- -
- 100%
- +
First published in Great Britain 2017
by Egmont UK Limited
The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN
Text copyright © 2017 Beautiful Movements Ltd
Cover illustration copyright © 2017 Beautiful Movements Ltd
The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted
First e-book edition 2017
ISBN 978 1 4052 8717 3
Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1792 2
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.
To Ms Jo, Ms Stephanie, Ms Bonnie, Ms Heidi, Ms Kathy and the WODA family
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE PERFORMANCE
Back series promotional page
‘Five, six, seven, eight . . . ’ Billie held her partner tightly as she leaned into an arabesque. In her mind she was beneath a golden spotlight at the Royal Opera House with the famous ballet dancer, Rudolph Nureyev. In reality she was dancing beneath a flickering strip light in an office building . . . with a bin. ‘Drop, six, seven, eight.’ She lowered the wastepaper basket and tipped its contents into the huge bin bag at her feet. Dancing around was the only thing that made helping out at her mum’s cleaning job bearable. At the other end of the office, Billie’s mum, her golden hair tied back in a red bandana, was humming her favourite Jill Scott song, ‘A Long Walk’. The regulars in the cafe where Billie’s mum worked called her ‘the songbird’. Her mum loved singing as much as Billie loved dancing, and it helped her in the same way, too.
Billie squirted some polish on the desk in front of her. She wondered if the people who worked in this office ever thought about who cleaned up after them every night. She doubted it. She rubbed the polish into the desk until all the rings from the coffee cups had disappeared and the wood began to shine. As she polished, her mind returned to her feet and she ran through a sequence of steps in time to the song her mum was singing. This was how it always was – her mind constantly being pulled back to dance. As she pushed a wheeled chair back into place, she pretended it was Nureyev, holding her tight, about to raise her into the most beautiful lift the ballet world had ever seen. Higher and higher and . . . CRASH. The wheels on Chair-Nureyev buckled and it collided with the desk.
‘Careful!’ her mum called. ‘You don’t want to injure yourself the night before your big audition.’
Billie gulped. For a brief moment she’d managed to forget about the audition. What if she messed up? What if she didn’t make it? What if her dream came to nothing?
‘Uh-oh.’ Kate came down the office dragging a vacuum cleaner behind her. ‘Looks like someone’s having an attack of the what-ifs.’
Billie couldn’t help laughing. Her mum could read her like a book – even from the other end of an office. And it worked both ways. It had been just the two of them for so long that they knew each other inside out. Like right now, Billie could tell her mum was more tired than usual because the shadows under her eyes were a few shades darker.
She took a deep breath. She couldn’t let her mum see her fear, not when she was under so much pressure herself. Billie needed to stay strong. She needed to change the what-ifs in her mind to I-cans. I can pass the audition. I can dance well enough. I can do it.
‘You’re going to be amazing, sweetheart,’ Kate said, putting her arm round Billie’s shoulders.
Billie leaned into her. ‘I can’t believe it’s tomorrow. For ages it felt like it was never going to happen and now . . .’
‘I know. All of a sudden it’s here.’
Billie had applied to audition for WEDA – the World Elite Dance Academy – back in January. Her audition letter had arrived in February and had been pinned to the board in their kitchen ever since. It was now the middle of May.
‘Come on,’ her mum said. ‘Let’s get this floor hoovered and get out of here. We have a surprise guest coming for dinner.’
‘Who?’ Billie stared at her. ‘Not Uncle Charlie?’
Kate nodded and grinned.
‘But I thought he wasn’t back from Vietnam till next month!’
‘He wasn’t supposed to be. But he decided to come home early so he could wish his favourite niece good luck.’
‘That’s amazing!’ Aside from her mum, her Uncle Charlie was Billie’s favourite human being in the entire world. It was impossible to feel anything other than happy when he was around. Billie did a pirouette in celebration.
When they were back home Billie did some stretches at the kitchen table while her mum stirred pasta sauce at the stove. The air filled with the delicious smell of tomatoes and oregano. As Billie stretched up she looked at the dream-board on the wall. This was where she and her mum stuck pictures of their hopes and dreams, for inspiration. Billie’s pictures were all dance-related – a black and white print of a pair of ballet shoes, a photo of an airy, sunlit dance studio and, of course, a picture of WEDA that she’d cut from the brochure. Billie looked at the imposing red brick building, with its huge windows like sets of eyes gazing out over the rolling grounds. It reminded her a bit of Hogwarts, but the bit she loved best was the glass-panelled walkway that jutted from the side of the building, leading to the ultra-modern Murphy Wing.
