Dancing Queen (Zodiac Girls)

by Cathy Hopkins

  Mr Simpson took off his glasses. ‘And now one of our pupils, Marsha Leibowitz from Year Eight, has got something that she’d like to say to you,’ he said, and he moved aside and indicated that I should step up to the podium. I took a deep breath and walked forward.

  ‘Right. Hi, everyone. So, yeah. About two weeks ago, I had a fall – as you can see.’ I held up my bandaged wrist and some wag at the back applauded. I didn’t let her put me off and continued, ‘I hurt my wrist. I had to spend a couple of nights in hospital. I can tell you it was a real eye opener – I’d never had to stay in one before. Anyhow, what I wanted to say is, it got me thinking. It’s very boring in there for a start –’

  Halfway down the hall I could see a bunch of girls from Year Nine nudge each other, one rolled her eyes and another made a circular motion with her hand. I knew the gesture. It was one that I used when I thought someone was droning on and I wanted them to wind up. Seeing their reaction threw me for a moment and, looking around the hall, they weren’t the only ones who looked uninterested. Quite a few girls were looking out of the windows or around at each other. ‘I . . . I am trying, that is, I am going to start a project, or . . . that is . . . a bunch of projects . . .’ My confidence faltered and my perfectly planned speech seemed to be deserting me. Suddenly I felt cold inside and flat. I am making a fool of myself, I thought. Everyone looks so bored, as if they can’t wait for me to finish and get out into the corridors to chat with their mates. I searched for Lois in the audience and there she was in the usual spot we stood in, three quarters of the way back on the right. Her expression was concerned, but when she saw me look at her she beamed and gave me the thumbs up. I can do this, I told myself. Don’t give up now. I just have to make them listen.

  ‘I . . . Just try to imagine how you would feel if you had to go away from your home, away from what is familiar. It’s not easy, I can tell you. The days and nights in a hospital can feel very long especially for those who are in there long term.’ The girl who had been doing the wind-up gesture made a fist with her right hand, put it up to the corner of her eye, stuck out her bottom lip and made a face like she was crying. Her friends loved it and did the same mock crying act. Just get through it, I told myself. Think of Amy. ‘If there was a recreation wing for people in there, a place to go to relax and chill out and forget about illness and being sick and all the anxiety that goes with it, it would be so much easier. We are the people that can make that happen. I’m asking for your help. This Saturday from eleven onwards Mr Simpson has given me and anyone else who would like to volunteer the use of the sports hall. We’re going to have a fair to raise money. There will be all sorts of activities you can take part in. Cake sales. Guess the coins in a jar . . .’

  I couldn’t help but focus on the group of girls from Year Nine. They looked like they were about to have a giggling fit. The one who had rolled her eyes, was now pulling silly faces, crossing her eyes and making a face like she was about to be sick. Oh God, this isn’t going well, I thought. ‘Um. I’ve put some forms on the notice board in the main hall. Please sign up and, if you have any great ideas, put them down too. Together we can make it happen.’

  I had meant to say the last part in a really enthusiastic voice. It was my slogan. I had put it on top of all the lists and was going to put it on any posters or brochures. Together we can make it happen. But it came out in a whisper.

  Mr Simpson stepped forward. ‘Well done, Marsha. I like to hear that our girls are taking part in worthy causes.’

  The girl from Year Nine silently mimicked what Mr Simpson had said and her friends started giggling again, their shoulders shaking in silent laugher. I knew what they were thinking – that I was a Miss Goody Two-shoes. That I was a bore. It was what I would have thought just a few weeks ago.

  I stepped down from the stage and made my way over to Lois, keeping my eyes firmly down on the ground. This was one time I definitely did not want to be the centre of attention.

  Lois and I checked the lists on the notice board every break, every morning and every evening until Friday. At first there were only a few names until a last check on Friday evening showed that the list had suddenly grown. A whole pile of people had signed up.

  ‘Hey, look at this, Lois,’ I said. ‘I knew people would come through in the end.’

  And then I read the names. Paris Hilton. Minnie Mouse. Betty Boo. Jessica Rabbit. Jane Eyre. Tracy Beaker. Harry Potter. Professor Dumbledore. Winnie-the-Pooh. A whole list of fictional names.

