by Ann Bryant
“Thank you, Mia! That’s a beautiful song,” said Mrs. Harrison.
Mam’zelle Clemence said, “Well done, Mia,” and Mr. Ray nodded briskly and smiled. But I thought they were just being kind and I felt a bit embarrassed.
“I usually sing it…better than that…”
“Yes, it’s never as easy with an audience…” Mrs. Harrison leaned forwards and put on a grave tone. “Talking of which, how are you going to feel about singing and playing in the theatre with a big audience?”
I gulped as the awful memory of those two disastrous music festivals filled my head. I wasn’t sure how I could answer that question. Were the teachers still trying to decide whether I was good enough to go through to the first round of the contest?
Mrs. Harrison was talking again. “Don’t get me wrong, you sang it beautifully and it’s a lovely composition, so we’d all love you to enter…” She looked at the others with raised eyebrows as if to check that they agreed with what she’d just said.
“Yes, eet was so beautiful!” said Mam’zelle Clemence.
Mr. Ray turned his palms up as if there was no need to add anything more but he would anyway. “Absolutely! Great!”
“We just want to be sure that you’re completely comfortable about going onstage,” said Mrs. Harrison.
I don’t know if it was the compliments they’d given me, or just the fact that I’d actually survived the audition without anything too terrible happening, but my whole body suddenly felt more alive. I knew I had to push myself if I wanted to be a proper, performing musician, so I stood up quickly from the piano stool. “I know I was a bit quiet…but…I think I’ll be okay.”
Mam’zelle Clemence clapped her hands. “Excellent! Then we’ll see you on Saturday for the first round…eef not before!”
Mrs. Harrison smiled at me as she walked me to the door. “Well done, Mia!”
And then I was in the corridor and a Year Nine girl, who everyone knows got a music scholarship to the school for playing three different instruments as well as singing, was walking in, while Mrs. Harrison stood against the door to hold it back for her. “Come in, Eve.”
“So how did it go?” said Georgie.
“Tell us all about it,” said Naomi.
Then Georgie again: “Did she tell you whether you’d got in?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m in!” And the others jumped up and down, shrieking with excitement.
“Tell us all about it then,” repeated Naomi.
So I did. And as we walked back to Hazeldean, my mind started to flit ahead to Saturday and I shivered with nervousness. “I must be mad! You saw how bad I was before the audition. What am I going to be like with a bigger audience?”
“Just be yourself,” said Georgie.
“Don’t do anything different from today,” said Katy.
“Did they tell you how many acts are going to be competing?” Jess asked.
I shook my head, and I think that was the moment when my spirits plummeted and a big cloud of depression came over me, because I pictured the Year Eight girl with her lovely tumbling hair and her guitar, and then I recalled Eve strolling into the hall as though she didn’t have a care in the world. I bet Mam’zelle Clemence didn’t have to get any water for those two. They were natural performers.
“Do you know the name of that girl who auditioned before me?” I asked my friends glumly.
“Bella,” said Katy. “She’s in fashion club. She’s got some amazing clothes.”
I sighed and stopped walking abruptly. “I feel so young and boring,” I said miserably. “It’s one thing doing the audition, but I’ll look pathetic onstage next to beautiful Bella and talented Eve.”
“Look, Eve plays in orchestras and bands and things, doesn’t she?” said Georgie. “That doesn’t mean she’s any good at singing, does it?”
“She sings in choir and she’s got a beautiful voice,” I said with another big sigh. “And what about Bella? She’ll be in all her trendy clothes and I’ll look like a pathetic little girl.”
“No you won’t,” said Katy. “Because I’ll make sure you don’t! Have faith, Mia. I’m going to make you look stunning! Clothes, hair, jewellery, make-up, the lot!”
Georgie nodded firmly. “Never fear, your mates are here!”
And I had to smile then, even though it was a bit wobbly.
Chapter Four
I couldn’t see the look on Mrs. Roach’s face because she was sitting, as she always does during my piano lesson, to the side of me and on a slightly lower stool, and anyway I was staring at my music and concentrating with all my might. I knew I should have been playing this piece so much better than I was, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit ashamed of myself.
Because I was awarded a music scholarship to Silver Spires, I get a big reduction on the school fees. But one thing that Mum and Dad were told was that it was really unusual to award a music scholarship to a student who only played one instrument and hadn’t had singing lessons. I felt so thrilled when I heard about my scholarship, and Mum told me it was because I was on grade six at the time, and had great potential, but she said the music department at Silver Spires were hoping I’d take up another instrument, like the flute or something, so I could play in the school orchestra. Every so often Mrs. Harrison asks me if I’ve got any plans to take up a second instrument and she’s even said she’s going to talk to my parents about it, because I really ought to join the orchestra in Year Eight.
“Just keep going,” said Mrs. Roach a bit impatiently, and I felt my cheeks going pink. I was playing Andante terribly, and the more I played, the more it showed up that I hadn’t done anywhere near enough practice. Eventually, when Mrs. Roach still wasn’t saying anything, I dragged my hands off the keys and looked at her.