The Murphy Wing was named after Miss Murphy – former world-famous ballerina, now Head of Dance and Wellness at WEDA and Billie’s dance hero. Like she’d done a thousand times before, Billie stared at the glass walkway and pictured herself walking along it on the way to a class. Then she glanced at her mum’s side of the dream-board and her eyes came to rest on the picture of a quaint little cottage surrounded by wild flowers. It was her mum’s biggest dream to own a home of her own. She’d worked so hard to keep a roof over their heads since Billie’s dad had died – working two jobs to cover the rent on their council flat and pay for Billie’s dance lessons. Billie felt a flicker of determination deep inside of her. If she got into WEDA and made it as a professional ballerina, she’d one day be able to buy her mum her dream home and take care of her, the way she’d taken care of Billie. She looked at the picture next to the cottage – an old photo of her dad holding two-year-old Billie tightly. His mop of curly hair and his thick-rimmed glasses gave him the look of an earnest college professor. He was staring off to the side of the shot, like he’d just seen something worrying. This photo summed her dad up. He’d devoted his life to finding causes and people to worry about.
The sound of a motorbike growling to a standstill outside snapped Billie from her thoughts. ‘Uncle Charlie!’
Billie flung the door open just as Charlie was pulling his helmet from his head.
‘Billerina!’ he cried, scooping her up into his strong arms. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Great!’ Billie replied, breathing in the familiar smell of leather from his jacket. ‘It’s so good to see you! How was Vietnam?’
‘So cool.’ Charlie let go of Billie and grinned at her. He looked tanned and healthy – the way he always did when he just got back from travelling. ‘The people are so friendly. You’d have loved it. Ah, something smells good.’ Charlie followed Billie up the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. ‘Hello, Sis. Did you miss me?’
‘Charlie!’ Billie’s mum put down her spoon and grabbed him in a hug.
‘I can’t believe you’re back already,’ Billie said, sitting down at the table.
‘Yeah well, a little bird told me it was your big day tomorrow, so I had to be here to wish you luck.’ Charlie sat down opposite Billie. ‘How are you feeling? How are the nerves holding up?’
‘OK, I guess.’
‘Yeah?’ Charlie looked at Billie.
Billie nodded. ‘It’s just that I’ve wanted to get into WEDA so badly for so long. I don’t know what I’ll do if it all goes wrong . . .’
‘I get it, but you know what, it can’t go wrong, not really, not if you give it your best shot.’ Charlie took off his jacket. He had leather bands and colourful, woven friendship bracelets all the way up both of his wrists. Every time he went away he got more.
‘But what if –’
‘At least you’ll have tried,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘There are two types of people in this world, Bill, the dreamers and the doers. Us three – and your dad,’ Charlie glanced at the photo on the board, ‘we’re doers, right? When we have a dream, we go after it.’
Billie nodded.
‘So that’s something to be proud of – whatever the outcome. Anyway, I’ve got you something.’ Charlie reached inside his jacket pocket.
‘From Vietnam?’
‘Kind of. I wrote it to you when I was in Vietnam.’ He pulled out a crumpled envelope and handed it to her. ‘Don’t open it now. Open it later, when you’re on your own. When you get another attack of the what-ifs.’
Billie tucked the envelope into her hoodie pocket.
‘Thank you, Uncle Charlie.’
‘No problem, Billerina. Now come on, Sis, where’s our dinner?’
Later that night, when Billie was getting ready for bed, she took her jewellery box from her dressing table and opened the lid. She turned the gold key on the back of the box and the little ballerina inside began slowly pirouetting. Billie’s dancing dream had begun with this box. It had originally belonged to her mum, who’d had it since she was a child. But when she was little, Billie had become so obsessed with it that her mum let her have it. And when Billie’s dad died when she was six, her mum had enrolled Billie in a local dance class, hoping it might help her cope. ‘You can be just like the ballerina in the box!’ she’d told Billie. And it had worked. In those first years after her dad’s death, dancing was the only place where Billie didn’t feel as if she was drowning in sadness. In her ballet class there was no time for tears, as she focused on the steps and poses and lost herself in the routines. And, over the seven years since, dancing had gone from being an escape to being a passion.
Billie heard the low murmur of Uncle Charlie’s voice from the living room and the light tinkle of her mum’s laugh. It was so good hearing her talking to someone, let alone laughing. Her mum spent so many nights alone, worn out from work, slumped in front of her laptop watching Netflix. Billie wished she would meet someone, but her heart still belonged to Billie’s dad.
Billie opened the little drawer inside the jewellery box and pulled out a string of wooden beads with a B-shaped pendant. Her dad had given it to her on her sixth birthday, just a few months before he’d died. He’d got it from Africa, where he’d been working in a refugee camp. Billie sighed. He’d been ill when he’d given it to her but no one had known. He’d been so devoted to his work that he didn’t bother going to the doctor when he started getting pains in his stomach. He hadn’t wanted to let anyone down – and he’d ended up dying. Billie tucked the beads back into the box. She couldn’t afford to feel sad tonight – she needed to feel positive for her audition.
