“NO!” I said it so forcefully a lady walking past turned round. I smiled at her. “Thank you.”

The man raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed. “I’ll take that as a maybe. Anyway, I’m Elijah.” He thrust his hand out for a shake. “On the press team. Well…” He shrugged. “Soon to be. Right now, I’m on an internship taking a break from uni. But we’ve all got to start somewhere. And that PR assistant job has my name all over it.” He bit his lip, smiling at the thought. “Global accounts, flights around the world, top hotels. I’m so ready for it.”

“Well, good luck with that.” I had no idea what to say. Other than thank you for the life story. And please could I leave now? “Sounds like a great job.”

“On paper. In reality, the cast make it a niiight-mare.” He rolled his eyes. “How hard would it be for two leads in a Christmas romcom to actually talk to the press about … oooooh, I don’t know … love? Not naming any names, but Joseph” – that seemed like a name to me – “won’t do any press. Complete diva in the making. And Maeve. How are you meant to get a handle on her?!”

I nodded, trying to look sympathetic, even though problems in my life were normally things like “who ate the last Hula Hoops?” Also, I really didn’t want to talk about Maeve. Or the film. Or anything actually.

“ELI!” A gruff shout came from behind us. “Do you think you’re getting paid to just stand there?” A man who looked a little like my dad, if I’d ever seen my dad properly shave, or wear a suit, or maybe even brush his hair, slapped Elijah on the back. He winked at me. “Joking, of course.”

“Hello, Tim.” Elijah hid his phone, flustered. “I was just saying how great the coverage has been.”

Was he? Tim shook his head.

“Don’t. I saw that fan thing. Did we really spend all this money just to whip up a million internet sleuths trying to track down an out-of-control Joseph-freak? No. If we want that Christmas number one spot, you need to pick it up. Coverage, coverage, coverage, Elijah.”

“But—” Elijah tried to interrupt.

“No buts. Just front pages. Viral clips. Trending headlines. Shots of Maeve and Joseph. Preferably together. Very together. Stoke the flames. You know what it takes. Doesn’t matter what they’re talking about, as long as people are talking…”

I nodded, trying to look serious, and not like I was making one big massive mental note to tell Grace ASAP that Maeve and Joseph were together. She was going to explode.

“But…” Elijah lowered his headset.

“But do you want that job or not?” Tim slapped Elijah on the back, then switched his attention to me. “You’re a young person.” Was I? I felt like I’d aged thirty years in the last hour. “You like the internet. I bet you do all that dancing stuff.” He tried and failed to … I dunno … dab? Twerk? Whatever it was, it was disturbing. “Maybe you can help Eli understand. If there isn’t a story – it’s our job to make one. Get people clicking. Now…” He looked round the corridor. “Someone said Stormy needed some ice that wasn’t so cold … and didn’t smell of water?” He peered at his phone. “So…”

He double clapped his hands.

And just like that, Elijah went running off after him. The world of film was even weirder behind the scenes than on screen! But … that gave me an idea. What if being behind the scenes meant finding raffle prizes for Grampy G’s Grotto?

Checking no one was watching, I slunk into the empty storage room and pulled the door shut. Too shut. Because when I tugged on the handle it wouldn’t budge. Oh well. After what had happened today, a lock-in with me, myself and a popcorn cart sounded most excellent. I filled up one of the red-and-gold glitter cardboard popcorn containers. Eurgh. The Sleigh Another Day’s logo. I turned it out of sight. I’d asked for donations not presents this Christmas, but if I could have one present, it would be never seeing or hearing the words “sleigh another day” again.

Totally exhausted by everything, I picked my way through a stack of red velvet cinema chairs, past a polystyrene giant snowman and squeezed by a cardboard cut-out Tom Holland (Grace REALLY would love it here). I stopped by a big black curtain hanging down from the ceiling. I bet behind here would be the perfect place to sit and hide.

The perfect place to figure out how to survive the next few weeks.

