Phoebe Finds Her Voice Read online

  I practised a few kicks in the middle of my room and had Polly lying on the floor begging for mercy when Ellie rang.

  “Hi, Phoebs.”

  “Oh, hi, Ellie. Have you done your Literacy yet?”

  “Erm…no, I lost the sheet on the way home. I dropped it as I was leaving school and it blew away. It’s probably halfway to France by now,” she giggled.

  “Not again, Ellie. Mr. Davis will go spare.”

  “I know, I know, but it was really windy and I was carrying way too many things. Anyway, listen, Phoebs, Sam just texted me, and we’re both going to join Miss Howell’s drama club. So are you going to come?”

  Sam Lester – biggest show-off of all time – and Ellie’s new best friend. Ellie and I have been best friends ever since nursery, but I swear the minute we got to Woodville, she had a good look around and managed to find the loudest person in the whole, entire year group to hang out with.

  “Phoebe, are you listening? I said are you going to come?”

  “No, I mean yes, I mean yes I am listening but no, I can’t come. My mum says it’s way too expensive. She won’t even get me a phone until Christmas so she’s not about to pay for a drama club.”

  “It’s not that expensive, is it? Look, why don’t I get my mum to ring your mum and see if she can talk her round?”

  “No, it’s fine, Ellie, honest. I don’t even want to join. I’m going to start karate lessons on Saturdays so I won’t have time anyway.”

  “Karate lessons? Since when have you been interested in karate, Phoebs? This could be our chance to put on a real show!”

  “Yeah I know, but listen Ellie, Mum’s calling me. Better go. Speak later.”

  I’m always doing that – making things up quickly to get out of a tricky situation, and then getting found out and feeling stupid. I don’t think of it as lying exactly, just a way of covering up how shy I am and how a little thing like going to a drama club can end up really BIG in my head.

  I lay down on my bed and stared up at my favourite poster of Donny Dallesio. He’s wearing this white suit and doing a double thumbs up with the biggest grin on his face. I stared into his deep, brown eyes wondering how everything got to be such a mess. I bet if he was here, right this second, he’d say, “Stop being such a wimp, Phoebe Franks and tell your mum you want to join.” But he wasn’t here and anyway, even if the words were there inside my head, there’s no way I’d ever be able to get them out.

  I lay there for ages thinking about singing and dancing and Ellie and Sam, and Star Makers – about how I did want to join, more than anything, if only I wasn’t so scared. Then, just when I thought I couldn’t stand thinking about it any more, something totally weird happened. Donny stretched his arm right out of the poster – yes, right out of it – and gave me a “thumbs up”.

  I blinked really hard and then blinked again and the poster was back to normal. My heart started to race. I sat up straight. I was obviously losing it – big time – unless it was a sign! I thought about what Sara had said at breakfast – about how my life was about to change – and before I could bottle out or do anything stupid, I tore downstairs and told Mum that I did want to join Star Makers Drama Club after all.

  Okay, fine. So I said I’d join Star Makers, but I didn’t say I’d actually go. I tried ringing Ellie early on Saturday morning to see if she could pick me up – the last thing I wanted to do was walk in by myself – but she’d already arranged to go with Sam. So then I tried to come up with some really good reasons not to go at all. Like maybe I should spend my Saturdays doing extra maths so that I didn’t fall behind, or maybe Saturday would be the perfect day for me to spend more time with Sara. We could bake biscuits and dress up her Barbie dolls.

  “Play Barbies with Sara?” Mum snorted, when I told her. “Listen to me, Phoebe, you really need to get out and make some new friends. Come on, get your coat. Your dad will be here in a sec and I want you ready to go.”

  So I didn’t end up walking in by myself after all. I got to walk in with my saddo dad, who went on and on all the way there about how happy he was that I was coming out of my shell and joining in with other children – like I was two or something. And then who was the first person I saw standing in the middle of the hall staring at me with her witch-green eyes and scrunched-up face? My favourite person in the Whole Entire Universe – Polly Carter.

