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  Dad laughed. ‘And you and Cat? Reckon you’re in with a chance?’

  I shrugged. ‘Dunno . . . Dad, do you think I’m a dreamer?’

  ‘Well, your report –’ he began.

  ‘But what I mean is, is it a bad thing to be?’

  Dad looked at me closely. ‘Yes and no. Yes if it’s affecting your schoolwork. It does help to know where you’re going and to focus. But otherwise, no. Everything has its good and bad side, and the other side to being a dreamer is having an imagination and that’s an excellent thing. No, I think you have to have a dream and you have to follow that dream.’

  ‘Your dream is to get your novel published, isn’t it?’

  Dad nodded. ‘It is but it can take years to become successful. I’m not going to give up.’

  ‘Even though . . .’

  ‘Even though,’ said Dad, then patted my hand. ‘Things aren’t so bad, Becca. I’ve still got some savings left and I’m not going to let you or your mum down. Don’t you worry. And one day, my work will land on the right desk. The main thing is you have to believe in yourself, even when it seems like nobody else does.’

  ‘You mean Mum?’

  ‘Mum believes in me in her own way. It’s just . . . sometimes she doesn’t show it. I know she worries when the bills come in . . . But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. This competition. I think it’s a great idea you go up for it. Squidge is right about having experiences, and not only if you want to be a film director. But you mustn’t be disappointed if you don’t get through. You mustn’t take it personally. When I get those rejects from the publishers, of course I feel disappointed for a day or so, then I put the letter in the file with the others and send my stuff off to the next one. Success is fifty per cent talent and fifty per cent perseverance.’

  ‘So I can go in for it?’

  ‘Of course you can. In fact, I’ll drive you over.’ He grinned, then he began to sing, ‘You got to have a dream. If you don’t have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?’

  I gave him a hug. ‘I believe in your dream, Dad.’

  Cat and Lia came over later in the afternoon to do some homework for social science. The week before we’d had a lecture from a visiting social worker who’d given us a lesson in political correctness and we were supposed to think of some terms that could be seen as offensive to some people and think of another way of phrasing it.

  ‘This is too boring,’ I said, putting down my pen, ‘I can’t think of anything. Why don’t we go through my CD collection and decide what songs we’ll do at the audition?’

  I spread all my CDs on the floor and we sat down and began to sift through.

  ‘I got Whitney, Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson, Atomic Kitten, Destiny’s Child, All Saint’s, Kylie . . .’

  ‘Actually, I think I’d like to do “Hero” by Mariah Carey,’ said Cat. ‘I listened to it this morning and wrote out all the words.’

  Lia picked up a Britney Spears CD. ‘Maybe I could do “Baby One More Time”.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said.

  ‘What about you, Bec?’ asked Lia.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ I said, looking at the CDs. ‘Maybe “Crazy For You” by Madonna or maybe an Anastacia number. Dunno.’

  ‘How long do we actually get to perform?’ asked Lia.

  ‘Oh, only a couple of minutes, if that,’ I said. ‘They’ll either like you or not.’

  ‘They’ll be able to tell with me in the first ten seconds.’

  I looked at Lia with admiration. If I couldn’t sing, you wouldn’t catch me anywhere near the competition. She must be very secure, I thought, like she doesn’t feel she has to prove anything. Then a thought flashed through my mind. So what am I trying to prove?

  ‘I think you’re amazing, Lia,’ I said. ‘Putting yourself up for this.’

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know I don’t stand a chance so I don’t have any expectations – it’ll be fun. But it will be harder for you and Cat because you do stand a chance.’

  ‘I know. I’m feeling nervous already,’ I said.

  ‘You’ll be great,’ said Cat. ‘You look good.’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ I interrupted. ‘I need to lose a ton of weight.’

  Cat sighed. ‘You’re blind, Becca. You look perfect and you sing well. You should do a ballad, something to really show off your voice.’

  She’s such a good mate, Cat. We’re going to be competing against each other and yet, here she is, being really encouraging. She’s so supportive of her friends. Jade, on the other hand, has apparently been practising in secret for weeks. Mac told us that she knew about the competition before any of us and didn’t mention it to anyone. He said that she’s really miffed that we’re all going in for it as she thought it was her special thing. What cheek. The competition’s open to anyone.

