Musical Star

by Rowan Coleman

  “It’s so romantic,” Anne-Marie said wistfully. “And so A-list.”

  “What really worries me,” I said, keen to change the subject, “is the competition tomorrow.” I looked at Dakshima. “It’s going to be really tough.”

  “Ruby Parker, choir member,” Anne-Marie said. “Now that is a turn up. No offence, Dakshima, but your choir must be awful if Ruby’s one of the best.”

  “She can sing,” Dakshima protested. “It’s just that in a school full of singers nobody noticed. Mr Petrelli says she will be really good if she works at it.”

  “Really?” Even Nydia sounded disbelieving.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “Because we are not going to win and my singing career will be over before it began.”

  “I reckon we’re going to win,” Dakshima said with a shrug.

  “How do you work that out?” I asked her. “We only formed the choir a couple of weeks ago, we’ve got less experience, less talent and less…everything than probably any other choir that’s entering.”

  “So?” Dakshima said. “Aren’t you forgetting my favourite film?”

  I looked blank.

  “The Underdogs?” Dakshima reminded me. She looked at Nydia and Anne-Marie. “You’ve all seen it right?”

  “Only about a million times,” Anne-Marie said. “Did I mention that my boyfriend is in that film?”

  “Only about a million times,” Nydia said.

  “What does Sean’s character say in it?” Dakshima went on. “If a little person has a big enough heart, then anything is possible.”

  “That film is so bad,” Anne-Marie said. “But Dakshima’s right. It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.”

  “Anyway,” I said, keen not to think about me singing solo in front of a panel of judges. “Are you two ready for tomorrow?”

  The auditions to find the finalists for the lead parts were on the same day as the choir competition, in the same West End conference centre.

  “I am,” Anne-Marie said, still not touching her coffee. “I’m going to sing ‘There’s a Place for Us’ from West Side Story. I’m going to wear a black T-shirt, a red skirt and a red scarf round my neck like they did in the olden days.”

  “I’m doing ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ from Grease,” Nydia said. “I borrowed a Pink Ladies jacket that my next door neighbour had from a school play.”

  “Aren’t you dying with nerves?” Dakshima asked them both.

  Anne-Marie shook her head. “I don’t get nerves. If you’ve prepared as much as you possibly can and you know you have talent, what is there to be nervous about?”

  “Pooing in your pants?” Dakshima said, making us all laugh.

  “I get nervous,” Nydia said. “But I think that after Anne-Marie’s party and the way she threw Jade and her friends out of it, there’s no chance that either of us are going to get through to the finals, so I’m just going to relax and enjoy myself.”

  “That Jade girl can’t run the whole thing,” Dakshima said. “She’s just a kid. Her dad’s not crazy, is he? He won’t give all the parts to her friends just because she says so?”

  “Maybe not,” Anne-Marie said. “But what Jade wants Jade usually gets.”

  “Serious? My dad won’t even let me have a Nintendo DS,” Dakshima exclaimed miserably.

  “I know how you feel,” Anne-Marie said. “My dad wouldn’t even let me have McFly – how tight is that?”

  “So what are you lot wearing?” Nydia asked me and Dakshima.

  “Our uniforms,” Dakshima said with a shrug.

  “Your school uniforms?”

  “Yep, that’s what Mr Petrelli said,” I told Nydia. “Clean, ironed uniforms.”

  “Every choir is going to be wearing their uniforms!” Anne-Marie exclaimed. “You want to stand out. You need to show them that you are more than a choir – you’re a chorus, ready for live theatre!”

  “But costumes?” I asked her, sceptical. “We don’t get to sing what we like, like you two. We have to sing three songs from the show.”

  “So Spotlight! is set in a stage school,” Anne-Marie replied. “Wear a stage school costume.”

  “What, like the Academy uniform, you mean?” I asked, feeling confused.

  “No, dummy, like…dance wear. You know – leg warmers, headbands, lycra, the lot. Then you’ll stick out a mile and they’ll see that you’re more than just singers – you’re performers.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of sticking out a mile,” I said.

