The Secret Life of Lola

by Davina Bell

  ‘It’s hard to believe it was only a few months ago that I was standing outside this clubhouse, trying to persuade you all that we should tear it down,’ he says.

  Ha!

  ‘But thank goodness the people of Sunnystream intervened,’ he goes on. ‘Because if I hadn’t failed at that, and been dumped as the mayor, and if the Shark Tank hadn’t closed … Actually, turns out I’ve made quite a few doozies!’ He giggles again, and truly? He’s totally charming. ‘Seriously, though. If I hadn’t failed, I wouldn’t ever have known what it’s like to discover what really lights up my heart. Some people spend their whole lives searching, but I found it here tonight.’ He lifts up the trophy in both hands. ‘Thanks for the second chance.’

  Then he steps back into the crowd of actors as the audience goes wild again. Soph and Maisie and I stomp our feet. Onstage, Belle is beaming.

  Monsieur Flutard steps up to the microphone. He takes off his top hat and the next envelope is sitting on his bald, shiny head. He plucks it off, puts his hat back on, and clears his throat as he opens it. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that the set design tonight has been nothing short of luminous. Magnifique! Parfait!’

  ‘Like the dessert?’ Maisie whispers.

  ‘It’s French for “perfect”,’ I whisper back.

  ‘But there can only be one winner. And the winner for the most original set design is …’

  ‘Lola Powell for Catilda!’

  ‘WHAT!’ Soph screams so loudly I think I’ve burst an eardrum.

  ‘Get up!’ cries Maisie. ‘Get up onstage!’

  She literally has to climb over Sophia and drag me up out of my seat and push me down the aisle because I can’t believe what I’m hearing. The clapping sounds like rain and thunder and, as I approach the stage, it feels as if I’m floating.

  Monsieur Flutard continues, ‘We were particularly impressed with the bold use of embroidery in the final scene.’

  The what? And then I realise he means the heart!

  I climb the stairs and Charisma holds out the trophy to me. Fury grabs one of my hands and holds it above my head, and then he sweeps down into a bow so that I have to bow too.

  As I look out into the audience, Rishi gets to his feet, and then my mum does, and Dad, and Gwynnie stands on her chair and Pop jumps up and down. Maisie is wolf-whistling and Soph is cheering. The RexRoy boys are calling my name: LO-LA, LO-LA! Soon the whole audience is giving me a standing ovation. Corner Park Clubhouse rings with cheers, and from that stage, looking out, it feels as if love is bouncing around the walls, pushing up at the ceiling.

  ‘SPEECH!’ calls someone from the audience, and then more people join them. ‘SPEECH!’

  I don’t have a speech prepared (obviously) but I know I should thank somebody. That’s what people do on those TV award shows, right? And as I look around the clubhouse, I know exactly who it is.

  ‘Thank you, Grace Hargraves,’ I say. ‘This is for you.’

  I bow one more time and run back off the stage, feeling my heart racing as I sit down, realising that my breathing is fast and tight. I wonder if this was how Tally felt when she sang on TV. I wish she was here to see me. At the start of the holidays, I felt as though I’d lived my whole life in Tally’s shadow. But in this moment I realise I’ve grown up with Tally as my sun.

  The audience quiets down because it’s time for the final announcement. Judy grabs Belle’s hand.

  ‘And now, the big one.’ Fury pauses dramatically.

  Monsieur Flutard goes over to the table with the giant gold trophy on it. He goes to pick it up, but then acts like he can’t because it’s too heavy, and pulls a really hammy face. Everybody laughs.

  Fury rolls her eyes and then winks at us. Everyone’s quiet again. He says, ‘The winner of the Biennial Sprint-Musical Triangular Trophy is … Willowbank for Wizzy-Wizzy Bang Bang!’

  WHAT?!?

  The whole of the Wilowbank crew starts jumping up and down and squealing and hugging each other.

  I look over at Belle, expecting her to be devastated or glaring or both. But she’s not. She’s stomping her feet and cheering, so I do too. I’ve never seen her so happy.

  Their director steps forward to take the trophy, and it turns out it’s my dentist, Dr Cooper. He also pretends to almost drop it, and he makes a really nice speech about how lucky they all were to work together. It’s the first time he’s been involved, he says, but it’s been one of the happiest two weeks of his life. ‘And one of the most dramatic,’ he adds. ‘What a rollercoaster.’