She took out a folded magazine cutting. It was about her hero, Miss Murphy. The article charted her incredible rise, from poverty in New York to becoming a scholarship student at WEDA and then one of the most famous and successful dancers in the world. Billie had read the article so many times she practically knew it by heart. As she skim-read it again, her heart began to pound. What if Miss Murphy was at the auditions tomorrow? What if Billie had to dance in front of her? What if she messed up in front of her? Her mouth went dry. Then she remembered the envelope Uncle Charlie had given her and fumbled in her pocket for it. She snuggled closer to her bedside lamp and started to read.
If you could take an hour and put it in a glass,
To wait and use it later, when all other time has passed,
If you could take that precious hour and use it for right now,
What would you use it on, knowing time never lasts?
If you could fill that hour with sixty minutes of hope,
If you could know that hour could really come to pass.
Then now is the time to take that hour,
Now is the time to break that glass.
Billie tucked the poem under her pillow, switched off her lamp and closed her eyes. Now is the time to break that glass, she repeated over and over in her head until finally she fell asleep.
Billie got off the train and checked the time on her phone. She went up the station stairs and checked the time on her phone. She emerged blinking into the bright sunlight and checked the time on her phone. But it was no good – she was still crazy early. She’d wanted to give herself time to prepare before everyone else got there, but hadn’t meant to be this early. She’d been so worried about something going wrong – the bus not coming, the train being delayed – that she’d set out two hours before she needed to. Of course, for once, everything had been on time.
She started walking along the tree-lined road. WEDA was in a leafy suburb just outside of London, and it was nice being out of the hustle and bustle of the city – the green fields and chirping birds helped soothe Billie’s nerves. Following the map on her phone, she turned into the narrow lane that led to the academy. ‘I’m a doer, not just a dreamer,’ she whispered, reminding herself of Uncle Charlie’s pep talk. She had his poem tucked in her pocket for luck too. ‘I’m a doer, not just a dreamer.’
The wrought iron gates of the academy loomed into view, and Billie’s heart began to pound. You’ve got this, she told herself. You’re going to be great. You’re going to dance like a . . . like a fearless tornado! She grinned. Sometimes her inner motivator said the weirdest things. She slipped through the gate and up the drive, her feet crunching on the gravel. WEDA looked beautiful. The early morning sunlight glowed gold on the glass walls of the Murphy Wing. This is it, Billie thought to herself. All the years of practising and training and exams had been leading right up to this moment. She followed the signs to the reception and looked up at the huge wooden doors. What if they were locked? What if she was so early not even the staff had arrived? But when she gave one of the doors a push it slowly creaked open. Billie stepped into a large reception area. It was cool and dark compared to the bright sunshine outside and smelled of polish.
‘Well, someone’s ready to slay,’ a voice echoed, and she jumped.
Billie turned to see a boy at the other end of the foyer. His dark hair was shaven at the sides and longer and spiky on top. He had latte-coloured skin and was wearing bright orange tracksuit bottoms and a silky black bomber jacket. He was also holding a mop. Billie sighed. Even the cleaners at WEDA had swagger. She suddenly became all too aware of her supermarket trainers and hoodie.
‘I take it you’re here for the auditions,’ the boy said, mopping his way towards her. As he got closer she took in his high cheek bones, full lips, perfectly plucked eyebrows and a smile that lit up the whole room. He was really good-looking – and from the confident way he was leaning on the mop, his other hand on his hip, it looked like he knew it.
‘Yes. Sorry I’m so early,’ Billie replied. ‘I was worried the train was going to be late.’
‘And was it?’
‘Nope.’
‘Ha! Typical.’ The boy pursed his lips. ‘Why is it that whenever you’re early the train’s never late? It’s like one of those laws of physics – like gravity or something. Go ahead. Make yourself at home.’ He gestured to a plush leather sofa on one side of the foyer. ‘The receptionist should be here soon. Once it’s, you know, not night time any more.’ He looked at Billie and burst out laughing. ‘Joking. My name’s Andre, by the way.’
Billie grinned. ‘I’m Billie.’ She perched on the edge of the sofa and took a deep breath. WEDA was no longer just a picture on her dream-board. It was real and she was sitting right inside it! She watched Andre as he swished the mop around the floor in large circles. Part of her wished she was back helping her mum in her invisible role as a cleaner. Not that there was anything invisible about Andre; he stood out like a beacon.
Billie was about to take Uncle Charlie’s poem from her pocket for a final read when the door crashed open and a girl marched in, followed closely by a woman who Billie guessed must be her mum, judging by their matching manes of dark hair and haughty expressions.
