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says, pressing it into my hand.
    ‘Thanks,’ I mutter, jamming the pen into my bag.
    I wait for her to move off, but she doesn’t. Instead she perches on the edge of my desk, swinging her legs and continuing to watch me.
    ‘Leo?’ she says.
    ‘Yeah?’ I reply, zipping up my bag and not meeting her eyes.
    ‘Can I ask you a favour?’
    I swallow hard.
    ‘What kind of favour?’ I ask slowly.
    ‘It’s just a tiny one, I promise,’ she says, biting her lower lip. ‘It’sjust that I’ve entered this singing competition online and the winner gets the chance to meet a team of top record execs, but I need way more votes if I’m going to make it through to the final. So, I was just wondering whether you’d vote for me? I’ve been pestering everyone else on Facebook and Twitter, but I couldn’t find you.’
    My skin prickles as I picture Alicia searching for me online.
    ‘I think it’s really cool by the way,’ she adds.
    I frown.
    ‘That you’re not on Facebook, I mean,’ she continues. ‘I wish I wasn’t on there a lot of the time. It can do your head in sometimes, you know?’
    I don’t answer her.
    ‘You, er, sing then?’ I ask instead.
    ‘Oh, yeah,’ she says, looking at her feet, shy suddenly. ‘I write my own stuff too, and post videos online, you know, on YouTube and stuff.’
    ‘Oh, right, cool,’ I murmur.
    ‘So you’ll vote for me then?’
    ‘What do I have to do?’
    ‘Give me your hand.’
    Before I can say or do anything, she’s grabbing my hand and turning it over in hers. Her skin is soft and her nails are short and neat, and painted with clear polish. I let my hand go limp and hope she doesn’t clock my own bitten-down nails. She scrawls on the back of my hand with a biro, the nib of the pen dragging at my skin. When she’s done, she pauses. I have to fight the urge to yank my hand away. She looks up.
    ‘Freckly hands,’ she says.
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘I’ve always wanted freckles,’ she continues. ‘My gran reckons they’re kisses from the sun. Cute huh?’
    I shrug.
    Alicia taps the back of my hand with the pen.
    ‘Well, that’s the website. I’m listed as Alicia B.’
    ‘Alicia B,’ I repeat.
    ‘To vote for me, you just have to click on my name and watch my video. I’m about halfway down I think.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Amazeballs. Thank you, Leo, I really appreciate this.’
    It’s only then she lets go of my hand.
     
    After school, instead of going straight home, I head to the computer lab. Apart from one other kid and the teacher on duty, it’s empty.
    I take a set of headphones from the stack at the front and sit down at one of the monitors in the back row. I type the web address printed on my hand into the URL bar. I scroll down until I find Alicia B and click on her name.
    Alicia’s face flashes up on the screen. She’s sitting on the end of a bed cross-legged, a guitar on her lap and her face frozen in a smile. I press play.
    ‘Hi! I’m Alicia B,’ she says directly to the camera. ‘This is a song I wrote called “Deep Down with Love”. I really hope you like it and if you do, that you’ll vote for me! Thanks!’
    She begins to sing. And she’s amazing, better than anyone on
The X Factor
or
Britain’s Got Talent
. I watch the video a couple more times, even though I’m only allowed to vote once. I’m about to go when I remember her talking about posting stuff on YouTube, so Itype in Alicia B and up come loads and loads more videos. Some are of her singing songs by people like Adele or Leona Lewis. But it’s her own music I like the best, all these songs with really sad lyrics about love going wrong. At the end of each one she always waits a few beats before breaking into a big smile to remind you it’s all pretend.
    Because I’m pretty sure Alicia Baker is the sort of girl who breaks hearts, not the other way round.
     
    When I get home, Spike is in the kitchen reading the newspaper and eating toast.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
    He has his