  Boy, do I relate to that. And then there are the final thank yous, and Fury and Charisma and Monsieur Flutard do a group hug. CUTE!

  ‘See you in two years!’ they yell, and dance offstage arm in arm.

  Two years! I’ll be fourteen then – an actual teenager. I wonder what I’ll be like.

  Corner Park Clubhouse explodes into excited chatter. Soph launches herself at me and Maisie jumps on top of her as Belle runs down the aisle to join us.

  ‘You did it!’ she yells.

  ‘I’m so sorry we didn’t win,’ I say as the others climb off.

  ‘But, Loles, we did!’ Belle says, looking over at where a whole gaggle of people are crowding around her dad to congratulate him. ‘In so many ways, we won. Also, it’s cool that Willowbank got their chance.’ She leans in close and whispers, ‘Anyone but Cloud Town, right? Now, come with me – we’re going to find Pepper Peters.’ She grabs my arm, and the others trail behind us. On the way, we grab Matilda, who has been consoling Pony Soprano. I guess he really thought he had Best Actor in the bag.

  Pepper Peters is standing by the kitchenette, turning a paper cup over and over in her hands. She looks up as we all line up in front of her. Belle frowns at the paper cup.

  ‘You should bring your own water bottle,’ she tells Pepper Peters. ‘Disposable cups are killing our planet and it’s up to each of us to reduce our environmental footprint.’

  Pepper Peters looks really confused.

  ‘Well?’ says Belle. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘About the cup?’ Pepper asks, and then smirks at us, like she knows exactly why we’re here.

  ‘YOU’RE A THIEF!’ Belle explodes. ‘You stole that dance!’

  ‘What dance?’ says Pepper innocently, crossing her arms. ‘And we didn’t even win, so who cares?’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ Belle fumes. ‘The point was … The point was …’ She turns to Matilda. ‘What was the point again?’

  ‘Stealing other people’s stuff is wrong,’ Matilda says.

  ‘Right,’ says Belle. ‘Totally wrong. And did you slash Lola’s painting?’ she demands.

  Pepper flinches. She looks SO guilty. Hoo boy.

  ‘Why are Cloud Town always so evil?’ asks Belle, throwing up her hands. ‘Don’t you have any shame?’

  Pepper Peters sticks out her chin. She doesn’t say anything. Something in her stubborn face reminds me of Nana Marjorie. Maybe it also reminds me of myself. I think about Mayor Magnus – how we always thought he was a bad guy, and nothing else. How everyone is many things, all at once. And suddenly I get it.

  ‘You’re not evil. You just felt scared,’ I tell her. ‘You didn’t think your ideas were good enough. Or maybe you didn’t have any. You were worried what your aunt would think. I bet she has no clue you stole that dance, am I right?’

  Pepper’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Are you going to put in a complaint?’ she whispers.

  ‘No,’ says Belle.

  ‘We’re not?’ says Maisie.

  ‘Because Pepper’s going to go and tell her aunt,’ says Belle. ‘Right now. She’s going to tell her the whole truth.’

  I swallow. ‘And I’m going to go and find my family, and tell them the whole truth.’ It’s time. I’m ready. I’m in the Grace Hargraves Memorial Clubhouse. What better place to be brave?

  ‘And I’m going to find my family,’ says Belle. ‘And say thanks to Punk Sherman and check in with my dad.’


  ‘Oh, Belle,’ says Sophia. ‘You said “dad”! You said “family”!’

  And then Belle has tears in her eyes too. Tears and fears and cheers to the extreme. ‘I always wanted a family,’ she says. ‘Then I thought, well, if you guys are what I got instead, if that’s my consolation prize, then that’s more than enough for me. That’s already winning the jackpot. But maybe … Maybe that’s not the end of my story.’

  ‘I don’t get it, though,’ says Maisie as Pepper walks off. ‘How did Pepper Peters always know exactly when to spy on our rehearsals so that she could learn the dance? She can’t have been waiting there, like, all day every day.’

  ‘Probably a drone,’ says Belle, ‘that beamed footage to her phone. Her dad could afford it.’

