by Zoe Sugg
“Would you please explain what’s going on here?” she says to me.
“She doesn’t even go here!” Megan jumps in. “She’s trespassing.”
I see then for myself the formidable Madame Laplage I’ve heard so much about, because she’s able to silence Megan with a look. Then she turns back to me. Fortunately, her eyes now are softer again. More encouraging.
My mouth opens, but no words come out. I don’t know if I can tell on Megan—not to someone as important as Madame Laplage anyway. Then I realize I have to tell her, if only for Posey’s sake. It’s Posey who should be in this dressing room.
“Megan took money for leaking one of Leah Brown’s songs,” I say in a rush, “and she blamed Posey Chang, who dropped out of the production because of it.”
Madame Laplage shakes her head slowly. “Is this true, Megan?”
Megan stares at her shoes, not responding.
“We don’t like thieves here at my school.”
“Thieves?” Megan squeaks.
“I’m afraid so. We are a prestigious school for the arts. We take copyright theft extremely seriously. And the fact that you falsely accused another student and took advantage of her lack of confidence to take her role—well, I’ve known understudies who’ve schemed to get the main role before, but this is the worst example of such dreadful behaviour by far !”
She draws herself up to her full height, and both Megan and I shrink back. “You have forfeited your right to a place at my school. Your place is temporarily withdrawn.”
“No . . . please!” Megan is trembling now. “I promise I’ve learnt my lesson! Madame Laplage, I didn’t mean it . . . Penny’s right, that’s not who I am . . . not deep down . . . I just wanted this so much. I didn’t think about anybody else . . .”
But Madame Laplage’s mouth is a hard line. “If you want a second chance, it will have to wait until after the production, when we can review this properly. For now, you aren’t welcome here, and I need you to leave this dressing room.”
Megan barges past me, shooting me the dirtiest glare she can muster as she goes. I’m stunned. But Megan made it clear she wasn’t even going to apologize for what she did. She wasn’t going to even try to make amends by giving Posey back her role. She deserves to be kicked out.
Madame Laplage turns her steely gaze on me as if really seeing me for the first time. “Tell me, are you a student here?”
I shake my head. Suddenly I feel extremely out of place in the backstage of the theatre.
“But you know Posey Chang?”
I nod.
“Then I suggest you go and find her quickly, and let her know she has to get ready for the performance tonight. We’re all looking forward to it.”
I nod once more then dart out of the door, remembering just in time to say, “Thank you, Madame,” as I go past.
She is SOOO terrifying! I really wouldn’t want to be in Megan’s shoes right now.
• • •
This time when I knock on a door, I’m in a very different mood. There’s a huge grin on my face and I can barely keep my toes from dancing with excitement.
“Hello?” says Posey as she opens the door.
“Hey, it’s me,” I say.
I’m half expecting Posey to close the door in my face, but instead she smiles when she sees me. Then she remembers what’s happened and the smile drops. Suddenly she looks afraid.
My stomach churns with guilt. I can’t believe what I’ve done to this girl, this person I was supposed to be friends with. I put my hand on her door. “Posey,” I blurt out, “I wanted to say that I am so, so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
“Oh?” She opens the door a tiny bit wider.
“I know now that it wasn’t you. And I should never have believed it in the first place. I may not have known you for long, but I already know you better than that.”
Posey’s eyes shine with tears. “Thanks, Penny. You don’t know how much that means to me. I’ve been so sad at the prospect that our new friendship might have been ruined by something that wasn’t true.”
I take a deep breath. “And I also have some news. Megan’s not going to be able to play Maria tonight.”
Posey’s eyes open wide. “What? Why not?”
“She’s been kicked out for breaking the rules.”
“No way! That can’t be right.”
“She falsely accused you of stealing Leah’s song and forced you to leave your role—Madame Laplage is furious. And it was her all along.”
“You mean . . . Megan was the one who leaked Leah’s song?”
“That’s right! I should never have trusted her. I should have seen the signs long ago. I was an idiot.”
“Oh my god!” Posey backs into her room and falls onto her bed, as if her legs won’t support her any longer. I’m feeling wobbly too, so I go inside and sit down next to her. “But there are so many people coming to see her,” Posey says. “And it’s been all over her blog and Twitter and Facebook . . . What’s she going to tell people now?”
I shrug. “That’s her problem. She probably should have thought of that before she went and stole the song.”
“Wow! I can’t believe it was her. But, gosh, how do you feel about it, Penny? Are you OK?” Her eyes shine with concern.
“I’m fine. A bit rattled, but . . . I’m glad it’s all working out. Anyway—the really big news is that when Madame Laplage heard how she got the role of Maria, how she lied about it being you who’d done the recording and everything, she said you must play Maria tonight. She sent me here specially to find you and tell you to go and get ready.”
Posey’s eyes turn towards the ground. “But, Penny, I still don’t think I can do this. I’ve got used to the idea of just having a small role in the show . . .” Her hands begin to shake. “See? I can’t even think about it without my stage fright coming back. Surely one of the other cast members can do it. I don’t even know if I remember all the lines . . . and the cues . . . I’ve been busy learning all the chorus stuff. What happens if I mess it up? I’ll get a terrible mark and get kicked out myself.” Her words begin to run together until they’re a babble.