  ‘Most important, though,’ said Lia, ‘is what are we going to wear?’

  ‘Yeah, course,’ I said. ‘There might be some decent boys there.’

  ‘Becca,’ said Cat. ‘You have a boyfriend, remember? Mac?’

  I grinned. ‘No harm in looking.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say you’ve gone off him already,’ said Cat.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know what you’re like.’

  ‘No, I don’t know what I’m like. Tell me.’

  The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt tense and I sensed I was being got at.

  Cat looked at me anxiously. ‘You know, with boys . . .’

  ‘What are you saying, Cat?’

  ‘Um, nothing . . . not really, just, er, well . . . OK what you were like before you met Mac. Always changing your mind, in love with a different boy each week.’

  ‘I never was.’

  ‘OK, what about Laurence Grant, Robin Barker, Phil . . . Ollie . . .’

  I suddenly saw the funny side. ‘D’oh. Oh yeah – Mark Jones, Dave Mcintosh . . . Yeah, I suppose, but I never did anything with any of them, I never got off with them or anything, it was only in my head . . . oh no!’

  ‘What?’ said Lia.

  ‘In my head.’ I looked at both of them. ‘Do you think I’m a dreamer? You know, like always fantasising and never doing anything about it?’

  Cat gave me a hug. ‘That’s why we like you, Becca. You make life interesting with all your dreams and ideas. But you’re not going to mess Mac around, are you?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nah, no, course not, but it’s not as though we’re married or anything. I mean, we’re having a nice time and that, but it’s not like, well, what you and Squidge were like, Cat. I mean, you went out with him for years.’

  ‘Yeah, like an old married couple we were,’ said Cat, then she laughed. ‘So what you’re saying is, it’s not that you’re not into commitment, but rather you are monogamously challenged.’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s brilliant,’ I said, getting my homework out again. ‘Now I get what the social worker was on about. And I got one.’ I put on my best snotty voice. ‘One mustn’t say, “stop nagging”; one ought to say, “stop being verbally repetitive”, as it is less offensive.’

  We all got our books out again and for the next ten minutes, there was no stopping us.

  Lia giggled. ‘You mustn’t say drunk, you must say chemically inconvenienced,’ she said. ‘And you can’t say male chauvinist pig, you have to say, a man with swine empathy.’

  Cat cracked up. ‘OK, here’s some of mine. You can’t say someone’s a tart, rather you should say she’s sexually focused. You can’t say someone has big boobs, rather she is pectorally superior. Becca, you got any more?’

  I nodded. ‘Someone isn’t bald, he’s in follicle regression. A woman doesn’t have a big tummy, she has developed a chocolate storage facility.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Lia, putting her books away. ‘That should keep old Jeffries happy. Now back to more important things. What are we going to wear to Plymouth – glitzy or casual?’

  I felt relieved. The at
mosphere was light again.

  Cat considered the question. ‘Hmmm . . . I don’t think we should dress up too much; it might look like we trying too hard.’

  ‘And all the serious performers always turn up for auditions in working clothes,’ said Lia, ‘like leggings, torn T-shirts and scuffed trainers, to show that what’s important to them is their art.’

  ‘Oh yes, my art . . .’ I laughed. ‘Oh, luvvie darlings, tear me a T-shirt, will you? Then run out and get me an Evian. Evian mind, not Perrier, or any other brand. I must have my Evian.’

  ‘LOOK WHAT I got,’ said Mac, waving a DVD at us when we arrived at Squidge’s the next Friday after school. ‘I nicked it from Jade’s room when she wasn’t looking.’

  It was the New Talent DVD, a compilation of all the wannabe celebrity episodes that were on telly.

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Cat, following Squidge into his living room. ‘Put it on.’

  Wow, Jade’s really been doing her homework, I thought as Mac put the DVD in the player and we settled down to watch. Hah, just you wait Jade Macey, because this time I’ve been practising too. I’d decided to do ‘Not That Kind’ by Anastacia and had gone over and over it until it was perfect. I wasn’t going to let Saturday be a repeat of the Grease audition where I dried up. This time I’d be ready.

