Olivia's First Term

by Lyn Gardner

  Today was supposed to be her big day, but now it felt spoiled. She was going to sing one of her favourite songs: “Popular”. She’d heard it sung three times by the witch, Galinda, in the musical Wicked (once with her mum, who had saved up to give Georgia a Christmas treat, and twice with Katie Wilkes-Cox, sitting in the best seats in the house). She was also going to perform a contemporary dance all on her own. She was the chosen one. Not just a face in the chorus, but a soloist. She hummed the tune and sang a line, changing the lyrics to: “Popular. I wanna be popular…”

  Georgia knew that she wasn’t really popular. Not like Tom McCavity, who was so full of life, or head girl Abbie Cardew, who was looked up to because she was gifted and generous, or even Katie Wilkes-Cox, who wasn’t always liked but was admired by most of the girls because she sashayed around giving off a golden aura of talent and self-confidence. She was rich too, buying other people’s devotion with a constant stream of free theatre tickets and invitations to parties, barbecues and sometimes even holidays to exotic destinations. She had taken Kylie Morris with her on safari one year, and when they came back Tom McCavity had said it was a pity that both of them hadn’t been eaten by lions but then lions probably had better taste than to eat Katie.

  Georgia wished she had Katie’s easy confidence. She hoped that being chosen to perform a solo would make people see her differently. Not just as the quiet girl who was good at maths and quite good at dancing, singing and acting. She had seen the fleeting looks of envy on the faces of some of the other girls and boys, many of them much older, when Miss Swan had called out her name. It was almost unheard of for someone only just going into Year Eight to be chosen for a proper solo. She was so thrilled that she didn’t even mind when Katie Wilkes-Cox had been cold and distant and hadn’t invited Georgia to an end-of-term swimming-pool party with all the other girls in the year.

  It was worth missing the party for today, thought Georgia, trying to obliterate the memory of the row with her mum. This was her chance to show everybody what she could do. She mustn’t let anything ruin it. Even Katie had grudgingly thawed and renewed the friendship, as if hoping that some of Georgia’s good fortune would rub off on her. Katie liked to be associated with success. But unlike some of the others, such as Aeysha, Leila and William, who had congratulated Georgia and said she deserved it, Katie had made it quite clear that she thought Miss Swan must have been suffering from some kind of brain meltdown when she had picked Georgia to perform solo over her.

  “I expect she felt sorry for you, cos of your dad leaving you and your mum, and wanted to cheer you up,” Katie had said with a toss of her glossy hair. “My dad said it couldn’t possibly be for any other reason,” she added, with her curious little smile that made her look like a cat that had just swallowed a pint of double cream.

  Georgia had tried not to let Katie’s words wound her inside. She so desperately wanted to be Katie’s friend, because Katie always seemed so cool and confident in a way that Georgia envied.

  But Katie could be rather too cool and confident. She often acted as though she were superior, and put other people down; said one thing to people’s faces and quite another behind their backs. She told Leila Melita that she loved her style of dancing, but told everyone else that Leila looked like a knock-kneed giraffe. Even so, very few of the girls turned down the opportunity to be part of Katie’s chosen circle, not even Shannon, who was kind to everyone, and Aeysha, who seldom said a nasty word against anyone.

  Once when they were alone together, shortly after Katie had remarked loudly that Aeysha’s new coat made her look like a woolly mammoth, Georgia had asked Aeysha why it was that they still clustered around Katie even when she was often so nasty. Georgia had thought Aeysha would say it was for the invitations to snazzy restaurants or paintballing trips, but Aeysha had thought for a moment and then said it was because hanging around Katie made you feel more alive. You could never predict how she would behave and whether she would offer her friendship or withdraw it, and that made her exciting.

  “It’s as if Katie is the bright light, and we’re the moths fluttering around her, trying to get as close as possible without being burned,” said Aeysha.

