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Jean Ure
The final instalment in this inspiring series about dancing, friendship and following your dreams. From best-loved author Jean Ure, whose books are described by Jacqueline Wilson as “funny, funky, feisty – and fantastic reads!”A big performance looms and Maddy knows that the school has a way of weeding out the weakest dancers. Now is her time to shine. But will Maddy and her friends be celebrating at the end of the year?
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018
Published in this ebook edition in 2018
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
HarperCollins Publishers
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London SE1 9GF
The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Text copyright © Jean Ure 2018
Cover illustration © Lucy Truman; decorative frame © Shutterstock
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Jean Ure asserts the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008164546
Ebook Edition © 2018 ISBN: 9780008174866
Version: 2018-03-09
Contents
Cover (#ue5eba8f2-528b-5dc3-892a-635e6608a043)
Title Page (#u590918d9-2e71-5602-90a9-e7d81f8be43c)
Copyright (#ue81b4ad8-ccac-532b-bde7-0860a771160c)
Chapter One (#u4000f8fa-1129-5e5f-b20b-47fdb4e5e3c2)
Chapter Two (#u21b0b5ca-f790-59f6-aa5b-7520f3f0b7fa)
Chapter Three (#u15ca1884-0b66-5cab-89be-6907186141a3)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
Books by Jean Ure (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
(#ulink_e18cac43-4d25-5372-b0bf-b2184b507d40)
“I simply cannot believe –”Chloe opened her tote bag and took out a little hammer. Then she picked up one of her pointe shoes – brand-new, sparkly-clean pointe shoes – and began bashing at it. “I simply cannot believe we’re in our second year!”
Somewhat soberly I said, “I can’t believe we’ve all survived.”
It still made cold, damp goosefeet go plapping down my spine when I thought how close I’d come to being thrown out. At the end of our very first term, that had been. Not because my dancing wasn’t up to standard but because Ms Hickman, Head of Ballet, hadn’t thought I was committed enough. It was only thanks to Caitlyn that I’d been given a second chance. She had actually been brave enough to speak up for me! What was more, Ms Hickman had actually listened. Which was why I was still here, a year later, on the first day of the new term – sitting in the Green Room next to Studio One, waiting for the studio to clear so that afternoon class could begin. We were all here, all eight of us. Me and Caitlyn, Alex and Roz, Tiffany, Amber, Chloe, Mei. Survivors!
Alex nodded, complacently. “It’s practically unheard of, everyone being kept on.”
I agreed. City Ballet School has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to what Mum calls “weeding out”. Too tall, wrong shape, hasn’t lived up to earlier promise.
“We’re obviously an exceptionally talented group,” I said.
“Oh, Maddy, don’t,” begged Caitlyn. “Please! It’s like tempting fate!”
Personally I felt I’d already tempted fate. Going ice skating and injuring myself halfway through my very first term really had been asking for trouble. Even Sean had lectured me about it, and Sean isn’t at all a lecturing kind of person even though he’s my big brother and doesn’t always take me seriously. Mum and Dad, thank goodness, had never known. I still had nightmares, wondering what Mum would have had to say. She’d said enough when Jen (my sister) had got married and had Thomas and immediately stopped dancing. You’d have thought the world had come to an end! But at least Jen had had an excuse, and now that he was a toddler even Mum thought Thomas was pretty cute. I wouldn’t have had any excuse at all. Just as well it had stayed a guilty secret!
I slowly sank down on to the floor, leaning back against the wall, legs comfortably lolling. In just a few minutes I’d be working hard enough, bending, stretching, leaping. Mr Leonardo, who takes us for Character (the class we were waiting for and one of the ones I like best) is a very sweet and lovely man who almost never loses his temper or makes sarcastic remarks (unlike Ms Hickman, who makes them all the time). Mr Leonardo would far sooner praise you for your good points than shame you in front of the whole class by sarcastically informing you that you looked like a sack of potatoes or moved with about as much animation as a slug. For all that, he doesn’t believe in letting us relax. Character is a whirl of activity from the word go.
