LITMIR.BIZ

       Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Keep Reading …

       Books by Jean Ure

       About the Publisher

      “Honestly,” squealed Caitlyn, “I nearly died!”

      “I know, I know!” That was Roz, also screaming. “I just wanted to bury myself under the floorboards!”

      “Me, too!” Alex rolled her eyes, rather wildly. “I thought I was going to pass out on the spot!”

      “That moment when she walked in …”

      “Omigod!”

      Now they were all squealing. A woman walking past gave us a very odd look. I wasn’t surprised! They sounded like a load of fingernails scraping down a blackboard. All high-pitched and shrill. Quite painful, really. And all because – shock, horror! – Madam had suddenly appeared in the middle of class!

      I gave a little squeak, just to show that I was sympathetic. I didn’t want to seem stand-offish; they were, after all, my friends. Caitlyn was actually my best friend. We’d spent most of the day together, taking our final audition for the City Ballet School – including the class that Madam had walked in on.

      I expect most people would have thought it was a bit stressful. Even the class itself, with or without Madam’s laser-like presence. Just knowing all the time that you were being assessed, like “Is she musical enough? Is she supple enough? Has she got what it takes?” Though to be honest, it wasn’t so very different from what we were used to. The four of us had been taking special classes at the school every Saturday morning for the past year. Extension classes they called them, for people who were hoping to join the school as full-time students. We’d already got through the preliminary auditions so we’d known what to expect. Class the same as usual; just a bit more demanding. More stretches and jumps, more complicated series of steps. It was what we’d been working towards. Miss Jackson, who’d taken us on Saturday mornings, had prepared us well. Once we’d started and I’d got over any jitters I might have had, I’d actually enjoyed myself. I think it was because it was a challenge. I do like to be challenged! I sometimes get bored otherwise and find it difficult to concentrate.

      Following on from class we’d had a series of intelligence tests. I don’t think any of us had been specially bothered about those. After all, it’s not like they expect you to be a genius or anything. Just so long as you have some kind of a brain. And imagination. It’s good to have imagination. Better really, if you ask me, than being able to do square roots and equations and stuff. (I probably just say that because I personally can’t do them. But I have got imagination!)

      After the intelligence tests we’d all had to have a medical exam, to check our bones were OK. Nothing really to worry about cos surely by now if there was anything wrong they’d have found out? Well, you’d think so, considering they’d already been teaching us for a year, though it’s true that sometimes odd things can be discovered and people are told they’re not physically right for a dancing career. Still, I’m what Dad calls “an incurable optimist”. I don’t believe in torturing myself by imagining all the things that could go wrong. Even the dreaded interview at the end with Miss Hickman, the Head of Dance Studies, hadn’t really held any fears. I’d felt sure I’d think of something to say. I usually do!

      It was true, on the other hand, that I had a bit of an unfair advantage. When you come from a ballet family – when your mum and dad, your brother, your sister, are all dancers – you tend to kind of take things for granted. Ballet just becomes an accepted part of your life, no more peculiar than – well! Eating and drinking. Going to bed. Getting up. It’s just something you do.

      It wasn’t like that for the others, especially not for Caitlyn. It had been a real struggle for her. Alex and Roz hadn’t come from ballet families, either, so I probably should try to be more understanding. Madam was quite a frightening sort of person and none of us had expected her to suddenly come teetering in, on her high heels, in the middle of class. She was the Director after all! Dame Catherine Le Brocq, MBE. (For Services to Dance.) She had been one of the founders of City Ballet. Generations of dancers had lived their lives in terror of her, going right back to when Mum was there. It was hard to picture Mum ever being terrified of anyone, but she had once confessed to me that “Madam used to turn us all to jelly.” Even I had felt a slight twinge when the door had swung open and I’d seen her standing there, tiny as a sparrow with these diamond-sharp eyes shooting laser beams in all directions. I don’t think I faltered cos Mum had trained me well,

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