“Sorry, it’s not very good, is it?”
She pursed her lips and gave a small shake of her head, with a disappointed look on her face.
“I’ve…I’ve been doing lots of sight-reading though.”
Why wasn’t I just telling her straight out that I hadn’t been practising my piece because I’d been putting all my energies into improving the song I’d written for the Star contest, and also playing pop songs and songs from musicals?
“Well I’m pleased to hear that you’ve been sight-reading but you can’t afford to just leave your set pieces and scales, Mia. They’re the things that strengthen your technique and deepen your general musicianship, you know.”
I nodded.
“Is it that you don’t particularly like the Mozart? I can easily start you off on a new piece.”
Mrs. Roach is quite a kind lady. I think she must have been teaching piano for years because she’s fairly old, and I often wonder what it must be like to be stuck inside a little room all day long, with pupil after pupil stumbling through their pieces. She only comes to Silver Spires two days a week, but I think she goes to other schools on the other days. The piano teacher I had before I came here often used to set me jazz pieces and occasionally even pop, but Mrs. Roach has only ever given me classical music to play and I think she’s too set in her ways to change now. I’d certainly never dare suggest playing a Mamma Mia song in my lesson, or anything like that.
“Well, what about the Mozart? Shall we stick with it or start something new?”
“Er…” The little room felt suddenly too hot. “Can we start something new?”
She nodded and turned to the contents page of my book of classics. “There’s this Beethoven, which is a lovely piece. Or what about this Debussy? I think this would suit you, Mia.”
I wanted to ask her what she meant by that. What kind of music did Mrs. Roach think suited me, and how could she tell, when she didn’t really know me at all? But it somehow seemed a bit of a bold question to ask. It’s strange with one-to-one teachers, because they treat you differently from the way ordinary teachers treat you, and you feel as though you can say a bit more to them, but in the end they’re still your teacher, so you can’t completely relax.
At least, you can’t with Mrs. Roach.
There’s a girl called Annie in Willowhaven House who learns the trumpet, and she says her teacher is totally cool. Annie can chat to her teacher about all sorts of things, like her hair, or the meals at Silver Spires, or worrying about not being able to do her prep. She told me the main reason she loves the trumpet is because of her lovely teacher.
I looked at Mrs. Roach and imagined myself asking her advice on how I should wear my hair on Saturday night. No, I could never do that in a million years. She’d probably just say I should tie it back, because that would be sensible, and basically she’s a sensible person.
“Er, can you play the Debussy for me please, Mrs. Roach?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’ll give you a few bars, yes.”
So she did. And it was really beautiful, but seemed very difficult.
“Is it a bit hard for me?”
“No, dear, it’ll stretch you a bit, but that’s what we want, isn’t it?”
I nodded, but there was something niggling away at the back of my mind, asking me if that was really what I wanted.
We always talk about a new piece of music for ages, Mrs. Roach and I, and I managed to answer all her questions about key and metre and expression and phrasing and dynamics, but I was only paying attention with half my mind, because the other half was trying to pluck up the courage to tell her about the Star contest. I just felt that she might be more understanding about my practice if I told her what I’d actually been doing and how I was beginning to love playing other kinds of music as well as classical. It was silly of me not to mention it, and in the end I made myself just get on with it.
“Er…there’s a kind of music competition coming up on Saturday, Mrs. Roach, that I’m entering.”
“Oh right, yes, I think Miss York might have mentioned some sort of contest to me…only I thought it was a pop song competition.” Her whole face seemed to snap to attention. “Dear me, that doesn’t give us any time at all to prepare. I hadn’t realized it was an actual music competition.” Mrs. Roach was getting herself into a real state. Her nostrils were doing the little flaring thing they do when she’s in a stress because one of her pupils is late. “What is it, a general instrumental competition, or just for pianists?”
“It’s…a…singer/songwriter contest.”
Her face relaxed a bit. “Oh, so not a proper music competition? Just for fun?”
Why did that make me feel suddenly annoyed? “No, it is a proper competition. It’s called the Silver Spires Star contest and it’s a bit like The X Factor…”
“Oh, I see. Phew! I thought we’d missed a real chance to show off your piano skills!”
It was really making me mad that Mrs. Roach wasn’t interested in a single word I said – she only cared about her precious classical piano. I should have gone with my feelings and kept quiet, but now I’d started I had to carry on.
“I’ve written a song and I’m accompanying myself on the piano.”
“Lovely! Well done you! So…does that explain the lack of practice?” She was looking at me with a mixture of a smile and a bit of a telling-off. I wished she’d realize that I’m not nine.
I spoke in my most mature voice, but I could feel my cheeks burning hot. “I’ve been working on my composition quite a bit because…” I raised my voice slightly to emphasize what a big thing the contest is. “…the winner gets to audition for a huge national event in London.”
She broke into a beam. “Well, that is exciting. And the contest is on Saturday night, you say?”
I nodded and wondered whether at long last she was taking a proper interest.
“All right, so I won’t expect much practice from you until that’s over then!”
