He She It

twenty four: everybody's favourite glorified tea-towel

"How dare you make me nearly cry like that?"

Lilly looked up just in time to see Eve marching towards her before she was enveloped in a hug, her head pushed up against the most convincing set of cotton-wool boobs she'd ever seen, (admittedly, Eve's were the only pair she'd gotten quite this up-close and personal with) and her lungs warning her that if she didn't wiggle her way out of the embrace soon, then asphyxiation was a likely prospect.

"Jesus Christ," she said, as soon as Eve had translated her gasps for air as 'let me fucking go' and stepped back. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"You didn't even warn me," Eve said, evidently not feeling the need to explain her homicidal-strength hug. "I had to walk down that catwalk trying not to burst into tears. You were like Meryl fucking Streep."

"It was a pep-talk, Eve, not an Oscar acceptance speech."

"Still," Eve shrugged, slipping her feet out of her heels. "It was nice, Lil. Thank you."

Lilly was just wondering how far she had to take this make-up session in terms of sentimentality (Lilly did not do sentimental, and her speech had just about used up her monthly quota of soppiness) when Amara, Natalie and Grace appeared, their levels of peppiness ranging from 'I've just bought the entire concession stand and my blood sugar level is dangerously high' to 'I've just had a baby and my energy levels are dangerously low.' Apparently, they'd managed to slip by the watchful eyes of Mrs Duffy and Michael, her doorman-in-training, to both congratulate Eve and save Lilly from mumbling her way through a distinctly un-Meryl Streep apology.

"The judges are conferring," Natalie explained, throwing her third can of Coke into the bin and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Not like they need to. It's between tea-towel girl, the one that fell off the end of the catwalk, the one that looks like Cinderella before the bippity-boppity-boo, and then Eve."

"Don't forget the girl in the zebra dress."

"A true classic," Natalie said, wrapping one arm around Amara and the other around Eve. "I'm telling you, ladies, we have this one in the bag."

"We?" Grace asked, raising an eyebrow - or at least, Lilly thought she was raising an eyebrow. It was hard to tell. (Grace had, it appeared, finally had time to shower and pluck her eyebrows back into a shape other than 'slug,' but in her delirium she'd plucked one from the top and the other from the bottom, and now looked perpetually confused). "Remind me what you did to help, exactly?"

"I inspired you," Natalie said, throwing yet another energy drink at her friend. "Drink up, Wonky, or you'll be asleep when they announce the results."

"Don't call me that," Grace snapped, catching the drink. Lilly noticed her hands were shaking, presumably because her blood was currently 90% caffeine, and prised the can from her grip. "Hey! You heard what Nat said. I need this."

"Since when has Nat given you trustworthy medical advice?"

This, Grace realised, was a very good point, and so she let Lilly place the can on the nearest table and leant back against the wall. "When do you think they'll announce the winner?"

"I heard twenty minutes."

This response came from Aspen, who had apparently not only bribed Michael to let her come backstage, but also somehow convinced him to escort her there. The two hopped down from the third stair, (the bottom two were a perfect example of poor workmanship and the drama department's tendency to whittle away their budget on more things like a taxidermy cow for their production of Jack and The Beanstalk, which they apparently prioritised over the safety of anybody navigating the stairs in the dark) and then both gave Eve a pat on the back.