Chapter 1
I take a deep breath, rise onto my tiptoes, and make sure my arm is fully extended. I point the stick at the gymnasium ceiling, careful to make sure that the scarlet ribbon is coiled loosely at my bare feet.
The music starts and, with a rush of drums, I leap to the right, drawing spirals above my head. I dance gracefully, enthralling my audience and showing them just how good I am.
I’m not being judged anymore; really, it doesn’t matter if I score a two or a ten for artistic interpretation. But I commit to each step, each turn, making sure that my toes are pointed and that each split is a perfect one-hundred-and-eighty degrees.
At fifteen, I was going to be the youngest member of the British Olympic team. Coach hardly changed a thing in my routine; he loved my scarlet costume, he thought my Cleopatra makeup and haircut were a work of art. Unfortunately, for me, my life is just as tragic as the ancient queen of Egypt, because six months ago Dad left to go and rescue some fisherman and never came back.
The music I’m hearing brings back memories of that night. The police said he was missing, presumed dead. I increase the speed of my spins, before leaping backwards into full splits to the enthusiastic applause of my best friend, Suzanne.
As I try to slow my breath, I realise there’s another set of enthusiastic clapping, and getting to my feet I see that Jonathan Trent’s been spying on me from behind the climbing frames.
“Ignore him Ella!” Suzanne tells me, handing me my water bottle. “We need to get going before the shop shuts. You promised you’d be there when I asked Dave for a job.”
“Yes, yes, I know!” Considering Suzanne’s gone all peace-and-love in her efforts to get Dave from the Wicca shop to ask her out, she’s a right bossy cow. “I just need to get changed. I can hardly go out in a red leotard, yeah?”
“Okay,” she agrees, her freckled face scowling. “Oh, great—what does he want?”
Twisting round, I feel an awkward surge of embarrassment wash over me as Jonathan skulks over.
“Hi Ella.” He towers over me, but he still manages to look small with his hands in his trouser pockets. “Can I talk to you?”
“You’re a dick brain!” Suzanne kindly tells him, giving her wavy brown hair a flick.
“Leave it out, Suzanne!” Just because Jonathan’s a bit…well, I don’t really know what it is about him; I mean, he’s not gross, but there’s something there that makes you want to avoid being seen with him.
“I’ll wait for you by the lockers,” she grumbles, her flowery maxi dress billowing out as she whirls around to leave. “And don’t you dare invite him along.”
As she stomps off through the gym doors, I turn back to Jonathan. “Sorry about that. She’s really nice when you get to know her.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” he says with a nervous smile.
“So…what do you want?” I ask after several seconds of silence.
“I’m eighteen soon,” he begins, scratching the back of his head and making his tangle of black hair even more of a mess.
“Happy birthday.” I really hope he isn’t going to ask me to come along to some lame party.
“Thanks, but the thing is…” Oh God, he’s going to ask me out. His brown eyes have got that kind of nervous-puppy dog look.
“You know I’m kind of…seeing Brent, right?” I got off with Brent last week at Sasha’s party, and even though he never called me back, I can’t have Jonathan think I’m available.
“Oh,” he says, now making eye contact. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you out. I know you wouldn’t…”
Now I feel guilty as well as awkward. He’s right—I’d rather date Steve Miller, who could easily qualify for The Biggest Loser, but that doesn’t mean I want to make Jonathan feel bad. “Sorry, you were saying…?”
“You know I do magic?”
“Yes. That whole coin thing is pretty cool.”
“Oh that’s nothing,” he says all dismissive like, and as if to prove he’s not bragging, he weaves a ten pence through his long fingers before making it disappear into nothing. “I do big stuff, and there’s this club I want to join—”
“The Magic Circle?”
“Like that,” he says giving nothing away. “But it’s more exclusive and you can’t just flash a credit card to get in.”
I’m not sure what to do with this, so I nod to fake interest as I think of an excuse to get away.
“I can do all the big tricks, but I can’t make them look good,” he explains, talking faster and faster. “And I got to thinking, you do tricks too and you make them look good, so perhaps you’d help me make my tricks look good.”
Oh God, this is even worse than being asked out, and I’m cringing all over again remembering that show he did for Children in Need.
“I’ll pay you,” he adds. “I don’t expect you to do me any favours.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I try to think of a really nice way to tell him no, but the truth is I could really do with the cash. Now that my plans of being a famous gymnast are over, I’m focusing on being a fashion designer, but I’m still two hundred quid short of getting my dream sewing machine.
“Okay, but you’re not to tell anyone—this is our secret.”
He nods, all happy now.
“And I’m not practising here, either!”
“I’ve got everything at home,” he assures me. “Can you come around on Saturday?”
“You’ll have to come to mine,” I tell him, pulling on my jeans because I’m already mega late for Suzanne. “I have to babysit my kid sister at the weekends.”
“No problem, bring her around.”
“She’s in a wheelchair,” I explain. “And she’s too big now for me to carry. her.”
“My house is wheelchair-friendly,” he replies, now sounding really sad. “I live with my grandparents and neither of them has walked in years.”
Now I feel really bad. Jenny’s tough work, but having two wheelchair-bound grandparents to look after—that’s got to suck. “Okay. Eleven o’clock, all right?”
***
“What did he want?” Suzanne asks me, as soon as we’re on the bus headed down to The White Witch magic shop.
“Nothing much,” I lie, because even though Suzanne’s my best friend, there’s no way I’m telling her, because she couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. “I thought he was going to ask me out, so I just got in there quick—”
“Yuck!” she cries, sticking out her tongue and pretending to vomit. “Imagine making out with Jonathan.”
I laugh with her, but inside my stomach sinks. Poor Jonathan. He really doesn’t deserve it. Hoping that he gets into this club so he won’t be Billy-No-Mates any longer, I gaze out at the shop windows down the high street, looking for inspiration, but not one of them has the answers on how I can turn his lame act into something even the coolest kids would pay money to see.
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