  ‘I bet I know who’s done this too,’ I said to Lois. ‘Those girls from Year Nine. Honestly, I’d like to see them spend a few days in hospital with nothing to do. They wouldn’t even last an hour.’

  Lois squeezed my arm. ‘Never mind. It’s not over yet. I’m sure a few people will turn up tomorrow. I heard some girls from Year Seven in the cloakroom saying that they were going to come.’

  ‘And I’ll text all my new planet friends to see if they will come along. As Mario keeps reminding me, I have just over a week left and he did say that they are here to help.’

  ‘Together we can make it happen,’ said Lois. She put up her hand to high five me.

  I high fived her back but my heart was sinking.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Making It Happen?

  ‘I don’t really see the point in even going,’ I said to Dad as we packed up the boot of the car ready to go to the sports hall.

  Dad put his arm round me and gave me a hug. ‘Come on, Marsha. This isn’t like you. Where’s that usual I can do anything attitude of yours?’

  Got up and died at school assembly on Wednesday, I thought as I remembered the mixed reception of laughter and boredom and then the fictional list.

  Dad punched a fist into the air. ‘Together we can make it happen. Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and I stepped back from the car to do a karate leap and kick, if only to keep him happy. ‘I am ze Zodiac Girl, hazah!’

  Dad laughed. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Me. Aries. According to an astrological Internet site that Lois found, I am this month’s Zodiac Girl.’

  ‘Great,’ said Dad. ‘Go, Zodiac Girl.’

  ‘Go,’ I said, and smiled back at him. I didn’t want to admit what a letdown it was going to be today. My family had been so brilliant at supporting my venture I felt embarrassed to tell them that no one was going to show. Mum had spent the last two nights making some colourful A4 posters to stick to the walls outside the school and Dad had taken one of them to his work and photocopied it so that we had a ton of leaflets to hand out. Mum had also been into the local charity shop and asked them if they had any spare jumble. They told her to stop by early Saturday morning and they’d pile her car up high. They seemed glad of the chance to clear their back room. Cissie and Eleanor had surpassed themselves and had spent the last few evenings baking a variety of cakes for the sale. By the morning, they had a great mix of coffee, chocolate fudge, vanilla and Madeira cakes. They got into the back of the car with the goodies balanced on their knees. Oh well, I thought miserably, at least we can eat the cakes between us.

  ‘I’ll meet you there,’ said Mum, getting into her car.

  ‘Have you got the balloons?’ I asked as she started up.

  She gave me a wave and a nod. ‘Check.’

  I got into the front of Dad’s car and he started up. As we drove off down the road, I gave myself a good talking to. Get a grip, Marsha Leibowitz. You don’t normally let things get to you. So what if not many people turn up? Lois and my family will be there and you owe it to them to do your best.

  ‘Together we can make it happen,’ I said.

  ‘Yay,’ chorused Dad, Cissie and Eleanor.

  Lois was already at the hall along with a few of the teachers when we got to school, and I was happy to see that Mrs Pierson and Mr Simpson were amongst them.

  ‘Got to support my girls in ventures like this,’ said Mr Simpson. ‘Now, what would you like us to do?’

>   I beckoned him to come round to the back of the car where Dad was unloading a big bowl and a pack of sponges. Mr Simpson looked at me and then the sponges, then back at me. He got what they were for straight away.

  ‘Oh, noooooo,’ he groaned.

  I grinned back at him. ‘I was going to ask Dad to be the victim, but people will pay so much more to throw a wet sponge at their headmaster.’ That’s if anyone shows, said a voice at the back of my head.

  Mum and Lois got busy blowing up balloons and then went outside to tie them to the railings, to put up the posters and to give out leaflets to passers-by. It was an hour till kick off and the streets were empty apart from a car that had just drawn up outside the hall. Five young girls piled out.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ asked a little blonde one.

  ‘We’re here to help,’ added her redheaded freckly friend.

  ‘Man the jumble,’ I said as Mum pulled up in her car. She got out and opened the boot to show us a ton of black bin bags that looked ready to burst. ‘That would be brilliant.’

  The girls set to it and were soon busy organizing their stall.