  Georgia, who would never have thought to say something like that, decided that Aeysha was probably right. But she had to keep reminding herself that she was the one that Miss Swan had chosen, not Katie. Katie’s words swirled around her brain; maybe she was right and Georgia had been chosen out of kindness or pity and not because she had real talent. She half expected that at any minute Miss Swan would appear in a flurry of green velvet and announce that it had all been a mistake and that she had never meant for Georgia to do a solo.

  She had a sherbety fizzing feeling in her tummy. She always did when she was about to perform. It was like feeling a little bit sick but also excited at the same time. The sort of feeling that you got on a really thrilling fairground ride. She peered out again, hoping against hope that her mum might have decided to come after all and that she would spot her sitting on one of the shabby red-velvet seats, smiling in anticipation of watching Georgia perform. But of course she wasn’t there, she was at work trying to cling on to her job and make sure that they didn’t fall another month behind with the mortgage. Georgia thought it was horrible having to count every penny; why couldn’t they be rich like Katie?

  “Georgia Jones, stop that at once. You know that it’s unprofessional to peep through the curtains!” It was Abbie Cardew. Georgia jumped back guiltily and turned around to smile at Abbie. Everyone said that the head girl was the most talented student at the school; she had already starred in a West End revival of Annie and played the young Jane Eyre on TV. Georgia’s only professional jobs so far had been in the chorus of a pantomime and playing a singing strawberry in a TV advert for fruit yogurts. She wished she could get more work so she could pay her own school fees and save her mum all the worry. She loved her mum and hated to see her so anxious all the time. She wanted to bring a smile to her face. She waited until Abbie went to help do the make-up of some of the younger children, and then she risked one last peep through the curtains. You never knew, maybe her mum would be there after all.

  Chapter Four

  It was the first day of the autumn term at the Swan Academy, and the theatre auditorium was filling up fast with the new intake of children talented enough to get through the long, demanding audition process. Some people said that it was harder to get into the Swan than it was to break into the vaults of the Bank of England and that you were more likely to win the lottery than a place at the school. For those who survived the auditions (in which they had to sing, dance and perform a speech from a classic play), the call-back and then the weekend workshop (during which the final selections were made), it did indeed feel as if they had won a golden ticket. Alicia Swan always said that the audition process was long and intense because she wasn’t looking for children who were good at showing off, but for those who still had no idea of the depth of their talent and own potential. The time you were most likely to spot those children was when they weren’t acting or singing or dancing, but were just being themselves.

  An expectant buzz of excitement rose in the theatre where the new children and their parents sat, and nobody took any notice of two shabby girls – one pale and serious, her dark curtain of hair almost covering her face, and a younger one with crazy chestnut ringlets and mischievous sparkling hazel eyes – slipping into the back row of the theatre, accompanied by an even shabbier-looking man.

  Nobody that is except Georgia, who immediately recognised them as the children from the café. She thought she had heard the older one call the younger one Eel, but that seemed unlikely. Surely nobody would call their child Eel? They were a strange little group with their patched clothes and battered luggage. Georgia wondered why they had brought suitcases with them and what the wire, trailing from the biggest case, could possibly be for?

  The smaller girl was fidgeting around in her seat while her hand was being firmly h
eld by her older sister as if she was a baby, but she looked at least seven, maybe eight. The older girl lifted her head and pushed back her curtain of hair. She was really striking, thought Georgia. Not obviously pretty but with the pale, serious face of a figure in a medieval painting. The girl shifted and whispered something to her little sister. Both children looked up and seemed to be staring directly at Georgia. The sharp-eyed younger girl grinned cheekily and stuck her tongue out. Georgia, who hadn’t thought that anyone could possibly spot her, blushed and withdrew quickly. There was something unsettling about the children’s gaze. Georgia felt flustered.

  “OK, little Miss Georgia Jones?” asked Katie, who had crept up behind Georgia without her hearing. Katie was her understudy; if for some reason Georgia couldn’t go on, it would be Katie who would take her place in the programme. “Are you quite sure that you’re going to be able to perform?”

