by Davina Bell
It’s still open on the message chain. Thanks so much! she’s written. Flower emoji. Pink sparkly heart emoji.
The response says: Good luck, Hargraves! With a dancing girl emoji and an orange heart and the winkkissy-face emoji.
And the person who sent it?
Rishi Powell.
I hand the phone back to Sophia, my head turned away so I don’t have to look at her face. Then I turn and run out of the marquee – out into the cold.
Sophia Hargraves and my brother – EW! MY BROTHER! – are having some kind of … flirty something. The dancing girl emoji! An orange heart! WINK KISSY FACE. Flowers!! How he sang that song at her birthday party! The party that I organised!!
Tally would say this whole thing is none of my business. But it is my business! It feels as if two of the people I love most in the world have snuck off into a different room and shut the door in my face. This isn’t what love’s like in the movies. Or maybe it’s exactly what love is like, but I’m not the lead character. Instead, I’m playing the part of the jealous friend.
I run over to the clubhouse garden and let myself through the gate so I can rest my head against Gracie’s tree and think it through.
But do you know who else has remembered Gracie Hargraves’ special spot? Isobelle Brodie. She’s sitting with her back against the red Japanese maple, her knees tucked up and her head in her lap so I can’t see her face.
‘There you are! Did you know about Rishi and Sophia?’ I demand as I plonk down on the woodchips next to her. ‘Did you know that they’re having some kind of … something?!’
Belle nods a little into her knees. Huh!
My voice is getting all high and wobbly with anger. ‘You knew and you didn’t even tell me? Did everyone know except me?’ Even though it’s freezing, I feel hot and shaky. ‘I thought we were friends,’ I say, my voice as chilly as the night air around us. ‘But maybe that’s only the kind of info you’d share with Matilda.’
‘I didn’t know for sure – I only suspected,’ Belle says into her knees, her voice muffled. ‘And besides, I didn’t think it was my news to tell.’
She lifts her head, and … boy. She is a hot mess. Her lob is all mussed up. Her eyes are so swollen with crying that they’re practically shut. Her lips are tinged with purple, and that’s when I realise that it’s freezing on the ground – so cold it feels like the dirt’s literally frozen – and Belle isn’t even wearing her jacket. I unzip my puffer and throw it over her shoulders.
I take one of her hands. ‘He’s here – he came!’ I tell her. ‘He even brought you flowers. You don’t have to worry anymore.’
‘But he doesn’t love me,’ she says, burying her head again.
‘He said that?’ I ask. That seems strange.
‘He says there’s someone else now.’
Whoa! ‘He has another kid?’ I ask.
‘How can he have a kid?’ Belle asks in between shuddery breaths. ‘He’s only thirteen!’
‘Your dad is thirteen?’ I ask incredulously.
‘What are you talking about?’ Belle asks, sounding annoyed.
‘Who are YOU talking about?’ I ask.
‘Pete – he’s here. At least, he was. I invited him. I thought that if he saw me doing something impressive, he’d change his mind.’
‘Ohhhh, right.’ That makes more sense. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her. ‘That sucks.’
She wipes furiously at her eyes. ‘It’s stupid, I know. It’s just … I would never have let myself love anyone if I knew it would hurt this much. Don’t ever love anyone, OK?’
‘Too late,’ I tell her. ‘I love you. And that was brave, inviting Pete here. I’m proud of you. Oh – and Belle? Your dad’s arrived,’ I tell her. ‘He’s getting ready.’
‘Really?’ She sounds SUPER relieved and the tiniest bit surprised. She wipes her teary hands on her jeans and stands, then sticks out a hand to pull me up. ‘Lola? This whole thing – it only happened because of you. The musical, my dad …’
‘And it almost didn’t happen because of me. I’ve done plenty of dumb things, too,’ I remind her. ‘I also just wanted to say…’ I take a deep breath. ‘I know Matilda’s your bestie now.’ Completely out of nowhere, my voice cracks, like I’m going to cry. ‘But I will always be here if you need me. You just remember that.’
‘What do you mean?’ Belle asks, sounding kind of panicked. ‘We’re not besties anymore?’
