Phoebe Finds Her Voice (5 page)

“
What's the matter?
” she squealed, staring at where my hand was pointing. “
Did you see a spider or something?
”

I dropped my arm, and spun round. “For goodness' sake, Sara! Don't creep up on me like that! What do you want anyway?”

“I was just gonna tell you about the popcorn.” She grinned. “We've made so much it's flying around all over the place. It's brilliant. We're going to put butter and salt on it, but you can have yours plain if you want. Come on!”

In the kitchen the popcorn was banging about inside the pan and Dad was standing next to the stove grinning and looking very pleased with himself.

“Bet you didn't know I could make popcorn, eh, Phoebe?” he said, as if it was some amazingly rare talent that only two or three people in the whole world could do.

“Isn't this
brilliant
, Phoebe!” said Sara again, hopping around the kitchen. And just for that second, looking at Sara's happy, shining face, it was brilliant.

I trailed back into the living room, still thinking about the audition. Dad came in a couple of minutes later carrying two big bowls of buttery popcorn.

“How was drama on Saturday, Phoebe? I never got the chance to ask you.”

“Of course you didn't get the chance to ask me,” I felt like saying, “you were too busy rowing with Mum.” But I didn't say anything. I just sat down cross-legged on the worn-out carpet and shrugged.

“It wasn't that great,” I said in the end. “I might start karate instead.”

“Karate?
But Phoebe, you've got such a lovely singing voice. Remember what I used to say to you when you were little? That you were
born
to be on the stage.”

I hugged my bowl of popcorn. Of course I remembered and maybe I
was
born to be on the stage – but that was before everything went wrong. Before Dad left, and before I started at Woodville Secondary, and before Polly Carter decided to ruin my life.

“Anyway, I
can't
go back!” I blurted out suddenly. “We've got to do this stupid audition and I'll never be able to do it, not in a million years!” The words tumbled out of my mouth. I wanted him to know that nothing was the same any more: that I wasn't the same little girl who used to sing and dance around the living room.

“Sam says I have to stand in a certain way and Donny Dallesio says in this magazine that you have to smile showing all your teeth, and I don't even know if I can sing in front of Miss Howell and all the others in the first place, so there's no way I'm going to be able to sing and smile
and
stand properly all at the same time. It's totally hopeless and I'm quitting,
okay
?”

Dad looked a bit shocked. It was easily the most I'd said to him for about a year.

“Well,
we
could tell you if you're any good, Phoebs,” said Sara, coming in. She was carrying a huge bowl of popcorn for her and a tiny little one for Barney. “Just pretend it's
X Factor
or something and we're the judges. Dad can be—”

“I'm not singing in front of you,” I said, horrified.

“Come on, Phoebe,” said Dad. “Sara's right. If you have a go here you'll feel more confident on Saturday. Forget about what Sam said and about what you read in that magazine. Just sit there on the carpet and sing the song.”

“There's no way! I can't! You'll just laugh, I know you will.”

“We won't!” cried Sara. “We won't even look, promise.” She plonked herself down next to Dad and put her hands over Barney's eyes.

“Come on, Phoebe,” said Dad, smiling. “I'd really love to hear you sing.”

I looked at the three of them, Dad, Sara and Barney, the bear, lined up on the couch with their eyes closed tight, clutching their bowls of buttery popcorn – and I knew Dad was right. If I couldn't sing here, in front of my own family, there was no way I'd ever be able to audition in front of everyone at drama.

“Do you swear on your life you won't laugh?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Dad.

“Cross my heart and hope
you
die!” said Sara.

“Well…okay… I'll sing a bit,” I said, ignoring Sara. “But the second you open your eyes or laugh or even smile I'm going to stop.”

They sat completely still right through the song. After a bit I forgot they were even there and I sang the way I always sing when I'm by myself in my bedroom. They didn't even move after I'd finished. They just sat there staring at me. But then suddenly Dad went, “Wow, Phoebe. I'll tell you what: no one else at drama stands a chance if that's how you sing on Saturday.” And Sara started clapping and cheering and said, “You're
definitely
going through to the next round, Miss Franks. And Barney thinks so too.”

I knew they were just being nice but I didn't care. If I could sing in front of Dad and Sara then maybe I
would
be able to sing at the auditions on Saturday.

“What did you get up to at Dad's?” Mum asked later when she came to pick us up.

“Oh, it was brilliant,” squealed Sara. “You wouldn't believe it. We made popcorn and then we went into the living room and—”

“We made popcorn,” I said, kicking Sara. “That's all.”

“Come on, Phoebe! Dad will be here soon and your breakfast's getting cold.”

I hauled myself out of bed. It was Saturday morning, the morning of the auditions, and the thought of eating breakfast made my stomach turn over. In just a few hours' time I'd actually be standing on the stage at drama auditioning for the part of Sabine.

It wasn't the best start to the day. Mum was in a state, Dad was late picking us up, and then, on the way in the car, Sara sang her own version of Sabine's song over and over, right into my ear.

“I won't be around after drama today, Phoebe, love,” Dad shouted over Sara's impersonation of a dying cat. “There's something really important going on at the centre and I don't want to miss it.”

I nearly said, “There's
always
something really important going on,” but I didn't. I had other
more
important things to worry about and they didn't include Dad and his stupid centre!

I walked into the hall ten minutes late and everyone was already sitting in a circle.

“Sorry I'm late, Miss Howell,” I mumbled, turning crimson. I know we're supposed to call Miss Howell “Mandy” at drama, but it still feels way too weird to me.

