Pop Princess

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Later,’ I said. Even though the size of the crowd was daunting, I felt excited, and now that we were there, I wanted to be part of it. It was hysterical – Squidge had borrowed a digi-cam to film everything and because he looked like an executive in his suit, everyone thought he was from the telly. Some girls were flirting openly with him and singing their songs for him. I guess they were hoping that they’d be put in a programme showing edited highlights later. Little did they know that they probably would, but the video would only be seen by an audience of five teenagers.

  The doors opened at nine on the dot and the line slowly moved through the entrance. When we got inside, there were a number of people at tables taking our details as we filed past, then each of us was given a sticky label. The boys’ labels had ‘Pop Prince’ written on them with a number, and the girls’ had ‘Pop Princess’ and a number.

  ‘Hi, I’m Tanya,’ said a lady with red spiky hair when we reached the registration tables. ‘Put the label on your top so that we can see it, and go into the hall down the corridor, on the right, then wait until your number is called.’

  Once inside the hall, I forgot my nerves as there were so many people to look at. But then I caught sight of Jade and a couple of her mates from Year Ten and my heart sank.

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘Jade’s got a cap on exactly like mine and she’ll go in before me. Pants.’

  ‘Stick your label over the sequinned princess on your cap,’ Cat suggested. ‘Then it won’t look the same, and yours will say “Pop Princess” not just “Princess”.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said and took the label off my top. Loads of other people had done similar things. Some had stuck their labels on their trousers or on their abdomens and one guy had even stuck his on his forehead.

  As we settled ourselves in a corner on the floor, Tanya came in and called for the first fifty to go and wait in a corridor outside the audition room.

  ‘We’re in for a long wait,’ said Mac, pointing at his number. He was Number 223, Squidge was 224, Cat was 225, Lia was 226 and I was 227. ‘Did anyone bring anything to eat?’

  I shook my head. I hadn’t even thought about food and suddenly I realised that I was starving. All around us people were eating sandwiches and crisps and my stomach started gurgling.

  ‘Ohmigod,’ I said. ‘If I can’t remember the words of my song, my stomach will sing it for me.’

  I quickly forgot about my hunger when the hall started buzzing as the first person came out of the audition. He was followed by another then another, then another. News of the judges spread through the hall like a Mexican wave.

  ‘There’s three judges,’ said Cat, after she’d eavesdropped on a couple of boys by a radiator. ‘Two blokes and one woman.’

  ‘And one of them is a DJ from a London radio station,’ said Mac, coming back in from the loo. ‘Eek. He’s gonna love my song.’

  I was beginning to get butterflies as we continued to wait. A few people came back in, or rather leapt in, telling people that they’d got through. Others looked downcast and disappointed and came back shaking their heads, or in tears.

  ‘Oh God,’ I said to Cat. ‘People are crying already. I can feel my stomach tightening into a knot. I’m so nervous.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cat. ‘And I have to go to the loo again.’

  ‘We’ll come with you,’ Lia and I chorused.

  As we set off for the loo for the third time that morning, it was amazing to witness all the mini-dramas unfolding in the corridors. One girl was weeping on her mum’s shoulder, another guy was mouthing off about one of the judges, loads of people were doing warm-up exercises, some were practising their songs. Even in the loos, girls were leaning on the sinks singing into the mirrors.

  On our way back to the hall, I noticed Jade dancing about with a mate.

  ‘Looks like Jade’s through,’ I said to Lia.

  ‘I thought she would be,’ Lia replied. ‘She may be a top bitch, but she can sing.’

  Eleven o’clock went by, twelve o’clock, one o’clock . . . Then, thank God, a couple of lads appeared and set up a table selling sandwiches and juices. As we lined up to buy something, we started chatting with some of the other contestants and it became apparent that some of them were taking it deadly seriously. There was a group from a drama school in Bristol and they clearly saw the competition as their big chance to break into show business.

  ‘There’s some real talent here,’ said Cat as one girl in the line rehearsed ‘Killing Me Softly’.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Some of them are . . . like, really professional. I was chatting to one girl over there and she’s been singing since she was five, in shows and stuff.’