I shrug. ‘I saw your necklace. And you told Judy …’
‘Loles, that’s just jewellery. You think that the complex landscape of human relationships can be expressed in a piece of jewellery? And Matilda is my school bestie. But that’s different. Think how long we’ve been friends! Nothing – nobody – would ever replace you. You’re half of my actual heart. You always will be.’
Now I’m the one crying – with relief, I guess – as Belle pulls me into a very Belle hug: short and tight and filled with wordless feelings.
‘We need to get ourselves together,’ she says when she lets go. ‘What time is it? How long till curtain up? Have you delivered the backdrops? What’s the hair and make-up situation?’ She’s starting to talk in that super-fast way that she does when she’s stressed.
I grab her by the shoulders. ‘We’ve got this,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not going to let you fail. You need to start by ticking off the cast, OK? To make sure they’re here. There’s plenty of time.’
As we walk by the clubhouse on the way to the marquee, we hear Fury on the mic. ‘The Biennial Sprint-Musical Triangular Trophy will commence in ten minutes. Butts on seats, people!’ I wonder how Nana M is going to cope with hearing the word ‘butts’.
And then – BAM!
That is someone slamming into my back – literally jumping onto it and throwing their arms around my neck as I stagger around, trying not to fall. It’s too heavy to be Pop or Gwynnie. It’s someone who smells like they’ve just been eating caramel.
‘Zhang Ai Mei!’ I cry. ‘You’re here!’
‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ Maisie says as she slips off and lands on the ground.
‘How did you go at the comp?’ Belle asks. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ she adds quickly. ‘It’s the participation that counts.’
‘Have you guys been crying?’ Maisie asks, confused.
‘Ha!’ I say, reaching out to unzip her puffer jacket in what turns out to be such a swift move even Maisie isn’t fast enough to stop it.
‘Ohhhh!’ Belle and I say together.
There, hanging around Maisie’s neck, are not one, not two, not three, but FOUR gold medals!! They are big and chunky and shiny, hanging on ribbons striped in red and white and blue.
‘I didn’t win the beam,’ Maisie says modestly as I run my fingers over each one: floor, vault, bars – and the last one. ‘But I’m … I’m the overall Level 10 state champion.’ Her voice is full of wonder, like it totally hasn’t sunk in yet.
‘Oh, Killer,’ I say, wanting to cry AGAIN. Truly, Fury wasn’t lying when he said there’d be tears and fears and cheers. ‘After all your hard work. Have you told Soph?’
‘Just going to find her now. Is she in that giant igloo?’ Maisie asks, gesturing to the marquee.
‘Yup – meet you in there,’ I say, and I sprint off into the clubhouse, past the Cloud Town huddle, where Pepper Peters’s aunt is giving a speech about the long tradition of theatre they’re upholding that even predates Shakespeare. (Belle would totally be digging this.) I grab my dad from the audience and ask him to help me carry the sets to the marquee, so I can show them to the girls. And I kid you not: as we walk outside, it starts snowing. Dad and I stop and look up at the sky.
‘I’ve never seen snow before,’ he says with a catch in his throat. He looks across at me, and now his eyes fill with tears. What is happening tonight?! Tear frenzy!
‘I’m so proud of you, Lola,’ he says.
‘Of the sets?’ I ask. ‘But you haven’t seen them yet.’
> ‘No – of you. Of who you are.’
‘I’m proud of you too,’ I tell him. ‘And Dad? I’m sorry about the Raptor exam.’
‘I am, too. I guess the holiday won’t happen till next year.’
‘What holiday?’ I ask, confused.
‘The holiday your mother and I have been saving for. To Mauritius. I thought Raptor would earn enough to take us all. Maybe next year.’
UMM, WHAT?!
‘We’re going to MAURITIUS?!’ I ask. ‘That’s amazing! Can we take Nana Marjorie?’
‘WHAT?!’ he says, incredulously. ‘You want to bring her?’
‘She’s actually pretty funny once you get to know her,’ I tell him.
‘Do you need to lie down?’ he asks.
‘CURTAIN UP IN SIX MINUTES, PEOPLE,’ Fury booms from the clubhouse, as we carry the giant roll through the door flap of the marquee, which is a little quieter now. I give Dad a little pterodactyl-wing wave. Mauritius! Wait till I tell Tally!
