Hopes and Dreams

‘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 a.m. – that's going to take some getting used to!'

‘But at least we get all of that stuff over with by midday,' I point out. ‘Then it's lunch break, and then, just imagine – a whole afternoon of dance! Every day of the week and optional Saturdays too … it's a total dream come true! Bliss!'

‘I'm a bit worried I won't be able to keep up,' Naomi confesses. ‘I've only been doing three classes a week up until now …'

‘Just two for me,' Annabel chips in. ‘I'm scared you lot will outclass me by miles …'

I realize that these girls really are just as scared and nervous as I am, no matter how poised and perfect they may appear.

Even Grace is nodding her head. ‘I think we all have a few doubts and worries,' she says. ‘It's only natural. We're used to being the best dancers in our old ballet schools back home, aren't we? Here it could be a different story.'

I bite my lip. The trouble is, I
wasn't
the best dancer in my ballet school back home – that was Summer. Doubts flood through me all over again, but I push them away, firmly.

‘The thing to remember is that we're all in this together,' I point out, and I see my new classmates tilting their heads to listen, as though I'm saying something important, something worthwhile. ‘Every one of us dreamt of a chance like this, and we've been given it, just thirty of us in our year group – how cool is that? I'm not saying it's going to be easy because I know it won't be; I think it will be really tough, and there might be times we wish we'd never auditioned at all, but … well, let's be glad we're here. We don't have to be competitive and we don't have to judge ourselves against others. Let's face it, ballet is pressured enough already without all that. Let's be friends, and support each other, and maybe that way we can help each other through.'

‘Well said, Jodie,' Priya says. ‘If we stick together, we can do just about anything, right? Boarding school might be a challenge for me. I'm going to miss my family SO much. I for one am hundreds of miles from home, so it's not like I can just nip back for the weekend!'

‘It's not just family I'll miss,' Naomi admits. ‘I've got a boyfriend back home. We've only been together six weeks, but still, I'll miss him. And it's going to be very strange adjusting to life with no boys around at all …'

‘I know, right?' Niamh agrees. ‘No flirting, no rivalry, no annoying boys winding you up …'

‘No distractions!' Annabel says.

‘No crushes,' Priya adds, sadly.

‘And we'll be the oldest in the school,' Olivia reminds us. ‘Nobody to look up to, nobody to ask for advice, just twenty brand-new Year Sevens, twenty Year Eights, and thirty of us Year Nines. That's a whole bunch of us, all missing home and friends and boys. It'll take some getting used to …'

We descend into silence, contemplating a loveless, boy-free life of eight a.m. starts and relentless, gruelling practice, shared with a mob of hormonal teenage girls all striving for perfection. It's not a pretty picture. Naomi sniffs and blinks a few times, her eyes too bright, and I know that unless someone does something fast, this whole getting-to-know-you thing will end in tears.

I jump up, pulling Priya and Tasha to their feet alongside me. ‘So,' I say. ‘We should go and explore! Find out who else is here! It's a bit of an adventure, right? Like Harry Potter at Hogwarts, only with pointe shoes and leotards!'

Grace frowns, studying the welcome pack folder in her hand. ‘The welcome dinner is at six o'clock,' she reads. ‘In between arrival and dinner, students are advised to unpack and get to know their room-mates. Alternatively, they may meet up with their fellow students informally in the first-floor common room …'

‘Let's do it,' I say, taking charge. I round them up and usher them out of the door. ‘Forget the formal introductions, let's explore!'

We find the common room and burst in, an unruly group of giggling, chattering girls. It's huge – an airy, wood-panelled room with a parquet floor and an antique Persian rug. There are four mismatched sofas, a scattering of beanbags and a big, polished wood table by the window. On the far side of the room, a woodburning stove is smouldering gently, giving the whole room the smell of beach bonfires and possibility.

And lounging on armchairs and beanbags in front of the woodburner are four students who stand out from the crowd of slim, elegant girls I've met so far this afternoon.

They look up at us, grinning.

‘Oh. My. Days,' Tasha whispers. ‘Boys!'

It looks like Rochelle Academy isn't girls-only after all …