Making the Grade

CHAPTER

One

Ellie stood on the beach and stared out across the creek. The pale winter sun was just rising over the water and everything was still, except the gentle bob of the boats and a solitary seagull looping in the air. It reminded her of a gymnast turning circles on the bar.

She shivered with excitement and cold. The day she’d been dreaming of for so long was finally here! She’d woken up early, far too excited to sleep. So she’d slipped out of bed, taking care not to wake her little sister Lucy, pulled on her flip-flops and stolen down to the beach in her pyjamas and duffle coat. She didn’t want to waste a second of this day.

The water sparkled under the sun and Ellie gave a little sigh. She knew she was going to miss this place like mad. But she was going to the Academy! She had won a place at the London Gymnastics Academy, the best gym in the whole country, where famous gymnasts like Sian Edwards and Emma Bannerdown and even the great Lizzie Trengilly, Ellie’s aunt, had trained.

Just thinking about it made Ellie want to somersault with joy. She grinned as she looked around. There was no better place for somersaults than the beach.

So Ellie kicked off her flip-flops, shrugged out of her duffle coat and prepared to launch herself into a tumble sequence across the cold, damp sand. She started with a simple round-off flick, then sprang into a neat aerial – like a cartwheel with no hands. The chill wind caught in her hair as she moved, and she could almost imagine she was leaping across the ice-cold water.

‘I should have guessed you’d be head over heels with excitement this morning!’

Ellie landed with a jolt and spun round at the sound of the familiar voice. Her gym coach, Fran, was standing outside the little boathouse watching her with a smile playing across her lips.

‘Fran!’ Ellie cried. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Your dad said this is where I’d find you,’ Fran laughed. ‘And I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye, could I?’

‘Thank you,’ Ellie said, still breathless. ‘For coming to see me off. And . . . for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

Fran sat down on a rock and Ellie perched next to her. Fran hardly looked old enough to be a coach. With her small, compact gymnast’s body, rosy face and long, dark hair, she could have been mistaken for Ellie’s older sister. She had been coaching Ellie since Ellie was a little girl of five. She’d been the one who first picked her for the Beginner’s squad, seeing some spark of talent in her all those years ago. Since then she’d witnessed Ellie’s triumphs – and her failures; seen her battling competition nerves, injuries and setbacks; seen the way she pushed herself harder, determined to be the best.

And it had been Fran who’d suggested the move to the Academy. She’d always said she didn’t want to push Ellie too fast, that a careful and steady approach was best. But last month she’d told Ellie that if she wanted to go all the way – to British Championships, Worlds, maybe even the Olympics – she would need to move to a bigger club. And of course that’s what Ellie wanted! It was all she had ever dreamed of since was a little girl.

Fran had asked her old friend Emma Bannerdown, former World Champion and now director of the London Gymnastics Academy, to give Ellie a trial. To Ellie’s astonishment, Emma had agreed. And, to her even greater amazement, she’d offered Ellie a scholarship to train at the Academy.

All this had happened in the last few dizzying weeks, and Ellie could still barely believe it was true.

‘You know you’ll be behind the other girls there,’ said Fran. ‘It could be tough trying to catch up.’

Ellie nodded, feeling butterflies dance in her stomach.

‘Maybe I was wrong to hold you back.’ Fran looked more serious now. ‘I don’t know. But, whatever happens, there’s something I want you to remember.’

‘What’s that?’ Ellie looked up at her coach eagerly.

‘Well, there are three kinds of gymnasts,’ said Fran. ‘There are power gymnasts – all muscles and strength. There are technical gymnasts, capable of executing moves with an incredible degree of difficulty. And then there are the artistic gymnasts.’ She smiled. ‘Artistic gymnasts perform with their heart. Think of Nadia Comăneci, Sian Edwards – your Aunt Lizzie. When each of those gymnasts steps on to the floor, she tells a story. They are breathtaking to watch, not just because of the skill they exhibit, but because they turn gym from a sport into an art.’

Ellie thought of the footage she’d watched of her aunt, springing across the blue floor at World Championships. She really looked as if she was dancing over the creek, her arms moving like the swaying of the trees.

‘I think you have the soul of an artistic gymnast, Ellie,’ Fran said with a smile. ‘Remember that. You have strength too – from all the rowing and sailing you do. And wonderful poise – although you need to improve your balance on the beam . . .’

