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Showtime. Jean Ure
Читать онлайн.Название Showtime
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008174866
Автор произведения Jean Ure
Издательство HarperCollins
I was still doubtful. “Are you sure that’s what it means?”
“I know that’s what it means.”
“How?” I said. “How do you know?”
“I know many things,” said Sean, smugly.
“So … you’re saying that wherefore means why?”
“Back in Shakespeare’s time,” said Sean.
I found myself torn between relief that at least he had told me so that I wouldn’t make an idiot of myself if I was chosen to read Juliet, and a feeling of annoyance that Sean, who didn’t even like the play, obviously understood it better than I did.
“If you want to know the truth,” he said, “the last time the company did the ballet was when I’d just started at the school and we all had to read the play and every single one of us got it wrong. Including me. That make you feel better?”
I nodded, gratefully. “What I don’t understand,” I said, “is why you don’t dance Romeo?”
“I will, I will! Probably next season.”
“It would make Caitlyn ever so happy. It really upsets her when Mercutio gets killed.”
“That’s one of my favourite bits!”
Cheekily I said, “Yes, I saw you staggering about, hamming it up.” I stumbled off across the bedroom floor, writhing and choking and clutching at myself in agony.
“Honestly, the nerve of it,” said Sean. “It asks me to give up my valuable time reading through some piece of romantic rubbish—”
“That’s why you don’t dance Romeo,” I said. “You’re obviously terrified of showing emotion!”
“Button it,” said Sean. “Any more smart mouth and I’ll leave you to get on with it by yourself. Start again, and try to make better sense of it this time.”
My hard work paid off! Two days later, when we had English again, Ms Turnbull chose me to read Juliet. By then I knew the scene so well I could have done it without the book. Oliver, who was reading Romeo, stumbled a bit but I pretended to myself that that was because he was hiding in the Capulets’ orchard, where he was in danger of being discovered at any moment. Maybe even by the vengeful Tybalt.
Afterwards Ms Turnbull thanked me for reading so well. She said I’d really brought Juliet to life.
“And congratulations for getting the first line right … Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? It’s the first time I’ve ever known anyone do so!” And then, since everybody was looking puzzled: “It doesn’t mean what you probably all think it means. Tell them, Maddy! What is Juliet saying?”
“She’s saying, why oh why do you have to be called Romeo?”
I managed to do it without blushing. It might have been Sean who’d set me right, but I thought I should be allowed to take some credit. I had, after all, put in a lot of effort, reading the scene over and over and over again, which I didn’t think anyone else had. I just wished there was someone I could tell about it. Mum, Dad, Sean … Hey, guess what? Ms Turnbull thanked me for reading so well. She said I really brought Juliet to life!
They would all be polite about it – well, Mum and Dad would be. Sean would probably claim it was all thanks to him. But none of them would truly be able to understand how important it was. How much it meant to me! I could only hug it to myself and bask in a warm glow of satisfaction.
Almost before we knew it, Outreach Day was upon us. I couldn’t believe how quickly the weeks had passed! They seemed to have whizzed by. Nico and I had been rehearsing every possible moment that we could, either with Mr Leonardo or by ourselves. We were both determined to live up to our reputation of being quick studies, plus we really did want to demonstrate how exciting ballet could be. I kept thinking of Chloe’s friend Dominic who had complained that it was “all pink and pretty”. Nobody, but nobody, could say that about our Fandango! I was so glad, now, that that was what Mr Leonardo had picked me for, rather than a Little Swan. The Little Swans were cute, all dancing together on pointe, with linked arms, their heads bobbing up and down, but I could see that maybe, for the boys, it wouldn’t be macho enough. Not if they were into football, which most boys seem to be.
We all assembled in Studio One: sixteen of us dancers and twenty Year Eight pupils from the local school, mostly girls, though at a quick glance I counted seven boys among them. It was a comfort to know that they’d all volunteered and hadn’t been forced into coming, so hopefully that meant they would be enthusiastic.
First off we did half an hour of class, as planned. Mr Leonardo, who was the teacher taking us, asked if any of our visitors felt like having a turn at the barre. Two of the girls volunteered. One of them had obviously had a few ballet lessons and was anxious to show what she could do. The other one overbalanced attempting a plié and collapsed into embarrassed giggles. I thought it was quite brave of her to have tried. Pliés may look simple but they’re a bit more than an ordinary knees-bend. As she had discovered!
When we’d demonstrated what we did in class – every single day of our working lives, as Mr Leonardo impressed upon everyone – we prepared for our individual pieces. The Little Swans, the Trepak, the Czardas from Coppelia
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