“Posey,” I say, gripping her shoulders. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”
She closes her eyes and it takes a few slow intakes of breath, but gradually she begins to breathe normally again.
“You can do this,” I continue. “You were born to do this. You know this role inside out. Just acknowledge the nerves. Acknowledge the fear. Picture it . . .” I think back to Leah’s tree metaphor. “Think of it like a shower of rain. Most people want sunshine all the time, but you know there has to be rain. The tree needs it to survive. You can use the fear to drive you so that you give the performance of your life. Don’t try to pretend the fear isn’t there. Remember that nothing truly bad will happen to you—you’ll survive, your friends and family will still love you. Give your fear the respect it deserves and move on. There may be nights when it gets too much. But tonight won’t be one of them. You can do this, you WANT to do this. I believe in you, Posey.” I reach down into my bag and pull out a brown paper bag and hold it out to her. “Here,” I say, “I’ve brought you something.”
She takes it and looks inside. “Oh!” she exclaims, then she reaches in to pull out a tiny bonsai tree. Relative to its tiny size, the bonsai tree has a thick trunk, with a cap of bright green leaves, each the size of my little fingernail.
“I thought you needed a little reminder of what’s inside you—that tree of confidence that gives you the courage to go on. It’s not too difficult to look after either!”
“Penny, I love it!” She places the tree down on her desk and gazes at it for a few moments.
When she looks back up at me, there’s something different in her eyes. A determination I haven’t seen before. Then she looks down at her watch and shrieks in alarm.
“Right, I’ve got thirty minutes . . . I’d better be quick!”
“Yes!” I cry out, wanting to
jump and scream all at the same time. She’s going to do it. She really is!
Posey leaps into a hug and we jump around in delight. Then she dashes everywhere, throwing clothes and makeup into a bag.
As we leave her room, she stops me just inside the doorway. My immediate thought is that she’s changed her mind. But instead, she smiles at me. “You know, Penny? You’re really good at this.”
“At what?”
“At helping people.”
I blush furiously at her words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that no one has ever really listened to me before about my stage fright. They thought it was a phase I would grow out of.”
“But the thing is, I knew a bit about what you must have felt, because of my own anxiety. And I know it can be triggered by things that aren’t your fault”— I think of the near-miss car accident that triggered my own panic attacks—“We mustn’t let the bad experiences ruin our life. And for you, that means making sure they don’t stand in the way of your dreams. Right, I must go. I’ll see you after?”
She grabs my hand. “Come backstage with me. I might have another blip. But if you’re there . . . I know I’ll be able to do it.”
I grin. “With pleasure!”
Chapter Forty
The backstage area couldn’t be more different from how it was only a couple of hours ago. It’s mayhem. There are people running around everywhere, flinging costumes over their heads, and the stage lights keep flickering on and off as the technicians practise the different sets. I skip out of the way to dodge a trolley full of big flouncy underskirts.
“Oh good, you found our star!” comes Madame Laplage’s distinctive voice as we hurry to Posey’s dressing room.
“Madame Laplage! It’s so nice of you.” Posey almost curtseys like she’s meeting royalty, but she stops herself at the last moment.
“No, my dear, not at all. I’ve had reports from several of your teachers about the wonderful audition you gave, and you’ve had some good rehearsals too. But don’t worry, everyone has at least one dress rehearsal that goes badly,” she says with a wink. “It practically guarantees a good opening performance. Now, go and get ready.” Posey hurries on to her dressing room and I’m left alone with the formidable Madame Laplage.
“Please, Madame, is it all right if I stay backstage? Posey thinks it will help her.”
She looks down her severe, straight nose at me and purses her lips. “Well, I hate having idle hands backstage. Is there anything you can do? Can you do any makeup? Or help the actors get dressed?”
“I can take photos?” I say, in a small voice.
“Well, all right then. We already have a production photographer, but I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to have two perspectives. You have your own equipment?”
I swing the backpack round my shoulder and show her the camera inside.
“Fantastic.” She claps her hands together. “Get to work then!” She gives her dress a dramatic swish and strides off purposefully to intimidate some other students. I let out the long breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. Somehow, even though they’re at opposite ends of the drama spectrum, I bet Madame Laplage and Mum would get on really well.
I fish my camera out of my bag and, with the other hand, send another text to Mum, Elliot, and Alex, telling them I’ll meet them after the performance. Then I make sure to put the phone on mute and start my “new job.”
This is the part I love most. Once the camera’s in my hands, it’s almost as if I become a different person—one who’s not afraid to shoot the right subject from any angle, who will do almost anything to capture a unique moment. I spot a group of the chorus huddling together, doing vocal warm-ups, and I take a snap. After that, it becomes almost automatic—point, shoot, refocus.
I only stop when my viewfinder comes face-to-face with another camera, in the hands of a tall guy with dark blond, slightly wavy hair.
He lowers the body of his camera first, and gives me a shy grin. Of course the production photographer Madame Laplage mentioned would be Callum!