Ellie nodded. She knew the beam was her weakest piece of apparatus.

‘But most of all you have heart.’

Ellie felt as if her heart might actually burst. Fran expected a lot of her gymnasts, so compliments from her really meant something.

‘So it doesn’t matter that you’re behind the other girls at the Academy,’ Fran was going on. ‘Stay true to who you are and who knows how far you can go.’

‘But how do I do that?’ asked Ellie.

‘Hang on to all this,’ said Fran, gesturing around her at the little sandy beach, the boathouse, the wooden pontoon stretching out into the lapping waves. ‘The creek is part of you. Don’t let it go.’

CHAPTER

Two

‘There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!’

Ellie turned to see her little sister come flying down on to the beach, bouncing across the sand. She came to a breathless stop by Ellie and Fran.

‘I told Mum you’d be here,’ Lucy squeaked excitedly. ‘She says you need to get a move on or you’ll miss the train. Ooh – did you say goodbye to Jorian? And Diablo? And little Roo?’

Ellie grinned. ‘Not yet, no.’

Lucy frowned and put her hands on her hips. Ten years old, with wild red hair and a rosy face full of freckles and dimples, Lucy looked nothing like pale, sandy-haired Ellie who was three years older than her. People sometimes refused to believe they were sisters – until they noticed their eyes, which were the exact same shade of cornflower blue, framed with startling black lashes.

‘Well, you need to. They’re going to miss you,’ Lucy insisted. ‘But I’m going to look after Jorian. I’ll take her out every single day for you, keep her in good condition.’

The way Lucy spoke, you’d have thought she was talking about her pet dog or horse. But Jorian was Ellie’s old rowing boat. Living on the creek, both girls had learned to row pretty much as soon as they could walk. Dad was a boat-builder, so for Ellie’s seventh birthday he’d made her a beautiful ten-foot dinghy from salvaged wood, painted blue and white. She couldn’t imagine a day going by without going out in Jorian, with Lucy beside her in her boat, Roo.

‘And I’m going to miss you too,’ said Lucy, her bright face filled suddenly with sadness. ‘But I’ve decided I’m going to work really hard at gym so I can come to the Academy one day. Aren’t I, Fran?’

‘So you keep telling me,’ said Fran, who had a soft spot for Ellie’s crazy sister. Then she glanced at her watch. ‘But I think you should get going, Ellie. You don’t want to miss that train.’

‘Ooh, no,’ said Lucy, slipping her hand in Ellie’s and tugging her up towards the cottage. ‘You can’t be late for your first day at the Academy!’

Ellie took one last look around. She’d grown up on the creek, spent every day of her life messing around on the water, rowing, crabbing, collecting shells with Lucy, helping Dad in the boatyard or Mum in her painting studio. She tried to drink it all in, as if she could carry it with her – just like Fran had said. Then she turned and made her way back up to the cottage.

‘Darling, I’m so sorry we can’t come up to London with you,’ Mum was saying as she darted around the kitchen searching for her mobile phone and her car keys. ‘This exhibition is so important. If I could sell a few more paintings it would make all the difference. You know.’

‘I know, Mum,’ said Ellie. ‘Sending me to the Academy is expensive.’

‘Oh it’s not that. You’ve done so well to get this scholarship,’ said Mum. ‘There’s just a lot of other things to get – what with uniform for your new school – and all the things you’ll need because of transferring in the middle of the year . . .’

Ellie’s stomach did a flip and she stopped listening for a moment. She’d almost forgotten she was starting at a new school. She’d been so focused on the new gym she hadn’t given it much thought.

‘Of course we’ll muddle through like we always do,’ Mum was saying. ‘It’s just . . .’

‘I understand,’ said Ellie. It wasn’t that they were poor exactly. Dad had always made enough to get by with his boat building and Mum’s paintings sold well to tourists in the summer months, but gymnastics was an expensive sport and, though they never said so, Ellie knew they’d already given up a lot to help her follow her dream.

‘And the train fares, you know,’ Mum went on, still searching for her mobile phone. ‘It’s astonishing how much it costs for a return ticket these days.’

Next to her two petite daughters, Mum seemed like a giant – and a very strange giant at that! She was nearly six feet tall with a cloud of frizzy red hair and an extremely odd dress sense. Today, she was wearing an orange tie-dye kaftan with green patent boots and what looked like a feather boa wrapped round her waist. She had a paintbrush stuck in her hair, which was spattered with tiny blobs of coloured paint.