  ‘And everyone’s talking about the latest wannabe pop star programmes,’ said Mac, ‘and wondering if one of the judges is going to be nasty.’

  ‘Bound to be,’ said Squidge. ‘If they film any of this, it makes better telly if there’s a bad guy and some tears. Then you get everyone reacting to him and what he says. That nasty judge is probably a nice bloke, really, but that was the part he had to play.’

  ‘Do you think?’ I asked. ‘I thought he was just plain horrible and so insulting sometimes. He destroyed some contestants.’

  ‘It all makes good telly,’ said Squidge. ‘And see? It worked. It got everyone talking about the show.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said, but I hoped there wouldn’t be a judge like that on our panel.

  Mid-afternoon, Tanya came back in. ‘Two hundred to two hundred and fifty,’ she called. ‘If you could go and wait in the corridor.’

  ‘Aargghhh, that’s us,’ said Lia. ‘Whose stupid idea was this anyway? What am I doing here? I must be mad.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘And you look great.’ Secretly, though, I felt the same – I must be insane to put myself through this.

  Even Squidge looked a bit nervous. ‘It’s a laugh, it’s a laugh, it’s a laugh,’ he chanted as we trooped out with the others.

  Once in the corridor, we sat down on the chairs lining the walls and waited.

  ‘I’m not being bitchy,’ whispered Cat as a skinny-looking boy with round shoulders and bad spots got up to go into the audition room, ‘but you can tell just by looking at some people that they’re not going to get through.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Poor guy. He looks terrified.’

  ‘Well, good on him for trying,’ said Squidge. ‘But in the end, I guess they’re going to want a Pop Prince or Princess to look the part as well as be able to sing.’

  ‘That’s me out as well, then,’ I said.

  Squidge punched my arm. ‘Do you have one of those fairground mirrors at home? – the ones that distort your image? Because you just don’t see it, do you? You look fab!’

  I didn’t feel fab, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

  Along with the others waiting in the corridor, we strained to hear the skinny boy’s performance. He was completely flat and came out only moments later, shaking his head.

  ‘How was it?’ Lia asked as he walked past us.

  ‘Nightmare,’ he said. ‘They said it was the worst audition they’d ever heard.’

  Lia smiled at him. ‘Ah well, they haven’t heard me yet, have they?’

  Some went in and sounded fantastic, and others were like the skinny boy and sounded awful. One girl came out in floods of tears.

  ‘I couldn’t remember the words,’ she sobbed. ‘It was awful with all them sitting there staring at me.’

  ‘That happened to me once,’ I said. ‘You’ll get another chance some other time.’

  ‘Do you think?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  Then we got chatting to a guy who looked like a real laugh. He was wearing a grass skirt and a Hawaiian shirt.

  ‘I can’t sing,’ he said, ‘so I’m going to do an instrumental version of “Hawaii Five-O”.’

  ‘Can I film you?’ asked Squidge.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said and went into his rou
tine, complete with Hawaiian dancing. ‘Da da da da daaah da, da da da da.’

  We all fell about laughing and Tanya came out and told Squidge to put away his camera, then told the rest of us to ‘pipe down’. Hawaiian boy made faces behind her back and it was good to know that there was at least one person there who wasn’t treating the situation like it was life or death.

  Tanya reappeared moments later and looked up and down the corridor.

  ‘Two hundred and twenty-three,’ she called.

  ‘Oh God, that’s me,’ said Mac. He went white and stood up, looking as though he was going off to see the dentist for some very nasty root work. After the door closed behind him, we all shot over to the door and strained to hear. We heard him say something, then could just about make out the words ‘Hang the DJ’. He was back out in a flash.

  ‘Phew,’ he said. ‘Don’t remind me to do that again in a hurry.’

  ‘Two hundred and twenty-four,’ called Tanya, and Squidge got up to go in.

  ‘How was it?’ I asked as Mac slumped down on the floor next to us.