  ‘Guys,’ says Sophia. ‘The rehearsal schedule was on the council website, remember? The whole timetable for the clubhouse is there.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Maisie.

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘Oh,’ says Belle. ‘Right. I submitted that paperwork.’ Then she notices someone on the other side of the hall. Someone tall. Someone who might have just the one eye, though you can’t quite tell from this far away.

  ‘BRB,’ says Belle.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ says Maisie. ‘Just in case there are any waffles around that you feel like throwing.’

  ‘Wait,’ Soph says to me as the others walk away. ‘Got a second? I need to talk to you.’ She looks nervous, her hands all fluttery.

  ‘About Rishi?’ I say. ‘It’s fine, Soph. I don’t mind. Honestly. I was just surprised.’

  ‘We’ve only been texting – that’s all, I promise. It’s not like he would ever like me back,’ she says. ‘Like me like me. He’s just … he’s so nice.’

  ‘He sure is,’ I say. I think of how sweet Rishi is, and how good, and true, and thoughtful. And what a dork. And you know who else is all those things? Sophia Jane Elizabeth Hargraves. Lola Powell, I think to myself, stop being so goshdarn selfish.

  ‘You guys would make the best couple,’ I say, and I really mean it. ‘And if he ever asked you out, or if you asked him out, that would be totally fine by me. Because if you got married, you’d be my sister. And that would be, like, my dream. Mum’s too. FYI, Pop would make a really cute flower girl.’

  ‘Thanks, Loles. Not that it would ever happen, but that’s nice of you to say.’

  I wink at her. ‘You never know. You should go find that dork. He’s probably looking for you.’

  ‘Lola?’ she says. ‘Thanks for what you said about Gracie. For … for including her. She would have really loved tonight.’

  ‘I reckon she’s here. And she’s here, too,’ I say, pointing to my heart.

  And now, it’s time. I look around for my family. I can’t see them and I guess they must have gone outside already, which is where I’m heading when I see …

  Miss Ellershaw.

  She is here, in Corner Park Clubhouse, and she’s walking straight towards me.

  WHAT?

  ‘Lola Powell,’ she says. ‘I’ve been waiting all holidays to see you.’

  GULP. Oh, man. This is it. This is where my career as an artist ends.

  I look around to see if my parents are nearby. Miss Ellershaw might already have spoken to them. Oh, jeepers.

  ‘Hi, Miss Ellershaw,’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I saw your picture in my local paper. You’ve changed your hair!’ she says in surprise.

  WHAT? I throw my hand up to my head and realise my fringe is sticking up in full cockatoo mode. It’s been like that the whole time. I went onstage like this! I gave a speech! But nobody seems to have cared. Maybe everyone is too busy worrying about themselves.

  ‘And I’ve been wanting to talk to you,’ Miss Ellershaw continues.

  ‘About … about my assignment?’ I ask.

  She nods seriously. ‘Lola …’ she begins.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t look at her. Suddenly, I care about going to Clives. I care a whole lot more than I ever realised. Suddenly, I don’t want to leave. Being an artist is who I am – I get that now. Like Nana Marjorie said, I can’t ever stop trying.

  ‘Now, I know you’ve been struggling this year,’ she goes on. ‘It’s not always easy, is it, being a small fish? But your final assignment –’

  ‘LOLA!’ Belle yells across the hall, and I turn to see she’s standing with Matilda – and Matilda’s famous mum!

  I make a ‘just a sec – busy – teacher!’ face. Belle looks confused and shrugs. I turn back.

  ‘Your last assignment … It was exquisite,’ Miss Ellershaw says. ‘And your essay was just phenomenal. Such sophisticated ideas. One of the reasons I came tonight is that I’d like to seek your permission for it to be published in Young Arts International. It’s a magazine that’s made in America, but they include work from talented artists all over the world.’

  ‘I know it,’ I say. Of course I know it! It’s the magazine Tally’s bringing me back from New York. ‘But … but Miss Ellershaw? I need to tell you something. That painting?’

  ‘Scorched Rye,’ Miss Ellershaw says, smiling. ‘Such a clever title.’

  ‘Yup. Umm …’ I close my eyes. I think about becoming the person you were always meant to be. ‘It wasn’t mine. I found it. In one of the studios. I hadn’t done one in time. Nothing I did was working … So when I found that painting between some shelves, I took it. And I copied it exactly. And I gave it a name and I wrote an essay about it and I’m really, really sorry.’

