This mini-book has two new boy characters, joker Sparks and cool French heartthrob Sebastien … I think you’ll like them!
4th September
Dear Summer,
I have started writing this letter a million times, but I don’t know what to say except that I am sorry, sorry, sorry. We both had the same hopes and dreams, but I’ve known for a long time that you are the better dancer. I got a place at the Rochelle Academy, but that place should have been yours … would have been yours, if you hadn’t got ill.
So … yeah, it’s all kind of weird. One minute I feel like the luckiest girl alive, and the next I am swamped by a wave of guilt so huge and heavy I think it might crush the life out of me. I got what I wanted, but only because you’re not well. Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder if you’ll ever forgive me.
I’m so, so sorry for how things worked out. I wish it could be different, that you were well again and we were here together because maybe then I wouldn’t feel so scared.
Lots of love,
Jodie
xxx
1
‘So,’ my room-mate Grace says to me on our first day at Rochelle Academy, as the four of us sharing this bright, baby-blue dorm room unpack our bags. ‘You must be Summer Tanberry, right?’
My cheeks darken. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I’m actually Jodie. Jodie Rivers.’
Grace frowns. ‘Oh! My letter said I’d be sharing with Naomi Prince, Olivia Mulgrave and Summer Tanberry!’ she says, puzzled. ‘I wonder if there’s been some kind of mix up?’
‘Summer couldn’t take up her place in the end,’ I explain, trying to stay upbeat. ‘She was ill and had to drop out. I was on the reserve list.’
‘Ah.’ Grace exchanges glances with Naomi and Olivia. ‘I see … the reserve list.’
I try to smile, but I know they’ve judged me already, these willowy girls with perfect poise and manners and perfect hair in various shades of blonde, pinned up into perfect buns. I am not like them. I am not willowy and poised, I am curvy and talkative, and my long dark hair is thick and unruly and escapes from even the most carefully constructed bun, no matter how many kirby grips or how much gel and hairspray I use.
I am a scholarship girl, one of the few students here purely on merit. So why do I feel out of my depth? I am not here just because my parents can afford the fees, although, of course, even fee-paying students have to pass a strict audition.
Grace, Naomi and Olivia smile politely and start arranging photographs on their bedside tables, folding clothes away into drawers. I roll my eyes, wondering how I am going to endure another ten minutes in this place, let alone the next six weeks until half-term. Why did I ever think this would be a good idea? I wish I was back at my old school, where everyone knew me and I didn’t have to struggle to fit in. I never really allowed myself to believe I’d get a place at Rochelle Academy, not when I knew I was up against Summer. I was over the moon to be given a chance, but I guess I haven’t properly prepared myself for it … boarding ballet school. Reality is starting to kick in now, and I’m not sure I can handle it.
My parents said their farewells and drove away an hour ago, and already I am fighting the impulse to ring and tell them to come back and fetch me. I won’t, obviously. I am not a quitter, and this is my dream.
I think.
Summer would have slotted in here without a problem; she’d have taken it all in her stride, charmed everyone, made three new best friends in the blink of an eye. Well, Grace, Naomi and Olivia are all out of luck. They’ve ended up with me.
There’s a tentative knock at the door, and the four of us exchange glances.
‘Who d’you think that could be?’ Olivia whispers, and I laugh because, clearly, there is only one way to find out. I whisk open the door to reveal four fellow students crowded on to the threshold outside.
‘Hey!’ a pretty Asian girl says. ‘We’re your next-door neighbours! I’m Priya, and this is Annabel, Tasha and Niamh … can we come in? We come bearing gifts!’
A few moments later, the whole bunch of us are squashed into the room, sharing Jaffa Cakes and fruit juice, laughing, exchanging stories of where we’ve come from and how excited we are to be here. The ice is broken. Our neighbours are chatty, funny, friendly, making my new room-mates seem less certain, less sure of themselves; somehow less perfect than before. Perhaps they’re just as nervous as I am; perhaps, after all, we will learn to get along.