  “Quite sure, thank you,” said Georgia very politely. “I’m cool.” She told Katie about the strange-looking children. Katie peered through the curtain. Eel stuck out her tongue at her too.

  “They don’t look like the sort of kids who should be at this school. Miss Swan must be letting her standards slip,” announced Katie snobbishly. She smiled her cat-like smile. “We’ll have to teach those two some manners when classes begin tomorrow. But, Georgia, I’m really not sure you should perform today. You look very pale, as if you might faint at any minute. You only ever get one chance like this; you don’t want to blow it. P’r’aps you should tell Miss Swan that you can’t go on.”

  Much to Georgia’s relief, at that moment Abbie returned.“Off you go, Katie,” she said. “Only soloists are allowed here. Go back to the Green Room with the rest of the chorus, where you belong.” It was said entirely without malice, but Abbie’s thoughtless phrasing had an electrifying effect upon Katie, who tossed her head and glowered. But at that moment a call came over the tannoy for Abbie to return to the dressing rooms to help Miss Hanbury with the costumes. As soon as Abbie was out of sight, Georgia peeped through the curtains again. She wanted to have one last look for her mum.

  Katie watched Georgia’s back, her cheeks blazing. Abbie’s words had been like a punch in her stomach, brutal and direct. She could hardly breathe with rage. It was so unfair! It should be her, not Georgia, who was doing a solo. Well, she would show them all who was the really gifted one. Her dad was right, if people were too stupid to recognise your talent, you had to fight your way to the top on your own. She would do everything that was necessary to become a star, starting right now.

  She took a step towards Georgia. It was so very tempting. She took a quick look around. Nobody was there to see. Katie raised her hands and shoved Georgia in the small of the back as hard as she could. With a surprised yelp, Georgia shot through the curtains and tumbled off the stage into a heap on the floor of the auditorium, twisting her ankle. From her place behind the curtains, Katie heard the audience gasp, then several people called for help. But she didn’t hang around to see what happened next. Instead, she sauntered casually back to the Green Room, all the while whistling the tune of “Popular”. Once there, she mingled with the crowd as if she had never been anywhere else.

  In the auditorium, Olivia saw Georgia shoot through the curtain like a ball blasted out of a cannon; she rushed helter-skelter down the steps towards the stage to help her. Georgia lay on her back, her foot twisted at an awkward angle. A single tear glistened on her cheek.

  “It was my big chance. I was going to do a solo. I wanted to make my mum really proud of me,” she whispered. “She’ll be so disappointed. I’m glad she wasn’t here to see me like this.” Olivia squeezed Georgia’s clammy hand.

  “You’ll get other chances,” said Olivia kindly. “And I bet your mum’s already proud of you; she must be if you were chosen to do a solo.” But Georgia had closed her eyes and Olivia was moved aside by the arrival of Sebastian Shaw, the acting teacher, and India Taylor, the senior dancing teacher, who gently pulled Georgia to her feet and helped her limp away.

  As they moved off, Olivia overheard Sebastian ask Georgia how the accident had happened. A look of confusion mixed with dismay crossed Georgia’s face.

  “I don’t know,” she said miserably. “Somebody … no.” She shook her head, which felt a bit fuzzy. “I must’ve slipped. One minute I was peeping out of the curtains and the next I was on the floor in front of the stage.”

  Miss Taylor tutted. “Accidents do happen, and that’s why there are rules about not looking through the curtains. In any case it is very unprofessional. You really are a silly girl, Georgia, and you’ve only yourself to blame.”

  Olivia looked after them thoughtfully. She had seen Georgia careering through the curtain at high speed and it didn’t look to her as if she’d slipped. It had looked very much to Olivia as if Georgia had been pushed. She wondered who had done it, and why.