The perfect place to … get the biggest shock of my life.

CHAPTER

5

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I shrieked. Jumped back. Threw my popcorn straight up in the air.

I wasn’t alone!

Someone was walking towards me!

Hundreds of kernels pinged off them in every direction. Over him.

A poor guy in a cinema uniform. Who was probably having a quiet break until I yelled at him and covered him in corn.

“Oh … my … sorry … goodness … I’m…” Nope. Words. Not Coming. Out. I waved my hand about. “Accident?”

Not sure why I said it like a question.

He emptied some popcorn out from behind his cinema name badge. C’mon, Molly. Do something helpful. But what? I stepped forward and flicked a clump of kernels out of his hair. Wait. I froze. Was rooting around in a stranger’s hair OK? Nope. But neither was attacking him with snacks. And he still hadn’t spoken?

“SORRY. Is what I’m saying.” I paused, in an awkward frozen lean-limbo. “And also, there’s some in your ear. Like, really in your ear.”

He tilted his head on one side and bashed it. A piece fell out, bounced off his shoe and landed on the concrete floor with a “plip”. We both looked down at it. Then back at each other. Oh … OK.

He wasn’t just a guy, my age, in a cinema uniform, covered in popcorn. He was a really hot guy, my age, in a suddenly weirdly cute cinema uniform, covered in popcorn.

“I mean…” he said in a super-smooth American accent, picking popcorn off his Ciniview sweatshirt. “I prefer salty myself. But,” he grinned. “I’ll take what I’m given.”

“You’re American?” I said, with the same level of shock as if I’d discovered he had a spare nose.

“I guess so,” he said with a grin.

“Interesting,” I said – absolutely no idea why. “I’ve never met an American before.” What was I on about?! “But obviously I’ve seen lots on TV and things.” He was trying not to laugh. But I couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Like…” and for some reason every single person I’d ever known disappeared out of my head. “Neil Armstrong.”

WHY, IN TIMES OF STRESS, WAS MY BRAIN ONLY GIVING ME MY YEAR 7 PROJECT ON THE MOON LANDINGS?!

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah. Me and Neil. The two Americans.”

I tried not to react. “There may be more … anywhere up to seven is my guess.”

But as he laughed more popcorn fell on to the floor. I picked it up. Why? What was I going to do with it? Eat it? I shoved it in my pocket. Great. Now it looked like I was saving hair-floor-popcorn for a snack.

“I’m not going to eat it later. If that’s what you’re thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” He shook his head side to side. “But – now I am.” His accent made everything sound cool – he could probably say “I fell in a puddle” and still sound smooth.

“To be clear, I didn’t mean to assault you.” He was definitely keeping a safe distance. “Or should I say A-SALT.” I cracked up. Ten per cent joke, eighty-nine per cent nerves (one per cent I had no clue about anything after the day I was having). “Like salt. Salted popcorn.” But he was giving me a funny look. “Because I threw it all over you?” I added feebly.

“Have we…” He squinted. “Have we met before?” Oh no. OH NO. Please tell me he didn’t recognize me from my red-carpet disaster! He might tell his boss! Was tripping into a Hollywood star a criminal offence? Or even worse, did he recognize me because of that stupid theme song? He leant forward and ruffled his hair. Yet more popcorn fell out. Was it multiplying?! Where was it even coming from? Was his hair a black hole of popcornicity? “Were you at the team meeting earlier?”

“Nope.” I wasn’t elaborating. “Not me. We’ve never met.” There was NO way I was admitting I was a Maeveattacking, family-band-singing weirdo, who only thirty minutes ago had got a message from her best friend saying her youngest sister was neighing at the opening credits. Oh, and that I’d locked him in with me.

“So you don’t work here?” He was still giving me that look.

I shook my head innocently.

“Weird. Your face feels familiar.” My heart raced. I could not handle an Elf Girl conversation right now. Emergency subject change needed.