‘Looking for this?’ asked Lucy, pulling Mum’s ancient phone from out of the fruit bowl.

‘Of course. I knew I’d put it somewhere safe!’

Ellie grinned at Lucy. They were used to finding their school books in the dishwasher, or Mum blowing up the microwave because she’d accidentally tried to nuke her car keys.

‘Now. Where’s your dad?’ Mum said, squinting as if she might find him hiding in the fruit bowl too.

‘I bet he’s down at the boatyard,’ said Ellie. ‘He’s probably totally forgotten I’m leaving today.’

‘Would I ever do a thing like that?’ said Dad, appearing at the back door, wearing a faded fisherman’s jumper and a chauffeur’s cap covered in sawdust. It was easy to see where Ellie got her looks from – Dad was small and wiry with sandy hair and eyes the colour of the sea. ‘Your carriage awaits, Gymnastic Princess,’ he said with a flourish of his cap.

‘What on earth are you wearing, Dad?’ giggled Lucy.

‘The Landrover’s on the blink again,’ Dad said, then bowed low and declared, ‘So Diablo begs the privilege of escorting Britain’s next great gymnastic champion to the station!’

‘What?’ shrieked Lucy. ‘We’re going by boat?’

‘What could be more appropriate,’ said Dad. ‘Tide’s perfect and it’s not too choppy. It’s far quicker than the coast road anyway.’

Lucy jumped up and down excitedly and Ellie couldn’t help smiling. One last trip out on the water before she left the creek. What better way to say goodbye?

CHAPTER

Three

They arrived at the station with just minutes to spare. There was only time for some hasty hugs on the platform and Lucy pushed a package into Ellie’s hands. ‘Just a little good-luck present from me,’ she said shyly. ‘Open it on the train.’

‘Thanks, Lucy!’ said Ellie, touched by her sister’s kindness and realising how desperately she was going to miss her.

Just then the guard blew his whistle and Ellie jumped on board as he yelled at Lucy to stand clear.

‘We’ll email you – and Face-thingie – and Twittle – and all that stuff!’ shouted Mum as the train started to draw away from the platform.

Ellie leaned out of the window to wave. ‘But you don’t know how to do any of those things!’ she laughed.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll show them!’ said Lucy.

‘Good! Oh – and don’t let Dad blow up the boat-shed,’ shouted Ellie. ‘Or let Mum paint the cat blue – or try to feed you watercolour soup . . .’

‘That was an accident!’ cried Mum.

‘I’ll be home at half term!’ called Ellie. But the train was gaining speed and her final words were blown away. She could just see Lucy, waving like her life depended on it, getting smaller and smaller on the platform.

‘Goodbye, Cornwall. London, here I come!’ Ellie whispered as the train started on its journey from the seaside home she loved towards a future she’d been dreaming for as long as she could remember.

She stood by the window for ages, watching as the train made its way along a section of track that seemed to skirt right along the edge of the clifftop. Even though it was January, the sun was bright and the sky clear, and Ellie could see the ocean stretched out like the blue practice floor at the gym.

Finally, she turned away from the window, but somehow she couldn’t face going into the carriage to sit with the crowds of people, so she plonked herself down on her suitcase by the bike racks and unwrapped Lucy’s gift. She gasped as she lifted the tissue paper to reveal a beautiful new leotard – all silvers and greens and blues – the colours of the ocean, Ellie thought. It was so beautiful, and it was so sweet of Lucy – who must have been saving her pocket money for ages – that she felt suddenly like crying.

Determined not to let the tears come, she folded the leotard carefully into her rucksack then tugged out her favourite gymnastics book and opened it on a well-thumbed page. This book always made her smile. There was a picture of a young gymnast doing a backwards walkover on the beam. She made it look so easy and yet Ellie remembered her own struggles to achieve that move.

There was another picture on the opposite page of the same gymnast performing a floor routine. The photographer had caught her mid split-leap and she looked almost as if she was flying. Her face was focused, but also serene – as if she was feeling the moves as well as executing them. Wasn’t that what Fran had said Ellie should try to do?