  ‘They just look at you,’ he said. ‘No expression. No nothing.’

  ‘What did they say?’ asked Lia.

  ‘They asked why I saw myself as the next Pop Prince.’

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked.

  He grinned. ‘Because I have blue blood. They didn’t laugh, though. Then the woman said, “Do you realise that you can’t sing?”’

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked.

  ‘I said yes, but that one ought to be positive in life,’ said Mac. ‘Then they did smile and one of the blokes said, “Well sorry, mate, this isn’t your competition and we won’t be asking you to London.”’

  ‘You should have said that saying you can’t sing is offensive,’ I said. ‘“Vocally challenged” would be much more sensitive.’

  ‘Did you show them your boxers?’ asked Cat.

  Mac shook his head. ‘Nah, bottled out. You’ll see what it’s like when you get in there. I couldn’t do it.’

  Squidge came out a moment later. He was grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Two hundred and twenty-five,’ called Tanya, and Cat got up to go.

  ‘Eep,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ I said, squeezing her arm as she went past. ‘Remember to breathe.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Cat and took a deep breath.

  ‘Are you in?’ I asked Squidge as Cat disappeared behind the door.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘But they said I may have a good career ahead of me, frightening young children.’

  As he reached into his rucksack to get his camera, I stuck my ear to the door to hear Cat. She was singing the opening bars of Rizzo’s number and sounded really good, confident. Then it went quiet then I could hear them talking. Oh, please don’t let them say anything horrible to her, I prayed.

  She came out a moment later with Tanya.

  ‘Two hundred and twenty-six,’ said Tanya as Cat grinned at me from behind her and gave me the thumbs-up.

  ‘You’re in?’ I whispered to Cat as Lia got up to go with Tanya.

  She nodded, still grinning. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Good luck, Lia.’

  Poor Lia. She sang “Summer Loving”, but stopped after a few lines. Then all we could hear was the murmur of voices.

  She was back out a moment later, shaking her head. She didn’t look too freaked, though, just relieved that it was over.

  ‘Two hundred and twenty-seven,’ called Tanya.

  ‘You’re on, kid,’ said Squidge as he pointed his camera at me.

  Oh God, I thought, as I followed Tanya into the room. This is it.

  The room was smaller than I expected, like a conference room in a hotel. The three judges were sitting at one end, behind a table with glasses and bottles of water on it. The woman looked in her thirties – pretty, with short dark hair. One of the men was plump and looked older, maybe as old as fifty – balding, with mousy hair. The other man was dark, with glasses, and good-looking in a Tom Cruise kind of way. They were talking amongst themselves and one of them said something that made the other two laugh. I stood at the door, wondering what to do. My hands were sweating and I felt numb, like time was standing still.

  The woman finally looked over at me and gave me a friendly smile. ‘Well, come in,’ she said, pointing to the floor about six feet away from their table, ‘and stand on the circle.’

  In the middle of the floor, there was a white circle, so I walked over to it and stood there, trying to stop my knees from shaking.

  ‘Shall I begin?’ I asked.

  ‘First, tell us your name,’ said the older man.

  ‘Becca Howard,’ I said.

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘St Antony, Cornwall.’

  ‘Ah, come with your mates, have you?’ said the woman, looking at her notes. ‘The last four?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Fourteen.’

  ‘And why do you think you might be our Pop Princess, Becca?’

  The words ‘because it’s my dream’ were out before I could think about it.

  ‘OK, then, away you go,’ said the woman.

  Imagine you’re in the car with Mum, I thought as I took a deep breath and started: ‘When you’re down and troubled . . .’

  Halfway through the song, the older man held up his hand. ‘OK, that’s enough.’ He then turned to his companions and said something.

  Prepare to die, I told myself as all the awful things the judges had said to the contestants on every wannabe pop star programme ever shown flashed through my mind – ‘You’re no singer’, ‘You think you’re a Ferrari when actually you’re a Skoda’, ‘You’re an insult to the song’ . . .

