Hopes and Dreams (3 page)

I drag the sleeve of my cardi across my eyes to blot away the tears. My sleeve comes away damp and streaked with eyeliner. I bury my head against my knees. If I count to ten, will Sebastien go away?

Apparently not.

When I look up, he's still there, his face kind and concerned, his corduroy jacket with the badges all over one lapel still hanging around my shoulders.

‘How long have you been there?' I ask, my voice still wobbly and thick with tears.

‘Long enough,' he says. ‘I came out here after Sylvie announced the cast list. Well done on the solo, by the way. I am playing the Mouse King. Lucky me!'

‘It's not a bad part,' I say.

‘It's OK,' he says with a Gallic shrug. ‘I guess it proves that I do not get, what do you say –
special treatment
for being Sylvie's godson, as some of the students may think. She is scrupulously fair and honest, no?'

‘Too honest, sometimes,' I blurt out, suddenly angry. ‘She just told me I am holding something back, not giving enough to my dancing. What more does she want? Blood?'

The minute I say the words, I wish I could take them back. I don't even know this boy, yet I've shown him how hopeless, how insecure I am. Worse still, I have criticized Sylvie Rochelle – a world-class ballerina, principal of our dance school … and, oh yes … Sebastien's godmother.

I wish the ground would open and swallow me up.

Sebastien laughs. ‘This is what has upset you? Ah, Jodie, Sylvie will push you hard. She sees something in you, something special, and she will not rest until everybody else sees it too!'

‘I don't mean to be negative about your godmother,' I say. ‘She's amazing, obviously. An awesome teacher. But to be totally honest, I don't think she actually sees anything in me. I think she's sorry she gave me a place here.'

The French boy frowns. ‘No … I do not think so. My godmother, she does not make mistakes.'

‘She made one with me,' I tell him. ‘I auditioned with a friend from my old dance school, a really gifted dancer. She was given this place, but then she got sick and couldn't take it. Sylvie Rochelle didn't choose me, not really; I'm second choice.'

If there is one way to make an impression on the boy you've been crushing on, it's to spill your guts and show him how needy, how insecure you are. That and the tear-stained face should do it. What is wrong with me? Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?

It's too late, of course; the floodgates have opened, and all my doubts and fears have come tumbling out, stark, ugly, embarrassing.

Sebastien frowns. ‘You carry this doubt with you all the time?' he asks. ‘This fear that you are not supposed to be here? Trust me, Jodie, my godmother does not take “second best” dancers; this I can promise you.'

I pull the jacket a little closer, shivering.

‘She didn't choose me,' I repeat. ‘I was a last-minute substitute. How do you think that makes me feel?'

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Not good,' he guesses. ‘This is how I feel too – I would not be here if Sylvie was not my godmother. I am a good dancer, good enough to make the grade, but Sylvie felt – and I agreed – I might be better studying at home in Paris. There was a dance school specializing in contemporary dance I would have loved to go to. Do you think I wanted to leave my home, my friends, to move to another country? This was not my choice, nor Sylvie's – it was my mother's.'

I look sideways at Sebastien; suddenly he looks less self-assured, less confident. Something vulnerable, uncertain, flickers behind his dark blue eyes.

‘How come?' I ask.

He shrugs. ‘It suits my mother to get me out of the way for a while. She is divorced, and lately she has been seeing a new man. Having a teenage son around all the time did not suit her, so I am here, out of the way.'

‘But … you don't want to be here?'

‘I am not stupid,' he says. ‘Sylvie is one of the best teachers in Europe. Training with her will open doors for me one day. And Sylvie has a soft heart and believes that a good dancer can become a brilliant dancer if he – or she – is willing to give his heart and soul. I'm here because I am lucky enough to have Sylvie as a godmother, and perhaps I should be ashamed of that, but I am not – just the opposite. I will work and work until I make her proud that she took a chance on me! I will prove that I am worth taking a risk for!'

I blink. One or two of the more gossipy students have speculated that Sebastien was here because of his family connections, but you would never guess it to see him dance. He is good, as good as anyone – and he works really hard. Maybe that's why – because he has something to prove?

Our eyes meet, and a spark of connection flares between us. I am aware of my smudged eyeliner, my eyes pink from crying, my hair coming adrift from its bun and hanging down around my face in unruly ringlets. Sebastien looks right back at me, taking all of this in. I find myself wondering what it would be like to stretch out my fingers, trace the contours of his perfect cheekbones, and then I blush crimson at the very thought.

I drag my eyes away, try to focus on what he's just told me.

‘I'm sorry … I didn't realize!'

He frowns and looks out through the canopy of willows, across the frosted grass towards the golden stonework of the academy.

‘It is not so bad,' he tells me. ‘My mother – she loves me, and she believes she is doing this for the best. It's just that it has turned out to be the best for her, not for me. I do not talk about this to anyone at the dance school, Jodie, you understand?'

‘I won't say anything,' I promise.

‘It is not so bad,' he says. ‘I enjoy the contemporary dance lessons very much. Joe Nash is an amazing teacher.'

