap and hip-hop. However, you didn't need to know anything about music at all to realize straight away that Rocky was—how shall I put this?—utter rubbish.

  Was it possible to rap out of tune? I wouldn't have said so before this. But, apparently, it was.

  The lyrics were not lyrical in any sense of the word. Rocky was no Eminem. All the tired old rhymes were there: school/rule/cool/fool.

  During one particularly poor interlude (when Rocky boasted about how his rapping would make even the teachers dance—something I very much doubted), I glanced at Geena, Jazz and Kim. Their appalled faces mirrored exactly what I was feeling. It might have been funny, if Rocky wasn't planning to perform in public.

  And I knew then that there was absolutely no way I could let him play at Auntie's wedding.

  Well?” Rocky laid down the mike and looked at us eagerly. “What do you think?”

  I felt sorry for him. It wasn't only that I didn't want Auntie's wedding reception to be ruined. I was also thinking of Rocky. He'd be laughed off the stage. And possibly pelted with bits of the wedding feast, too.

  �
��Amber, do something,” Geena whispered pleadingly in my ear. “Say something. Anything.”

  “Rocky, that was great,” I said. I felt Kim fidgeting beside me and hoped she wasn't about to go into her lying-shows-a-lack-of-integrity speech. “But there's something you need to know. I just wasn't sure how to tell you… .”

  Rocky frowned. “What?”

  “This had better be good, Amber,” Jazz muttered out of the side of her mouth.

  I took a breath. “Well, when Geena phoned Auntie to let her know we'd be home late, Auntie told her that there'd been a mix-up with the arrangements for the reception.”

  “She did?” said Geena. “I mean, yes, she did.”

  “What kind of mix-up?” asked Rocky, his eyes narrowing.

  “Er—Mr. Arora's auntie has booked the Bhangra Boyz to perform at the reception,” I said, silently giving thanks to Auntie-ji. I'd never complain when she hugged me again, not even if she broke every bone in my body.

  Rocky burst out laughing. “What, that bunch of old has-beens? I'll blow them off the stage!” He swaggered out from behind the decks, still laughing. “If they want to play a few songs, I don't care. It'll be a laugh!”

  “Er—you don't understand,” I said. “Auntie-ji has booked them for the whole evening. There won't be any time for you to play or DJ.” I crossed my fingers, hoping I would be forgiven for my second lie in three minutes. And also hoping that the Boyz would be willing to play a longer set if Auntie-ji asked them to.

  Rocky's face darkened. “What!” he roared. “But we had a deal!”

  “I know,” I said. “I'm sorry.”

  Jazz squeezed my arm. Geena was looking relieved.

  “See?” I whispered to Kim. “Sometimes lying is the only way.”

  “I'm not going to argue,” Kim whispered back. “Well done.”

  Rocky had turned an interesting shade of purple. “No,” he said angrily.

  “What do you mean—no?” I asked.

  “We had a deal, and I'm sticking to it.” Rocky glared at me. “You'd better do the same.”

  “But I just told you—” I began.

  Rocky shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said flatly. “I'm playing at your aunt's wedding, and that's that. You sort it out.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I can't,” I snapped. “I already told you.”

  “All right.” Rocky's eyes narrowed. “If you won't keep your part of the deal, then I don't have to keep mine.”

  A cold feeling of dread washed over me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I'll tell Kiran that I only made friends with her because you asked me to,” Rocky said spitefully. “I'll tell her that you three were fed up with her. I'll tell her that nobody liked her until I started hanging out with her. And that if I stop being mates with her, she won't have any friends at all.”

  We stared at him in horror.

  “You unfeeling monster,” Kim muttered.

  “You wouldn't do that,” I said.

  “And I reckon she fancies me as well,” Rocky went on with a smug grin. I could happily have slapped his handsome face at this moment. “So if you don't want her to be really upset, you know what to do.”

  “And to think we believed you actually liked Kiran,” Geena said in a contemptuous voice.

  Rocky suddenly looked a little less smug and a lot more awkward. “I do,” he admitted.

  “How much?” I asked hopefully. If Rocky really did like Kiran, appealing to his better nature could be the only way. Although I was beginning to suspect that he didn't actually have one. “A lot?”

  “Yeah, I like her.” Rocky shrugged. “But if you mean would I go out with her—no. She's not my type.”

  “I should think not,” said Kim. “She's bright and funny and intelligent and smart.”

  Rocky ignored her. “If Kiran was six inches shorter and a lot slimmer and a bit prettier, then yeah, I might consider it,” he said thoughtfully. “She's OK as a mate. But not as a girlfriend. She's just not good for my image.”

  “She's had a lucky escape, then,” Kim muttered.

  “You wouldn't really tell Kiran about our deal?” I asked desperately.

  “No, I won't,” Rocky replied, “if I get to play at your aunt's wedding.”

  There didn't seem to be anything more to say. Gloomily we trailed out of the studio. Rocky didn't seem at all fazed, and even gave us a cheery wave as we left.

  “How can someone so beautiful be so awful?” Jazz wailed.

  “Shakespeare summed it up very well,” said Geena pompously. “Some quote about the canker in the bud. Unfortunately I can't quite remember it at the moment.”

  “Never mind Shakespeare,” I said. “What are we going to do?”