Suddenly I am excited and hopeful; the fear of being second best, surplus to requirements, recedes a little. This is a new beginning; we are all starting from scratch in a brand new dance school with a world-class ballerina, Sylvie Rochelle, as our principal. Anything should be possible here.
‘Our first regular lessons start in the morning,’ Tasha, a slender black girl with amazing braided hair, is saying. ‘I’m not looking forward to the maths and science bits, and lessons start at eight a.m. That’s going to take some getting used to!’
‘But at least we get all of that stuff over with by midday,’ I point out. ‘Then it’s lunch break, and then, just imagine – a whole afternoon of dance! Every day of the week and optional Saturdays too … It’s a total dream come true! Bliss!’
‘I’m a bit worried I won’t be able to keep up,’ Naomi confesses. ‘I’ve only been doing three classes a week up until now …’
‘Just two for me,’ Annabel chips in. ‘I’m scared you lot will outclass me by miles …’
I realize that these girls really are just as scared and nervous as I am, no matter how poised and perfect they may appear.
Even Grace is nodding her head. ‘I think we all have a few doubts and worries,’ she says. ‘It’s only natural. We’re used to being the best dancers in our old ballet schools back home, aren’t we? Here it could be a different story.’
I bite my lip. The trouble is, I wasn’t the best dancer in my ballet school back home – that was Summer. Doubts flood through me all over again, but I push them away, firmly.
‘The thing to remember is that we’re all in this together,’ I point out, and I see my new classmates tilting their heads to listen, as though I’m saying something important, something worthwhile. ‘Every one of us dreamt of a chance like this, and we’ve been given it, just thirty of us in our year group – how cool is that? I’m not saying it’s going to be easy because I know it won’t be; I think it will be really tough, and there might be times we wish we’d never auditioned at all, but … well, let’s be glad we’re here. We don’t have to be competitive and we don’t have to judge ourselves against others. Let’s face it, ballet is pressured enough already without all that. Let’s be friends, and support each other, and maybe that way we can help each other through.’
‘Well said, Jodie,’ Priya says. ‘If we stick together, we can do just about anything, right? Boarding school might be a challenge for me. I’m going to miss my family SO much. I for one am hundreds of miles from home, so it’s not like I can just nip back for the weekend!’
‘It’s not just family I’ll miss,’ Naomi admits. ‘I’ve got a boyfriend back home. We’ve only been together six weeks, but still, I’ll miss him. And it’s going to be very strange adjusting to life with no boys around at all …’
‘I know, right?’ Niamh agrees. ‘No flirting, no rivalry, no annoying boys winding you up …’
‘No distractions!’ Annabel says.
‘No crushes,’ Priya adds, sadly.
‘And we’ll be the oldest in the school,’ Olivia reminds us. ‘Nobody to look up to, nobody to ask for advice, just twenty brand-new Year Sevens, twe
nty Year Eights, and thirty of us Year Nines. That’s a whole bunch of us, all missing home and friends and boys. It’ll take some getting used to …’
We descend into silence, contemplating a loveless, boy-free life of eight a.m. starts and relentless, gruelling practice, shared with a mob of hormonal teenage girls all striving for perfection. It’s not a pretty picture. Naomi sniffs and blinks a few times, her eyes too bright, and I know that unless someone does something fast, this whole getting-to-know-you thing will end in tears.
I jump up, pulling Priya and Tasha to their feet alongside me. ‘So,’ I say. ‘We should go and explore! Find out who else is here! It’s a bit of an adventure, right? Like Harry Potter at Hogwarts, only with pointe shoes and leotards!’
Grace frowns, studying the welcome pack folder in her hand. ‘The welcome dinner is at six o’clock,’ she reads. ‘In between arrival and dinner, students are advised to unpack and get to know their room-mates. Alternatively, they may meet up with their fellow students informally in the first-floor common room …’
‘Let’s do it,’ I say, taking charge. I round them up and usher them out of the door. ‘Forget the formal introductions, let’s explore!’