  “Plus Mr Petrelli never said anything about costumes,” Dakshima said uncertainly. “Can you imagine getting Gabe into dance wear? It ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Not to mention, where on earth would we find twelve dance outfits for boys and girls by tomorrow?” I added.

  “In my wardrobe, of course,” Anne-Marie said. “Daddy might not have let me have McFly, but he knows how much I like a leotard.”

  “And what about the boys?” I asked her, incredulous.

  “My brother did ballet for ten years,” Anne-Marie said. “He’s still got all the kit in his room. So round up your team and get them over to mine. I’ll have you all kitted out in no time, even this Gabe bloke.”

  I looked at Dakshima. “What do you think?”

  “I think we haven’t asked Mr Petrelli,” Dakshima said.

  Anne-Marie leant a little closer and said. “Come on, Dakshima, live a little. Take a risk – or are you too scared?”

  Dakshima bit her lip for a second and then a slow smile spread across her face. “OK,” she said. “I will if you will. Drink that coffee and you’ve got a deal.”

  At first I didn’t think the others would go for it. In fact, as Dakshima and I called everyone, we were sure that they would all say no. Then Dakshima told them if they agreed to meet us at Anne-Marie’s house, there was quite good chance they’d meet Sean Rivers. So they all came. Even the boys wanted to meet Sean, that’s how popular he is.

  Talitha, Hannah, Dakshima and I were easy to sort out. Adele on the other hand didn’t want to go anywhere near Lycra. That was until Anne-Marie found her just the right top to wear, a looser, grey off-the-shoulder number with a pink trim, and let her off from having to wear the colour co-ordinated headband.

  The boys on the other hand were immovable for quite some time.

  “I ain’t wearing no tights,” Gabe said, looking in horror at some of the outfits that belonged to Anne-Marie’s brother.

  “You don’t have to wear tights, man,” Sean chuckled. “Just some sweats and a T-shirt, that’s all – and maybe a headband and some legwarmers to protect your calves. Male dancers have to be really, really fit. Strong enough to lift a girl over their head and spin her round about a hundred times. None of this gear is for wimps.”

  Once Sean had talked Gabe into a pair of legwarmers and a vest, Gurkay, Rohan and the others all followed him.

  “You look cute, Gabe,” Talitha said, which made Gabe blush and Dakshima seethe, because she’d never have the guts to tell a boy he looked cute no matter how tough she might act.

  When we were all finally kitted out, the twelve of us stood in front of Anne-Marie’s mirrored wardrobe doors and looked at our reflections.

  “Mr Petrelli is going to do his nut,” Rohan said.

  “Or he’ll be impressed with out initiative,” I suggested.

  “Maybe we’d better take our school uniforms too, just in case,” Talitha said.

  “Well, it’s up to you,” Anne Marie said, standing behind us with her arms crossed. “But at least you look like a chorus line. All you have to do now is try to sound like one.”

  Chapter Eight

  “So,” Dad said to me as we sat on the tube train on the way to the competition. “I never thought I’d be taking you to another audition so soon.”

  “It’s not an audition,” I said. “It’s a competition. I haven’t changed my mind. I want the school choir to do well. They’ve – we’ve – all really tried hard.”
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  “And you’ve been a big help to them, I bet,” Dad said. “What with all your professional training.”

  “Not really,” I told him. “Although it is fun getting them to all act and move around the stage like a chorus. Plus Mr Petrelli is a good singing teacher. We sound pretty good now. Even I can carry a tune if I try hard. I’ve enjoyed being part of a group – a team.”

  “A pretty wacky team,” Dad said, referring to the ankle-length raincoat I’d borrowed from Mum. Anne-Marie, me and Nydia were both adamant that the whole choir should turn up in our costumes, and pack their uniforms in case of a Mr Petrelli meltdown. But the rest of the choir weren’t coming on the tube. I could have got a lift with someone else but I wanted to go with Dad.

