Showtime. Jean Ure

      

      

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2018

      Published in this ebook edition in 2018

      HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

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      The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      Text copyright © Jean Ure 2018

      Cover illustration © Lucy Truman; decorative frame © Shutterstock

      Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

      Jean Ure asserts the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of the work.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780008164546

      Ebook Edition © 2018 ISBN: 9780008174866

      Version: 2018-03-09

      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

       Keep Reading …

       Books by Jean Ure

       About the Publisher

      

      “I simply cannot believe –” Chloe opened her tote bag and took out a little hammer. Then she picked up one of her pointe shoes – brand-new, sparkly-clean pointe shoes – and began bashing at it. “I simply cannot believe we’re in our second year!”

      Somewhat soberly I said, “I can’t believe we’ve all survived.”

      It still made cold, damp goosefeet go plapping down my spine when I thought how close I’d come to being thrown out. At the end of our very first term, that had been. Not because my dancing wasn’t up to standard but because Ms Hickman, Head of Ballet, hadn’t thought I was committed enough. It was only thanks to Caitlyn that I’d been given a second chance. She had actually been brave enough to speak up for me! What was more, Ms Hickman had actually listened. Which was why I was still here, a year later, on the first day of the new term – sitting in the Green Room next to Studio One, waiting for the studio to clear so that afternoon class could begin. We were all here, all eight of us. Me and Caitlyn, Alex and Roz, Tiffany, Amber, Chloe, Mei. Survivors!

      Alex nodded, complacently. “It’s practically unheard of, everyone being kept on.”

      I agreed. City Ballet School has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to what Mum calls “weeding out”. Too tall, wrong shape, hasn’t lived up to earlier promise.

      “We’re obviously an exceptionally talented group,” I said.

      “Oh, Maddy, don’t,” begged Caitlyn. “Please! It’s like tempting fate!”

      Personally I felt I’d already tempted fate. Going ice skating and injuring myself halfway through my very first term really had been asking for trouble. Even Sean had lectured me about it, and Sean isn’t at all a lecturing kind of person even though he’s my big brother and doesn’t always take me seriously. Mum and Dad, thank goodness, had never known. I still had nightmares, wondering what Mum would have had to say. She’d said enough when Jen (my sister) had got married and had Thomas and immediately stopped dancing. You’d have thought the world had come to an end! But at least Jen had had an excuse, and now that he was a toddler even Mum thought Thomas was pretty cute. I wouldn’t have had any excuse at all. Just as well it had stayed a guilty secret!

      I slowly sank down on to the floor, leaning back against the wall, legs comfortably lolling. In just a few minutes I’d be working hard enough, bending, stretching, leaping. Mr Leonardo, who takes us for Character (the class we were waiting for and one of the ones I like best) is a very sweet and lovely man who almost never loses his temper or makes sarcastic remarks (unlike Ms Hickman, who makes them all the time). Mr Leonardo would far sooner praise you for your good points than shame you in front of the whole class by sarcastically informing you that you looked like a sack of potatoes or moved with about as much animation as a slug. For all that, he doesn’t believe in letting us relax. Character is a whirl of activity from the word go.

      I gazed around, contentedly, at the others. Caitlyn, next to me, was taking the opportunity to finish darning a pair of pointe shoes. Darning pointe shoes is a job I particularly dislike, but Caitlyn actually takes pride in it. She is always so industrious! Chloe, meanwhile, was still merrily bashing with her hammer.

      “It always seems such a pity,” said Caitlyn, “that we have to do these horrible things.” She held up the shoe she’d been working on. Her stitches (unlike mine) are always so neat and precise; she turns darning into some kind of art form. “Honestly,” she said, “it makes me feel like a vandal. Those poor shoemakers! It must be absolutely heartbreaking for them … They give us these beautiful, delicate shoes and the first thing we do is destroy them!”

      “Yes,