We find the common room and burst in, an unruly group of giggling, chattering girls. It’s huge – an airy, wood-panelled room with a parquet floor and an antique Persian rug. There are four mismatched sofas, a scattering of beanbags and a big polished wood table by the window. On the far side of the room, a woodburning stove is smouldering gently, giving the whole room the smell of beach bonfires and possibility.
And lounging on armchairs and beanbags in front of the woodburner are four students who stand out from the crowd of slim, elegant girls I’ve met so far this afternoon.
They look up at us, grinning.
‘Oh. My. Days,’ Tasha whispers. ‘Boys!’
It looks like Rochelle Academy isn’t girls-only after all …
7th October
Dear Summer,
I hope you got my last letter. I know you’re not well, and that replying might not be your number-one priority, but I hope the silence is not because you’re upset about me being here at Rochelle. I’m pretty sure it’s not, but … well, I worry. You know how it is.
I’m settling in, getting to know my classmates pretty well, but my closest friends so far are a couple of girls called Naomi and Tasha, and a boy called Sparks. Yeah, I know … a BOY!!! I just sort of assumed that Rochelle Academy would be girls only, but there are twenty-six girls and four boys in our year … Can you imagine? There’s Sparks and Josh and Matt and an actual French boy called Sebastien Dubois who is Sylvie Rochelle’s godson. How cool? This place is a crazy hotbed of hormonal madness, I am telling you! But Sparks … well, a few of the girls fancy him, but he’s not interested in girls, if you catch my drift. He is SO funny and really good fun, and I think he keeps me sane … so, yeah. That’s my news.
I’m loving the classical ballet classes but I don’t understand contemporary dance at all … The teacher must think I’m hopeless. It’s all about ‘feeling’ the music and interpreting things, and I feel really out of my depth without set steps to follow. I bet you’d like it, though!
Only a couple of weeks until half-term and we can catch up properly … talking is easier than writing letters, I guess! Shall I ring you first or just turn up? I hope things are going well with you and that you’re feeling better. Maybe you can audition next year and we can still be here together!
Love you lots,
Jodie
xxx
2
Sparks is sitting on my bed, backcombing his wavy blond hair until it sticks up at all angles, like some kind of punk porcupine. He is grumbling about his maths homework.
‘Fractions and equations and square roots are kind of pointless,’ he argues, blasting his hedgehog hair with a cloud of borrowed hairspray. ‘I won’t need any of this once I’m a famous dancer, so why torture me with it now? It’s cruel. Possibly even an infringement of my human rights.’
‘Rubbish,’ I tell him, working through yet another page of equations. ‘Maths is a basic skill. You’ll need it one day to negotiate your fees when you’re dancing for the Royal Ballet!’
‘I wish,’ Sparks says.
The door opens and Grace comes in, her face registering annoyance when she sees Sparks.
‘What’s he doing here?’ she asks, rudely. ‘Boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ dorms, Jodie. You know that. I could have just been in the shower or anything! It’s totally against the rules!’
‘Hello?’ Sparks says, waving his fingers at Grace. ‘I am actually here, y’know! You can talk to me directly, like everyone else does. You weren’t just in the shower, so I won’t be fainting clean away at the sight of your naked ankles. And before you get your knickers in a twist, we are just chilling, and doing a bit of recreational maths homework, none of which is illegal or dangerous or threatening to the fabric of society. Don’t go stirring up trouble where there is none …’
‘Sparks is just a mate,’ I say, trying to defuse things a little. ‘Mates like to hang out together. It’s no big deal!’
‘He’s a boy!’ she huffs.
‘Well, yep, last time I looked,’ Sparks quips.
‘You’ve been at my hair gel!’ Grace howls, outraged. ‘And my hairspray! Sparks, you spend more time here than in your own dorm. Seriously, this just isn’t funny!’