“Hi, friend,” he says.
“Hi,” I say back, suddenly shy.
“Can you help me out? I’m having trouble getting the right settings in the low light backstage.”
And, just like that, we’re back to geeking out about cameras again, and I realize how much fun it is having someone else around who’s just as passionate about this stuff as I am—even if it only goes as far as a camera friendship, not a relationship.
“Five minutes until curtain up!”
“I better take my place,” says Callum. “See you around?”
“See you later. Don’t forget about that shutter speed!”
“I won’t,” he says, then he heads out to the front of the house to get shots from the orchestra pit. I can hear the musicians warming up now, ready to play the first few bars of the opening number. I take pictures of people in various states of nervousness, psyching themselves up for the start of the performance. There’s a rustling in the auditorium now as the audience files in to take their seats, and there’s a strange tension out there too—the audience’s expectations of the performance to come, their hopes that it will be an enjoyable spectacle.
“Penny?”
I see Posey come out of her dressing room, looking absolutely radiant. Her glossy dark hair has been curled fifties-style, and her face is thick with makeup to make her features clearly visible onstage. Woven into her hairline is a tiny microphone that hangs discreetly on her forehead. She looks every bit the star.
“Posey—or should I say Maria—you look amazing!”
She bites her red-stained lower lip. “I haven’t told my mum yet that I’m playing Maria again.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I say gently. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’m ever going to be.”
Posey’s not on straight away—she has to wait as the first few scenes are played. I can sense her shivering next to me, a bundle of nerves as taut as piano strings. I hold her hand and whisper, “Remember the tree.”
“Got it,” she says.
Then, faster than it even seems possible, her cue is up. She lets go of my hand, puts her face into a huge smile, and steps out onto the stage. The first few notes that the orchestra plays seem to hang in the air for an age, but then she bursts into song like this is the very thing she was born to do.
Tears well up in my eyes.
And the applause when she finishes her first solo is almost deafening.
I feel the weight of a hand on my shoulder, and I look up to see Madame Laplage peering down at me. “You might want to rejoin the audience now. It looks like your work here is done, and you’ll be much better able to appreciate the show from down there.”
I nod.
There’s no place I’d rather be than right in the middle of that audience, clapping until my palms turn red, and the only sound flooding towards Posey is that of rapturous applause.
Chapter Forty-One
There’s a standing ovation.
The audience rises to their feet as one, saluting the actors onstage. The performance has gone off without a hitch and the whole cast has performed superbly. Posey is spectacular as Maria and note-perfect. Her singing has brought a tear to more than just a few eyes in the audience. For the students, it might have been a performance they’ve had to do as part of their course, but it felt as if they were all performing simply for the pure joy of it. Maybe that’s the difference between loving something totally and only doing it out of obligation. I can see any one of them going on to successful careers one day in the West End or on Broadway—and if I was Madame Laplage, I’d be giving them all top marks.
When Posey comes out onstage to take a bow, I’m whistling loudly through my fingers and shouting “Yeah, Posey!” before I remember myself. Beside me, Mum gives my arm a squeeze, and Elliot and Alex are beaming.
“What a show!” Elliot exclaims, when the noise finally dies down enough for us to
have a normal conversation again. Even then, a low hum fills the auditorium, the sound of a satisfied audience discussing the show.
Mum’s eyes are glassy with tears. “It’s like being transported straight back to my youth,” she says. “I’ve forgotten how much I love this show. And Posey was just amazing. I can’t believe she ever dropped out of the main role! But what’s happened to Megan?” She looks down at the programme, confused. The cast list still shows Megan’s name against the part of Maria; it’s only a hastily printed slip of paper that announces the change from Megan to Posey.
“Yeah, what did happen to everyone’s favourite snake?” Elliot asks. “She wasn’t even in the chorus, as far as I could see.”
“They discovered she’d tricked Posey into dropping out of the role—and that she was the one who leaked Leah’s song. They couldn’t know she’d committed copyright theft and let her get away with it. So at the last minute she was kicked out.”
“Oh, Megan!” says Mum. “But it sounds like she got what was coming to her.”
Elliot and I both stare at Mum in surprise—normally she’s Megan’s staunchest defender. She shrugs. “What? No one messes with my Penny and gets away with it!”
We file out into the foyer. I spot Kira and Amara standing with some of the other students from Brighton who’d come up to see Megan’s big debut. They’re all puzzling over their programmes in confusion. When the twins see me they beckon for me to join them, so I excuse myself from Mum and Alexiot and walk over to them.
“What did you think?” I ask Kira, trying to keep my voice as normal as possible.
“The show was cool, but . . . I thought we were here to see Megan. Did you speak to her earlier? What happened?”
I shrug. “Look, it’s Megan’s story to tell.”
“Aw, please? Tell us,” pleads Amara.
It’s tempting to give in to them, but I won’t tell them what happened. I won’t gossip. I’ve been a victim of people trying to write my narrative for me, twisting the true story until it’s beyond recognition, and I won’t be a part of that. Not even for my worst enemy.