  I grabbed Dad’s hand and tried to turn back towards the door, but unfortunately Miss Howell came straight over to us before I could make a run for it. She looked amazing. She dyes her hair a different colour practically every week and it was jet black with bright yellow tips, sticking up like the spikes on a hedgehog.

  “Phoebe, hi, it’s so great to see you. Come and stand over here with me in the circle, we’re just about to start some warm-up games. Oh, and Mr. Franks, if you could fill out a form – they’re in a pile over there on the piano – that would be great.”

  I had a quick look round. There were loads of children, all talking and messing about – some from Woodville and some from other schools. The hall itself was pretty ordinary. I’d half expected it to look like a proper theatre with special lights and fancy seats and stuff but it wasn’t like that at all. At one end there was a huge, wooden stage with heavy-looking, blue velvet curtains. Then just in front of the stage there was an ancient piano that looked as if it was about to collapse at any moment, but apart from that and a stack of chairs it was empty.

  I stood next to Miss Howell in the circle but kept my eyes fixed firmly on Dad filling out the form. I was trapped in a room with Polly Carter and I didn’t know what to do. I stared at Dad’s back, trying desperately to communicate telepathically that I wanted him to take me home. But it didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. I mean we don’t even communicate non-telepathically these days.

  He finished the form in double quick time, mouthed “see you later” and disappeared through the double doors. I stood totally still to stop myself from running straight after him. Tara Perkins from my class was standing next to me in the circle.

  “I didn’t know you were coming, Phoebe,” she said, peering at me through her little round glasses.

  “Nor did I actually, Tara,” I felt like saying. “Not until Donny Dallesio more or less tricked me into joining.” But of course I didn’t say that at all, I just gave her one of my best twisted-up smiles and mumbled, “Hi.”

  Ellie waved at me from the other side of the circle. She was wearing a new top and her thick, glossy hair was dead straight like she’d used straighteners on it. Sam was next to her and she was wearing exactly the same top. In fact, even though Sam’s hair is blonde and curly and Ellie’s is dark brown, they looked like clones or something – standing there like that in their matching tops.

  Next to Ellie on her other side was a boy with sticking-up red hair – not ginger, but bright red like a postbox. My heart started to thud. I looked away and then looked back. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. But even with his hair dyed that ridiculous colour, I knew it was: Montgomery Brown, also known as Monty B, my ex-next-door-neighbour and Most Irritating Person Ever.

  Monty B lived next door to us for years; I think I was only four when he moved in. He used to call me Frankie and he was over at ours all the time like he thought we were best friends.

  He grinned at me across the circle but I looked away, my face burning up. He moved out of our road about two years ago, and I don’t even know why but seeing him here after so long was more embarrassing than anything.

  “Before we get started,” Miss Howell was saying, “I want to have a little chat with you about Star Makers, and about what I’m hoping we can achieve here.” She looked at each one of us around the circle.

  “Star Makers is not about being the best or getting the biggest parts,” she said, serious for a moment. “Star Makers is all about being part of a group; a special group, where everyone is important and everyone has their moment to shine.”

  “But some people will get big parts, won’t t
hey?” Sam called out.

  “Of course some people will have bigger parts than others, Sam, but as each of you grows in confidence, over time, your turn to have the biggest part will come.”

  Sam looked a bit disappointed. She probably thought she was going to get the biggest part every time.

  “Now let’s start with some name games,” said Miss Howell. “Oh, and talking of names, I’d really like the children who go to Woodville to call me Mandy while we’re at drama.”

  “That will be so weird, won’t it?” whispered Tara. “Calling Miss Howell, Mandy.”

  But I couldn’t answer. I was too busy working out how I was going to escape – from Polly Carter and Monty B.

  “We’re going to go round the circle and when it gets to your turn I want you to say your name and do an action at the same time,” said Miss Howell. “It can be any sort of action you feel like: a clap, a stamp, a kick, anything at all – and then everyone else will repeat that person’s name and copy the action.”