  ‘OK, I’ll start,’ said the woman to the other two judges. ‘Yeah, good. I think you were a bit nervous in the beginning, but that’s understandable. But you got going and your voice has a nice throaty quality. So, yes. A yes from me. Martin, what did you think?’

  The older man looked me up and down and nodded. ‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘Not sure. We’re looking for star quality here. The X-factor, something that hits you the minute the person walks through the door. Not sure that’s you, Becca. You looked more like a timid mouse when you first came in, not a confident pop star, so I’m afraid it’s a no from me.’ He turned to the last judge. ‘Looks like you have the deciding vote, Paul.’

  ‘I think it was a good choice of song for your voice,’ he said, ‘and I think you did it justice. We’re looking for genuine talent here and no doubt, you can sing. Confidence? Well, that can always be worked on so, yes, I’d like to give you another chance.’

  I think I felt my jaw drop, and I stood there for a minute gawping at them.

  ‘OK then, out-voted,’ said Martin, with a grin at me. ‘So, you can go now, Becca, and you’re through to the next round.’

  I wanted to rush forward and hug them all. ‘Thank you, thanks, thank you . . .’

  I stumbled out into the corridor where the rest of the gang were waiting expectantly.

  ‘I’m through!’ I cried. ‘I can’t believe it. I’m through and they were so nice.’

  Cat gave me a huge hug and we jumped up and down on the spot. Then Mac, Squidge and Lia put their arms around us and we jumped about in a circle.

  ‘Knew you would be,’ said Mac.

  ‘Arghhh,’ said Cat.

  ‘I know!’ I replied. ‘Arrrghhhhhhh.’

  MR WALKER, our English teacher at school, says that life is a roller coaster – up, down and round and round we go. I sat in my bedroom thinking about it later that day. Down I’d gone with the audition at school for Sandra Dee in Grease, then up, up, up, I’d gone today in Plymouth. It was one of the best feelings in the world to be picked. I’d remember it forever. I was through to the next round! Only a hundred people were chosen from four cities to go up to London the following Saturday and I was one of them. It had been totally top. Cat was over the moon too, and Lia also got he
r moment, even though she wasn’t through for the next audition. The telly crew had turned up in the corridor when I was auditioning and made a beeline for her. They interviewed her for the programme they’re doing on the competition, then filmed all of us jumping up and down when I came out after my go.

  Dad was thrilled when he came to pick us up, genuinely chuffed. But then we got home and I told Mum.

  ‘No,’ she said and turned away to put the kettle on.

  ‘But Mum,’ I pleaded, ‘this is the chance of a lifetime. I can’t not go.’

  Mum turned back and looked uncomfortable. ‘Look, Becca, don’t get me wrong. I’m really happy that you had a good time today . . .’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly a good time,’ I objected. ‘Well, it was in the end – it was brilliant – but God, if you’d been there when we were all waiting . . . it was nerve-wracking. Much worse than waiting for exam results.’

  ‘I know,’ said Dad. ‘It took a lot of guts to do what you did today. I’m really proud of you.’

  ‘So why can’t I go to London, then?’

  Mum sighed. ‘A number of reasons, Becca. One: this wanting to be a pop star has just come out of the blue –’

  ‘No, it hasn’t. You know it hasn’t. I’ve always wanted to sing. What about my band with Cat – Diamond Heart?’

  ‘You abandoned that weeks ago. And you know what you’re like, Becca. In the summer you wanted to be a vet, last month it was an air hostess, before that a TV presenter. If I thought you were serious about any of it, you know you’d have my full support.’

  ‘But I am serious about this. I really am. You have to believe me. Before I didn’t know what I wanted to do and that’s why I could never make up my mind. But I know now. Oh please, Mum, I have to go.’

  ‘Chances like this don’t come round often, Meg,’ said Dad. ‘A great experience, even if nothing comes of it.’

  Mum got up from the table and started stacking dishes irritably, then she turned to us. ‘It’s not fair. Why do I have to be the bad guy in all of this? Always the one who says no. Honestly, Joe, you know the real reason.’