I gazed around, contentedly, at the others. Caitlyn, next to me, was taking the opportunity to finish darning a pair of pointe shoes. Darning pointe shoes is a job I particularly dislike, but Caitlyn actually takes pride in it. She is always so industrious! Chloe, meanwhile, was still merrily bashing with her hammer.
“It always seems such a pity,” said Caitlyn, “that we have to do these horrible things.” She held up the shoe she’d been working on. Her stitches (unlike mine) are always so neat and precise; she turns darning into some kind of art form. “Honestly,” she said, “it makes me feel like a vandal. Those poor shoemakers! It must be absolutely heartbreaking for them … They give us these beautiful, delicate shoes and the first thing we do is destroy them!”
“Yes, and if we didn’t,” pointed out Tiffany, in her usual crushing tones, “we wouldn’t be able to dance in them and there wouldn’t be much point in anyone bothering to make them in the first place.”
Tiffany is one of those people that has no soul. When I stop to think about it, it does seem rather cruel, the way we treat our shoes. We snip off bits of the satin, we glue and we darn and we batter and bash. Sometimes we even cut the backs to make them fit properly. What Chloe was doing was breaking the shank and softening the block so that her shoes wouldn’t make loud clopping noises as she danced. We all do it; you have to. Imagine a whole corps de ballet clip-clopping about like carthorses! And if we didn’t darn the toes we wouldn’t have a good grip when we went on pointe and would most likely end up on our backs with our legs in the air. But even then, after all our hard work, one pair of shoes would hardly last a full performance. Certainly not in a long ballet like Swan Lake or Giselle. Not that any of us had reached that stage yet. When we did – if we did, fingers tightly crossed – it would mean having several pairs of shoes all prepared and ready to go, and that would mean forever having to darn and hammer and sew on ribbons. As I once bitterly remarked to Sean, it was so much easier for him. Of course he just laughed. This is what I mean about not always taking me seriously.
“If you want to know,” said Chloe, pausing for a moment in her labours, “I’m not just bashing my shoes, I’m bashing somebody.”
Amber said, “Ooh! Who?”
“Just somebody,” said Chloe. “Actually, if you really want to know, a boy.”
“Oh?”
That got everyone’s attention, including mine. Heads shot up all over the room.
“Tell, tell!” said Tiffany. “What boy?”
“Boy called Dominic.”
“So who is he and why are you bashing him?”
“Cos he’s an idiot! I’ve known him, like, forever. Our mums are best friends and him and me were at primary school together.”
“And you’re bashing him because …?”
“Cos, like I said, he’s an idiot! I bumped into him yesterday and he told me –” Chloe bashed with renewed vigour – “he actually told me, he was very sorry but he just didn’t get it with ballet … he said he found it boring.”
“Has he ever actually seen any?” said Roz.
“Yes. He tried watching Fille mal on television.”
“He doesn’t even like Fille mal?” Caitlyn’s voice rose to a high-pitched squeak of disbelief. “It’s one of my favourite ballets!”
“It’s everyone’s favourite ballet,” I said. “Well, after Swan Lake and Giselle. And maybe Nutcracker.” How could it not be? It’s so happy and funny and romantic, all at the same time. You’d have to have a heart of stone not to enjoy Fille malgardée. Or, maybe, just be a boy. Caitlyn might squeak, but on the whole, it has to be said, most boys aren’t into ballet.
“What about the Clog Dance?” said Roz.
Amber said, “Yes! What about the Clog Dance?”
Someone started humming the music, which had me on my feet in an instant. (To be honest, I don’t need much encouragement!) Chloe immediately joined me. Together, we clog-danced happily across the floor. The ballet is so familiar that we pretty well know it step by step, though in fact the Clog Dance is actually danced by a man dressed up as a woman (the Widow Simone). It’s one of the funniest things in ballet, I think.
“I just don’t see,” said Alex, “how anyone can say they don’t love the Clog Dance!”
To be fair, Chloe said, he hadn’t minded that bit so much. “He thought it was like pantomime.”
There was a moment of silence while we wondered whether or not we should be offended. Then Caitlyn gave a sigh and said, “I suppose he’s right, in a way. It’s not my most favourite part.”
