Phoebe Finds Her Voice (7 page)

I sat back, my mind racing. What was it with my dad? Ever since he lost his job and joined
Life
he'd gone totally loop de loop!

“You'll have to discuss it with him, Phoebe; it's something to do with this meditation course he's doing and his spiritual journey. I don't know if he's going to change it officially but it won't really affect you, will it? You'll just carry on calling him Dad.”

What did she mean, it wouldn't affect me? What about when I had to introduce him to my friends, or at parents' evening? And what about when Polly Carter found out? My life would be over. And anyway, how, exactly, could having a dad called Eagle Dust
not
affect you?

I was upset about the audition for days – and about Dad's ridiculous new name, but I don't think anyone even noticed. At school Polly and her friends kept sticking their necks out and grinning at me – imitating the
Razzle Dazzle Smile
– and then cracking up in hysterics. I really wanted to tell them to take a flying leap into the nearest lake, but I didn't have the guts.

It got so bad by the end of the week that I thought about telling Mum, but she was in the middle of some huge on-going row with Dad and I didn't want to give her even more to worry about. And I didn't really see what she could do about it anyway. It's not like she could go up to Polly and say, “Stop sticking your neck out at my daughter!” I couldn't talk it over with Ellie either, not properly, because Sam –
big mouth
– Lester was always hanging about.

On Saturday morning, I woke to the sound of the doorbell. It rang for so long it sounded as if someone was leaning against it and for a split second I thought it might actually be Polly Carter. That maybe she'd come round to get me or something. I leaped out of bed and ran to the window. But it wasn't Polly, of course it wasn't. It was some idiot with stupid tufts of red hair sticking up all over his stupid head. Monty B. Outside my house. At nine o'clock on a Saturday morning.

I stood at the window, frozen; I didn't know what to do. And then I heard voices downstairs. Mum had let him in.
Send him away
, I prayed, pulling on my jeans and a top.
Tell him I've emigrated, or fallen down a hole. Anything.

I glanced in the mirror. I looked terrible. My hair was even worse than usual, stuck to the sides of my head like two slices of wet ham. I was supposed to be changing my image this morning. I had it all planned. I'd read the rest of Donny's article – the section about hair gel – and Donny swore that using gel had transformed his life beyond all recognition.
Gel Spell
, he called it.
Think Smooth! Think Shine! Think Hot!

Sad, I know, but I was desperate, and unlike the
Razzle Dazzle Smile
, which took years to perfect,
Gel Spell
was instant. I knew it was too late to get the part of Sabine but it had to be worth a go! I sort of figured that if I looked totally different, no one would remember my Great Giraffe Impersonation at the auditions. I'd bought some gel in the week –
fast drying, extra-firm hold hair glosser
it said on the jar – but now I'd overslept and Monty B had turned up and there was no time to sort it out.

“Phoebe, come down for breakfast,” Mum called out. “Monty B's here for you. Or do you want me to send him up?”

“No! I'm not ready,” I squealed, grabbing the pot of hair gel and slapping a load onto my head. The second I did it I knew it was a mistake – it was wet and slimy and there was way too much of it. I tried to spread it about but it started to run down the sides of my face like it was alive, and it seemed to be growing. I grabbed some tissues to try and wipe it off, but the more I smoothed it back the worse it got. It was everywhere. Soggy bits of blue tissue were coming off in my hair; tiny scraps of it, stuck on like a collage. All I needed was a sprinkle of glitter and I'd look like something Sara used to bring home from nursery.

Suddenly there was a bang on the door. I jumped up and let out a small scream. Sara flew into the room and then stopped dead. “
Oh my God, Phoebe! What have you done?
” she whispered, looking scared. “Oh, and Mum said to tell you that breakfast's ready and your boyfriend's gone.”

She flew back out of the room before I could thump her. I could hear her snorting all the way down the stairs as I gave my hair one last frantic wipe and traipsed down behind her for breakfast.

“Monty B was here,” said Mum as I walked into the kitchen. “He wanted to give you a lift up to drama but I said you'd see him up there. I didn't know you two were such good friends.”

“We're not,” I said, drying my slimy hands on the nearest tea towel. “He just thinks everything's the same as it used to be when he lived next door, but it isn't.”

“Can I use your bike today while you're at drama?” Sara asked suddenly.

“Don't be stupid, it's way too big for you. Your feet don't even touch the ground.”

“But couldn't I just try? I've grown at least three milli-inches in the last few months.”

“Three
what
? Oh, okay then. Whatever.”

Mum looked at me sharply as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. She hadn't even noticed my hair but she'd noticed me being nice to Sara quick enough.

“That hair gel must've rotted your brain or something,” said Sara. “You
never
let me use your things.”

“She's just preoccupied with drama, aren't you, Phoebs? Isn't today the day you find out your parts?”

“Yeah, but I'm not that bothered because I know I'm going to be one of the Sweet-Dreamers so it's no big deal.”

Of course it
was
a big deal really – the biggest. But I wasn't about to tell Mum that I was still hoping against hope, that somehow, by some miracle, Miss Howell would choose me to be Sabine.

“I could read the tea leaves and tell you for sure, if you want?” Sara said, picking up Mum's empty cup and throwing a tea towel over her head.

“She doesn't use tea leaves,
raisin brain
, she uses tea bags.”

“Well anyway, I've read the whole script, and Miss Howell would definitely choose
me
to be Sabine if she ever heard me sing.”

“More like she'd run away screaming! And keep your hands off my stuff.”