Mayor Magnus looks incredible in his costume. I don’t want to boast, but the cat hat is A+. He’s doing stretches and Soph is wearing Maisie’s medals, running her fingers over and over them. ‘Was your dismount from the beam OK?’ she’s asking. That’s what Maisie was practising when she had her accident last holidays.
‘Well … at the last minute I chickened out of the second flip,’ Maisie admits. ‘So I lost points. But Coach Jack says he’ll work on it with me this term. Hey, Loles. What did you want to show us?’
‘I don’t want to interrupt your glory,’ I say. ‘Keep going.’
‘Glory over,’ she says, looking relieved that there’s a distraction because she hates the limelight.
‘Well, if you’re sure, come look at my backdrops for a sec,’ I say.
‘Shouldn’t you have taken them backstage already?’ Belle frowns. ‘The rule book states that we’re supposed to drop them off half an hour before curtain up at the latest.’ OK, so somebody’s recovered from her love-related meltdown.
‘I’ll take them back in a second,’ I tell her, herding everyone over to the Cloud Town dressing space. ‘I really want you to see them.’
I pull the giant roll into a clear space and give it a push so one end unfurls.
And there, right down the middle of the top canvas, is a giant, violent slash.
‘WHAT?’ I shriek.
‘What?’ asks Belle.
‘It’s incredible,’ says Soph, looking at the painting.
‘It’s beautiful,’ says Maisie, nodding. ‘Seriously.’
Matilda looks at me. ‘That cut down the middle. That’s not …?’
I swallow. ‘No, that’s not supposed to be there. It wasn’t there, when I dropped it off.’
The others gasp.
‘Maybe Gwynnie did it by accident?’ Soph suggests. ‘Or Pop? Although … that kind of looks like someone cut it with a knife.’
I can’t talk. The tears are all glugged up in my throat. I shake my head. I know who did this. Someone who saw me carrying this in with Rishi. Someone who wants us to fail.
I bend down and lift the top canvas up to see if the other three are OK, and TRIPLE PHEW, they are. But the first one droops in the centre, split open like a giant wound. I tried so hard with this painting. I don’t think I’ve ever tried harder. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder. Now it looks how I feel – torn apart.
And that’s what gives me the idea.
I rip off my beanie and hand it to Soph, not caring that the whole world is going to see my cockatoo fringe. ‘Can you make a hole in this?’ I ask Soph quickly, trying to ignore the fact that my voice is all husky. ‘And Belle, do you have the emergency repair kit?’
‘Of course.’ She runs off to find it.
‘Maisie, can you and Matilda carry the rest of the canvases back to the clubhouse? And Maisie, can you slip into the back and watch Cloud Town’s performance so you can tell us what it’s like?’
‘Sure,’ she says.
I hear applause from the clubhouse, which sounds like the sudden slap of rain on a roof. The Biennial Sprint-Musical Triangular Trophy is beginning. But I don’t have time to be nervous right now.
‘Done,’ says Soph, handing the beanie back to me.
‘Thanks.’ I rip open the hole, poke my fingers in and start unravelling it. Belle returns with the emergency kit. ‘Needle and scissors?’ I say, feeling like a doctor in one of those medical emergency shows. My hands shake as I cut the end of the thread and try to pull it through the needle. The wool’s too fat. The needle’s too small. I’ve wrecked Tally’s beanie for nothing.
‘Could you make a needle?’ Soph asks. ‘Out of something else – something pointy?’
‘It still needs to be pretty sharp to get through the canvas – and the paint,’ I say. This is definitely the fears part of the tears and fears and cheers.
You know what’s sharp and readily available on a winter’s night? The spoke of an umbrella. It’s my mum’s idea. Matilda finds pliers in the back of Mikie’s truck. Together we bend the end of the spoke to make an eye for the wool to fit through. Truly, it’s the kind of teamwork they do on a reality TV show while they play inspirational music in the background that is supposed to make you think, THIS IS A TRIUMPH OF THE HUMAN SPIRIT!
When I’ve sewn it up, it looks … rough. It looks like I imagine Coach Sanders’ chest looked after his heart operation. And that gives me what Miss Ellershaw would call the Spark. I grab more of the beanie wool and I keep stitching. I know I don’t have a whole heap of time, but hopefully it’s worth it.
