Billie's Big Audition. Kimberly Wyatt

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СКАЧАТЬ say I’m ballet royalty.’

      ‘Yeah, or you could say you’re a stuck-up snob,’ Tilly muttered.

      Billie bit down on her lip to stop herself laughing. But then her heart sank. What hope did she have competing against someone like Cassandra?

      ‘And could we have three adjectives that best describe you?’ Mr Marlo said.

      Arrogant, rude, smug? Billie thought.

      ‘Driven, determined, talented,’ Cassandra rattled off immediately, like she said it every night in the mirror before she went to sleep.

      ‘OK, now show me what we are working with. I want to see your posture in fifth position. Take four pivots, then go sit over there,’ Mr Marlo said, gesturing to the side of the studio. It was slightly reassuring to see that he didn’t seem overly impressed with Cassandra.

      ‘Jonathan Cross,’ Mr Marlo called next, looking at his clipboard.

      ‘It’s MJ,’ a pale, blond-haired boy wearing a fedora hat muttered.

      ‘MJ?’ Mr Marlo said.

      ‘Yeah.’ The boy got to his feet and walked over to Mr Marlo.

      ‘MJ short for Jonathan Cross?’ Mr Marlo said with a grin.

      ‘No. Michael Jackson.’

      A ripple of laughter passed across the studio.

      The boy frowned. Billie had noticed him during the dance. It was impossible not to notice him, his ballet was exquisite. But now he seemed like a different person. Twitchy and nervous, his eyes darting all around.

      ‘So, MJ, what do you love about dance?’

      ‘I don’t know. I suppose I love that I don’t need to – to speak when I dance. I – I can speak through my body.’

      ‘Amen to that, brother,’ Mr Marlo said. ‘And do you have three adjectives that best describe you?’

      MJ looked at him blankly. ‘I don’t really . . . Dancer. Male. Autistic.’

      ‘Thanks, MJ,’ Mr Marlo said softly. ‘Go take a seat.’

      As Billie watched MJ go and sit down by Cassandra she felt filled with admiration. One of the regulars in her mum’s cafe had autism. Her mum had explained to her how hard he found social situations. It must have been so difficult for MJ to stand up there and speak in front of them all.

      ‘Rafael Garcia,’ Mr Marlo called.

      Billie almost gasped out loud as the boy with the black beads got up. She’d heard of Rafael Garcia. DANCE magazine had done a huge profile piece on him. He was some kind of child prodigy, supposed to be the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. Like MJ, he looked unimpressed to be there. Billie felt butterflies in her stomach as she thought of having to dance in front of him. What if she made a fool of herself ? What if she fell over? She took a deep 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.

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