  Miss Ellershaw doesn’t respond – not for ages. Eventually she says quietly, ‘Oh, Lola. So am I.’

  ‘Will I fail?’ I don’t want to hear the answer but I have to ask.

  Miss Ellershaw hesitates, and then she says, ‘I can’t help but think that it’s Clives that’s failed you, Lola.’ Oh, brother, she looks sad. ‘You came in with those big paintings and that big smile and such a big, inquiring mind. But I’ve watched all of those things shrink smaller and smaller. I can only imagine how desperate you must have been to steal someone else’s work. I don’t believe that’s like you at all. You’ve always struck me as such an original person.’

  ‘I am original,’ I whisper fiercely as tears prick my eyes. ‘But everyone else was so good, and I was just … I was just me.’ I look down at the floor, willing my tears to defy gravity and slip back up into my eyes, but I guess you can figure out that’s not what happens.

  Miss Ellershaw reaches out and tilts my chin up so I have to look into her eyes.

  ‘Lola Powell, you are enough, just as you are.’

  Mayor Magnus’s trophy-acceptance speech flashes into my mind. About how lucky he was to find what he loved, even though it took all those failures to get there. My whole life, I took it for granted that I loved art. I never realised that I was so lucky – to have been born with something in my heart that lights me up and pours out of me, like it’s using me as a way to burst into the universe.

  I think about what Nana Marjorie said when I went to congratulate her. Have I lost my chance to change the world? Will I have to find another way? In that moment, though, I know that whatever happens – if I’m kicked out, if I have to come back to Sunnystream High, if my parents ground me for the rest of my life – I will never stop making art.

  ‘Miss Ellershaw, what’s going to happen to me?’ I ask. ‘Will I be kicked out of Clives?’

  ‘Plagiarism is serious. We’ve expelled students for this before.’

  So Tally was right. She’s always right. I feel as if I might be sick.

  Miss Ellershaw looks me in the eye, fiercely. ‘The paintings you created tonight were outstanding – no, they were exceptional. And if, by the end of your holiday, you can write a compelling essay to explain your process and inspirations AND if it’s thoughtful and original and reflects the real you, I won’t take this up with anyone else. BUT,’ she says sternly, ‘you will be on turpentine duty for the rest of the term.’

  I’m so
relieved, I start to cry again. ‘I’ll do it for the whole year,’ I say, and I mean it, even though cleaning the oil-paint brushes with turpentine is a really stinky job that always makes my fingernails sting.

  ‘Plagiarism is stealing, Lola,’ Miss Ellershaw says. ‘It’s cowardly.’

  ‘I know,’ I whisper.

  ‘It’s OK to borrow – all great artists borrow ideas!’ she says. ‘Look at van Gogh, borrowing from the Japanese print artists. By all means, go looking for inspiration. But copying? That’s forgery. People go to jail for that. In the art world, there is no bigger crime.’

  I swallow. ‘I knew all that. But I did it anyway.’

  ‘So, you’re a human. Newsflash! Me too.’

  We’re all howling at the same moon, I think. But it would be weird to say that now.

  ‘Wipe those eyes,’ says Miss Ellershaw, ‘and go and celebrate with your friends.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss Ellershaw. I … I really mean that,’ I say. ‘I feel like I don’t deserve a second chance.’

  ‘Everyone deserves a second chance, Lola. There’s not a person alive who hasn’t made a shameful mistake. It’s what you do next that counts.’ She reaches out and squeezes my arm. ‘And after what I saw tonight, I’m so excited to see what you do next.’

  I’m not sure if this is even allowed, but I can’t help it. I lean in and throw my arms around Miss Ellershaw. Then I wipe my eyes again and walk away.

  ‘Lola!’ she calls, and I turn around. ‘Remember: comparison is the thief of joy.’

  And when she says those words, I feel my heart rumble in my chest, my fingers buzz with electricity. That is what I’ll call my project. Comparison Is the Thief of Joy. That’s what the sets were all about – what I felt when I was making them: all the times I felt like I didn’t belong. Like I wasn’t good enough. All the times I tried to make myself feel big when I should have been OK starting small.

  That’s when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. It’s Matilda.