Читать книгу Time to Shine - Lisa Clark - Страница 4

“Finally Lola, this is your chance!” Sadie says, gently digging me in the arm. “You always said you were a should-be starlet, right? Well this is it, this is officially your time to shine!” Sadie sings ‘Time to Shine’ at the top of her voice while doing the same crazy jazz-hand movements that Lilly, played by Hollywood teen queen Farah Grant, does in the movie.

How do I know this?

Well, because…Shhhh, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve seen it.

At least three times.

Okay, maybe even more than that, but like I say, shhhh.

I’m whispering because I need to keep this piece of info on the serious down low.

Why?

Because my passion is for old movies. The really old kind, filled with gorgeous and glamorous stars of yesteryear, like Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe, so Time to Shine, a super-cheesy, over-the-top, sing-along musical, should not be on my radar, in any way, shape or form.

Except it is. In fact, it’s a total guilty pleasure. Like taking a nap in the middle of the day, or eating a whole bar of chocolate in one sitting. You know you shouldn’t do it, but it’s so, so good when you do. It’s the same with Time to Shine. You really shouldn’t like it, but you don’t care, you just do. Because really, what’s not to love about a musical set in the 1950s with quiff-toting boys and floral frock-wearing girls, insanely catchy tunes that you can never, ever stop singing, and a storyline that proves with a perma-positive, sunny disposition everyone gets their Time to Shine?!

“Don’t be silly, Sadie,” I say, nudging her back playfully. “I don’t want to be in a school musical!”

The thing is, I don’t think she’s silly at all, in fact, I’m so excited about the idea I’m doing somersaults of happiness in my head just thinking about it. Time to Shine is as contagiously happy as Hairspray, it’s as sing-along-able as Mamma Mia and as feel-good fabulous as Fame, and if Parkfield Comp needs a Lilly, then I could most definitely be their girl. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be scared x 1000 to actually audition, let alone take to the stage, step into the spotlight, and sing.

Oh, and dance.

Oh, and kiss a boy. Actually, forget it, because, scarier x 100 million trillion is the fact I’d have to literally lock lips with whoever plays Richie, and no matter how cute the potential leading man might be - it could be Jake Farrell for all I care - that is so completely, utterly, totally out of the question.

“C’mon, Lola, you’ve got to audition at least,” Sadie says, pulling at the sleeve of my school cardi that she’d helped me customise with different coloured sparkle buttons. “You’re always singing that ‘Life is Too Short to be a Spectator’ song. And I mean, always. Go on, you know you want to - I’ll come along and hold your hand!”

“Er, Sadie,” I say, lowering my voice so that my fellow corridor dwellers are unable to listen in, “even if I were interested in auditioning, which I’m not, I think you’re forgetting something. Something VERY important.”

“I am?” she says, looking at me with a quizzical expression on her sweet-as-sugar face.

“Yes, yes you are. You’re forgetting the scene. You know, the scene.” I whisper, making air quotation marks with my fingers.

“What scene?” shouts Sadie, causing a tall girl, with surfer-girl tumbling curls, to turn and see what all the fuss is about. We both flash her a smile, and, as the unwritten but well-known rules of Parkfield Comp dictate, on realisation that we’re both in the year below her, she turns right back around, without even acknowledging our existence - which, in this case, is a very good thing.

“Shhh, Miss Sades!” I say, putting my finger to my lip, before attempting to explain. Again. “Y’know, the scene where Richie and Lilly, y’know, get, um…smoochy-smoochy.”

“Ahhhhhhh!” she says, and I have to put my finger to her lips in an attempt at volume control. For someone so super-cool, Sadie really isn’t grasping my need for the hush-hush. “But I don’t get it, Lo-Lo. Why would a smoochy scene stop you from auditioning?”

Seriously, whoever has taken my super-cool, super-hip Pink Lady, Sadie and replaced her with an equally as cute, but nowhere-near-as-bright version, could you bring her back now please?

“Because, Sadie,” I begin, trying desperately hard not to turn a shade of mortification-red at having to actually say what I’m about to say out loud. “I am NOT having my first ever smooch-a-rama live on stage in Parkfield Comp. That is absolutely, catergorically not going to happen. In this lifetime, or any other for that matter. So there.”

“Ohhhh, well, since you put it like that, Lo…” Sadie says, taking an in-breath of air, and blowing it out as she shakes her pretty curls at me and pauses for thought. Literally. Putting her aquamarine painted nails to her chin and rolling her eyes skyward.

“Okay,” she says, breaking from her position of thought to one of real-life actual action - this involves a mini pirouette in the corridor - don’t worry, Sadie does this a lot, she’s adorable. “Lo-Lo,” she whispers as she points to the audition poster, “you can’t let the teeny problem of being smooch-deficient stop you from rocking it up starlet style - you just can’t. In fact, I won’t let you. Surely they won’t make you actually kiss anyone Lo - this is a school production after all!”

I purse my lips and move them from side to side in contemplation. Sadie’s got a point. This is Parkfield Comp, not Hollywood. There’s no way in this world that Mr Pike, our head teacher, would allow a public display of smooch just because the storyline in a movie that he would never, ever have seen demands it.

He is not a fan of the smooch.

Just recently, he made Andrea Child, a girl in Year 11 who wears vixen-red lipstick and lashings of black mascara, write a five hundred word essay about how much bacteria is passed through kissing because he caught her partaking in the act of smooch with a boy-type when she should have been in Maths class. If that wasn’t bad enough, he made her read it out in assembly. In front of EVERYONE. Cringe x 100000.

I let out a huge sigh of relief. If the role isn’t going to involve smoochy-smooch time, then I think I just might consider auditioning. If ever there was a lead role I wanted to play, besides being the star-girl in my daily performance of Livin’ La Vida Lola that is, it’s Lilly. She isn’t like Sandy in Grease - a good girl who thinks she has to turn bad just to get a boyfriend - she’s feisty and fabulous, just like me. She also gets to wear cute 1950s ensembles - think ankle socks and a twin-set - and is wooed by the dee-lish jock-boy, Richie Taylor. Sigh.

Now, if my first smoochy-smooch is going to be with Richie Taylor, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider my first lockage of lips to take place in public. You would too, he’s dee-blimmin’-licious. I also know all the words to all the songs. In fact, all the Pink Ladies do. Even Bella. Although she’ll never admit it. Not ever.

I look at Sadie, wriggle my pout from side to side in an ‘I’m thinking, okay?’ motion and slowly break out a killer-watt grin.

“Okay, okay - I give in! Sign me up!” I say, twisting the sparkly plastic button on my cardigan back and forth.

Ohmystars - what on earth have I let myself in for?

“Woohoo!” She lets out a trademark Sadie squeal - high-pitched and squeaky - and writes ‘Lola Love’ in pink ink under the heading ‘Lilly Auditionees - sign up here’. I then hold up my hand reluctantly, because I know what’s coming next. It’s the now mandatory, Pink Lady celebration method, for just about anything: a high five.