Phoebe Finds Her Voice Page 3

  “Yes, I’m sure, Sara, really. But can you get out now?” I shoved her with my foot. “I was right in the middle of something vitally important and you didn’t knock.”

  “Of course I didn’t knock!” she cried dramatically. “It was an actual emergency in case you didn’t notice.” And she slammed out of the room leaving me to get on with my plan.

  So somehow by next Saturday I had to transform myself into a tragic heroine with the confidence to sing in front of the entire drama group – but how? I mean let’s face it; it’s not as if a fairy godmother was going to appear in my room waving a magic wand about any time soon. And then it came to me. It was so obvious. What I needed was a makeover.

  I suddenly got this picture in my head, as clear as anything, of Monty B and his traffic-light hair. I wasn’t going to dye my hair bright red, I wasn’t that stupid, but I had to do something to change my image. Something to make Miss Howell think I was the Sabine she was looking for!

  I leaned over and dragged a pile of magazines out from underneath my bed. They were stuffed full of articles about Donny Dallesio – and I remembered in one of them there was a brilliant interview he gave ages ago about how he’d transformed himself from a shy, geeky-looking teenager, into a world-famous superstar. I started leafing through as fast as I could; there was literally no time to lose.

  I found articles about his childhood and his favourite foods and his star sign. There was even one about his BIG TOE – which was apparently misshapen at birth and had to be operated on when he was ten. But I couldn’t see anything about this Great Transformation. And then just as I was about to give up, in the very last magazine, I found it:

  “My Rise to Fame” – by Donny Dallesio

  It was a really long article and most of it was no use at all, but there was one section about his hair – called Gel Spell – that looked quite interesting, and one about his special “stage smile” – called the Razzle Dazzle. I read that section first. I mean anyone could learn how to smile, couldn’t they?

  “The Razzle Dazzle Smile is a smile that shows ALL your teeth,” it said. “Think Hollywood! Think Toothpaste Ad! Think Crocodile! A smile is the singer’s disguise. A smile will hide the fact that you might be tired or sad or downright terrified. Smile, my friends, and the whole world will smile with you.

  “Perfecting the Razzle Dazzle Smile took many months of practice but once I’d mastered the technique I knew I was on my way. Future stars of the stage and screen – never forget the Razzle Dazzle Smile. It worked for me and it could work for you.”

  Months to perfect??? I didn’t have months to practise a stupid smile. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult – except I’ve always been rubbish at smiling even when I’m happy. My smiles come out all weird and twisted and sometimes they don’t come out at all.

  I tried to smile in the mirror but it looked awful; like I had some manky disease that affected the muscles around my mouth. I tried again but it looked even worse. I was just about to try singing and smiling at the same time when the phone rang.

  “Come and talk to your gran, Phoebe,” Mum shouted up the stairs, “and then it’s time to eat.”

  I trailed downstairs thinking about the Razzle Dazzle Smile, and about how I had less than seven days to get it right. Mum was in the kitchen. She handed me the phone and carried on making tea.

  “Hello, Gran.”

  “Hello, Phoebe, sweetheart. Did you survive the dreaded drama club?”

  “Just about, Gran. It was good. A bit scary – well very – but good.”

  “Did you know many people?”

  “Erm, Polly Carter was there, worst luck, and Ellie and Sam. Oh, and you won’t believe it but Monty B was there. You know; our old next-door neighbour.”

  “Oh, I remember Monty B. He was a lovely little boy. Was it nice to see him?”

  “Not really. He’s not little any more and he’s definitely not lovely. His hair is bright red like a traffic light and he kept following me around. Anyway, we’re putting on this show, called The Dream Factory. And we learned this song that Sabine sings, she’s the main character, and it’s so cool. I’ve been practising ever since I got home. But then…but then…”

  “But then what, love?”

  I could imagine Gran’s creased-up, worried face at the other end of the phone.

  “Oh, nothing. Then the phone rang, that’s all.”

