Little Swan (3 page)

“Now, children,” said Miss Matting. “This is the sequence I want you to learn. It’s very short.”

For fifteen minutes, everyone practised running, jumping, and twirling in the way Miss Matting had shown them. Then they started to dance the short sequence one at a time. Miss Matting sat on a chair with a clipboard and scribbled on a sheet of paper.

Then Miss Matting had just the girls come to the front of the class, one by one, to do a few steps. I watched closely. They all looked very much the same. When it came to Weezer’s turn, though,
I
was the one with butterflies in my stomach. I couldn’t look. I squeezed my eyes shut and said to myself: Please, please, let Weezer do well. Let her be chosen. By the time I’d opened my eyes, Weezer had sat down again, and someone else was dancing.

It took a very long time for all the girls to do their dance.

“Thank you very much, everyone,” Miss Matting said at the end. “I’m sure you’re all
anxious to know who’s been picked, so I shall stop the class now and allow you to get dressed. When you’re ready, come in here and sit down quietly. I shall tell you all about the dance we’ll be doing, and give you the names of the four soloists.”

Usually, Weezer was very slow to change out of her leotard and into her clothes. Today she was back in the hall in a couple of minutes. She sat down next to Tricia and Maisie. She was staring very hard at the floor, and clutching her little suitcase so hard her knuckles were white. Miss Matting clapped her hands for attention.

“Now, children, the first thing I’d like to say is how proud I am of all of you. You did very well.

“I’ve decided, this year, to do something truly exciting. We will be dancing to Tchaikovsky’s lovely music for
Swan Lake
. The boys will do a snowman dance and the girls will be a corps de ballet of swan maidens. The four girls I’ve chosen will dance a version of the Dance of the Little Swans that I’ve choreographed.” Every eye in the class was on Miss Matting. Some people had their mouths open. Weezer was biting her lip.

“These, then,” said Miss Matting, “are the four names . . .”

“. . . CHANTELLE ROBERTSON, LOUISA
Blair, Biba Gregory, and Lauren Davis.”

Weezer blinked. Just for a split second, she didn’t recognize her name.

“Louisa Blair – that’s me!” she said to Tricia. “I’ve been chosen! Oh, Tricia, I wish you and Maisie had been chosen too!”

Miss Matting was still speaking. “Of course, the Little Swans need understudies. Imagine if all our soloists wake up on the morning of the show covered in measles. So Maisie Fellowes, Tricia Little, Sharon Goodbody, and Elizabeth Reynolds will also learn the steps.” That seemed to make everyone very happy. Weezer and Tricia and Maisie did a little war dance together.

All the way home, Weezer kept saying, “I’m a Little Swan! I’m going to be in a special dance. A Little Swan! Wait till I tell Mum!”

We talked about nothing else at supper.

“I’m so glad Tricia and Maisie are understudies,” Weezer said. “It means we can practise together. And Annie, guess what? Tricia’s mum says she can take me to class in the car each week. She can bring me back, too. You won’t have to walk with me anymore. Isn’t that great?”

“Lovely,” I said. I should have been happy, but I felt quite sad. I’d enjoyed taking Weezer to her ballet classes. I liked the cloakroom, which smelled of talcum powder. I liked seeing what colour leotard Miss Matting was wearing. I imagined her cupboard full of hundreds of different dance outfits.

“I must phone Dad,” Weezer said, “and tell him about being a Little Swan.”

“Cygnet,” I said. “The proper word for a little swan is a cygnet. The dance should be called the Dance of the Cygnets.”

“But it isn’t!” Weezer was beginning to look dangerously pink. “It’s called the Dance of the Little Swans. Ask anybody. Anybody who knows anything about ballet. Tchaikovsky could have called it whatever he liked. He chose Little Swans. So there.” Weezer stabbed at the ice cream in her bowl.

“OK,” I said. “OK. Little Swans it is.” I didn’t dare to tell her that Tchaikovsky probably called the dance something in Russian. She would have thrown her ice cream at me.

After supper, Weezer phoned Dad. I heard only her part of the conversation.

Some of it went like this: “Will you try? I really, really want you to see me being a Little Swan. I’m going to get you a ticket. Then if you are here, you’ll be allowed in . . . OK . . . but promise you’ll try. Bye, Dad.”

When I got to the phone, Dad said, “Annie, I don’t think I can get to Weezer’s show. I did try to tell her, but you know Weezer. She sets her heart on something. Then she won’t take no for an answer. Will you try to explain? Please? In the next few weeks, just try and get it into her head. I probably won’t be there.”

“But you will try?” I said. “If I get Weezer to understand, will you try?”

“Of course I will, Annie. You know that. But I’d hate to promise Weezer something and then disappoint her.”

“Right,” I said. “I’ll do my best, Dad.”

I was used to being the one who had to explain things to my little sister. I just hoped
she wouldn’t blame me if Dad didn’t come to the show after all.

There were a lot of rehearsals over the next couple of weeks. Tricia’s mum picked Weezer up and took her to classes. She also took her to extra rehearsals for the Little Swans and their understudies. That wasn’t enough for Weezer. She was a Little Swan at home. She was a Little Swan at school. She was a Little Swan every minute of the day. She had a tape with the
Swan Lake
music on it. Whenever Tricia and Maisie came to our house, she put it on. Then all three girls twirled around our dining room, giggling loudly. The Little Swan tune was beginning to get on my nerves.

One Saturday afternoon, Weezer came into the kitchen with a big grin all over her face.

“Guess what?” she said.

“What?”

“I’ve just helped Mrs Posnansky carry her shopping home.”

Mum, who was sitting at the kitchen table, said, “That doesn’t sound like you, Weezer. How did that happen?”

“Well,” said Weezer, “I was just looking out of the bedroom window and I saw old Mrs
Posnansky coming down the street carrying a big bag of shopping. So I went out to help her.”

“But,” I said, “she must have been nearly home by the time you got to her.”

Weezer glared at me, and was just opening
her mouth to answer, when Mum said soothingly, “Every little bit helps, Weezer. It was a very kind thing for you to have done.”

Weezer smiled and said to me, “You just wish you could have been there, that’s all. We had a proper conversation. Mrs Posnansky is a
very interesting person. She comes all the way from Russia.”

“We knew that,” I said. “Long ago.”

“I know, but she told me all about it. She told me about the Russian ballet, and a special school that young dancers can go to in St Petersburg. And she asked me all about my classes. I told her I was going to be a Little Swan. She was very impressed. I remember exactly what she said. Every word. She said: ‘You are real ballet dancer. This I see very clear.’”

“Did you go into her house?”

“No,” said Weezer, rather sadly. “She asked me to, but I said I couldn’t really, because Mum didn’t even know I’d gone down the road to help her with the shopping. If she asks me another day, is it OK to go?”

“Of course,” said Mum. “I hope you do have a chance to help her again.”

For a couple of days after that, Weezer kept looking out of the bedroom window for Mrs Posnansky. But she never saw her, and in the end she finally gave up.