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.

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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

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‘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!

‘If I were you, I’d go barefoot,’ Tilly said, shuffling closer. ‘You won’t be able to dance properly like that. You’ll be way better barefoot. Take it from someone who knows.’

How did Tilly know? Had she had this happen to her too? But before Billie could say anything, the door opened and a tall, athletic-looking man with cocoa-coloured skin came striding in. Billie took off her shoes and stuffed them in her bag.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ the man called as he made his way to the front of the studio. He was wearing sweats and a scarf and his feet were encased in socks, legwarmers and sandals, making them look more like a pair of moose’s hooves. ‘My name’s Mr Marlo and I’m going to be your audition choreographer. First of all, can I ask you to place all of your belongings over in the corner behind the piano, then take your positions ready to dance.’

Billie placed her bag in the corner then, as she made her way to the front, Cassandra shoved past her.

‘Hey, I was there –’ Billie gasped.

‘Welcome to WEDA,’ Cassandra said with a sneer, before looking down at Billie’s bare feet. ‘You need to make way for the serious dancers.’

Burning with anger, Billie moved back to the centre of the studio.

‘Welcome to the World Elite Dance Academy,’ Mr Marlo said, looking around the studio at them all. ‘Here at the academy we’re looking for dancers willing to work hard, try harder, and aim to be the best in the world. Today’s audition will be all about finding those dancers – finding those who have what it takes. This is your chance to shine. To prove yourself. So stay focused and on your game.’ Mr Marlo nodded to an assistant, who tapped on her laptop, filling the studio with classical music. ‘Let’s start with ballet, beginning with an adage,’ Mr Marlo said. ‘I’ll show you the sequence first, then I want you to join in.’

The next hour passed by in a blur. At first, still shaken from her encounter with Cassandra, Billie felt a little stiff and unsure. But pretty soon she started to relax. Even at WEDA, with so much at stake, she was still able to lose herself in the dance.

‘OK, guys, good work,’ Mr Marlo said, walking around the studio. When he got to Billie he stopped. ‘Where are your shoes?’ he asked her quietly.

‘One of them broke as I was putting it on. I thought it would be better to dance barefoot,’ Billie said, her face flushing.

‘I see. Well, good job,’ Mr Marlo said, his brown eyes twinkling. ‘Your technique could use a little fine-tuning but your determination and attack is impressive. Try to let go of the nerves and surrender to the music even more. I can tell there’s a lot of potential in there. Keep up the good work.’

Billie flushed with happiness. A teacher at WEDA had praised her dancing! She looked up and saw Cassandra scowling at her.

Mr Marlo took off his scarf and leaned back against the barre. ‘Next, I’m going to call each of you to the front of the studio and I want you to say your name, what you love about dance and three adjectives that best describe you as a person.’ He picked up a clipboard. ‘OK, first up, let’s have Cassandra Ivanov.’

Billie sighed. Typical that Cassandra would get to go first. She watched as Cassandra strode to the front of the studio.

‘My name is Cassandra Ivanov and I love to dance because I was born to dance – obviously, with my family background.’ She looked at Mr Marlo knowingly.

Mr Marlo looked back at her blankly.

‘My grandmother danced at the Kirov in Russia. So you could say I’m ballet royalty.’

‘Yeah, or you could say you’re a stuck-up snob,’ Tilly muttered.

Billie bit down on her lip to stop herself laughing. But then her heart sank. What hope did she have competing against someone like Cassandra?

‘And could we have three adjectives that best describe you?’ Mr Marlo said.

Arrogant, rude, smug? Billie thought.

‘Driven, determined, talented,’ Cassandra rattled off immediately, like she said it every night in the mirror before she went to sleep.

‘OK, now show me what we are working with. I want to see your posture in fifth position. Take four pivots, then go sit over there,’ Mr Marlo said, gesturing to the side of the studio. It was slightly reassuring to see that he didn’t seem overly impressed with Cassandra.

‘Jonathan Cross,’ Mr Marlo called next, looking at his clipboard.