“No worries, Phoebe. I was just telling everyone that we're going to act out a few scenes from the show, practise Sabine's song, and then after break we'll start the auditions. I know it's only our second session and it's all a bit rushed but I just want to get a rough idea of who can do what.”

“But we can sing with a friend, can't we?” said Ellie.

“Of course you can, Ellie. You don't have to sing by yourself – not unless you want to try out for one of the main characters, like Sabine. And don't forget what I said last week – this goes for all of you – it really doesn't matter what part you get because
everyone
in the production is important.

“Now let's go over the story before we get started. The action takes place inside this amazing factory where all our dreams are made. It's where the Sweet-Dreamers battle it out with the demon Jelly-Skulls who are responsible for giving us nightmares. The leader of the Jelly-Skulls is Gobstopper – he's a really nasty character and…”

While she carried on describing the Dream Factory I tried to work out what hope I had of getting the part of Sabine. I looked round the circle. There were thirteen girls including me. That meant that basically I had a one in thirteen chance. Of course,
if
Miss Howell said that Sabine had to be someone with flat hair and freckles my chances would shoot up. Or, if she said that Sabine had to be someone with flat hair and freckles who could sing well, but not necessarily in front of other people, the part would practically be mine. Or, if she said that Sabine had to be someone who was…

“Now are there any questions before we start?”

“I just want to know if
I
can be Sabine or does it have to be a girl?” said Monty B, who
always
had a question. “Because you know I don't mind wearing a dress, Mandy. In the olden days, like in Shakespeare's plays, boys used to wear dresses all the time.”

“I'm not quite sure what Shakespeare would've made of you in a dress, Monty B,” said Miss Howell, laughing. “But I'll bear it in mind, I promise. Now I want you to grab your scripts, get into groups, and help each other practise. I'll walk round and have a good listen to each group as I go.”

“Erm, Mandy, can I just say I'm really, really sorry,” said Ellie, as we got up. “But we've got this new kitten, called Splat, and he
weed
all over my script. I found it this morning, dripping wet in the front room.”

“Was that the script or the kitten?” said Miss Howell, handing Ellie a spare copy.

Ellie half-shrugged, looking very sheepish. “Erm…the script,” she said. “But it won't happen again, I promise.”

She walked to the back of the hall with Sam and I sort of trailed after them pretending to be busy with
my
script so that it didn't look as if I'd been left behind.

“What scene do you think we should do?” said Ellie, when we were sitting down. “Because I actually had a dream last night that we did a scene for the auditions but it wasn't from
The Dream Factory
at all, it was from this show about giant toads, and they were…”

“
Ellie!
We haven't got time for one of your random dreams right now,” said Sam. “Do you realize how important this is? Anyway, I think we should do the scene where Lolly, one of the Sweet-Dreamers, is telling Sabine and the other Sweet-Dreamers about Gobstopper's plan to get rid of Baron-Von-Bolt and Ice Bomb.”

“But who
is
Gobstopper?” said Ellie. “I haven't got a clue what you're on about, you know. Is he one of the Jelly-Skulls?”

Sam shook her head. “He's like the
leader
of the Jelly-Skulls, and he's planning to take over the factory. Mandy was just telling us. Anyway, I'll be Sabine, you be Lolly, Ellie. And Phoebe, you can be Candy.”

I looked at her, irritated. “But Candy hardly says anything.”

Why did Sam get to decide who everyone was going to be? She was always deciding everything. And anyway,
I
wanted to be Sabine.

We practised and practised and after a bit we could almost do the whole scene without using our scripts. But of course as soon as Miss Howell came over to see how we were getting on, I couldn't remember any of my three lines and got totally mixed up.

“Don't stress, Phoebe,” she said. “It's early days yet. Even the most famous actors forget their lines sometimes.”

“The toad show was so much easier.” Ellie sighed. “All we had to do was croak.”

We did our scene a few more times until Miss Howell said it was time for break.

“Hey, look at Polly,” hissed Sam, as we grabbed our bags from the front of the stage and sat down by the piano. “Trust her!”

Polly was perched further along the edge of the stage, swinging her legs and talking to this boy called Adam. I'm not sure what school he goes to but he's older than us, thirteen I think, and
everyone
fancies him. Well, maybe not everyone, but I know Sam does, and Ellie puts on this silly, girly act every time he even looks at her, so she probably does as well.

“He goes to my school, you know,” said Neesha, reading my mind. “He's in my year, and he like only thought I fancied him once, but I never did. I'm not kidding you, yeah, but my sort of best friend, Lucy – except I can't stick her any more – told
his
best friend that I wanted him to ask me out but I never did.”

“You mean you actually
know
him?” said Ellie, taking some very soggy sandwiches out of her bag. “Oh look! My drink's leaked over everything.”

“
Ellie!
That's minging! It's not cat wee, is it?” shrieked Neesha, grabbing her stuff away from Ellie's bag.

Ellie picked up the bag and stuck her head inside. “No, it's definitely not wee,” she said, sniffing. “But my snack's ruined.”

I handed her one of my sandwiches. “I'm never going to be able to do it, you know, Ellie. I've practised loads at home, and at my dad's, but there's no way I'm going to be able to get up on that stage and sing in front of everyone.”

“Stop stressing, Phoebs; you've got a brilliant voice.”

“Okay, listen up, everyone,” Miss Howell called out, before I could say anything else – like what's the point of having a brilliant voice if the only place you can sing is locked inside your own bedroom, or on a different planet?