1
‘So,’ my room-mate Grace says to me on our first day at Rochelle Academy, as the four of us sharing this bright, baby-blue dorm room unpack our bags. ‘You must be Summer Tanberry, right?’
My cheeks darken. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I’m actually Jodie. Jodie Rivers.’
Grace frowns. ‘Oh! My letter said I’d be sharing with Naomi Prince, Olivia Mulgrave and Summer Tanberry!’ she says, puzzled. ‘I wonder if there’s been some kind of mix up?’
‘Summer couldn’t take up her place in the end,’ I explain, trying to stay upbeat. ‘She was ill and had to drop out. I was on the reserve list.’
‘Ah.’ Grace exchanges glances with Naomi and Olivia. ‘I see … the reserve list.’
I try to smile, but I know they’ve judged me already, these willowy girls with perfect poise and manners and perfect hair in various shades of blonde, pinned up into perfect buns. I am not like them. I am not willowy and poised, I am curvy and talkative, and my long dark hair is thick and unruly and escapes from even the most carefully constructed bun, no matter how many kirby grips or how much gel and hairspray I use.
I am a scholarship girl, one of the few students here purely on merit. So why do I feel out of my depth? I am not here just because my parents can afford the fees, although, of course, even fee-paying students have to pass a strict audition.
Grace, Naomi and Olivia smile politely and start arranging photographs on their bedside tables, folding clothes away into drawers. I roll my eyes, wondering how I am going to endure another ten minutes in this place, let alone the next six weeks until half term. Why did I ever think this would be a good idea? I wish I was back at my old school, where everyone knew me and I didn’t have to struggle to fit in. I never really allowed myself to believe I’d get a place at Rochelle Academy, not when I knew I was up against Summer. I was over the moon to be given a chance, but I guess I haven’t properly prepared myself for it … boarding ballet school. Reality is starting to kick in now, and I’m not sure I can handle it.
My parents said their farewells and drove away an hour ago, and already I am fighting the impulse to ring and tell them to come back and fetch me. I won’t, obviously. I am not a quitter, and this is my dream.
I think.
Summer would have slotted in here without a problem; she’d have taken it all in her stride, charmed everyone, made three new best friends in the blink of an eye. Well, Grace, Naomi and Olivia are all out of luck. They’ve ended up with me.
There’s a tentative knock at the door, and the four of us exchange glances.
‘Who d’you think that could be?’ Olivia whispers, and I laugh because clearly, there is only one way to find out. I whisk open the door to reveal four fellow students crowded on to the threshold outside.
‘Hey!’ a pretty Asian girl says. ‘We’re your next-door neighbours! I’m Priya, and this is Annabel, Tasha and Niamh … can we come in? We come bearing gifts!’
A few moments later, the whole bunch of us are squashed into the room, sharing Jaffa Cakes and fruit juice, laughing, exchanging stories of where we’ve come from and how excited we are to be here. The ice is broken. Our neighbours are chatty, funny, friendly, making my new room-mates seem less certain, less sure of themselves; somehow less perfect than before. Perhaps they’re just as nervous as I am; perhaps, after all, we will learn to get along.
Suddenly I am excited and hopeful; the fear of being second best, surplus to requirements, recedes a little. This is a new beginning; we are all starting from scratch in a brand new dance school with a world-class ballerina, Sylvie Rochelle, as our principal. Anything should be possible here.
‘Our first regular lessons start in the morning,’ Tasha, a slender black girl with amazing braided hair is saying. ‘I’m not looking forward to the maths and science bits, and lessons start at eight
‘So,’ my room-mate Grace says to me on our first day at Rochelle Academy, as the four of us sharing this bright, baby-blue dorm room unpack our bags. ‘You must be Summer Tanberry, right?’
My cheeks darken. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I’m actually Jodie. Jodie Rivers.’
Grace frowns. ‘Oh! My letter said I’d be sharing with Naomi Prince, Olivia Mulgrave and Summer Tanberry!’ she says, puzzled. ‘I wonder if there’s been some kind of mix up?’
‘Summer couldn’t take up her place in the end,’ I explain, trying to stay upbeat. ‘She was ill and had to drop out. I was on the reserve list.’
‘Ah.’ Grace exchanges glances with Naomi and Olivia. ‘I see … the reserve list.’
I try to smile, but I know they’ve judged me already, these willowy girls with perfect poise and manners and perfect hair in various shades of blonde, pinned up into perfect buns. I am not like them. I am not willowy and poised, I am curvy and talkative, and my long dark hair is thick and unruly and escapes from even the most carefully constructed bun, no matter how many kirby grips or how much gel and hairspray I use.
I am a scholarship girl, one of the few students here purely on merit. So why do I feel out of my depth? I am not here just because my parents can afford the fees, although, of course, even fee-paying students have to pass a strict audition.
Grace, Naomi and Olivia smile politely and start arranging photographs on their bedside tables, folding clothes away into drawers. I roll my eyes, wondering how I am going to endure another ten minutes in this place, let alone the next six weeks until half term. Why did I ever think this would be a good idea? I wish I was back at my old school, where everyone knew me and I didn’t have to struggle to fit in. I never really allowed myself to believe I’d get a place at Rochelle Academy, not when I knew I was up against Summer. I was over the moon to be given a chance, but I guess I haven’t properly prepared myself for it … boarding ballet school. Reality is starting to kick in now, and I’m not sure I can handle it.
My parents said their farewells and drove away an hour ago, and already I am fighting the impulse to ring and tell them to come back and fetch me. I won’t, obviously. I am not a quitter, and this is my dream.
I think.
Summer would have slotted in here without a problem; she’d have taken it all in her stride, charmed everyone, made three new best friends in the blink of an eye. Well, Grace, Naomi and Olivia are all out of luck. They’ve ended up with me.
There’s a tentative knock at the door, and the four of us exchange glances.
‘Who d’you think that could be?’ Olivia whispers, and I laugh because clearly, there is only one way to find out. I whisk open the door to reveal four fellow students crowded on to the threshold outside.
‘Hey!’ a pretty Asian girl says. ‘We’re your next-door neighbours! I’m Priya, and this is Annabel, Tasha and Niamh … can we come in? We come bearing gifts!’
A few moments later, the whole bunch of us are squashed into the room, sharing Jaffa Cakes and fruit juice, laughing, exchanging stories of where we’ve come from and how excited we are to be here. The ice is broken. Our neighbours are chatty, funny, friendly, making my new room-mates seem less certain, less sure of themselves; somehow less perfect than before. Perhaps they’re just as nervous as I am; perhaps, after all, we will learn to get along.
Suddenly I am excited and hopeful; the fear of being second best, surplus to requirements, recedes a little. This is a new beginning; we are all starting from scratch in a brand new dance school with a world-class ballerina, Sylvie Rochelle, as our principal. Anything should be possible here.
‘Our first regular lessons start in the morning,’ Tasha, a slender black girl with amazing braided hair is saying. ‘I’m not looking forward to the maths and science bits, and lessons start at eight
Similar Books
