Rowan Coleman - Ruby Parker - Musical Star

“I remember the exercises,” Adele said, putting her hands flat on her tummy and breathing in and out deeply.

“Go on then,” I said, glancing at my watch. “The others will be here really soon. It’s now or never.”

Adele stared at the door handle that led into the music room as if it might be red hot. “Never,” she said flatly, turning on her heel.

“Told you,” Dakshima said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Like she can sing.”

“She can!” I said. “Probably.” I reached out and grabbed Adele’s arm quite firmly. Dakshima’s jaw dropped.

“Adele,” I said, keeping my voice steady and calm. “Just go in and give it a go. You know how much you want to be in the choir, but you’ll never be in it if you don’t try.” I glanced at Dakshima. “We’ll come in with you if you like.”

Adele scowled at Dakshima. “You can,” she said, nodding at me. “Not her.”

“Fine by me,” Dakshima said, raising a brow.

“Let’s go then,” I said, still holding her arm. “Now – before you change your mind again.”

Mr Petrelli glanced up at us as we entered. “You’re early, Ruby,” he said, looking back down at the sheet music. “While I commend your eagerness, I’d prefer it if you waited outside until I call you in.” He squinted at Adele over the top of his glasses. “And why are you here, Adele?”

“Whatever,” Adel mumbled. “I’m going.”

“The thing is,” I said, putting my hand on Adele’s shoulder, “Adele would really, really like to be in the choir. She didn’t do very well in the hall because she was nervous, but she sings in a gospel choir every Sunday so she can’t be that bad. We wondered, would you give her another chance, Mr Petrelli, please? Just let her sing a little bit, before the others get here. After all, we need all the singers we can get, right?”

Mr Petrelli looked at me. “This won’t get you off the hook, Ruby,” he told me. “Even if she turns out to be the next Charlotte Church, you still have to be in the choir.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ve come to terms with it, but please give Adele a chance. We’ve practised breathing and everything.” I thought Mr Petrelli almost smiled, but before his twitching mouth could turn upwards, he turned all stern again.

“Well then,” he stood up straight, as if bracing himself. “Go ahead, Adele. Let’s hear it.”

I let go of Adele’s arm and stood back, glancing at Dakshima’s face peering in through the window of the door. “Remember to breathe,” I whispered.

Adele opened her mouth and began to sing Amazing Grace, and I watched as Mr Petrelli’s expression changed from stern to pure delight. Adele really could sing, and about a million times better than anyone ever on X Factor.

“Adele Adebayor,” Mr Petrelli said, smiling for the first time since I’d known him. “You have been hiding you light under a bushel.”

“A what under a what?” I asked happily.

“It’s from the bible,” Adele told me. “It means I’ve been keeping my singing a secret.”

“You totally have,” I told her. “You totally have been really hiding it under a bushel thingy.” I looked at Mr Petrelli. “Well?” I asked him. “Is Adele in?”

Mr Petrelli smiled at me. “Adele is in,” he said. “And you know what else?” Adele and I shook our heads. “When I discover a voice like Adele’s right under my nose, it makes me realise something rather amazing.”

“What, sir?” Dakshima asked, pushing open the door.

“It turns out, Dakshima, that miracles do happen after all.”

First all there is darkness, a silent empty space.

And suddenly you feel it touching your face!

It feels so very good, as warm as the sun,

And when you’re in it you know you’ve become

A star.

Spotlight, spotlight

Come and find me.

Spotlight, spotlight

You can’t blind me.

If anyone was ever meant to be

bathed in your golden light – it’s me!

If anyone was ever meant to be.

This is where my dreams are, captured in the light.

This is where they come true, right here tonight.

In the golden spotlight I am at home.

No need to run the race any more, because

I’ve already won it.

Spotlight, spotlight

Come and find me.

Spotlight, spotlight

You can’t blind me.

If anyone was ever meant to be

bathed in your golden light – it’s me!

If anyone was ever meant to be.

Listen to that applause, it is all for me.

I’m standing in the spotlight, being all that I can be.

This is the beginning, a beginning without end,

When you’ve got the spotlight, you don’t need

another friend

So…

Spotlight, spotlight

Come and find me.

Spotlight, spotlight

You can’t blind me.

If anyone was ever meant to be

bathed in your golden light – it’s me!

If anyone was ever meant to be.

“Right now, this time let’s try it with some feeling,” Mr Petrelli said. “Come on, people, we’ve only got twenty minutes left. This is it our chance to be in the spotlight – excuse the pun.” The choir groaned as one.

“This,” Mr Petrelli went on, “is the central song of the musical, this is what – if you win a place in the chorus – you’ll be singing on TV in front of millions of people and you can’t tell me you don’t like the sound of that!”

The choir blinked at him, somehow Mr Petrelli wasn’t quite selling the being on TV bit to them… us, I mean. Only I’d been live on TV in front of millions and millions of people before and it never seemed to work out so well. Last time had been on the Carl Vine Show in America, when I’d accidentally blown Sean’s UK location to the world’s media, lumbering him with a paparazzi army on his doorstep the very next morning.

“Look,” Mr Petrelli tried again. “You’ve picked up the tune pretty quickly, and amazingly the harmonies actually don’t sound too awful. But what I need from you, from all of you, is oomph. Some razzle dazzle, some…” Mr Petrelli trailed off as he looked at all of us, the best singers Highgate Comp had to offer, staring blankly at him.

When I first met Mr Petrelli I’d thought he was a bit like Sylvia Lighthouse, passionate about his subject and a bit scary. But if he were anything like Ms Lighthouse then he could have frightened us all into performing. But once you got to know him you could tell that he just loved music and singing, and he couldn’t understand why everyone else didn’t feel the same way. It didn’t help that only two of the choir really wanted to be here. One of them was Dakshima, the other was Adele and even she still didn’t seem to be able to let herself sing as wonderfully again, a fact that Mr Petrelli was tactfully ignoring.

“We’ve got one shot at this, people,” Mr Petrelli told us. “One shot to get through the regional finals and get our chance to be on TV and win that prize. And maybe we aren’t the best choir, but I’ve heard all of you sing, and whether you believe me or not I know that you all have good voices. Some of them, when I get a chance to work with you, might be truly great. So, come on! I know you can do it!”

If there had been any tumbleweed in the music room it would have blown across the room just then. I think Mr Petrelli was hoping for some whoops, maybe a couple of excited jumps, but all he got back from his pep talk was silence.

“Plus,” I piped up from the third row, “if we win, we’re bound to meet a ton of celebrities.”

“Celebrities?” Gabe Martinez asked me. “Any footballers?”