Sara stuck her tongue out at me. “You're just jealous,” she said, and crammed a huge piece of toast into her mouth.

Mum reached out and touched my forehead.

“Are you sure you're okay, Phoebe? You're ever so pale and you haven't eaten properly for days.”

“I'm fine, Mum, honest. I'll just go and get my stuff together. Dad will be here in a sec.”

I raced upstairs to see if I could do anything with my hair – but before I could even start to sort it out Dad arrived and we had to leave. Walking up the road to the car we bumped into Mrs. Burton and her three-year-old
Brain of Britain
grandson, Jason.

“Lovely day for an outing,” she trilled, even though it was freezing cold and about to pour.

“Oh, hello, Valerie,” said Dad.

“We're off to the Science Museum,” she said, as if we cared. “Jason just
loves
museums. We've been taking him to museums ever since he was a baby. Never too young to educate them, that's what we always say. He was practically reading by the time he was one, you know.”

She raised her eyebrows and started to nod, and Dad started to nod back as if someone else was controlling his head. He didn't say anything; he just stood there nodding like he was in a trance or something. In the end I had to pull him towards the car or else he'd probably still be there, standing in the middle of the street, nodding.

When we arrived, Ellie and Sam were standing outside waiting for me, hopping up and down in the cold. Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the door.

“Come
on
, Phoebe, we've been standing out here for ages and we're dying to find out our parts.”

“Don't exaggerate, Sam, we only got here five minutes ago,” said Ellie, giving me a quick hug. “Oh, what happened to your hair, Phoebs? Didn't you have time to dry it?”

Upstairs I could just about make out Miss Howell through the thick, choking dust. She was standing in the middle of the hall surrounded by ladders, toolboxes and open pots of paint – and she looked furious. The walls were brilliant turquoise, with huge, brightly coloured tropical fish painted on top. All the windows had been left open so it was freezing, but even with the windows open the smell was so strong it was difficult to breathe and my eyes started to water.

“I actually don't believe this,” Miss Howell was muttering to herself. “I'll give him,
laugh in the face of danger!
We can't rehearse under these conditions. It's not safe for a start and it stinks. I'm not putting up with this. I mean I'm sorry, Mr. Arthur McDermott, but I do pay to hire this hall!”

She stormed out of the room and down the corridor to Arthur's office, but it wasn't as if he was going to be sitting there waiting for her. Anyway, I was far more worried about the state of my hair than the state of the hall. It felt disgusting, and I was sure everyone was staring at me.

I stood over to one side by myself and made out I was incredibly interested in a bright yellow and pink painted fish, while I tried to pick out as many bits of blue tissue as I could. Ellie called out to me a few times but I pretended I couldn't hear. Then Monty B came over.

“Hi, Frankie,” he said. “Like the hair! Shame you weren't ready this morning but it was great to see your mum and Sara after so long. I suppose your dad was still in bed – having a lie-in.”

“He doesn't live at home any more,” I mumbled, my face burning up. I don't even know why I said it. There was just something about the way he came out with stuff, like we were still neighbours and nothing had changed.

“Bummer,” he said. “Because last time I saw him, before
we
moved out, he said I could borrow his guitar.”

“
What?
” I couldn't believe he was for real. “Do you mean you came round to my house at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning because
two years ago
my dad said you could borrow his guitar?” I wanted to grab hold of him and shake him. He was
so
annoying.

“Well it was a pretty cool guitar,” he said. “But that's not the real reason I came over.”

Miss Howell stormed back into the hall before I could ask him what he was on about. She looked around the room, frowning.

“Right, listen up, guys; we'll have to start the session on the stage. It's not ideal, I know, but it's the best we can do at the moment.”

“Oh my God,” said Neesha, holding her nose. “Did you find Arthur, because I swear it's minging in here?”

“No, of course I didn't find him,” Miss Howell said, running her hand through her hair. “You didn't think he was going to stick around after leaving the hall like this, did you, Neesha? He's probably in Timbuktu or somewhere by now!”

Up on the stage, we all sat in a circle. Miss Howell took a big piece of paper out of her bag with CAST written at the top and everyone stopped talking.

“Quick, Mandy, put me out of my misery,” Monty B groaned. “Be honest, I can take it. Am I Sabine or not?”

“Er…not, Monty B,” she said, laughing. “But I'm glad you asked because I was just about to say that I really hope you'll
all
be happy with your parts. Remember what I said before the auditions –
everyone
in a production is important no matter how big or small your part is.”

My tummy lurched over suddenly, like when you go on a really scary ride at the fair and I stared down at the floor.

“Okay, let's get started. Catharine – you're going to be Sabine,” said Miss Howell, smiling at Catharine. “Well done.”

Catharine looked thrilled and everyone gave her a clap. I knew she deserved it because she's a brilliant singer and it was obvious
I
wasn't going to be Sabine, but still I couldn't help feeling gutted.

“This is
amazing
,” said Catharine, her eyes shining so brightly it looked like she was about to cry. “I really,
really
wanted to be Sabine but I didn't think I was going to get it.”

“Well, I
did
want to be Sabine to start with,” said Sam, tossing her blonde curls. “But then I changed my mind because it's not actually the biggest part, is it?”

“Not as big as your head,” said Monty B, and I nearly burst out laughing.

Sam made a face at Monty B and Miss Howell finished reading through the rest of the cast list, explaining that anyone who didn't have a main part was going to be either a Sweet-Dreamer or a Jelly-Skull.