  “What do you think about Mum’s news?” I asked him after a while.

  “What news?” Dad said, seemingly studying a tube map very carefully.

  “About Jeremy moving to London,” I blurted out, making a few people look at me. “She did tell you, didn’t she? Because if you’ve only just found out now then I’m sorry.”

  Dad sort of smiled and shook his head. “She told me,” he said. “I’m fine about it. I’m happy for your mum that things are working out.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “Because even though I really like Jeremy, I want you to know that he’ll never replace you, because you are my dad and I love you more than anything.”

  Dad put his arm around me. “Even though I know that, it’s good to hear you say it, Ruby.”

  “Good,” I said. “Just don’t tell anyone that I did, OK?”

  Dad smiled. “Anyway, I think I should be asking you how you feel about it,” he said. “After all, I’m the parent here, right?”

  “Right. But I already know how I feel about it,” I said. “Because I’m me. And even though it’s weird that just a year ago you and Mum and me were all living together and now things couldn’t be more different, I’m fine about it. I’m getting used to everything changing all of the time. I don’t think anything could surprise me any more.”

  “That’s sort of how I feel too,” Dad said after a moment.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Ruby, your mum was really hurt and sad when we split up and I still care about her a lot. So knowing she’s happy makes me happy for her. And if you like Jeremy then I like Jeremy.”

  “And what about you?” I asked him. “Are you still with your so-called girlfriend?”

  “I thought we’d agreed we weren’t going to call her that,” Dad said, repressing a smile.

  “We did, but it’s funny and I thought as long as I said it with respect it would be OK,” I said.

  “Yes, I’m still with her,” Dad said, stretching his legs out across the tube carriage. “Now, we’re getting off at the next stop. Are you ready for the competition?”

  I swallowed the butterflies that were trying hard to escape from my tummy. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” I said, as I tried to focus on what was about to happen.

  Me, Ruby Parker, singing out loud in front of people.

  What was the world coming to?

  “Get your coats off,” Mr Petrelli said as we all stood around in the side room we’d been allocated for our final rehearsal. “We only have half an hour to warm up before we have to compete.”

  Nobody moved.

  “What’s up – nerves?” Mr Petrelli asked anxiously. “Because I promise you you’ll start to feel better once we start rehearsing. Now, take your places while I talk to the pianist.”

  Mr Petrelli turned his back on us and one by one we all took our coats off and moved into our rows.

  When he turned back and saw us his jaw dropped.

  For a long moment nobody said anything or even moved.

  This is my fault, I thought. It’s me who’ll have to say something.

  “We thought that maybe if we dressed in the style of the show it would help us stand out,” I blurted. “But it was a silly idea, my friend’s idea, my fault entirely. We all brought our uniforms to change back into, didn’t we?”

  Everyone nodded and murmured yes.

  Mr Petrelli stood there, stock still, for a couple of seconds longer. Then, “Genius idea,” he said slowly. “A totally genius idea! Yes, it’s a bit off the wall and maybe the judges will hate it, but it’s bold and decisive and I like it. Ruby, I’ve just promoted you to creative director!”

  “What? Who, me?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you’re the one who’s choreographed and styled us, and I don’t think we would have had the confidence to get this far if it wasn’t for you.”

  I glanced around as the others murmured agreement and clapped me on the back.

  “Right, well,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was really among friends. “In that case, let’s knock ‘em dead!”

  “Cool,” Gabe said, producing his headband from his pocket and jamming it on with a grin.

  “I can’t believe that’s it,” Dakshima said as we sat down in the holding room – a great big hall where all the competing choirs had to wait for the results. “All that build up and it was over in minutes.”

  “I know,” Talitha said. “We remembered to do everything we were supposed to though, didn’t we? We didn’t make any mistakes, right?”

  “Except that pianist played ‘Alone in a Crowd’ differently from Mr Petrelli,” Adele said. “He played it faster. I think we were a bit late coming in on the final chorus.”