  As the DVD started and we watched the crowds waiting to go in for their auditions, I felt a surge of excitement go through me. Tomorrow it would be us out there among the hopefuls.

  ‘Ohmigod,’ said Lia as the DVD progressed to showing the actual auditions. ‘Are we really going to put ourselves through this?’

  ‘We are,’ said Mac, but he was starting to look a bit worried as well as we watched one of the judges tear to shreds yet another contestant’s performance.

  Squidge noticed and punched his arm. ‘You’re not going to bottle out now, are you, mate?’

  ‘Um, no,’ said Mac. ‘Course not.’

  Suddenly my heart sank. Someone on screen was singing ‘Not That Kind’.

  ‘But that’s my song,’ I said.

  Not long later, another contestant sang Britney’s ‘Baby One More Time’.

  ‘That’s my song,’ said Lia.

  Then someone did ‘Hero’ and Cat cried, ‘And that’s my song!’

  ‘You sound like the three bears out of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”,’ laughed Mac. ‘And the little bear said “and that’s my porridge”.’

  As the DVD progressed, it got worse. A whole load of people did songs by Anastacia and one of the judges actually said that if anyone else did one by her, he would hit them.

  ‘No wonder Jade didn’t want to share this,’ said Lia. ‘She asked me on Monday what songs we were doing, but when I told her she didn’t say anything.’

  Cat put her head in her hands. ‘We’ve got to pick new songs, guys. Songs that haven’t been done to death on other shows.’

  ‘Oh no. How?’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘The competition’s tomorrow.’

  ‘Chill, you guys,’ said Squidge. ‘I don’t reckon it matters. Whatever you choose, there’s bound to be someone else doing it as well. It’s whether you can impress the judges or not that counts. Want to see what I’m doing?’

  I nodded and Squidge got up and went into an ear shattering, rocked up version of the Talking Heads number ‘Psycho Killer’. What he lacked in vocals, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm and the rest of us split our sides laughing.

  ‘I’m going to wear one of my dad’s suits,’ said Squidge, ‘like David Byrne from the Talking Heads. What do you think?’

  ‘Different,’ said Cat.

  ‘Don’t give up the day job,’ I said.

  Squidge smiled. ‘I won’t. But look, it’s going to be a laugh, an experience. If we take it seriously, then we won’t enjoy it.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. But I was beginning to have doubts. The judges on TV had been ruthless in their criticisms and some of the contestants were in tears afterwards. And suddenly I didn’t feel so confident about anything – my hair, my weight or my choice of song.

  ‘At least this DVD has given us an idea of what to expect,’ I ventured.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Mac. ‘Assassination.’

  ‘Yeah,’ sighed Lia. ‘But at least you and Cat can sing.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem to make much difference,’ said Cat. ‘Even some of the good ones got thrown out because the judge didn’t like their face or clothes or something. I think Squidge is right. We go for a laugh – no expectations. That way there’ll be no disappointments.’

  ‘Right,’ said Lia. ‘So what are you going to do, Mac?’

  He started tugging at the fly on his jeans. ‘I got something to show you.’

  ‘Mac,’ said Cat as Mac started taking off his jeans, ‘what are you doing?’

  Mac stripped off to his boxers then he turned round and bent over. On the back of his boxers, he’d written, ‘Vote for Mac.’

  We all cracked up.

  ‘Are you honestly going to do that?’ I said.

  Mac nodded. ‘Well, I know my voice isn’t memorable, but my boxers will be.’

  ‘But what song are you going to do?’ asked Cat.

  ‘“Hang the DJ” by the Smiths.’

  ‘Don’t know that one,’ I said.

  ‘The song’s actually called “Panic”, but the chorus goes, “Hang the DJ, hang the DJ, hang the DJ . . .”’ said Mac.

  ‘But are you sure you want to do a song with those words? What if one of the judges is a DJ?’

  Mac grinned. ‘Then I’ll have the sympathy of the contestants.’

  ‘I think it’s brilliant,’ said Squidge.

  ‘But what are we going to do now?’ I asked, looking at Cat and Lia. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t go.’