Sparks rolls his eyes and jumps off the bed, leaping effortlessly across the room in a dramatic grand jeté before bowing low to Grace and blowing her a kiss.
‘Thanks for the loan of the hairspray,’ he says. ‘I’d advise you to buy the extra-hold version next time, though. I know how you hate having even a single hair out of place …’
He flounces out into the corridor and I follow, biting back a giggle. Grace can be a bit moody at times, and she is a real perfectionist. Sometimes she makes me feel I’m making the dorm untidy just by being there; the fact that I occasionally dare to breathe, talk or express an opinion can be enough to send her off the deep end.
When that happens I take myself off to the common room or head outside for a trudge through the grounds to blow the cobwebs away – living 24/7 with twenty-five ballet-mad girls and four dance-crazy guys can get a little intense sometimes.
‘Grace is so fussy and dull!’ Sparks complains, as we flop down beside the woodburner. A few of the other students are loafing on the sofas across the room watching a DVD. They can’t hear our chat over the noise of the film. ‘I think she’s jealous of you, Jodie. She thinks you’ll land the leading role in the Christmas production, and she’s all eaten up with envy.’
‘Or else she just hates me,’ I say, gloomily. ‘She’s so serious and determined … I bet she ends up in one of the top ballet companies. I’m not exactly a threat to her, am I? I’m not a classical-type ballerina, like most of the girls here, and I’m not really solo material … I don’t even know why they offered me a place at all.’
Sparks rolls his eyes. ‘They offered you a place because you’re amazing,’ he says. ‘You’ve got natural talent oozing from every pore. Grace can see that, and it makes her nervous … because no amount of hard work and practice can substitute for that! Besides, why shouldn’t you be a soloist? You should put yourself forward a bit more!’
‘No, I’m happiest in the background,’ I say, laughing. ‘Thanks for the flattery, though! You’re not so bad yourself, Sparks!’
‘I know, right?’ he teases. ‘We can’t help it if we stand out from the crowd. Mind you, I think there could be
another reason why Grace has a problem with you …’
‘Yeah? What’s that, then?’
‘One word,’ Sparks whispers. ‘Sebastien Dubois!’
‘That’s two words,’ I point out, hoping that the heat in my cheeks is not translating into a crimson blush. ‘And I don’t know what you’re talking about!’
Sparks raises an eyebrow knowingly, and the two of us sneak a glance at the kids lounging on the sofas. Sebastien is at the centre of a gaggle of girls, seemingly oblivious to their starry-eyed glances as he watches the DVD. He has dark, unruly hair, flashing eyes and olive skin that marks him out as different, Gallic, cool. I know that when I look at him my eyes go starry too, but I was hoping nobody had noticed.
‘Ooh la la,’ Sparks says under his breath, jabbing me in the ribs with an elbow. ‘You ’ave a bad case of zee love bug! Don’t try to deny it … I can tell!’
‘I do not!’ I protest. ‘I hardly know him!’
‘You’d like to, though,’ he teases. ‘And so would Grace. I’ve seen her – her eyes are out on stalks every time he’s around. That’s why she gives you a hard time.’
‘She can have him,’ I declare, recklessly. ‘He’s way out of my league anyhow.’
Sparks shakes his head, despairing. ‘Don’t run yourself down,’ he says. ‘You do it all the time – with your dancing, your looks, everything.’
‘Self-defence,’ I tell him. ‘If you don’t build your hopes up, you don’t get too disappointed when things knock you down …’
Even as I say this, I’m not certain it’s true. I get hurt when things go wrong, just like everybody else. There’ve been a few knocks; I failed the Royal Ballet School auditions back when I was ten, and I was only offered a place here because Summer dropped out. I guess that hanging out with Summer Tanberry hasn’t helped my confidence over the years. Our dance teacher, Miss Elise, was always kind and encouraging, but everyone back home knew that Summer was the star. The harder she pushed herself, the cooler I played it. Admitting how much I cared would have been asking for trouble.
Life is Sweet Page 10
