by Ann Bryant
About this book
Poppy loves, loves, loves ballet. Her biggest wish is to be a ballerina. But her secret wish is that Miss Coralie will pick her to do the exam with her best friend, Jasmine. Poppy’s trying so hard in class, but the butterflies are whizzing round inside her. Suddenly, the door bangs open and in crashes the new girl, Rose.
Will Poppy get her secret wish now?
“An amazing amount of tears, tension and true grit… Sure to be a hit.” Carousel
Contents
About this book
1. Desperate to Be Picked
2. The New Girl
3. Please Let It Be Me
4. Balancing Tears
5. Is It All a Trick?
6. Making the Air Swirl
7. Trapped in the Circle
8. Goose Bumps
9. Last Chance
10. Friends
Basic Ballet Positions
Ballet Words
Collect all the Ballerina Dreams books
Acknowledgements
Copyright
1 Desperate to Be Picked
Hi! I’m Poppy. I’m ten years old and I’ve got red hair and freckles. I’m the only one with red hair in my whole ballet class. You can’t see much of it, thank goodness, by the time I’ve scraped it back and put on my ballet hairband. I wish I could scrape my freckles back too. That’s only a small wish though. I don’t mind them all that much really. My big wish is much more important.
“Why such a worried face, Poppy?” Mum was looking at me in the driving mirror.
“Because I am worried. Miss Coralie’s going to tell us who’s doing the exam today. What if she doesn’t pick me?”
My heart was doing the little popping thing it does when I’m nervous. Just thinking about Miss Coralie makes me go jittery.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“She might not think I’m good enough though.”
“Then you can do it next time. It doesn’t matter, does it? What’s the rush?”
Mum didn’t understand. She knows I really like ballet. In fact, she knows I love it. But she doesn’t realize that it’s the most important thing in my whole life. She’s got no idea that I have daydreams of being the best in my class and getting specially picked to go to a proper ballet school – even though I know it could never happen in a trillion years.
And she doesn’t know that sometimes I practise in my bedroom when I’m supposed to be fast asleep. I lie on top of the quilt and stretch my legs till it hurts.
I’d like to be as supple as Tamsyn Waters. She can do the splits front ways and sideways, and she can also lie on her tummy and curl herself backwards so her feet touch her nose. She’s a bit of a show-off though.
Everyone knows that Tamsyn is sure to be picked for the exam, and then she’ll go up to the next class with Jasmine.
“But I want to get into grade five, Mum. I don’t want to be left behind because I’m not good enough.”
“It doesn’t mean you’re not good enough if you don’t get picked, Poppy,” said Mum carefully. “It just means that you’re not quite ready and that you’ll probably be able to do it next term instead…or the one after.”
I sighed. “That’s ages and ages away. We’ve only just started this term. And anyway, it would mean I’m not good enough, because Miss Coralie keeps telling us that it’s not only to do with how well we’ve learned the steps, it’s to do with our whole attitude to ballet, and how much we practise and what our overall standard is like.”
Mum was looking very serious. No wonder. There was nothing she could say, because I’d told the total truth and if I wasn’t picked it meant I wasn’t good enough. The end.
And, actually, it would feel like the end of my whole life. Nobody understands that because it’s secret. Well, nobody except Jasmine Ayed. She’s my friend from ballet.
Thinking about Jasmine made a little burst of words come zipping up my body and out of my mouth. “I can’t wait till afterwards!”
Mum gave me a big smile in the mirror. “I’d better go home and get on with the tea when I’ve dropped you off, hadn’t I? If Jasmine gets half as hungry as you do after ballet classes, I’m going to have a job fitting all the food on the table!”
I felt a bit babyish when Mum said that. She doesn’t usually talk to me as if I’m a baby. I think she was just trying to keep my mind off this big important day. But it didn’t work.
“I won’t be in the same class as Jasmine if I don’t get chosen, you know,” I said in a bit of a whiny voice.
“Miss Coralie might well decide to keep you both in grade four, as you’re so much younger than all the others.”
“She won’t keep Jasmine down, I bet.”
“Well even if she doesn’t, you’ll still see each other.”
“Only a bit. It’s not like we go to the same school as each other.”
“Well…” Mum’s eyes were darting about now. She was looking for a parking space. “I’ll just pull in here, love. Now, don’t go getting yourself all worked up or you won’t do your best.” She turned round and gave me one of her firm smiles, as I call them.
I got out of the car and ran, with my dark blue bag banging against my side, to the big heavy door of The Coralie Charlton School of Ballet.
“Good luck!”
I only just heard Mum’s voice because of the noise of the traffic on the High Street. Then I pushed open the door.
The smell of the entrance to the ballet school is the strongest smell I’ve ever smelled in a building – even stronger than the canteen at school. I don’t really know what it is, but it always makes me think about an old castle that might have Rapunzel or someone imprisoned in it. The walls are cold and grey and it’s a bit dark and dirty.
