Andre's Showcase. Kimberly Wyatt

I’d ever be rescued. Now I know how Anne Boleyn felt right before her execution.’

      ‘You’re likening getting trapped inside a toilet with being beheaded?’ Mrs Jones raised her eyebrows so high they practically met her snowy white hairline. The other students started to snigger.

      ‘Don’t laugh!’ Andre retorted. ‘The panic was real!’

      ‘OK. I’ve heard enough,’ Mrs Jones said. Although she was still frowning Andre could see that her gaze had softened a fraction. ‘Get your shoes on and take your place.’

      ‘Why do you always have to be such a drama queen?’ Cassandra whispered as Andre put his shoes on.

      ‘Same reason you have to be such an ice queen, I guess,’ Andre retorted. ‘I was born this way.’ Andre had no time for Cassandra. Ever since they’d started at WEDA she’d gone out of her way to make Billie and Tilly’s lives hell. As far as Andre was concerned, if you messed with a member of Il Bello, you messed with him.

      ‘OK, everyone, places, please,’ Mrs Jones called. ‘Let’s begin with a single file line for our tap cannons, starting with a stamp slide into a spank heel step flap ball change. Listen to each other to stay in time or you will end up sounding like a herd of buffalo stampeding. We need to make beautiful rhythms, not a mush of melodies.’

      As the music started Andre focused hard on waiting for his turn to step in beat and stay in rhythm but his entire body ached with tiredness and his limbs felt as limp as a rag doll’s. Each time the cannon came to him he was a split second behind the beat and pulled everyone else out of rhythm. Come on, focus, he told himself but it was no good. It was as if his brain and his feet were living separate lives.

      ‘Aaargh!’ he exclaimed, as Mrs Jones tapped her cane on the floor to get them to stop.

      ‘So, a herd of buffalo it is. Is everything OK, Andre?’ she asked.

      The whole class turned to stare at him.

      ‘I do hope you’re not still traumatized by your toilet ordeal.’

      As the others giggled Andre felt an unfamiliar warmth in his cheeks. ‘No. It’s not that, it’s . . .’

      ‘What?’ Mrs Jones asked.

      Andre saw Cassandra smirking. Great.

      ‘I just don’t like it when I don’t bring my A game,’ he muttered.

      ‘Yes.’ Mrs Jones nodded. ‘And there’s only one answer to that – wake up and work harder!’ She rapped her cane on the floor. ‘OK, everyone, let’s take it from the top.’

      As the cannon started again Raf placed his hand on Andre’s shoulder. ‘Go easy on yourself, bro. We all have those days.’

      Andre nodded. But Raf didn’t understand. This wasn’t just one of those days. He had great big, clumsy buffalo feet and a blogging empire crumbling around him.

      At lunchtime Andre made his way to the Stable Studio. Normally, these lunchtime sessions with Il Bello were the highlight of his school day but today, as he made his way along the winding path through the trees at the back of the old building, he felt a creeping sense of dread. The others would all be expecting him to have come up with some new choreography ideas and what with Harem-Pant Hell, History Homework Hell and Buffalo Herd Hell he just hadn’t had a chance to think of anything.

      He let himself into the stable. The others were there already, gathered together at the far end. Hazy gold pools of sunlight poured through the skylights on to the shiny wooden floor. It was hard to imagine that at the beginning of the school year, when Andre had first claimed the building for his street crew HQ, it had been a run-down old stable. So much had changed since then. Now, not only was the stable converted into a state-of-the-art studio but, thanks to Il Bello, street dance was on the curriculum at WEDA. He should feel proud of this but instead it only added to his feeling of exhaustion. He looked at Tilly’s graffiti mural on the wall – the three street-style bumble bees that symbolized the Il Bello three Bs ethos: Be fearless. Be authentic. Be you. No one had warned him it could be so stressful being authentic.

      ‘Dre!’ Billie exclaimed, running over to greet him. Her blond hair was swept back into a ponytail and she was wearing a vintage AC/DC rock-band tee over ripped leggings. Normally Andre would have commented on her fashion win but today he was so tired he couldn’t summon the energy to gush.

      ‘Hey, Bill,’ he said.

      ‘We were just wondering what music to play. What do you reckon?’ Billie looked at him hopefully. It was a look he was used to. And he’d always liked that they valued his opinion so much but today it made him irritable. Why should everything always be down to him?

      ‘I don’t know,’ he said, making his way over to the others.

      ‘Oh, come on, Dre – you always know,’ Billie replied.

      The others started nodding. It made him want to scream.

      ‘No. No I don’t. My playlists are played out and anyway, why do we even need to rehearse? It’s not as if we have a show coming up.’

      Billie’s face fell. ‘You don’t want to dance?’

      Tilly came over and placed her hand on Andre’s forehead. ‘Have you got a fever or something? That’s the second time in two days you’ve said you don’t want to dance.’

      ‘I’m just having a down day, don’t make such a big deal of it. I can’t carry you all the time . . .’ Andre stopped, mortified at what had just come out of his mouth. This wasn’t how he was. He had to get out of there.

      ‘Actually, you know what, maybe I am coming down with something.’ Andre picked up his bag. ‘You guys go ahead without me. I need some fresh air.’

      He made his way back outside, feeling drained and embarrassed. What the hell was wrong with him, talking to the others like that?

      He heard footsteps running up behind him and turned to see Tilly.

      ‘Oh, Dre, what’s wrong?’ she said, grabbing him in a hug.

      ‘Nothing – I . . .’ Andre leaned his head on her shoulder. It felt so nice. He was so sleepy. Maybe he should tell her everything. But he was supposed to be the strong one – the leader of Il Bello. It was bad enough that he’d just had a mini-meltdown. ‘I’ve been a bit stressed about Spotted, that’s all.’

      ‘But why?’ Tilly took a step back and stared at him. ‘Spotted is doing great.’

      ‘I wish we had more subscribers.’

      ‘We will. It takes time.’ Tilly smiled. ‘I know. Let’s go out tomorrow – spot some new looks. That’s guaranteed to make you feel better.’

      Andre nodded but inside he wasn’t so sure. In his current mood, even the thought of his favourite pastime fashion-spotting left him feeling flat.

      ‘Oh my God! This town is so dull it makes watching paint dry seem like a thriller.’ Andre looked around the shopping precinct and gave a dramatic sigh.

      ‘Chill, Dre,’ Tilly replied. ‘It’s good that it’s boring.’

      ‘Oh yeah?’ Andre stared at her. ‘Why’s that?’

      Tilly adjusted her peaked cap. ‘Because it means that when we do finally spot a great look it’ll really stand out.’

      Andre leaned over the wall of the gallery to look down to the floor below. The precinct was full of frazzled-looking parents pushing buggies, and scruffy school kids. How were they ever going to find a good look here? It was like a blazer-wearing, toddler-wrangling zombie apocalypse. They should have gone into London