The young gymnast’s face was as familiar to Ellie as her own – which was hardly surprising since it was almost like looking in a mirror. The girl must have been about sixteen when that picture was taken – just three years older than Ellie – and she shared Ellie’s pale brown hair and her large expressive blue eyes.

There were other pictures on the page too. Of the same gymnast holding aloft a trophy at the British Championships, aged just fifteen. Of her performing a gold-medal-winning vault at World Champs two years later. With her teammates on the way to the Olympics, hope shining on their faces. Underneath the last picture a caption read, Britain’s top gymnast, Lizzie Trengilly, just before the tragic fall that ended her career.

A shiver went down Ellie’s spine as she took in the page for what must have been the millionth time. It always thrilled her to think that she was actually related to the great Lizzie Trengilly.

Today, more than ever, she wished she could talk to Lizzie about her time at the Academy. But Lizzie had turned her back completely on gymnastics after that terrible injury. She’d always been a bit of a free spirit, so she’d taken off round the world – teaching sport to street kids in South America, helping save gorillas in the African jungle and who knew what else. Ellie wasn’t sure if Aunt Lizzie even knew she was going to the Academy.

Ellie sighed. Maybe one day she could talk to her about all this. Until then she had to keep working hard, and try to achieve her greatest ambition – the one she’d never shared with anyone – to fulfil Aunt Lizzie’s dream of Olympic gold.

Dreams of Olympic glory helped Ellie pass the time, but by midday the train was hot and sticky and she was stiff and ravenous. She munched on the strange sandwiches her mum had made for her – peanut butter and smoked salmon sprinkled with popping candy – as the train rumbled through fields and villages on its journey towards London.

‘Tickets, please.’

The guard was standing over Ellie with a kindly expression on his face. She rummaged around in her bag and handed him the ticket.

‘Now, I’m curious,’ said the guard with a twinkle in his eye. ‘How on earth do you manage to sit comfortably in that particular position?’

Ellie looked down and realised she was sitting virtually in the splits, one leg stuck out to the side, the other folded inwards. ‘Oh – um – I suppose – I – well, I do a lot of gymnastics.’

‘Ah,’ said the guard, his face lighting up. ‘A gymnast! I thought perhaps you’d dislocated your hips or something, and I was just wondering if I needed to pull the red cord and call for medical help.’

Ellie giggled.

‘Off to the Olympics are you, young lady?’

‘One day, I hope,’ said Ellie.

‘Goodness me, a world-famous gymnast on my train!’ exclaimed the guard.

Ellie grinned. ‘I hope so.’

‘Well, take a look out of the window and get your first glimpse of the Big Smoke.’

The guard tugged down the window and Ellie was amazed to see that the fields and villages had been replaced by rows of buildings that stretched as far as the eye could see, red-bricked terraces side by side with glistening office blocks and concrete shopping centres, traffic fumes mingling with neon signs in the cold grey winter’s afternoon. The sun had disappeared and it all seemed so different to Cornwall – so gloomy and crowded. Ellie wondered how she would ever feel at home here.

‘Newcomers to the city get to make a wish,’ said the guard.

‘Oh,’ said Ellie. ‘Um – right.’ She closed her eyes and made her wish.

‘Let’s hope London makes all your dreams come true,’ said the guard with a grin. Ellie shivered, but she wasn’t sure if it was excitement, cold or fear.

‘Now, I’d best be getting on,’ said the guard. ‘And no somersaulting down the aisles on my train, y’hear? Or I might have to impose a penalty fare.’

CHAPTER

Four

In no time the train was drawing into Paddington Station and Ellie gathered up her belongings and made her way on to the platform. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. The concourse was jammed with people and she wasn’t sure who she was looking for.

‘Ellie! Ellie!’ A voice sailed high above the crowd and Ellie turned to see a girl holding up a poster with ‘Academy Ellie’ painted on it. It was just like she’d seen in the movies, only this poster was massive, glittery and covered in hearts and pictures of gymnasts. Ellie couldn’t help smiling. There was no way she could miss that!

No longer feeling so nervous, Ellie made her way over. The girl had hair the colour of toffee cake, a face like a pixie and an upturned nose covered in freckles. As soon as she caught sight of Ellie, she squealed out, ‘It’s you! I recognised you right away because you look just like a fairy. All gymnasts are tiny – except me. I’m shooting up like a weed, Tam says. I’m Nancy by the way. Welcome to London!’