‘I know,' I agree. ‘He's cool. I'm a bit out of my depth in his classes, though!'

‘It is new to you … that is to be expected,' he says.

We sit for a while in silence; me huddled in the corduroy jacket, Sebastien leaning back on the old steps, thoughtful.

‘I think it is it true, what Sylvie said,' he says at last. ‘You hold back, a little, with your dancing. What are you afraid of?'

‘Nothing!' I protest.

But I'm not sure this is the truth. I am afraid of rejection, for starters – I have been knocked back before, first at the Royal Ballet School auditions when I was ten, and then here. In between I have lived with the casual assumption of everyone back home that Summer was the star, the one destined for the top. Having such a talented friend is hard. I was glad for her, always, and very proud; but sometimes I wished people could see past her dazzle, and maybe, just maybe, notice me.

‘Maybe I do keep a little bit of myself back,' I admit. ‘It's not a crime, is it? I'm not really one of life's risk-takers!'

‘Perhaps you should be,' he says. ‘It is fun! I think you can be a risk-taker, Jodie. Like me.'

I shake my head. ‘My friend Summer – the girl who got ill – she was the kind of dancer who took risks, gave everything. Look what happened to her! She burnt out, got eaten up by it all …'

‘What kind of ill?' he wants to know, and I tell him, even though I've never told the details to anyone before, not Sparks, not Naomi, not Tasha, not even my parents back home. I don't know why it feels OK to tell Sebastien, but it does, somehow. It feels right. I explain how the pressure pushed Summer over the edge and into the arms of an eating disorder, how she ended up losing herself, losing her love of ballet, losing her whole future.

‘Scary,' he says. ‘I hope your friend gets well again, but what happened – it wasn't your fault, Jodie. You got this place because you are good. My godmother offered you a scholarship place. She thinks you have something special … and she wants to see it in your dancing.'

‘She's asking too much,' I say. ‘Lots of dancers work hard and focus on skills and technique. Can't that be enough? Why does Sylvie want more from me?'

‘Because she
sees
more in you,' Sebastien says, simply. ‘I know she does because I see it too … there is so much hidden with you, Jodie Rivers. So much going on beneath the surface.'

He stands abruptly, shivering without his jacket in the cold, reaching out a hand to pull me to my feet.

I like the feel of his hand in mine, and I think he likes it too. We stay that way all the way back to the school, and by then I don't think I will ever want to let go.

The Mad Hatter Cafe is bright with tinsel and fairy lights, a glittering oasis in the quiet dark of Kitnor High Street. There's a bite of cold in the air, the threat of snow to come. My dad drops me off with a promise to return in an hour, and I watch his car drive away with a sinking feeling. Will meeting up with Summer really cheer her up, as Skye hopes, or will it make things worse? It can't be easy, catching up with your old friend to listen to stories of the dance school life you were supposed to be leading, can it?

I push open the door to the cafe and step into the warmth, and right away I see Summer and Skye sitting at a table in the corner. I wave and walk across to join them, slipping into a seat opposite Summer. The twins have drinks already, a diet Coke for Summer, a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows for Skye. The waitress comes over and I order a hot chocolate and a cupcake iced to look like a reindeer's face, complete with red-nose cherry.

‘I'm not staying,' Skye says, scooping up a spoonful of melted marshmallows. ‘I'm helping out with the costumes for the village pantomime … I need to be there in five minutes. I just wanted to say hi, that's all …'

‘Hi,' I say. ‘The costumes thing sounds great!'

‘It is,' Skye says, draining her hot chocolate. ‘Look, I'd better go – have fun, you two!'

She stands up, shrugging on a red wool coat with a black velvet collar, and sweeps out of the cafe with a grin and a wave. Suddenly, the easy chat is replaced by silence, shyness. I notice how frail Summer is looking, her skin so pale it looks translucent, blue shadows streaked beneath her eyes.

‘It's good to see you,' I say. ‘I've missed you like mad.'

Summer smiles, but it's a sad smile.

‘Sorry I haven't written,' she says. ‘I love your letters. They almost make me feel like I'm there … and then I remember that I'm not, and it makes me feel so sad.'

I bite my lip. ‘I can imagine. It must be really hard. I wish you were there too; it'd be amazing! You'd absolutely love the place … it's so pretty, a real Victorian mansion. The dorms are really cute. They're all painted different pastel colours … ours is baby blue, but Grace hates it and she's campaigning to be allowed to paint it pink …'

I am gabbling, I know, but I feel anxious, awkward, keen to fill the silence with something, anything. Summer reaches out and touches my hand.

‘It's OK, y'know,' she tells me. ‘I'm not mad at you, Jodie. I'm glad you're at the academy. I wish I could have gone, but I couldn't, and knowing you're there is the next best thing. Tell me all about it … everything! Is Sylvie Rochelle very strict? How was the Christmas production? Do you love it, Jodie? Tell me everything … and what's all this about boys?'