  ‘Oh come on, Becca, don’t back out now,’ said Squidge.

  ‘But I don’t know what to do now that I’ve seen that DVD. I spent ages practising my Anastacia song. But having seen what that judge said about wanting to hit the next person who sang one, I’ll have to do something more original.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Mac. ‘They’ll be different judges tomorrow, won’t they?’

  ‘God, I hope so,’ said Cat. ‘I don’t think I could face that panel from TV.’

  ‘Why learn a new song, Cat?’ asked Squidge. ‘Why don’t you do Rizzo’s song from Grease? It showed off your voice. You know it inside out, so if you get nervous, you probably won’t forget the lines.’

  Lia and I nodded.

  Cat beamed. ‘Good idea. You’re right, I do know the words backwards and if I do it, I won’t have to stay up half the night learning a new one. In fact, Lia, why don’t you do one of the songs from Grease? Saves you all the hassle of learning something new as well.’

  ‘Yeah and I could do the dance steps we learned at school. That way, I can at least show them that I can do something.’

  ‘So that leaves you, Becca,’ said Squidge. ‘Fancy another go at “Hopelessly Devoted”?’

  ‘My version didn’t include the devoted part,’ I said. ‘It was just hopeless. So no way. Once was more than enough. No . . . Oh God, so what am I going to do?’ I cast my mind over all the songs we’d done in our band. None of them seemed right for a solo. ‘The only other song I know all the way through is “You’ve Got a Friend” by Carole King. I know it off by heart because my mum always plays it in the car whenever we go anywhere.’

  ‘So let’s hear it,’ said Cat.

  I stood up and took a deep breath. I felt really nervous. This is mad, I thought. I have to do it, but if I feel this bad with my mates, how on earth am I going to feel at the audition? Come on, Becca, I told myself. You can do it and it’s only for a laugh. I took another breath, then launched into the song.

  After I’d finished, I took a quick look at the others. They all had wide grins on their faces.

  ‘You’re really good, Becca,’ said Cat. ‘And your voice suits that song. I think you’re in with a real chance, even more than
if you did the Anastacia one.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked.

  Mac nodded. ‘Definitely. In fact, I can just see you going up to get your Golden Globe Award. The cameras will be flashing. You’ll be in an off-the-shoulder Versace number, looking fab. I’ll be somewhere in the crowd, trying to get your attention – “Becca, Becca, remember me? I knew you when you were nobody. Spare a moment for an old friend?”’

  I laughed. ‘No way, José. You’ll be on my arm, my escort. And Cat will be going up to receive her award, just in front of me with Squidge and Lia.’

  Maybe it was OK to have mad fantasies, I thought, as long as you didn’t take them too seriously.

  DAD DROPPED Lia, Cat and I off outside the hall in Plymouth, where already there was a long queue waiting for the doors to open.

  ‘Knock ’em dead,’ said Dad as we got out of the car. ‘I’ll go and do some jobs in town, so ring me on your mobile when you’re ready to be picked up later this afternoon.’

  ‘Right Dad,’ I said as I scanned the queue. There were all sorts there – cute, glam, hippie, small, tall, fat, skinny . . . Some with their parents, a few boys with dreadlocks, a girl with pink hair, one with a shaven head and loads of earrings, lots of girls in tiny tops showing pierced navels even though the weather was freezing. Cat, Lia and I had come well prepared for a long wait in the cold, with jackets, scarves and gloves. I’d worn my black jeans, a black halter top underneath my jacket and a black baseball cap that Dad had bought me with the word ‘Princess’ written on it in sequins. Lia had her baggy jeans on, a tiny top and a Mulberry handkerchief on her head. Cat was in faded jeans and an off-die-shoulder top. The boys had arrived already. Squidge looked like a star in his dad’s suit and tie with black shades and Mac wore his jeans and Converse sneakers. I thought we looked pretty cool, not mad like some of the others.

  ‘Fab cap,’ said one of the girls as we joined the queue. ‘I should have thought of that.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said as I watched a tall black girl in front begin to do stretching exercises.

  ‘Shall we make a run for it now or later?’ asked Lia as a couple of girls in front burst into song and were absolutely pitch perfect.