  “Could we maybe tell Rocky just how truly vile his singing is?” suggested Kim. “That might make him stop.”

  Geena shook her head. “He'd never believe us.”

  “He's a bighead,” I murmured, thinking of George Botley with some fondness. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have found out how terrible Rocky's performance was until he actually turned up at Auntie's wedding. The thought brought me out in a cold sweat.

  “Well, it's Monday today, and the wedding's on Sunday,” Geena said anxiously. “We've got five days to try to persuade him to do the decent thing.”

  “What do you think our chances of success are?” asked Jazz.

  “Nil,” Geena replied glumly. “Maybe we should just let him play at the wedding anyway. He'd be laughed off the stage, and it'd serve him right.”

  “But then Auntie's special day would be ruined,” Jazz pointed out. “We can't let that happen.”

  “Maybe we can stop Rocky playing anyway,” I said slowly.

  “How?” asked Kim.

  “By making sure he doesn't turn up at the wedding reception.”

  “And we do that how?” Jazz wanted to know.

  “Well, at the moment my only idea is to kidnap him and lock him in a dark cellar somewhere,” I replied. “But I'm working on it.”

  However, I'm sorry to say that four days later, ideas were still very, very thin on the ground.

  “We could sabotage the electrics,” Jazz suggested. “If there's no power, then Rocky won't be able to play.”

  “So we spend the whole of the wedding reception sitting in the dark?” scoffed Geena. “That's just about your worst idea yet, Jazz.”

  “No, I thought the worst was telling Rocky he had been selected for the next series of Pop Idol, and he had to go to the TV studios right away,” I said.

  “Really?” Kim looked surprised. “I thought the one about moving the wedding reception to a top-secret location at the last minute was pretty awful.”

  Jazz looked annoyed. “Well, at least I'm trying,” she

  snapped. “It might have escaped your notice, but it's Friday afternoon and the wedding's on Sunday and we still haven't figured out a way to stop Rocky.”

  Jazz was perfectly right, of course. The last four days had been spent trying to appeal to Rocky's better nature. I now knew for sure that he definitely did not have one. Not that Rocky bore a grudge against us. He was as friendly as ever, to both us and Kiran. But he had only one thing set in his sights that mattered to him. Rocky Gill was going to be a star, and the first stepping-stone to success was Auntie's wedding reception.

  “This is our last chance to see him before Sunday,” said Geena as we waited around at the playground gates, watching everyone else head for home. “Unless we go round to his house tomorrow and beg him on bended knee to pull out.”

  “It might very well come to that,” I replied.

  At that moment Rocky came out of school. Unfortunately, he was with Kiran.

  I said a mildly rude word under my breath.

  “Well, that's it, then,” Jazz said gloomily. “We're done for. Hung, drawn and quartered. Or we will be by Sunday evening.”

  “Everything all right?” asked George Botley, who was hanging around nearby.

  “Not
hing for you to worry your pretty little head about, George.” I managed a smile. “See you.”

  George raised a hand. “Hope the wedding goes off OK,” he called as he walked away.

  I winced. “So do we,” I muttered as Rocky and Kiran

  strolled toward us. “But at the moment there's about a one percent chance of that happening.”

  “Hey, girls!” Rocky grinned jauntily at us. “Looking forward to Sunday? I know I am!”

  We all glared at him. However, it was like water off a very stupid duck's back.

  “Kiran's coming over tomorrow to hear me run through my set,” Rocky went on. “She hasn't heard me play before.”

  “Oh, my, Kiran,” said Geena. “Have you got a treat in store.”

  Kiran grinned at us. “Yeah? And I've got a surprise for you as well.”

  I was immediately intrigued. “What?”

  “You'll find out soon,” Kiran replied. “Maybe sooner than you think!”

  We watched the two of them walk off together.

  “What surprise is that then?” asked Jazz.

  “It'll be something to do with Rocky,” replied Geena. “Maybe she thinks he's going to ask her out. Or maybe she's going to ask him out.”

  “Don't say that,” I muttered with a feeling of dread. “Oh, why has everything gone so wrong?”

  Kim opened her mouth to reply. But she didn't get a chance because I clapped my hand over it.

  “Thank you, Kim,” I said. “I already know that this is mostly my fault.”

  “Mostly?” Geena and Jazz said together.

  “All right,” I admitted. “All my fault.”

  “Never mind,” Jazz said kindly. “I'm sure you'll be

  punished enough when Auntie hears Rocky play at her wedding reception.”

  “That's a certainty,” I replied gloomily.

  Friday evening through to Saturday evening was a whirlwind of activity. Even if I'd wanted to go and fling myself at Rocky's feet and beg him tearfully to reconsider, I didn't have time.

  Almost every female relative in the family arrived at our house on Saturday. Some of them immediately took over the kitchen and started cooking huge vats of curry and millions of samosas, pakoras and bhajis. We did have wedding caterers, but the idea of running out of food for the ravenous hordes (sorry, wedding guests) was too much to bear, so we stockpiled enough to feed the whole of southeast England in an emergency. Others (like Auntie Rita) sat around gossiping, and others (like Biji) sat around criticizing. One sat around painting her nails (that was Baby). It was traditional pre-wedding chaos. Dad ran off to the office in a panic, and we didn't see him for hours.