“It’s only the first round on Saturday night. The people who are voted through have to compose and perform a different song for the final round a week later, and that’s in two parts. So, say there were eight people, then it might go down to four at first, then there’ll be another vote to find the winner.”
“Right…” Mrs. Roach’s eyes had moved off my face and were back on the Debussy, and I could tell she wasn’t really interested. “Okay, let’s have a bash at this. Try to hear the first couple of bars in your head before you start.”
But the only thing I could hear in my head were angry thoughts about Mrs. Roach and I don’t know how I managed to get through the rest of my piano lesson without exploding. It was obvious she thought the Star competition was a trivial little nothingy contest, and what made me even madder was the way she was also assuming that I wouldn’t get through the first round, because she never said a word about how my practice might suffer if I was busy writing another song.
It was all I could do not to slam the door when I went out of the music room. I didn’t look at Mrs. Roach when I said goodbye, and I stayed angry all the way from the music block back to Hazeldean and up to our dorm, which is on the top floor. There was no one in the dorm and I threw myself face down on my bed and burst into frustrated tears.
After a while I turned over and stared at the ceiling. I should never have mentioned the competition to Mrs. Roach because I know she doesn’t get pop music. But what made it ten times worse was that she was probably right not to worry about me missing any more practice, because there was no way I was going to get through the first round. In fact, it was a stupid idea entering this contest. I’m not a performer so I’m never going to be a real musician.
“Hey, Mia, what’s the matter?” Katy had come back from fashion club and was clambering up the ladder to my bed. She stepped over me and squashed herself into a corner, leaning against the wall and hugging her knees. “I was only just thinking about you actually.”
I wasn’t sure whether to answer her question or to ask her why she was thinking about me.
“We’ve been at the theatre,” she went on excitedly. “We’re going to make loads of huge Ss out of thick silver paper – but not that shiny sort of stuff – a real brushed-metal look. And we’re going to hang them all over the theatre in chains. That was my idea!”
“It sounds brilliant!” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could, but then Georgie came crashing in, back from her play rehearsal.
“The Star list is up outside the drama hall!” she announced dramatically. “Eleven acts, including quite a few bands.” She was climbing the ladder to my bed as she spoke. “Shove up, Katy!” Then she looked at my face properly for the first time and her voice went all soft and worried. “Have you been crying, Mia?”
I didn’t answer, because for some reason my throat was hurting and I could feel tears starting to prick the backs of my eyes again.
“Oh Mamma Mia, what’s the matter?”
I sat up and hugged my knees, so we were all three sitting side by side, our backs against the wall. Part of me was tempted to admit how petrified I was at the thought of performing, but I just couldn’t.
“Mrs. Roach made me mad, that’s all.”
“Mrs. Roach? Was she cross because you hadn’t practised enough? Did you tell her you’ve got to…you know…what’s that word? Begins with P?”
Naomi came in then. “Wow, Mia’s bed! Definitely the ‘in’ place, I see!”
“What’s that word, Naomi? For when you sort things out in order of importance, you know, you have to pri…”
“Prioritize.”
“That’s the one. I hope you told her straight, Mia!”
So then I was annoyed with myself because Georgie was right. I was just too meek and mild. I should have been stronger with Mrs. Roach.
“She wouldn’t have listened,” I answered in a flat voice. “She didn’t think the contest was anything important. As soon as I said it was a singer/songwriter competition she lost interest.”
“Oh poor you, Mia! Well, listen, that’s Mrs. Roach’s problem. Just ignore the old bag.”
Georgie always sticks up for me brilliantly, and that’s what she was doing right now, and yet, even though I was cross wi
th Mrs. Roach, I didn’t want anyone calling her an old bag. It was all a bit confusing. I do like Mrs. Roach, and I respect her too, but she’d just got to me that afternoon.
Naomi looked thoughtful. “You should try to get her to come along to the first round on Saturday night. Then she’d see how talented you are at writing your own music.”
I shivered at the thought of Saturday night. My heart beat at five hundred miles per hour every time I imagined the auditorium at the theatre filled with people all there to watch eleven acts…including me. I wasn’t sure if the Year Tens and Elevens would be interested in a contest for the younger girls, but if they were, then there might be about three hundred and fifty people there, and every one of them would be voting for one of the acts. My heart raced even more and I wondered how I’d ever get myself onstage on Saturday evening.
I thought about what Naomi had said. It was a lovely compliment, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted Mrs. Roach to be at the contest. It would only make me more nervous than ever.
“Anyway, forget about that,” said Katy. “The important thing is, what’s Mia going to wear?” Her eyes gleamed and she sat up straight. “That’s what I want to know!”
As soon as Grace was back from tennis and had got changed, and Jess was back from doing her art project, we all sat round on the rug in the middle of the lovely old oak floorboards of our dorm. We’d only got about five minutes before supper, but Katy thought we ought to have a friendship meeting to get everyone’s opinion on what I should wear on Saturday night.
“We’ve got to consider the whole look,” she said, narrowing her eyes in thought. “Not just the clothes, the image.”
“Well I think we need to make you look older, Mia,” said Georgie, nodding round at everyone as though they were sure to agree.