  “Well, you just wait until that Miss Howell of yours hears what a fantastic voice you’ve got. She won’t believe her ears. I’ve got to go now but you’ve no idea how much I miss you. I’ll come down and see you as soon as I can. Oh and Phoebe, love, how’s Mum today?”

  I glanced at Mum. She looked awful.

  “She’s fine,” I lied. “Take care, Gran. Bye.”

  “Can you give me a hand with these drinks?” Mum said, when I’d put the phone down. “It’s teatime. And when you’ve done that, go and get Sara, would you? She’s upstairs having a strop about Dad’s nose or something.”

  I carried the cups over to the table. There were four.

  “Who’s coming to tea?” I asked, a funny feeling growing in my stomach. “Why have you laid the table for four? Who’s coming?”

  Mum whipped round as if I’d slapped her and snatched the extra cup out of my hand.

  “Just go and get Sara,” she said. Her voice was rock hard.

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” I said. “You forgot again.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Phoebe! I don’t want to talk about it. Now go and get Sara.”

  “I’m already here!” cried Sara suddenly, standing at the door clutching her favourite teddy, Barney. “And stop shouting, can’t you?” she said, clamping her hands over Barney’s ears. “You know Barney doesn’t like it.”

  Mum turned back to the sink, but not before I saw her eyes fill with tears. She did it every few weeks, laid the table for four instead of three. It was for Dad. She laid it for my dad. And every time she did, I felt as if someone had punched me really hard.

  The extra place wasn’t mentioned again, but Mum barely looked at me all through tea and I couldn’t wait to get back upstairs. I wasn’t sure about the Razzle Dazzle Smile – I didn’t really feel like smiling – but there was nothing to stop me practising Sabine’s song. I knew I couldn’t get Mum to be happy, or get my dad to be normal again, or get Polly Carter to leave me alone. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get the part of Sabine.

  I practised Sabine’s song every spare minute. I practised it in my room and in the bath and on the way to school in my head. I practised it so much I began to think I was Sabine, living in that dreary Dream Factory with her cruel parents. Ellie and Sam had practised loads as well and they both sounded brilliant, especially Sam.

  “I just really hope I’m brave enough to audition,” said Ellie at school on Wednesday. We were in the playground at lunchtime talking about Star Makers and the auditions and about how much all three of us were dying to be Sabine.

  “I don’t know what you’re so scared about, Ellie,” said Sam. “I can’t wait until Saturday. I could give you some tips if you like.” She jumped up in front of us. “First of all you have to stand with your legs apart and your shoulders back like this, and it’s really important that you don’t fidget.”

  “But you know what I’m like,” moaned Ellie. “I can’t keep still for more than two seconds.”

  “Well, you’ll have to practise,” said Sam. “The other thing to remember is to make eye contact with Miss Howell and to show her that you really understand the meaning of the song. Like, it’s no use looking happy if the song is sad like Sabine’s song is.”

  I thought about Donny and his Razzle Dazzle Smile but I didn’t say anything.

  “Oh yeah, and you have to open your mouth properly. That’s mega. If you don’t open your mouth really wide you won’t make a loud enough sound even if you’ve got a good voice.”

  Sam always had her mouth wide open, so I was sure that wouldn’t be too much of
a problem for her.

  “But listen, Ellie, if you’re too scared to try out for a main part,” she went on, “why don’t you audition to be one of the Sweet-Dreamers? You always have the weirdest dreams anyway, so that part would be perfect for you.”

  “I actually had the weirdest dream ever last night,” said Ellie. “I was standing on the stage about to audition for the show when this dinosaur burst in to the room and gobbled everyone up except for me and Miss Howell. It was a T. Rex, I think. The funny thing was, Miss Howell didn’t seem to be upset or shocked or anything. She just said, “Oh, well done, Ellie. I guess that means you’re going to be Sabine.”

  Sam snorted. “I’d carry on practising if I were you,” she said. “I don’t think there’s much chance of a dinosaur turning up on Saturday. How about you, Phoebe? Are you ready to audition?”

  “Phoebe’s got a brilliant voice,” said Ellie. “You should hear her, Sam.”

