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sky glowers over the schoolyard and raindrops trace wandering
paths down the clouded glass. Inside, the air is thick. The whole team is here, working on their pieces for next week.
    I’ve already slipped off my blazer and hung it over the back of my chair. The damp weather has sent my hair frizztastic.
    ‘Crack open a window, Cinders.’ Will looks up from his keyboard. ‘We’re suffocating in here.’
    Cindy is leaning over Sam’s shoulder, reading his review of the Elastic Funk gig he went to last night. Her sleek, silvery hair slaps his cheek as she snaps her head up and glares at Will.
‘Do it yourself.’
    ‘Are you scared Sam’s spelling will slip if you leave his side for a second?’ Will crunches down hard on the end of his pencil.
    ‘I’m the editor, not the office junior,’ Cindy sniffs.
    Will leans over and tugs one of my corkscrew locks. ‘Hey, Lizzie Siddal, go open a window.’
    I scowl at him. ‘Lizzie Siddal?’ How did he come up with that nickname?
    ‘Google it, doll-face.’ Will turns back to his keyboard and starts hammering.
    Cindy leans closer to Sam. Sam’s got his eyes fixed on the monitor.
    ‘Give the poor lad some air,’ Will growls, without looking up. ‘He’s probably choking on your perfume.’
    Cindy turns her perfect nose towards Sam. ‘I’m not crowding you, am I, Sam?’
    Sam’s flushing. ‘Not really.’ His eyes meet mine and I look away like he’s caught me spying.
    ‘I’ll do it.’ I get up and head for the window, but Sam’s already on his feet.
    ‘Let me.’ He slides his hand under mine and takes the stiff metal handle and cranks it open. ‘Elizabeth Siddal was an artist’s model,’ he whispers.
‘Will’s just turned in an English essay on the Pre-Raphaelite painters. She had hair like yours.’ Before I can answer he’s gone, sliding in beside Cindy.
    ‘Thanks, Gemma.’ Barbara looks up at me gratefully. ‘I was boiling.’
    ‘Sam opened the window, not me,’ I point out.
    ‘It’s the thought that counts.’ She’s working with pen and paper, sketching out next week’s feature. I notice her nails are painted today. And her chair is turned
towards David’s desk.
    David is huddled beside Phil as they surf the web, looking at Amazon’s top ten gadgets. ‘We could put together a list of the five most affordable cameras with the best
reviews,’ David suggests.
    ‘And a list of the five with the worst reviews,’ Phil adds.
    Cindy looks up. ‘Just make sure you quote your sources,’ she warns. ‘I don’t want the webzine accused of plagiarism.’
    ‘What’s plagiarism?’ Jeff stops typing.
    I scowl. ‘It’s when someone steals another person’s work and pretends it’s all their own.’ I throw a meaningful look at Will, but he carries on typing.
    I feel Sam’s gaze on me. ‘If someone tried to steal my work, I’d stick up for myself.’ His blue eyes are dead serious.
    Is he trying to tell me I should have challenged Will about stealing the limelight for our article on Dave Wiggins? I head back to my desk.
Easy for you to say, Sam.
I slam down into my
chair.
You’re not a lowly Year Nine.
    Cindy rests her hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone steal your work, Sam.’
    Will grunts. ‘Keep your friends close, but your editor closer,’ he mutters.
    Cindy flicks her hair back and ignores him. ‘Have you checked your inbox, Gemma?’ She’s prodding me towards Jessica’s fan mail.
    ‘I was about to.’ I pull my monitor close so no one can see what I’m working on. I need to find an email for Jessica’s Reader-of-the-Week feature.
    The first is asking my advice.
    Dear Miss Jupiter,
    My cat has an appointment at the vet’s on Monday. She’s fourteen years old and has been sick. Please can you tell me if she’ll be OK or
     not.
    She’s Sagittarius.
    Yours anxiously
    [email protected]
    My shoulders slump. Now I’m doing cat horoscopes.
    I save it for later and open the next email.
    Dear