  Say my name? Do an action? In front of strange people?! I really had to get out of there and fast.

  “Oh, can I start, Mandy?” Sam called out, but before Miss Howell could even answer she kicked one of her legs high up into the air and shouted, “I’m Sam, yes I am!” like she was a Dr. Seuss character or something. Ellie was next. She said her name and then burst into giggles, so everyone said her name and giggled back. Then it was Monty B’s turn. He yelled “Monty B!” did a flying cartwheel right across the circle and landed in a heap at my feet.

  I couldn’t tell you what anyone else did after that. I desperately wanted to make a run for it, but I knew that if I moved or spoke or even breathed something horrible would happen.

  As Tara Perkins finished her go twenty pairs of eyes turned towards me like deadly lasers and I wished more than anything that I could drop dead – or magic myself back home with Mum. I didn’t think I was going to say or do anything at all. I was pretty sure that even if I tried to speak no sound would come out of my mouth.

  But then something clicked in my head like an invisible switch turning on and this picture of Donny appeared, as clear as if he was standing right in front of me. He was grinning wildly and doing a double thumbs up just like in my poster – and before I could even think about what I was going to do next, I said “Phoebe Franks” in the tiniest whisper – I doubt anyone even heard it – and I did a double thumbs up.

  For a minute I couldn’t believe I’d spoken out loud. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing, like in my bedroom. But then everyone else shouted out “Phoebe Franks!” and did a double thumbs up, and the game carried on around the circle. I wiped my sweaty palms on the back of my jeans, said a silent thank you to Donny and breathed again.

  When the circle games were finished, Miss Howell asked us to walk around the hall using all the available space. I tried to stay as near to Ellie as I could without making it obvious. But she kept changing direction and she was walking so fast she was almost running, so it was more or less impossible for me to keep up with her.

  In the end I gave up and walked around by myself. I was just thinking about how much I wanted to go home and about how amazing it was that one measly morning could somehow seem like a whole entire week, when Polly Carter walked past me with two of her mates from school.

  “All right, Phoebe Franks,” she said, sarcastically, giving me a thumbs up. She looked back at her friends sniggering, but before I could answer – or stick my thumb in her eye – Miss Howell shouted “Freeze!”

  “Right, guys, get into groups of four with whoever you’re standing closest to,” she called out from the front. “And I don’t want to see anyone running across the hall to be with their friends!”

  Of course Ellie was nowhere in sight, and I wasn’t about to go with Polly, so I shuffled over to Tara from my class – at least she was someone I knew. Then this really funny girl called Neesha who lives in Ellie’s road came over – and so did Monty B.

  “Hey, Frankie,” he said, lifting his hand up for a high five.

  I looked at him, horrified. “Don’t call me Frankie here,” I hissed. “And why on earth is your hair bright red?”

  His face lit up as if I’d paid him a massive compliment or something. “Oh, it was kind of like a dare that went wrong,” he said. “I thought it would wash out but I bought the wrong stuff and it turns out it was permanent. My dad hit the roof big time – but Mum said it was an expression of my individuality – you know what she’s like.”

  “An expression of your individuality?” snorted Neesha, rolling her eyes and grinning at me. “What are you – a traffic light?”

  “Very funny, Neesha. But did you know that, statistically speaking, people with red hair are more likely to succeed than people with brown hair like yours?”

  “So you’ll be a really successful traffic light!” said Neesha. “Congratulations.”

  I sneaked a look at Monty B while they were talking, but he caught me peeking and winked at me. I couldn’t believe he was the same annoying little boy I used to ride my bike with, and roll down the hill in the park with, and do other horribly embarrassing things that I didn’t even want to think about.

  We did loads more games in our groups, had a quick break, and then Miss Howell called us over to the piano to teach us a song.