  But just then Sam went charging off across the playground after some Year Nine boy she fancies and I was left wondering if she ever would hear me sing – or if I’d be too scared when it got to Saturday.

  The next day, Dad and Sara came to pick me up from school. Mum had some bridesmaids’ dresses to finish, so we were going over to Dad’s for tea. They were waiting for me outside the gates, their heads close together chatting. Dad was wearing his scruffy PEACE NOW T-shirt, some awful brown sandals and his fake smile.

  He’s been smiling like that ever since he moved out; like he thinks if he sticks a smile on his face we won’t realize what a mess everything is. Sometimes I think I could reach up and peel that smile right off like a plaster, and underneath his real mouth would be all turned down and sad.

  “We’re going to make popcorn, Phoebs!” cried Sara, when she saw me. She started to hop about like a demented rabbit. “Dad said we could make popcorn and watch a DVD like we’re in a real cinema. Barney absolutely loves popcorn,” she gabbled on, pulling Barney out of her book bag and whispering something in his ear. I grabbed hold of her and pushed her down the road. The last thing I wanted was Polly Carter to show up and see my loopy sister talking to her teddy – or my dad in his manky sandals.

  Back at the flat, Dad and Sara got busy in the kitchen. There wasn’t really room for all three of us so I went to sit in the lounge. It was practically empty except for a tatty, old couch and a few boxes Dad hadn’t got round to unpacking yet.

  Mum and Dad split up ninety-two days ago – not that I’m counting or anything. Mum said that Dad had gone strange in the head and she couldn’t live with his crazy ideas any more. Well, okay, she didn’t use those words exactly, but she’s right, he has gone strange in the head, especially since he lost his job and joined the Life centre. He used to work at this amazing nursery where they grew all sorts of rare, tropical plants. He’d worked there for years and years, ever since he left school – but then out of the blue they said they were cutting back the staff or something and that he’d have to leave.

  At first he didn’t do much at all, just moped about the house watching rubbish TV all day. But then after about six months he went and joined this weird New Age group called Life. He goes to the Life centre all the time now, especially on Saturdays when he’s supposed to be with me and Sara. I don’t even know what they do there – but it’s obviously more exciting than being with us.

  The popcorn was taking ages so I decided to try out Sam’s great audition tips while I was waiting. I stood in the middle of the living room with my legs apart and my shoulders back and pretended Miss Howell was sitting in front of me on the couch. I reached my arm out towards her, took a deep breath, opened my mouth as wide as I could and was just about to start singing when Sara burst in.

  “What’s the matter?” she squealed, staring at where my hand was pointing. “Did you see a spider or something?”

  I dropped my arm, and spun round. “For goodness’ sake, Sara! Don’t creep up on me like that! What do you want anyway?”

  “I was just gonna tell you about the popcorn.” She grinned. “We’ve made so much it’s flying around all over the place. It’s brilliant. We’re going to put butter and salt on it, but you can have yours plain if you want. Come on!”

  In the kitchen the popcorn was banging about inside the pan and Dad was standing next to the stove grinning and looking very pleased with himself.

  “Bet you didn’t know I could make popcorn, eh, Phoebe?” he said, as if it was some amazingly rare talent that only two or three people in the whole world could do.

  “Isn’t this brilliant, Phoebe!” said Sara again, hopping around the kitchen. And just for that second, looking at Sara’s happy, shining face, it was brilliant.

  I trailed back into the living room, still thinking about the audition. Dad came in a couple of minutes later carrying two big bowls of buttery popcorn.

  “How was drama on Saturday, Phoebe? I never got the chance to ask you.”

  “Of course you didn’t get the chance to ask me,” I felt like saying, “you were too busy rowing with Mum.” But I didn’t say anything. I just sat down cross-legged on the worn-out carpet and shrugged.

  “It wasn’t that great,” I said in the end. “I might start karate instead.”

  “Karate? But Phoebe, you’ve got such a lovely singing voice. Remember what I used to say to you when you were little? That you were born to be on the stage.”

  I hugged my bowl of popcorn. Of course I remembered and maybe I was born to be on the stage – but that was before everything went wrong. Before Dad left, and before I started at Woodville Secondary, and before Polly Carter decided to ruin my life.