‘It’s MJ,’ a pale, blond-haired boy wearing a fedora hat muttered.

‘MJ?’ Mr Marlo said.

‘Yeah.’ The boy got to his feet and walked over to Mr Marlo.

‘MJ short for Jonathan Cross?’ Mr Marlo said with a grin.

‘No. Michael Jackson.’

A ripple of laughter passed across the studio.

The boy frowned. Billie had noticed him during the dance. It was impossible not to notice him, his ballet was exquisite. But now he seemed like a different person. Twitchy and nervous, his eyes darting all around.

‘So, MJ, what do you love about dance?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I love that I don’t need to – to speak when I dance. I – I can speak through my body.’

‘Amen to that, brother,’ Mr Marlo said. ‘And do you have three adjectives that best describe you?’

MJ looked at him blankly. ‘I don’t really . . . Dancer. Male. Autistic.’

‘Thanks, MJ,’ Mr Marlo said softly. ‘Go take a seat.’

As Billie watched MJ go and sit down by Cassandra she felt filled with admiration. One of the regulars in her mum’s cafe had autism. Her mum had explained to her how hard he found social situations. It must have been so difficult for MJ to stand up there and speak in front of them all.

‘Rafael Garcia,’ Mr Marlo called.

Billie almost gasped out loud as the boy with the black beads got up. She’d heard of Rafael Garcia. DANCE magazine had done a huge profile piece on him. He was some kind of child prodigy, supposed to be the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. Like MJ, he looked unimpressed to be there. Billie felt butterflies in her stomach as she thought of having to dance in front of him. What if she made a fool of herself ? What if she fell over? She took a deep breath. Don’t worry about him, she told herself. Just focus on you and being your best.

‘I am Rafael Garcia,’ he said in a thick Cuban accent. ‘I love to dance because dance is where I come alive.’

Billie wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t speaking in his first language but he didn’t seem like he quite meant it.

‘And your three adjectives?’ Mr Marlo asked.

Rafael shrugged. ‘Tired. Jet-lagged . . . Bored.’

Billie froze. How could he talk to Mr Marlo like that? Didn’t he realize how prestigious WEDA was?

‘Hmm, well we’ll have to make sure we put you through your paces in the next part of the audition to make sure you don’t get bored again. Sit.’ Mr Marlo was clearly annoyed.

As the next few auditionees were called up, Billie felt increasingly nervous. What should she say when it was her turn? Everyone else seemed so polished, like they had been practising for days. The more Billie tried to find the right words, the more they wriggled from her grasp. And then, finally, her name was called. Somehow she made it to the front of the studio, her skin burning from the lights and the stares.

‘I–I’m Billie Edmonds,’ she stammered.

‘And give us three adjectives that describe you, Billie,’ Mr Marlo said.

‘Three adjectives that describe me are . . .’ Billie said, desperately trying to buy some more time. Why couldn’t she think of anything? But then she pictured her mum and dad and Uncle Charlie standing at the back of the studio. Tell them who you are, Billerina, she imagined Charlie saying.

‘I’m a dancer and a dreamer and a doer.’

‘A doer?’ Mr Marlo echoed.

‘Yes. I don’t just dream of things – I try to make them happen, no matter what.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Mr Marlo said, looking at her dust-streaked bare feet. ‘And why do you love to dance?’

Just tell him the truth, Billie imagined her dad whispering to her.

‘Really, I should hate dancing,’ she said. People stopped fidgeting and the studio became completely silent.

‘Oh. Why’s that?’ Mr Marlo asked, looking surprised.

‘The only reason I started going to ballet classes was because my dad died. My mum thought it would be a distraction for me – to stop me feeling so sad.’ Billie looked at Mr Marlo uncertainly and he nodded at her to continue. ‘But after a while my ballet classes went from being somewhere I went to take my mind off my dad to somewhere I went just to be myself. That’s the only way I can describe it. When I dance I’m totally . . . me. And I don’t care about any of the things that usually stress me out – like how I look, or whether people like me . . . or even if I have the right shoes.’