  “The auditions for The Dream Factory will actually be next Saturday,” she said, handing round some sheets with the words on. “I know it doesn’t give you much time to prepare but we’re going to be performing the show in February, so I’d really like to get going. This is the song I want you to learn for the singing audition. It’s…”

  “Oh, I just love auditions,” cried Sam. “I did this audition once and I was nearly chosen to be on telly. It was so amazing.”

  Personally I couldn’t see what was so great about nearly being chosen to be on telly, but then Sam has this way of making everything she does sound like it’s so amazing.

  “It’s sung by Sabine right at the beginning of the show,” Miss Howell went on, giving Sam a look. “Sabine is one of the main characters. She lives in the factory with the Sweet-Dreamers, who make all our sweet dreams, and the Jelly-Skulls, who make all our nightmares. Her parents, Baron-Von-Bolt and Ice Bomb, run the factory and they’re really cruel to her. They treat her like a servant – kind of like Cinderella – so this song is all about how wretched her life is.”

  Name games and thumbs up and audition songs – I didn’t know what I was doing there, or why I ever thought I was the sort of person who could join a drama club, let alone audition for a part in a show. Talk about nightmares and wretched lives. There was no way I was going to come back – not in a million years.

  But then Miss Howell started to play Sabine’s song on the piano and, by the time she’d played it through twice, all that other stuff had flown straight out of my head. I don’t even know why, or how, or what happened, but it was as if Sabine’s song had cast a spell over me.

  So what if I was Phoebe Franks, World’s Shyest Person? So what if Sabine was one of the biggest parts in the show? So what if I could barely say my name in front of the others, let alone sing a solo? I knew in that instant – as the music filled my head – that I had to be Sabine, no matter what.

  As soon as we got home, I left Mum and Dad arguing on the doorstep and raced up to my room to start practising. Whenever Dad drops us back on a Saturday they end up shouting at each other. Well, Mum shouts and Dad just stands there, which totally winds Mum up and makes her shout even more. They argue about me and Sara and arrangements and money and a whole load of other boring stuff.

  I usually hide under my covers with my earphones in until Dad leaves, but today I sat on my bed and sang Sabine’s song to drown them out. Miss Howell had given us the Dream Factory script and I could still hear the tune playing in my head. I sang it through three or four times, getting louder and louder, as Mum started screaming at Dad and Sara started to wail. Then I grabbed a hairbrush to be my microphone and
stood in front of my full-length mirror to sing it again – even louder.

  I felt so different up in my room where no one could see me, it was like magic, and for a few minutes I was right there, in that wretched factory, singing about how tragic my life was. I didn’t only sound like Sabine, I was Sabine. I couldn’t even hear Mum and Dad arguing any more – it was as if they didn’t exist – but then suddenly there was an almighty bang from downstairs – and the spell was broken.

  I looked at myself in the mirror and saw my reflection. I mean really saw it. I saw how flat my hair was, stuck to my ears like overcooked spaghetti, and how completely stupid I looked standing there pretending to be a singer. And how stupid I must have looked standing in the circle at drama doing that pathetic thumbs-up sign. I flopped down on my bed in despair. If I was ever going to convince Miss Howell in a million years that I was the right person to be Sabine, I needed to make some changes – and fast.

  Suddenly my door flew open and Sara burst in, sobbing.

  “Quick, Phoebe! Quick! Mum shut the door in Dad’s face and I think it hit his nose. It might be broken or squashed or bleeding and Mrs. Burton was standing outside listening to everything they said and—”

  “Wait a sec, how do you know that – about Mrs. Burton?”

  “Because she came over to tell Mum to keep the noise down and that’s when Mum slammed the door.”

  “Well Mum was probably trying to squash Mrs. Burton’s nose, and Dad’s nose just got in the way.”

  Sara always works herself up into such a state when Mum and Dad argue – like she still expects them to be best friends or something.

  “Anyway, noses are harder than you think,” I added to calm her down a bit. “Especially grown-ups’ noses.”

  She wiped her snotty face on her sleeve. “Are you sure?” she said, and sat down on the end of my bed as if she was planning to stay for a while.