Your footsteps make a splitching, echoey sound when you run upstairs. I know there’s no such word as splitching, but it’s the best way to describe the noise. It’s a spiral staircase, only with corners instead of bends, and it goes on and on and on. It’s lovely when you’ve passed the first two corners and you can start to hear the voices of the other pupils up in the changing room. You can also hear the piano. It sounds plinky-plonky at first, but then it turns into a proper tune when you get nearer the top. It reminds me of a flower opening.
“Poppy!”
I leaned over the railing and saw Jasmine coming through the entrance down below. “Hi!” I called. “I’m really nervous. Are you?”
She nodded and her eyes looked all black and massive. “I couldn’t find my tights and I thought Mum might have forgotten to wash them.”
“Oh, no! Where were they?”
She giggled. “In my drawer. Same as usual.” Then her voice went a bit shaky because she was rushing up the steps so fast. “I must be going blind.”
As Jasmine ran, her ponytail swung from side to side and spread out at the bottom like an upside-down fan. I’d give anything to have lovely black hair like Jasmine’s. In fact, I wish I could swap looks with Jasmine altogether. Her skin is dark with not a freckle in sight. Jasmine says she’d rather look like me, but I know she only says it to make me feel better.
The moment she reached me, she clutched my arm. “We can practise for the exam when we get to yours, can’t we?”
The jitters appeared in my tummy when she said that, and they whizzed round and round as we climbed the last few stairs. “What if I’m not picked, Jasmine?”
“You will be. You’re good.”
“Not as good as you.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not. It’s obvious.”
“Well, I think you are.”
“Well, Miss Coralie doesn’t.”
“It doesn’t matter what Miss Coralie thinks. She is only an ex-Royal Ba
llet dancer. I’m the important one around here!” We both broke into giggles. But Jasmine stopped immediately. We were nearly at the changing room.
“Oh, no!”
“What?”
“That’s the révérence music, isn’t it?”
Jasmine pronounced “révérence” the French way. It’s the name of the curtsey step that you do at the end of the lesson. Her eyes were all big again because she thought the class before ours was just finishing and we were going to be late. But I recognized the music.
“It’s okay, it’s their dance. We’ve got ages.”
I knew I sounded like someone who doesn’t ever worry about anything, but inside me the jitters were spreading like mad. I was about to open the changing-room door when Jasmine whispered, “Good luck, Poppy.”
She gave me a thumbs-up sign and I gave her one back. Then we held out our hands, pressed our thumbs together, and closed our eyes. We always do this. It’s our secret wishing signal.
“Please, please, please let us both be chosen,” said Jasmine.
I said it too, with every single bit of my whole body, inside and out.
There were quite a few girls getting changed, and one or two were eating crisps and doing pliés.
Tamsyn Waters was right in the middle of the room in a crab position. “Hi, Poppy! Hi, Jasmine!”
“How did you know it was us?” asked Jasmine.
Tamsyn uncurled smoothly and looked at herself in the mirror. “I recognized your feet.” Then she arched one of her own feet and I saw a proud sort of smile go across her face.
Jasmine gave me a quick look. We both hate it when Tamsyn shows off about how supple she is.
“Oh, no!” screeched a girl called Sophie Cottle. “I can’t get this bump out of my hair. I’ll have to start all over again!” Sophie’s got very thick hair and it’s layered, so it’s practically impossible to make it lie flat and stay in place under her hairband. “Has anyone got any spare hairgrips?”
I handed her a few grips from the inside pocket of my bag, and felt happy that my hair is quite long and fine. It only breaks into curly bits at the bottom, so it’s easy to bunch up into a bun. Mia, a friend in my class at school, says that where she goes for ballet lessons they can wear their hair loose if they want. That’s because hers is the kind of dance school where they do stage-dancing and tap-dancing and things, and mine’s more of a strict ballet school. Even its name sounds strict – The Coralie Charlton School of Ballet. Students do ballet right up to the age of sixteen, and one or two girls have even got into the Royal Ballet School from here.
When I’d got changed, and done up my shoes really neatly, and made sure every bit of my hair was tucked right inside my hairband, I whispered, “Shall we wait in the corridor?”
Jasmine nodded and we sneaked out of the changing room. I really wanted to get warmed up before the class started today. Then I’d be able to show Miss Coralie my very best steps right from the beginning of class. That might make her notice me and think I’d be good enough for the exam.
I could have warmed up in the changing room, I know, but I didn’t want anyone to see me. Otherwise they’d all be thinking, Look at Poppy Vernon! She must be absolutely desperate to do the exam. Then, if Miss Coralie didn’t pick me, everyone would probably stare at me and I’d go bright red and feel like bursting into tears.
“Are my feet rolling?” I asked Jasmine, as I went into a plié in first position.
She looked at them carefully, then shook her head. “Are mine?”
“You never roll, Jazz. I so wish I was as good as you.”
“I’m only good at some things. I’m not half as good as you at actual dancing. Miss Coralie always says you’ve got lovely expression.”
“She’s talking about my top half.”
“No, I’m sure she means all of you.”
I was just about to say I bet she doesn’t, when I heard the révérence music coming from behind the closed door of Room One.
“They’re finishing! Help! I’m scared, Jasmine!” I hissed.