  “Anyway, I can’t go back!” I blurted out suddenly. “We’ve got to do this stupid audition and I’ll never be able to do it, not in a million years!” The words tumbled out of my mouth. I wanted him to know that nothing was the same any more: that I wasn’t the same little girl who used to sing and dance around the living room.

  “Sam says I have to stand in a certain way and Donny Dallesio says in this magazine that you have to smile showing all your teeth, and I don’t even know if I can sing in front of Miss Howell and all the others in the first place, so there’s no way I’m going to be able to sing and smile and stand properly all at the same time. It’s totally hopeless and I’m quitting, okay?”

  Dad looked a bit shocked. It was easily the most I’d said to him for about a year.

  “Well, we could tell you if you’re any good, Phoebs,” said Sara, coming in. She was carrying a huge bowl of popcorn for her and a tiny little one for Barney. “Just pretend it’s X Factor or something and we’re the judges. Dad can be—”

  “I’m not singing in front of you,” I said, horrified.

  “Come on, Phoebe,” said Dad. “Sara’s right. If you have a go here you’ll feel more confident on Saturday. Forget about what Sam said and about what you read in that magazine. Just sit there on the carpet and sing the song.”

  “There’s no way! I can’t! You’ll just laugh, I know you will.”

  “We won’t!” cried Sara. “We won’t even look, promise.” She plonked herself down next to Dad and put her hands over Barney’s eyes.

  “Come on, Phoebe,” said Dad, smiling. “I’d really love to hear you sing.”

  I looked at the three of them, Dad, Sara and Barney, the bear, lined up on the couch with their eyes closed tight, clutching their bowls of buttery popcorn – and I knew Dad was right. If I couldn’t sing here, in front of my own family, there was no way I’d ever be able to audition in front of everyone at drama.

  “Do you swear on your life you won’t laugh?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Dad.

  “Cross my heart and hope you die!” said Sara.

  “Well…okay… I’ll sing a bit,” I said, ignoring Sara. “But the second you open your eyes or laugh or even smile I’m going to stop.”

  They sat completely still right through the song. After a bit I forgot they were even there and I sang th
e way I always sing when I’m by myself in my bedroom. They didn’t even move after I’d finished. They just sat there staring at me. But then suddenly Dad went, “Wow, Phoebe. I’ll tell you what: no one else at drama stands a chance if that’s how you sing on Saturday.” And Sara started clapping and cheering and said, “You’re definitely going through to the next round, Miss Franks. And Barney thinks so too.”

  I knew they were just being nice but I didn’t care. If I could sing in front of Dad and Sara then maybe I would be able to sing at the auditions on Saturday.

  “What did you get up to at Dad’s?” Mum asked later when she came to pick us up.

  “Oh, it was brilliant,” squealed Sara. “You wouldn’t believe it. We made popcorn and then we went into the living room and—”

  “We made popcorn,” I said, kicking Sara. “That’s all.”

  “Come on, Phoebe! Dad will be here soon and your breakfast’s getting cold.”

  I hauled myself out of bed. It was Saturday morning, the morning of the auditions, and the thought of eating breakfast made my stomach turn over. In just a few hours’ time I’d actually be standing on the stage at drama auditioning for the part of Sabine.

  It wasn’t the best start to the day. Mum was in a state, Dad was late picking us up, and then, on the way in the car, Sara sang her own version of Sabine’s song over and over, right into my ear.

  “I won’t be around after drama today, Phoebe, love,” Dad shouted over Sara’s impersonation of a dying cat. “There’s something really important going on at the centre and I don’t want to miss it.”

  I nearly said, “There’s always something really important going on,” but I didn’t. I had other more important things to worry about and they didn’t include Dad and his stupid centre!

  I walked into the hall ten minutes late and everyone was already sitting in a circle.

  “Sorry I’m late, Miss Howell,” I mumbled, turning crimson. I know we’re supposed to call Miss Howell “Mandy” at drama, but it still feels way too weird to me.