  Inside the hall, Mrs Pierson called me over to a table where she had set out four jars of jam. ‘Not much to show,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t give us much time.’

  ‘Oh, I think I can add to that,’ said a man’s voice, and we turned to see that Joe from the deli (who liked to play the Jupiter part) had arrived. He pointed out of the window at the white van he’d parked outside. ‘I need a few willing hands,’ he said, and when another group of Year Sevens arrived through the doors, I sent them out to bring in Joe’s contribution. Soon Mrs Pierson’s stall was groaning with food: pies, pastries, pickles, tarts and delicious-looking ciabattas stuffed with ham, cheese and tomatoes.

  ‘Hey, look,’ said Lois as another group of girls arrived soon after. This time, the girls were from Year Eight, including Carol Kennedy. And then came another group bearing bags of games and books and bric-a-brac.

  ‘Left over from the Summer Fayre,’ said Carol as the girls began to put stuff out on a table behind her. ‘Mr Simpson told us to get it out of the store cupboards.’

  ‘Thanks, Carol,’ I said.

  Carol looked awkward for a moment and stared at the floor. ‘I wanted to do something to help. I knew how much the part of the Ice Queen meant to you and . . . well, I am sorry about what happened to you. It’s really rotten.’ She looked up from the floor and smiled. I smiled back.

  ‘That means a lot,’ I said. ‘And good luck in the part. I’m sure you’ll be really good.’

  Carol smiled. ‘I’ll try my best, but I don’t think I will be as good as you would have been.’

  I felt so touched by what she’d said. It was really generous of her. I’d never have said anything like that to her if I’d been in her shoes. People will never cease to surprise me, I thought as I watched her busy herself with all the others who had turned up to help.

  After that, I hardly had time to think as everyone wanted to know what to do, where to set up, what to charge for what. Luckily Mario had arrived and, with Joe from the deli and Dad, he was soon organizing people to do various tasks, like setting up a tea urn, and pouring juices and water to go with the cakes and sandwich stalls. It was ten minutes to opening time and the hall was a hive of activity, chatter and laughter.

  Nessa arrived with a couple of her assistants. She gave me a wink then went off to set up a mini beauty salon in the corner of the hall. A board she put up showed that she was offering manicures, mini facials and make-up sessions. I gave her the thumbs up.

  Next was Sophie King from Year Nine with one of her mates. She came straight over. ‘Good on you, Marsha, for getting this organized.’

  I remembered the way I had put her off just before my accident and I blushed. ‘I am so sorry about the way I was, Sophie,’ I said. ‘You were trying to do your best to raise money and I fobbed you off. How did the show go?’

  Sophie grimaced. ‘We had to cancel it in the end. I couldn’t get anyone with any real talent to volunteer. Maybe I’ll try another time, but it turned into a total non starter.’

  ‘But didn’t you have a hall booked and everything?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, for a week today, in fact, but luckily I didn’t lose the deposit because it was snapped up by a record company who are holding a dance competition. Apparently their venue fell through at the last minute so they were grateful to have somewhere to hold it.’

  ‘What kind of dance?’

  ‘Hip hop. Cat Slick Moman is going to be judging it.’

  ‘Cat Slick Moman? The rap artist?’ I asked. I wondered if it was the competition that Skye should have been competing in. No wonder she was fed up if Cat Slick Moman was judging it! He was mega.

  ‘Yeah. There are going to be a whole load of celebs there and Mr Blake. You know – Oliver’s dad.’

  ‘Michael Blake?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s Cat Slick’s agent, apparently. Plus a whole bunch of his rap-artist mates will be there too as they’re in town for some convention. Anyway, what do you want us to do?’

  ‘Um . . .’ I looked about the hall and saw that the glass jars Dad and I had filled with sweets last night were standing on a table nearby. ‘You could get the Guess how many sweets are in the jar game started. Charge a pound a go, winner gets the whole jar.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Sophie, and she and her mate went off to get things started.

  I glanced at my watch. ‘Five minutes to doors open,’ I called.

  ‘Ready,’ called Lois from the tea stall.