Quickly, Sophia and I roll up the canvas. A huge round of applause is coming from the clubhouse. We’ve missed the first half of Cloud Town’s show, but at least we can slip in at the end of the interval. Belle leaves to do a final run-through with Judy, and we do the complicated handshake that we made up on the year four excursion to the Refuse and Recycling Plant. I hear people start spilling out and suddenly Maisie and Rishi are ducking through the flap, into the marquee. I can practically feel Sophia blushing next to me.
‘Well?’ I ask.
‘It was … magical,’ Rishi says reluctantly. ‘Pepper Peters was awful, though,’ he adds. ‘She’s playing Wonka-mort and she gave him this really bad accent.’
‘But Maggie Mair played Charlie,’ Maisie says, ‘and she was … beyond.’
‘How is it fair that she can sing like that and also skateboard AND do those movies?’ asks Soph. ‘Have you watched the one on YouTube – Cactus Dreaming?’
‘Yeah.’ I shrug. ‘She’s just one of those people, I guess. Pretty, smart, talented. It’s so unfair. What were the sets like?’ I ask, trying not to mind that it seems like I’ve missed the theatrical event of the century.
‘Honestly? They were a mixed bag,’ says Rishi.
‘They made Hogwarts out of gingerbread, but it was so small, you couldn’t really see it from the audience,’ Maisie explains.
‘I knew it!’ I say.
‘That candyland place was kind of great, though,’ says Maisie. ‘Where Augustus Gloop gets sucked up the tube, you know? Somehow they projected these lights from a disco ball to look like M&Ms, and they had an actual bathtub filled with hot chocolate. It must have cost, like, a zillion dollars.’
‘Wasn’t it supposed to be a pottery factory?’ I ask.
‘They used spells to turn the pottery into chocolate,’ Rishi explains. ‘Hermione figured it out. In the second half she’s going to get rich and give the money to Charlie’s grandpa, I just bet. It’s kind of genius.’
We head into the clubhouse and grab seats right at the back. The lights go down. The spotlight goes up. The show starts again. The Dementors, the grandparents, Ron and Harry and Hermione. They all crouch down, like they’re ready to dance. Music starts to play and –
Oh. My. GOSH.
The song is ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand’. And beat for beat, step for step, the dance is an exact copy of ours.
‘It’s our dance,’ whispers
Maisie furiously. ‘They’ve stolen the whole thing!’ We look at each other in confusion, look back at the dance – at the Pony Punk Funk and the Big Lasso and the Dip and Roll. Even without Pony Soprano tap-dancing in the middle, it’s still completely spectacular. The human pyramid reaches up to the roof. From the corner of my eye, I see Sophia reach out her hand, and Rishi take it in his. WHAT is going on?
At the end, the audience all spring to their feet as one, like they’ve planned it – like they’re a flashmob at a train station – and go totally nuts, cheering, stomping, whistling. I don’t blame them – it’s an epic dance. It’s Soph’s dance. So that was why PP kept coming to spy on our practices! Suddenly it all makes sense.
The stomps and the whistles ring out from the crowd as the Cloud Town cast come onstage for their bow. I can see Monsieur Flutard waving his top hat in the air and Fury Freckle standing on his chair, swinging his hips like he’s hula-hooping. Willowbank and Sunnystream may as well not even perform. Cloud Town has this in the bag.
Then the curtains are closing and the lights come up and …
Now what?
We can’t do that dance – it will look like we copied. But they’re the ones who copied US! It’s so unfair!
‘Meeting. At the sundial. Now,’ Belle says as she storms past me and out the door.
I grab Soph’s arm and thread mine through it, pushing the Rishi stuff out of my mind. Soph has gone white, which always makes her freckles look darker.
‘I don’t get it,’ Maisie says bluntly as we stand in a huddle, stomping our feet in the cold. The snow has stopped and everything looks like it’s been dusted in icing sugar, but this is no time to stop and admire it.
‘This is outrageous,’ I fume. ‘It’s criminal.’
‘Well, it’s not technically against the law,’ says Belle. ‘But it’s against all morals and ethics.’
‘Why would they do this?’ Soph whispers.
Nobody has an answer. The garden gate squeaks and Judy marches up. ‘I just heard what happened,’ she says. ‘Jerks. What’s the plan?’
We only have one hour – the length of Willowbank’s performance – to fix this.