Mr Marlo laughed.

‘So, I love dancing because dancing helps me be me.’

‘Bravo!’ Mr Marlo said. ‘Thank you, Billie. Go take a seat.’

After everyone had spoken, they were split into groups of five to practise together before dancing for a panel of judges. Billie’s heart sank as she was put in a group with Cassandra.

‘Nice try with the sob story,’ Cassandra whispered as they went into a smaller studio to practise. ‘But this is what really counts – the dancing.’

As Billie watched Cassandra march over to the barre her skin prickled with anger. She hadn’t talked about her dad dying to get sympathy. She’d said it because it was true. Well, she’d show Cassandra.

After a whirlwind hour of practice it was time to go back to the main studio to dance for the judges. As they entered the room Billie’s hands felt clammy and her mouth went dry. Would Miss Murphy be there?

But the panel was made up of Mr Marlo and two women who she didn’t recognize. Billie didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

In the group dance Cassandra went out of her way to steal the spotlight, constantly pushing her way to the front and blocking Billie. Billie knew she hadn’t done enough in the group dance to shine, so it was all resting on her solo.

As Billie stood there, waiting for the music for her solo audition to start, she thought of her dad. She thought of all the people he’d helped in his short life. She thought of how much she and her mum loved him; how devastated they’d been when he’d died. She pictured that love and sorrow drifting into her as the music started and then she began to dance. It was as if her body was telling the story of her loss. Every move was fuelled by a bitter-sweet mixture of pain and love. By the time the music faded Billie had completely forgotten where she was, she was so lost in the dance. She fell to her knees and closed her eyes.

‘That was beautiful,’ one of the women judges said.

‘You were telling quite a story there,’ Mr Marlo said gently.

Billie nodded, unable to speak.

‘Thank you,’ the other judge said. ‘You may go now.’

As Billie made her way back through the glass walkway and then the maze of corridors in the old building, she stopped to take a look at some of the framed photos on the wall. She’d been too nervous to notice them before. But now the audition was almost over. The dancing was done, all that was left was the interview.

Most of the photos were of Miss Murphy, back in the days when she was principal dancer for the American Ballet Theatre. At the end of the corridor there was a glass case containing a pair of well-worn ballet shoes. Billie stared at them, mesmerized. They were Miss Murphy’s shoes from her first role as principal dancer, in a production of Swan Lake. Her infamous motto ‘Never say “I can’t” ’ was engraved on the glass.

‘But what if you’re not good enough?’ Billie whispered.

‘You should never tell yourself you’re not good enough,’ a woman’s voice said behind her. It was velvety and smooth, with an American accent.

Billie spun around. ‘Miss Murphy!’ she gasped.

‘And you are?’ Miss Murphy asked.

‘Billie. Billie Edmonds.’

‘My favourite singer was called Billie,’ Miss Murphy said with a smile. She was a lot smaller than she appeared in magazines and on TV, and her bronde hair was pulled back into a bun. ‘Billie Holiday. But if she’d questioned whether she was good enough she’d never have recorded a song.’

Billie nodded, speechless.

‘When I was your age, auditioning to go to WEDA, I was scared to death of letting someone down. It took me a long time to realize that you can’t let anyone down if you’re doing your best. Our motto here is “Never say ‘I can’t’” because you are the only one who can unlock your potential; we can only help by giving you the tools to achieve it. Do you understand?’

Billie nodded.

‘So if I were you, I’d keep believing. You never know where life might take you if you keep trying and doing your best.’

‘Th-thank you,’ Billie stammered.

‘Goodbye, Billie,’ Miss Murphy said, turning and walking away. ‘And good luck in your interview.’

Billie watched as Miss Murphy strode off down the corridor, her back ruler-straight and her feet slightly turned out from years of ballet.

Had that really just happened? Had she really just spoken to Miss Murphy? She looked back at the glass case, at the words engraved into the glass. ‘Never say “I can’t”,’ Billie whispered, before heading off along the corridor.

‘Are the plates ready, Billie?’ Billie’s mum called from the front of the cafe.