Kindly I said, “No, cos you like the romantic bits.”
She was happy to admit it. “I love the romantic bits! I think they’re really touching.”
“He doesn’t,” said Chloe. “He says for him it’s all too pink and pretty.”
Loud groans filled the room. Eyes rolled.
Apologetically Chloe said, “He’s actually quite nice. He only tried watching cos he wanted to be able to talk to me about it.”
Tiffany tossed her head. “Just a pity he couldn’t find anything sensible to say!”
I don’t very often agree with Tiffany, but on this occasion I did. I don’t mind people not liking ballet; I don’t like lots of things. Opera, for instance, and golf. How my dad can sit for hours watching golf on television I really don’t know. Boring, boring, boring! So I reckon it’s OK if some people are bored by ballet. But pink and pretty… that is so insulting!
It was just as well, I thought, that the boys weren’t yet here. It would have made some of them really angry. Josh and Carlo for sure. It didn’t take much to get them going! Finn and Oliver, and maybe Kanye, might have just shrugged it off. They’re not as hot-headed as the other two. I was really glad that Nico hadn’t heard, though. Nico was my partner – for pas de deux, that is. Not all of the time, cos they like to switch us about a bit, but mostly we danced together. It had made us quite close; we often confided in each other. I knew, for instance, that Nico had had to fight really hard to become a dancer. Not only had his dad been dead set against the idea but he’d also been bullied quite badly at school because of it. He’d once told me that I didn’t know how lucky I was, coming from a ballet family.
It’s true that I’ve lived and breathed ballet for just about as long as I can remember. Mum and Dad both used to dance with City Ballet, Mum being specially famous for her Firebird and Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, Dad being more of a character dancer. Dad has always been more interested in choreography than in actual dancing, which is why he now flies all over the world, to America, Australia, and even once to Russia, to put on his ballets. Mum, meanwhile, runs her own ballet school, which she rules with a rod of iron, almost worse even than Ms Hickman. I know, cos she was the one that trained me! She trained Jen and Sean too. If Jen hadn’t given up her career to be a full-time mum, she’d still be with the company today. Sean, of course, still is.
When I come to think about it, Sean has really had it easy. Certainly compared with Nico. I’m sure nobody has ever given Sean a hard time. I’d like to see them try!
The boys, by now, were starting to arrive.
“What are we waiting for?” said Josh. “Is someone still in there?”
I explained that it was members of the company. The Millennium Hall, where City Ballet performs, is only a few minutes away from the school – just a short walk down the Cut, near Waterloo station – so if they run out of rehearsal space they tend to come and use one of our studios, instead.
“It’s about time they were out! What are they rehearsing, anyway?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
We clustered outside the studio door, gazing through the glass panel. I could see Sean and Sergei Ivanov, another of the company’s leading dancers. They were moving energetically about the studio, ducking and dodging and every now and again lunging at each other. I couldn’t hear any music but I knew at once what they were doing.
“It’s Romeo and Juliet,” I said. The death of Mercutio. Very dramatic! “I’d forgotten they were bringing that back. It hasn’t been in the repertoire for ages.”
The others jostled to get a better look.
“Who’s dancing what?”
“Sean’s Mercutio, Sergei’s Tybalt.”
“I hate Tybalt,” said Caitlyn. “I can’t ever forgive him for killing Mercutio. Mercutio is so fun! Tybalt’s just a bully.”
“Well, but Mercutio does provoke him,” said Roz. “He does show off, rather.”
“That’s no excuse!” cried Caitlyn. And “Oh!” she wailed, turning her head away.
Oliver waved a hand. “Bye-bye, Mercutio!”
We all watched as Tybalt’s sword (imaginary, for rehearsal purposes) found its mark, plunging deep into Mercutio’s back.
“How cowardly is that?”said Caitlyn.
“Only way he could get him,” said Oliver.
We watched as Mercutio went staggering off, reeling and swaying, trying bravely to make out that he was all right, but growing steadily weaker until, in the end, his strength gave way and he sank down, mortally wounded.