And at the very same moment, the changing-room door opened and all the others came out into the corridor. Jasmine and I did a quick thumb-thumb, down by our sides, where no one could see. Then we started to line up beside the door, first Jasmine, then me, then Tamsyn behind me.
“Why did you two come out here so early?” Tamsyn whispered into the back of my neck.
I turned my head and mouthed, “Just did,” doing a sort of shrug at the same time.
Everyone knows you have to be in a silent line ready to file in the moment the other class has filed out.
The girls from the class before us came out looking hot and a bit pink. They didn’t talk as they went past us. Miss Coralie doesn’t have a rule about that. It’s just better to wait till you get into the changing room. Then you can talk to your friend about how bad you were or how you didn’t understand something.
I noticed that Jasmine was standing in fifth position. She always looks like a real ballerina. I tried it out, but I felt stupid because it doesn’t suit me and my body, standing like that. That’s because I haven’t got such a good natural turnout as Jasmine. In fact, I haven’t got such a good anything as her. Especially brain. When we do a sequence of steps, Jasmine can remember it straight away but it takes me ages.
I suddenly realized I was standing between a really brainy girl and a really supple girl. And what am I good at? Nothing. Except expression, and I’m sure that doesn’t count half as much. It had probably been a waste of time getting warmed up extra well, because Miss Coralie would never pick me for the exam. I was so fed up, I felt like turning my feet inwards, rounding my shoulders, sticking my tummy out and dropping my head onto my chest.
“Come in, next class!”
This was it. The moment had arrived.
I stretched up tall, pulled my shoulders back and made a wish. Please please please let me be picked.
2 The New Girl
We always come in running with really light steps and go straight to a place on the barre. As I followed Jasmine, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Miss Coralie was wearing her black swirly skirt, pale blue vest top, black cross-over and white tights. She had her black shoes on, the ones with little heels that looked totally like ordinary, flat ballet shoes on the top. I’m not sure how old she is – a bit older than Mum, I think. But she doesn’t look like a mother. She looks…just perfect.
She was talking to Mrs. Marsden, the pianist, but half-watching us at the same time. When we were all at the barre, she broke into a big smile and stood in first position with a really straight back. Then she let the smile go around the whole room, so every one of us got our own private bit of it.
“Good afternoon, girls,” she said, putting her hand on an imaginary barre and lifting her chin a tiny bit. “Pliés. Fifth position…”
Mrs. Marsden was watching Miss Coralie carefully, waiting for the words: Preparation… and… Every single ballet exercise begins with these words. It’s like an instruction for Mrs. Marsden to play the first note of the music and for us to be ready to start the exercise immediately.
We were all standing up as straight and tall as telegraph poles, staring at the back of the head of the girl in front, waiting for the magic words. But, instead of saying “Preparation… and…” Miss Coralie suddenly frowned and looked quickly around. “I thought the new girl was joining today. Is she not here?”
“New girl?” everyone whispered. “What new girl?”
I saw an impatient look flit across Miss Coralie’s face. “A girl called Rose Bedford is joining the class. Has anyone seen her?”
Everyone shook their heads and I heard Tamsyn whisper, “Never heard of her.”
I’d heard of her though. She goes to my school. In fact, she’s in the same year as me, only not the same class. She’s always getting told off by teachers and she sings really loudly in assembly. She often forgets her coat, but she doesn’t seem to notice that it’s cold when she’s
tearing around the playground with the boys.
As more and more pictures of Rose Bedford came into my head, I realized that the new girl couldn’t possibly be the one I knew. There’s no way the Rose Bedford from my school would ever do something like ballet. She wouldn’t be able to keep her body still for a start.
Miss Coralie gave her watch a bit of a cross look, then said briskly, “Well, we can’t wait any longer.” Then, right when no one was expecting it, she suddenly said the magic words, “Preparation…and…”
I think it gave Mrs. Marsden a bit of a shock, because her hands flew to the piano and her face looked all flustered. She was only just in time with the plié music.
“…one and two and rise and lower…” went on Miss Coralie. She always counted and talked in the rhythm of the music. “And turnout more and arm and head and again and two and three and four and…”
My legs felt very strong, and I concentrated with all my might on turning out well and not rolling my feet. I couldn’t tell if Miss Coralie had noticed my pliés yet, because she was behind me, but when we turned to face the other way I could see that she was watching Immy Pearson and Lottie Carroll. Immy and Lottie are really good at ballet. It was obvious that Miss Coralie was going to let them do the exam, because her head was tipped to one side. She always does that when she thinks someone’s doing well.
As she walked along the barre and drew nearer to me, I pulled my tummy in even tighter and turned my legs out as far as they would go. We were doing the pliés facing the other way now.
“And one and two and very nice, Poppy, and five and six and seven and eight.”
The inside of my body started zinging. I was so happy. Miss Coralie had said my name before anyone else’s. I tried with all my might not to let my face have a showing-off look on it, because I always hate that look when I see it on other girls’ faces.
“Battements tendus,” said Miss Coralie. (All the names of the exercises are in French. That one sounds like batter mon tarn due!)
“Preparation and…”
When the music started, I felt as though I could do anything. My feet were pointed, my knees were pulled up tight. “Good, Jasmine…”