  Chapter Five

  It took a while for the auditorium to quieten down after the excitement of Georgia’s accident but soon every seat was taken and the audience waited expectantly, ready for the show to begin. The Swan school term properly started the next day when every child would turn up in the distinctive olive-green and gold uniform, with all the changes of clothing needed for a day not just of normal lessons but also classes in jazz, tap, ballet, singing, acting and more. Swan children could always be spotted on the bus and Tube, not just by their uniforms but by the sheer amount of stuff they were carrying, and by the fact they were often trying to learn lines or studying a musical score. Being at the Swan was fun, but immensely hard work too.

  But today was a day for celebration and everyone was wearing their own clothes. In just a few minutes the new children and their families would be treated to a school tradition: a performance by the current pupils especially dedicated to the “newbies”, as the newcomers were known. Being part of the newbies’ concert was considered a great honour.

  Then there would be a welcoming speech by the school’s legendary owner, Alicia Swan. Her own spectacular career in musical theatre had been cruelly cut short by the arthritis that gnarled her beautiful hands and twisted her feet so that she now walked with a stick. Since then she had devoted herself to nurturing “the stars of the future” and so far she was making an excellent job of it. Newspapers called Alicia “the star-maker”. She could sniff out talent just like a terrier could smell a rat. Her own daughter, Antonia Swan, had been acclaimed the greatest classical actress of her generation – she was a heart-breaking Ophelia in Hamlet, a brilliant Viola in Twelfth Night, a luminous Rosalind in As You Like It, a Juliet to die for in Romeo and Juliet – before she fell head over heels in love with a high-wire daredevil and abandoned her glittering career to run away and join a circus. Alicia had found it hard to forgive Toni, but, after several years of estrangement, mother and daughter had been reconciled. Toni had been on the brink of making a comeback on the West End stage playing Antigone when she had been killed in a plane crash on her way to the first day of rehearsals.

  There was barely a West End or Broadway show that didn’t have a former Swan student in it. Hollywood’s highest-paid heart-throb, Theo Deacon, was a Swan boy, and since its first appearance in the Saturday night schedules, the UK’s most successful TV talent show, You’re a Star!, had been dominated by ex-Swan pupils. The show’s producer and chief judge, Robert Howell, had laughingly threatened to ban anyone with connections with the school.

  Swan students had been selected to appear in the annual Children’s Royal Spectacular at the London Palladium more times than any other stage school. But this year there was a change in the selection process and the line-up of those appearing in front of the Queen would be voted for by the TV-viewing public in a live knockout competition. The Swan would be fighting for its place in the final line-up against the strongest teams from the best stage schools, youth theatre and dance groups in the country.

  Alicia was confident that the Swan boasted enough talent to see them through. She had high hopes
for the new intake; there were some exceptionally gifted boys and girls among them. She knew that somewhere in the theatre today there were some real stars in the making. Often it was the quiet ones who surprised you most.

  Chapter Six

  The lights went down, the music soared and Alicia Swan appeared on stage in a halo of light. She welcomed everybody warmly and announced that there would be a slight change to the programme: Katie Wilkes-Cox would be replacing Georgia Jones to sing the well-known song “Popular” and perform a dance. She took a gracious bow, acknowledged the rousing applause of her staff and current students who were ranged behind her on the stage, their faces shining, and then made her way down to her seat in the front row.

  Alicia was an elegant and glamorous figure dressed in dark-green velvet whose delicate movements didn’t betray the pain and effort of every step she took. Her hand reached into her pocket and she gave an imperceptible sigh as she felt the creased letter that had arrived that morning. Like all the previous letters she had sent, this one had arrived back at the school with the words “Return to sender. Addressee unknown” stamped across the front.

  The band played again, and in the back row Eel tossed her chestnut ringlets and squirmed furiously.

  “Stop it, Eel,” said Olivia.

  “I can’t help it, Livy. It’s the music, it makes me want to dance. It’s as if my feet have taken on a life of their own like that girl in The Red Shoes.”

  Olivia clutched her little sister’s hand even more tightly as rows of tap-dancing children took to the stage in a spectacular song-and-dance sequence that soon had the audience cheering wildly.