‘Coming, Mum.’ Billie carefully unloaded a stack of clean plates from the dishwasher and took them through to her. The lunchtime rush had just begun, the tables filling with the usual mix of workers from the nearby industrial estate and mums with their toddlers.

Her mum was wearing her normal cafe ‘uniform’ of jeans, T-shirt and black apron with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. ‘Any news, love?’ she asked, adding a sprig of watercress to a cheese sandwich.

‘No.’ Billie sighed. Today was the day WEDA were letting people know if they’d passed their audition. She fished her phone from her apron pocket. No new notifications. She went back into the kitchen and headed over to the sink. There was no point getting her hopes up. In the two months that had passed since the audition, she’d become convinced she hadn’t got in. The only things she could seem to remember were the things that had gone wrong. Having no shoes, the way Cassandra had outshone her in the group dance, Miss Murphy overhearing her saying, ‘What if you’re not good enough?’ Billie’s face still burned at the memory.

She started rinsing the last of the dirty breakfast plates. Out in the cafe she heard her mum humming the tune to ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Billie wished she were somewhere over the rainbow, in that place where dreams really did come true, instead of scraping congealed egg off plates. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

It’s probably not them, she told herself as she dried her hands.

But it was a message from WEDA. The title of the email was: Your recent audition.

Billie stared down at the screen. The second she opened the email she would know her future for sure – and the grain of hope she’d been clinging to would be gone. Her hands started trembling. She couldn’t open this on her own. She headed back into the cafe.

‘Mum . . .’

Her mum turned and looked at her. ‘Yes, love . . . Oh my God, have you heard?’

Billie nodded.

‘What did they say?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.’

Her mum placed her hands on Billie’s shoulders. ‘Do you want me to do it?’

‘No, I’ll do it. I just need you to be here.’

‘Of course.’

‘Any chance of a refill?’ Tony, one of the cafe regulars called from the other side of the counter, holding out his empty tea mug.

‘In a minute, Tony!’ Billie’s mum said, not moving her gaze from Billie. ‘Billie’s just heard from the dance academy. Go on, love, open it.’

‘Blimey, this is better than watching Britain’s Got Talent,’ Tony said with a chuckle.

Billie opened the email and squinted at the screen, barely able to look. Please, please, please, she thought as she scanned the words.

Delighted to inform . . . offer you a place . . . start date . . . swam before her eyes.

Billie gasped.

‘Have you got in?’ her mum said, shakily.

Billie nodded, unable to speak.

‘You have?’ She grabbed Billie in a hug. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it. I knew it!

‘She got in!’ she called to the entire cafe. ‘She got in!’

‘Brilliant!’ Tony exclaimed and all the other regulars started to cheer.

Billie leaned against the counter, unable to stop grinning as she tried to take it all in. She read the email again, just to check she hadn’t been dreaming or had misread anything. But it was all there in black and white. She had passed her audition. She had a place at WEDA – one of the top dance academies in the world.

Her mum rooted around beneath the counter and pulled out a silver gift bag. ‘Congratulations, Billie,’ she said, handing it to her.

‘But – how did you know I was going to get in?’

‘I always knew you’d do it,’ her mum said, beaming with pride.

Billie fumbled through the ivory tissue paper inside and pulled out a beautiful pair of brand new ballet shoes in pale rose-pink leather. ‘Mum! How did you afford these?’

‘I’ve been saving up my tips for months,’ her mum said.

‘Yeah, and who’s your number-one tipper?’ Tony said with a grin.

‘That would be you, Tony,’ she replied.

‘Thank you!’ Billie said, grinning at him.

‘No problem. Now, any chance of a cuppa, or is your number-one tipper going to die of thirst?’

‘I’ll get you your cuppa,’ Billie’s mum said, laughing.

As Billie turned the ballet shoes over in her hands, stroking the satin ribbons, she couldn’t remember ever feeling happier. It was as if she’d stepped out of the cafe and over the rainbow, into that magical place where dreams really did come true.

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