LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

breath. Don’t worry about him, she told herself. Just focus on you and being your best.

      ‘I am Rafael Garcia,’ he said in a thick Cuban accent. ‘I love to dance because dance is where I come alive.’

      Billie wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t speaking in his first language but he didn’t seem like he quite meant it.

      ‘And your three adjectives?’ Mr Marlo asked.

      Rafael shrugged. ‘Tired. Jet-lagged . . . Bored.’

      Billie froze. How could he talk to Mr Marlo like that? Didn’t he realize how prestigious WEDA was?

      ‘Hmm, well we’ll have to make sure we put you through your paces in the next part of the audition to make sure you don’t get bored again. Sit.’ Mr Marlo was clearly annoyed.

      As the next few auditionees were called up, Billie felt increasingly nervous. What should she say when it was her turn? Everyone else seemed so polished, like they had been practising for days. The more Billie tried to find the right words, the more they wriggled from her grasp. And then, finally, her name was called. Somehow she made it to the front of the studio, her skin burning from the lights and the stares.

      ‘I–I’m Billie Edmonds,’ she stammered.

      ‘And give us three adjectives that describe you, Billie,’ Mr Marlo said.

      ‘Three adjectives that describe me are . . .’ Billie said, desperately trying to buy some more time. Why couldn’t she think of anything? But then she pictured her mum and dad and Uncle Charlie standing at the back of the studio. Tell them who you are, Billerina, she imagined Charlie saying.

      ‘I’m a dancer and a dreamer and a doer.’

      ‘A doer?’ Mr Marlo echoed.

      ‘Yes. I don’t just dream of things – I try to make them happen, no matter what.’

      ‘Yes, I can see that,’ Mr Marlo said, looking at her dust-streaked bare feet. ‘And why do you love to dance?’

      Just tell him the truth, Billie imagined her dad whispering to her.

      ‘Really, I should hate dancing,’ she said. People stopped fidgeting and the studio became completely silent.

      ‘Oh. Why’s that?’ Mr Marlo asked, looking surprised.

      ‘The only reason I started going to ballet classes was because my dad died. My mum thought it would be a distraction for me – to stop me feeling so sad.’ Billie looked at Mr Marlo uncertainly and he nodded at her to continue. ‘But after a while my ballet classes went from being somewhere I went to take my mind off my dad to somewhere I went just to be myself. That’s the only way I can describe it. When I dance I’m totally . . . me. And I don’t care about any of the things that usually stress me out – like how I look, or whether people like me . . . or even if I have the right shoes.’

      Mr Marlo laughed.

      ‘So, I love dancing because dancing helps me be me.’

      ‘Bravo!’ Mr Marlo said. ‘Thank you, Billie. Go take a seat.’

      After everyone had spoken, they were split into groups of five to practise together before dancing for a panel of judges. Billie’s heart sank as she was put in a group with Cassandra.

      ‘Nice try with the sob story,’ Cassandra whispered as they went into a smaller studio to practise. ‘But this is what really counts – the dancing.’

      As Billie watched Cassandra march over to the barre her skin prickled with anger. She hadn’t talked about her dad dying to get sympathy. She’d said it because it was true. Well, she’d show Cassandra.

      After a whirlwind hour of practice it was time to go back to the main studio to dance for the judges. As they entered the room Billie’s hands felt clammy and her mouth went dry. Would Miss Murphy be there?

      But the panel was made up of Mr Marlo and two women who she didn’t recognize. Billie didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

      In the group dance Cassandra went out of her way to steal the spotlight, constantly pushing her way to the front and blocking Billie. Billie knew she hadn’t done enough in the group dance to shine, so it was all resting on her solo.

      As Billie stood there, waiting for the music for her solo audition to start, she thought of her dad. She thought of all the people he’d helped in his short life. She thought of how much she and her mum loved him; how devastated they’d been when he’d died. She pictured that love and sorrow drifting into her as the music started and then she began to dance. It was as if her body was telling the story of her loss. Every move was fuelled by a bitter-sweet mixture of pain and love. By the time the music faded Billie had completely forgotten where she was, she was so lost in the dance. She fell to her knees and closed her eyes.

      ‘That was beautiful,’ one of the women judges said.

      ‘You were telling quite a story there,’ Mr Marlo said gently.

      Billie nodded, unable to speak.

      ‘Thank you,’ the other judge said. ‘You may go now.’

      As Billie made her way back through the glass walkway and then the maze of corridors in the old building, she stopped to take a look at some of the framed photos on the wall. She’d been too nervous to notice them before. But now the audition was almost over. The dancing was done, all that was left was the interview.

      Most of the photos were of Miss Murphy, back in the days when she was principal dancer for the American Ballet Theatre. At the end of the corridor there was a glass case containing a pair of well-worn ballet shoes. Billie stared at them, mesmerized. They were Miss Murphy’s shoes from her first role as principal dancer, in a production of Swan Lake. Her infamous motto ‘Never say “I can’t” ’ was engraved on the glass.

      ‘But what if you’re not good enough?’ Billie whispered.

      ‘You should never tell yourself you’re not good enough,’ a woman’s voice said behind her. It was velvety and smooth, with an American accent.

      Billie spun around. ‘Miss Murphy!’ she gasped.

      ‘And you are?’ Miss Murphy asked.

      ‘Billie. Billie Edmonds.’

      ‘My favourite singer was called Billie,’ Miss Murphy said with a smile. She was a lot smaller than she appeared in magazines and on TV, and her bronde hair was pulled back into a bun. ‘Billie Holiday. But if she’d questioned whether she was good enough she’d never have recorded a song.’

      Billie nodded, speechless.

      ‘When I was your age, auditioning to go to WEDA, I was scared to death of letting someone down. It took me a long time to realize that you can’t let anyone down if you’re doing your best. Our motto here is “Never say ‘I can’t’” because you are the only one who can unlock your potential; we can only help by giving you the tools to achieve it. Do you understand?’

      Billie nodded.

      ‘So if I were you, I’d keep believing. You never know where life might take you if you keep trying and doing your best.’

      ‘Th-thank you,’ Billie stammered.

      ‘Goodbye, Billie,’ Miss Murphy said, turning and walking away. ‘And good luck in your interview.’

      Billie watched as Miss Murphy strode off down the corridor, her back ruler-straight and her feet slightly turned out from years of ballet.

      Had that really just happened? Had she really just spoken to Miss Murphy? She looked back at the glass case, at the words engraved into the glass. ‘Never say “I can’t”,’ Billie whispered, before heading off along the corridor.

Скачать книгу