I laugh, and the tension lifts as I explain all about the dance classes: the classical ballet, the character classes, the contemporary dance classes, which I am starting to love more and more. I tell her about dancing my short solo in
The Nutcracker
, about Naomi and Tasha and Sparks and how Grace drives me nuts sometimes with her fussing and her fretting and the shelf full of soft toys she has above her bed.

‘So … Sparks is just a friend?' Summer checks.

‘Definitely,' I insist. ‘He's funny and outrageous and hugely talented. He'll be famous one day, I'm sure of it …'

‘No romance, then?'

‘Well … there is Sebastien,' I confess. ‘The French boy I told you about, Sylvie Rochelle's godson. He's really good-looking and he has the coolest accent I have ever heard in my life, and … well, I like him. We're sort of going out …'

I flick open my phone and find a few Instagram pictures of Sebastien looking cool and French and moody.

‘Wow,' Summer says. ‘He's gorgeous!'

‘He really is,' I say. ‘I don't know what he sees in me at all!'

Summer rolls her eyes. ‘Silly,' she pronounces. ‘He sees a sweet, clever, kind girl who doesn't have a clue how beautiful she is, or how talented. I'm so happy for you. Don't you see, Jodie? You were meant to go to Rochelle Academy so you'd meet Sebastien; and I was meant to stay here, so I could be with Alfie …'

‘Alfie Anderson?' I check. ‘You're still together?'

‘Sure we are,' she says. ‘He keeps me sane. Well, sane-ish. I am glad for you, Jodie, honestly; you deserve to meet a nice boy, and you deserve to be at Rochelle Academy.'

I pick at my reindeer-face cupcake, unable to meet her eye.

‘Hey,' she says. ‘You're not still feeling guilty, are you? Because I'm happy for you, I truly am …'

I should just smile and nod and pretend it's all OK, but the truth seeps out in spite of my good intentions. ‘You don't understand,' I whisper. ‘It's hard, really hard. You don't know what it's like to be second best the whole time, to know you're not anybody's first choice …'

‘No, no, you mustn't think that way!' Summer argues. ‘It's fate, a chance to grab your dream, Jodie. Give it all you've got!'

I shake my head. ‘Madame Rochelle thinks I am holding back,' I tell her. ‘Keeping something back from my dancing. Sebastien thinks so too, and maybe I am, I don't know. I'm scared, Summer. What if I do put everything I have into this and it's still not enough?'

Summer shrugs. ‘What if it IS enough? What are you actually scared of, Jodie? Failing? Or … well, maybe the opposite?'

I frown. ‘What do you mean?'

She sips her diet Coke. ‘It's just that … well, ever since I've known you, you've held back a little. You always let me take the lead, have the limelight, even if it meant stepping back a little yourself. I used to wonder if you just quite liked being on the sidelines. You've always been so sensible, so relaxed about it all, like you didn't really mind one way or another whether you got a leading role or a place at Rochelle Academy. I didn't really question it, but … well, it was self-defence, wasn't it? If you didn't put yourself on the line, you couldn't feel too bad if things didn't work out.'

‘Maybe,' I say. ‘I'm just the cautious type, right?'

‘Or maybe you just take the easy way out,' Summer says, and I flinch at her words because there's truth in them, whether I want to admit it or not. ‘Thing is, Jodie, if you mess up and waste this opportunity I don't know if I can ever forgive you. It's what we've both dreamt of for as long as I can remember. I've blown it, but you haven't – you still have everything to play for. Don't wimp out, OK? Give it all you've got. Heart and soul.'

Relief floods through me, hope taking hold again after the longest time. I can't stop smiling. It will be New Year's Eve in just over a week, and I know already what my resolution will be.

Heart and soul – that simple, that life changing.

And, just as simply, my friendship with Summer patches itself up, good as new. All the awkwardness and tension that crowded in when she began to get ill, the guilt that swamped me when I was given a place at the academy, the polite, one-way letters – all of that is wiped away.

Outside, fat white flakes of snow are beginning to fall … a white Christmas.

We exchange prezzies; a glittery pink scarf for Summer, a silver heart charm bracelet for me. It's getting late by now, the waitress quietly stacking chairs and wiping tabletops. Outside, I see the glow of headlights as Dad's car draws up to the kerb.

We stand, pulling on our coats, paying our bill, and head for the door. Outside in the snowy street we cling together in a lingering hug, and even through her coat I can feel how thin Summer is, just skin and bone, a wisp of a girl who might blow away in the blizzard.

I no longer feel like I've stolen her dreams, her future. Instead, I promise myself I will do everything I can to make the most of the chance I've been given. I'll do it for both of us.

‘I'm glad we got to catch up,' I whisper. ‘You're amazing, Summer. Get well, OK?'

‘I'm trying,' Summer promises. ‘I'll write. And remember – heart and soul.'

I watch her walk along the street, alone in the streetlights, slender, bird-like, picking her way carefully through the freshly fallen snow. We are on different paths these days, Summer and I, but I think our friendship will survive whatever lies ahead.