  “And what do you think the judges thought?” Gabe said. “I think they thought we were losers.”

  “They look at everyone that way,” Hannah said. “It’s their job to try and scare us into being rubbish. It’s so they know that we can take the pressure of a live performance.”

  “That was a live performance, even if it did nearly kill me,” Gurkay said, smiling at me. “You did your solo better than you’ve ever done it before, Ruby.”

  “Really?” I said uncertainly. “I don’t know. But the rest of you were really good. I think we did really, really well and we should be proud of ourselves whatever. When they give us the results we’ll know we’ve tried our hardest and that’s what counts.”

  “It’d be much better if we won though,” Dakshima said.

  “Totally,” Gabe said.

  Suddenly Mr Petrelli walked into the room, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Hear anything, sir?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No, the judges are having a problem making their minds up. It’s going to be at least another hour yet. Your parents are waiting in the auditorium, but you’ll have to stay here I’m afraid. They don’t want people wandering around because a TV crew are filming the auditions for the lead parts on the next floor up. They’re going to bring in some drinks and snacks in a few minutes, so just sit tight here and I’ll be back as soon as hear any more.”

  “I’m bored,” Dakshima said, about two seconds later. “What shall we do?”

  “I-spy?” I suggested.

  “No, idiot, something better than that. Let’s go and find Nydia an Anne-Marie, see if they’ve auditioned yet.”

  “We can’t do that,” I said. “We’re not allowed. You heard what Mr Petrelli said – we have to sit here and wait, we’re not supposed to mix with that lot.”

  “Honestly, Ruby Parker,” Dakshima said. “You must be a good actress because you’re not at all like Polly Harris in The Lost Treasure of King Arthur. You are really, really bad at rebelling,”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I said.

  “We’ll be away for five minutes tops,” Dakshima tried to persuade me. “We’ll just have a look around. No one will even notice us.”

  “Um, we’re dressed like the Kids from Fame,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, and so are all of your stage school friends,” Dakshima said. “We’ll blend right in. Come on, please – I’m bored.”

  I wavered; it would be nice to see how Nydia and Anne-Marie had got on. Find out i
f they’d already auditioned and wish them luck if they hadn’t. “What about the others,” I said under my breath.

  “We’ll tell them we’re going to the loo,” Dakshima whispered, before saying out loud. “We’re going to the loo. Back in five.”

  I got up and followed her out into the corridor before I could change my mind.

  “I’m afraid you have to stay in the holding room, girls.” A security guard who was standing outside the door stopped us as we tried to walk casually past him.

  “We are, but we need the loo,” Dakshima told him. “You don’t want us to wet ourselves do you?”

  “Straight there and back then,” the man said, as Dakshima dragged me in the opposite direction to the ladies’ loo, at just at the exact moment a rather pretty blonde lady walked by and distracted him.

  “That was so close,” I whispered as we made it round the corner to the stairwell.

  “That wasn’t close,” Dakshima said. “This is going to be close. You heard Mr Petrelli – we have to go upstairs to the next floor. That’s where they’re taping the auditions. That is where the fun begins.”

  We could hear the singing long before we found the conference room where they were holding the auditions. There was a long line of chairs outside the room and ten or so people sitting on them, waiting in nervous silence to go in. None of them were Nydia or Anne-Marie.

  “How can we get inside?” Dakshima said. “Maybe there’s another door. Come on, act natural.”

  I was still wondering how to act natural while dressed in a pink leotard, dance tights and legwarmers as I followed her along the corridors. Eventually we began to hear the singing again and we realised that we had found our way to the other side of the room, the side that was sort of backstage. Another door that led into the same room was propped ajar by some filming equipment and a thick black power cable that disappeared down the corridor. There was a red light rigged up and a sign hanging off of the door handle that said FILMING IN PROGRESS DO NOT ENTER. But there didn’t seem to be anyone on guard and if we could just get close enough, we’d be able to see inside the room.

  “Let’s go and look,” Dakshima whispered.