Centre Stage: A Novel

Chapter One
    Never stand on a toilet seat in high-heeled shoes — at least not if you’ve got an older sister who might bang on the bathroom door at any moment and make you jump. With just five minutes to go before I had to set off for my very first day at Charles Hope comprehensive I was trying to check what I looked like. This meant balancing on the toilet seat to look in the mirror over the bathroom sink.
    Of course I could have used the full-length mirror in Mum and Dad’s room but Dad was getting dressed for work and the idea of seeing him in his underpants was way too embarrassing!
    So did I look OK? Bending my knees I checked my top half. White shirt with the top button undone. Navy and maroon school tie pulled slightly down just like Jessica had shown me. Sometimes older sisters can be very useful.
    Straightening up I looked at my legs. Navy bootleg trousers, long enough to almost cover my new shoes with their wedge heel. You’ve no idea how hard I had to beg to get Mum to buy me these shoes. She kept saying I didn’t need heels when I was only eleven. But I really do. I’m so small that without heels I look about eight. Luckily, Jess had backed me up and Mum had eventually given in. I looked at my reflection. Yes , I thought, feeling pleased. I look fine .
    Just then there was a loud banging at the door. ‘Sophie. Hurry up!’ Jess shouted.
    I jumped right up in the air and immediately lost my balance.
    ‘Whoaaaa!’ I cried as my new heels slipped on the shiny wooden surface. Arms and legs flailing, I crashed to the floor, almost head-butting the bath in the process. Luckily I missed it by about a millimetre. I might not have started secondary school yet but I had a feeling that going in for your first day with a huge red bump on your forehead would not have been considered cool.
    ‘Sophie! What are you doing in there?’ Jessica said, her voice half alarmed, half irritated.
    ‘Nothing,’ I gasped, as I picked myself up off the floor and hastily brushed bits of fluff and dust off my trousers.
    ‘Well, hurry up,’ she said through the door. ‘I need to brush my teeth and we have to leave in five minutes.’
    I hurried to the sink and grabbed Dad’s hairbrush that was on the shelf. I dragged it quickly through my dark brown shoulder-length hair. I should have known better. There’s something about the hairbrush that Dad uses. My hair just doesn’t like it. Immediately flyaway strands floated upwards as if they were magnetically attracted to the ceiling. I tried to smooth it down with my hands but it stood up all the more.
    ‘Sophie!’ Jess exclaimed.
    ‘In a minute,’ I said frantically. Great, now I was going to go to school looking like a scarecrow. I turned the tap on and splashed some water over my hair. Some of the strands flattened down but others still floated upwards. I groaned. Now I looked like a scarecrow who had been left out in the rain for too long. Why me? Why today?
    ‘I’ll get Mum,’ Jessica threatened through the door.
    ‘All right, all right,’ I exclaimed, opening the door.
    ‘You took your time,’ Jessica said sarkily. She did a double take. ‘What have you done to your hair?’
    ‘Nothing,’ I muttered quickly. It wasn’t fair. Jess looked as perfect as always with her black glossy waves caught back in a loose ponytail, a few tendrils framing her oval face, her blue eyes rimmed by smoky-grey eyeliner.
    A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. ‘You’ve been using Dad’s hairbrush.’
    I gave up any pretence. ‘What am I going to do, Jess?’ I wailed.
    ‘Put some more water on it and use the blow dryer,’ she advised. ‘Here.’ She dragged me over to the sink and within seconds had dampened Dad’s brush and swept it through my hair. ‘There.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I said gratefully.
    ‘No problem,’ she said pushing me out of the bathroom. ‘It’s not like I want to be seen at school with a little sister who looks like she’s just stuck her hand in an electric socket. Now dry it — quick!’
    I ran to my room. For an older sister, Jessica is very cool. Well, most of the time. We hardly ever argue. Not like my best friend, Harriet, and her older sister, Emily. They argue all the time.
    I began to dry my hair. I don’t usually bother loads about what I wear or how I look. But today was different. Today, my very first day at secondary school, I wanted to look right.
    My heart skipped a beat as I thought about what was ahead of me. What if the