  As I watched everyone take their places, I could feel a plan taking seed, straining to burst into flower at the back of my mind. Something. Something – but I didn’t have time to think about it any further as people were coming in the door. Even Dr Cronus showed up to do his bit and set himself up in a corner with a board advertising that he could give out homework tips. I gave him a wave and he waved back.

  The rest of the afternoon was a blur as more and more people arrived, and when it started raining at around three o’clock even more people came in, eager to find a cup of tea, a dry place and a bargain. I rushed around helping out where I could, sending out for supplies, more tea bags, scones to take the place of the cakes that had all sold, ushering people towards the various stalls. We took a fortune on the game of Throw a wet sponge at Mr Simpson, who by four o’clock looked like a drowned rat.

  When the doors shut at four thirty, all the volunteers sighed with relief. We sent Mr Simpson home to have a bath and get warm, then Mum, Mrs Pierson and I collected all the takings and went into the back room to add them up.

  Dad brought us mugs of tea and a few pieces of carrot cake with lemon icing, which Cissie had saved for us, and we sat munching while Mum added up the figures.

  ‘And the total is . . .’ She looked around, delaying the moment.

  ‘Oh, come on, Mum,’ I groaned.

  ‘Five hundred and forty pounds and sixty-five pence exactly,’ she said.

  ‘Yahey,’ I said as all the assembled clapped.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mrs Pierson. ‘That’s more than we usually make. Well done, Marsha. Well done.’

  OK, so it’s not a million, I thought. But it’s a start.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Skye

  On the way home, I got Dad to drop me at the hospital. I wanted to see Amy and let her know how the afternoon had gone. When I got to the ward, I saw that she already had a visitor. Skye was by the side of the bed. She looked up and gave me a wave as I approached. Amy looked pale and tired and was lying back on her pillows. Nevertheless, her face brightened when she saw me.

  ‘Hi, Marsha,’ she said.

  ‘Hi. How you doing?’

  ‘Same ole. You?’

  I held up my arm. ‘It’s itching like mad. Can’t wait to get it off.’

  Skye looked down at her foot. ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I feel like I want to put a stick inside the cast and have a good s
cratch.’

  ‘Hey, a girl from my school told me about that competition you were up for. Cat Slick Moman’s judging?’

  Skye grimaced and looked back at her foot. ‘Yeah. Bummer. I’ll still go to watch but it’s going to be hard now that I can’t perform. I had a great routine worked out and all and then this.’

  ‘I know how you feel. I was up to play the part of the Ice Queen in our school show. I worked really hard to get it too.’ I indicated my hair. ‘Even dyed my hair for the part.’

  Skye laughed and shot Amy a conspiratorial look. ‘We did wonder.’

  ‘I know. It looks really weird. I’ll have it cut soon. It just needs to grow a bit first.’

  Skye stared at my head. ‘You know, it would look really cool if you had it cut short, but spiked it up keeping the roots red and the tips white. It would be totally unique.’

  ‘Mad more like,’ I said. ‘I hardly take my baseball cap off these days.’

  ‘Show me your routines,’ said Amy.

  ‘Our routines?’ I asked.

  Amy nodded. ‘Yeah. Your dance routines.’

  Skye made a scoffing noise. ‘Yeah right.’

  I held up my arm. ‘Er, slightly handicapped at the moment,’ I said.

  ‘Says who? Oh, come on,’ said Amy. ‘Do them for me. I don’t have to tell you how boring it is being in here in bed all day with nothing to look at but the ceiling. I loved watching you dance last time you were in.’

  Skye and I exchanged glances, then she nodded. ‘OK. But, Marsha, you go first.’

  ‘But I have no music,’ I said.

  Skye began to slow clap and Amy joined in. Clap, clap, clap.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ I said, and I stood up. ‘OK. Um . . . You have to imagine that it’s winter. All the trees are covered in snow. And you are lost in the woods.’ I turned my back, made myself get into the character of the Ice Queen, cold hearted and royal, then I turned round and went into my routine. At first I felt awkward with my arm strapped up but after a while I got into it and, as the steps came back, it didn’t seem to matter. I glanced over at Skye and Amy. Amy looked transfixed and even Skye looked impressed. When I’d finished, I sat back on the end of the bed. ‘I know. Rubbish. It’s hard to do it with my arm all strapped up.’