‘It’s OK, Mum, you can go now,’ the girl snapped as she marched straight across Andre’s freshly mopped floor.
‘Should I not wait until the teachers arrive?’ the girl’s mum said in a thick Eastern European accent.
‘No! I’m fine.’
‘No need to shout, Cassandra. Do you have your headshot?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your CV?’
‘Yes!’
‘OK, I’ll go. But remember everything I told you.’
Cassandra gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Yes, Mum.’
As Cassandra’s mum turned and swept back out, Andre raised one groomed eyebrow at Billie, who stifled a grin. Cassandra plonked herself down on the sofa, bringing with her a waft of exotic perfume. She smelled as expensive as she looked. Again, Billie looked down at her own clothes and felt a stab of embarrassment. When she’d checked in the mirror before leaving this morning she’d felt fine but now, next to Cassandra with her glossy hair and designer tracksuit, she felt so dull – like an Instagram photo pre-filter.
‘Excuse me, cleaner,’ Cassandra called to Andre.
Billie watched as Andre’s back stiffened and he slowly turned back to face them.
‘You talking to me?’ he asked.
‘Of course. I don’t see any other cleaners around here, do you? Unless . . .’ She turned to Billie and looked her up and down. ‘Are you a cleaner too?’
Billie’s heart sank. ‘No, I’m here for the audition.’
‘Really?’ Cassandra sounded so surprised Billie felt even more riddled with self-doubt. ‘Well, do either of you know where the toilets are?’
‘Third door on the left,’ Andre said, pointing his mop in the direction of the corridor. ‘Careful you don’t get that big head of yours stuck in the door,’ he muttered as Cassandra disappeared into the bathroom. Before Billie could respond the door opened and another couple of dancers entered. This was really happening!
Within half an hour the reception area was buzzing with nervous chatter as more and more potential students arrived.
‘OK, everyone,’ one of the WEDA secretaries called out above the noise. ‘Please can you hand in your headshots and CVs at the reception desk then make your way to Studio One in the Murphy Wing. The choreographer will be with you shortly.’
Billie felt a buzz of excitement. They were going to be auditioning in the Murphy Wing! As she made her way along the glass-panelled walkway that linked the two buildings, she felt as if she’d stepped right into her dream-board. In front of her, two girls with perfectly pinned hair and flawless skin chatted to each other excitedly. Billie looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Andre cleaning, but he was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. She’d give anything to see a friendly face right now. The other dancers all looked so super-confident. But they can’t be, she told herself. WEDA is one of the best dance academies in the world. They must want this as much as you do. They must be just as nervous as you. Billie followed the others into a huge airy studio and made her way to a space at the front. She still wasn’t the fastest at picking up choreography, so it would help to have a good view.
‘Got any gum?’
Billie turned and saw a girl behind her. Her eyes were emerald green and her bright magenta hair, in shocking contrast to her snow-white skin, was cut into a sharp bob. She looked kind of fierce. ‘What, chewing gum?’
‘What other kind of gum is there?’
Billie’s face flushed.
‘I like to chew before an audition,’ the girl explained. ‘It helps me release tension.’
‘Oh. No, sorry, I don’t.’
‘I’m Tilly.’ She took off her black, boat-necked sweater to reveal a beautiful backless leotard in electric-blue leopard print. Billie looked down at her own faded black leotard. It looked so drab in comparison.
‘I’m Billie.’
‘Seriously?’ Tilly stared at her. ‘Billie and Tilly. Jeez, we sound like a comedy duo.’
Tilly began some warm-up stretches. Billie fumbled in her bag for her ballet shoes. They looked so dull and worn under the gleam of the studio lights. Behind her, Tilly started doing the splits. She didn’t seem nervous at all. Billie was about to put her shoes on when a boy walked into the studio and headed towards them. There was a noticeable lull in the chatter as all of the girls, and most of the boys, turned to look at him. Billie felt a weird fluttering in the pit of her stomach as the boy came and sat down on the floor next to her. He had olive skin, a mess of curly black hair and dark brown eyes. He was wearing a pale grey vest top and black sweatpants, and had a black beaded necklace with a tiger’s eye gemstone around his neck. Rather than warming up like the others, he sat cross-legged and closed his eyes. There was something familiar about him, but Billie didn’t know what. She was certain she’d never met him before.
‘Wow, check out Buddha here,’ Tilly said, a little too loudly, nodding in the boy’s direction.
Billie pulled on her ballet shoes and to her horror, her big toe burst through a hole in the tip! Panic churned inside of her. What should she do? She didn’t have any other shoes. But how could she dance with one of her toes hanging out? It looked terrible. Billie felt like crying. She was about to audition at WEDA – one of the top dance academies in the world – and there was a massive hole in her shoe!