First published in Great Britain 2017

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2017 Beautiful Movements Ltd

Cover illustration copyright © 2017 Beautiful Movements Ltd

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2017

ISBN 978 1 4052 87180

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1793 9

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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For my nieces Alyson and Gracyn

Also available in the WEDA series:

Billie’s Big Audition

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Front series promotional page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TILLY’S SPOKEN-WORD POEM

About the Author

Q&A with Kimberly

Back series promotional page

It aws teh best of tmies, ti wsa the wosrt fo timse, ti was teh age of widsom, it aws the aeg of foloishness, it wsa the epohc of beleif, ti was teh epoch of incerdulity, it was eth saeson of lihgt, it was the season fo dakrness, it wsa the spirng of hope, ti was the witner of depsair.

Tilly stared at the words until her eyes burned and her head hurt, but the letters kept jumping about all over the page.

‘What are you supposed to say?’ Tilly pleaded with the letters. But it was no good, they still wouldn’t fall into their correct order. ‘I hate you, dyslexia!’ Tilly threw the worksheet on to her bedroom floor. It was so unfair. Nine out of ten people didn’t have dyslexia. Why did she have to be the one who did? At her last school she’d been given extra support in class, but since she’d got to WEDA she’d been trying to make out that she didn’t need it. She definitely didn’t need the other students feeling sorry for her or, even worse, making fun of her. Now, as she looked at the paper on the floor, she wondered if she’d been right to hide it.

Before Tilly and her fellow students at WEDA had broken up for the Christmas holiday, their English teacher, Mrs Jarvis, had given them ‘some fun reading for the holiday’. Apparently, the printout contained some of the best opening paragraphs of books ever written. But to Tilly, they might as well have been written in Chinese. She wished Billie was there to help her. Billie was the only person at WEDA she’d told about her dyslexia. Whenever they got set English assignments during term time, Billie would read them out loud for her. At least then she was able to understand what the jumbled-up letters meant.

As Tilly thought of her friend Billie, miles away in London, she felt a pang of sadness. If only Christmas was over already. Tilly frowned. You were supposed to feel homesick for your home, not your school. But for Tilly it was the other way round. In her first term boarding at WEDA she’d come to think of the dance academy as her home and her friends in her street crew, Il Bello, as her family.

Tilly got off her bed and walked over to the full-length mirror on her wardrobe door. She didn’t feel like herself when she was here any more – not her true self, anyway. She gazed at her reflection, at her bland brown hair and her pale, make-up-free face. She hated looking so colourless and plain, and how vulnerable it made her feel. But her parents didn’t like her dyeing her hair or wearing make-up and she didn’t want to do anything to annoy them right now.

Her mum had been really disappointed with Tilly’s first end-of-term report. Even though Tilly had got a glowing report in all of her dance classes, her mum was only interested in her academic grades. She was a lawyer and obsessed with how Tilly did in things like Maths and English. It had been hard enough getting her mum to agree to her going to WEDA – so if Tilly had to look like a boring loser to keep her mum happy over the Christmas holiday, it was a price worth paying. Tilly ran her finger over her cheek. Her skin was as lumpy as a mountain range. G-reat, she was about to have another break-out. Her spots always got worse when she was stressed, which only made her more stressed – leaving her in a vicious, spotty cycle. She glared at her reflection. I hate you, spots! I hate you even more than I hate dyslexia! She grabbed her concealer from her make-up bag, then remembered that her mum didn’t even like her wearing that. She took the cap off the concealer and drew an angry face with it on the mirror instead. Then she added a lightning bolt and a thundercloud. Tilly stepped back and grinned. Channelling her feelings into artwork always made her feel better.

Twenty One Pilots came on the radio and, instinctively, Tilly struck a pose, tilting her head back and extending her arm. Voguing was her favourite way to dance. Like her artwork, it always made her feel better. There was something so therapeutic about the angles of the poses and the tension in her body creating such sharp lines. She took a step to the side, landing on her English assignment. The sound of the paper crunching beneath her foot made her smile again. She liked the power it gave her. She wanted to trample and stomp those stupid, jumbled-up words into the ground.

Tilly spun and twirled and vogued her way around her bedroom using the crumpled piece of paper as a skate on the carpet to help her glide. She caught sight of her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. She no longer looked sad and boring. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks glowed. One of Tilly’s teachers at WEDA, Mr Marlo, called this feeling Doctor Dance. No matter how bad things might get, dance always made you feel better. Tilly put her hands on her hips and stared back at her reflection.

‘You’ve got this,’ she told herself. ‘You don’t need anyone’s help.’

She grabbed her fake fur coat and studded leather rucksack from her bed and headed for the door. Time for some Christmas shopping.

Tilly’s family lived in a town south of London. Normally Tilly found it super boring, but today even she had to admit that it looked magical. The high street was strung with flashing, star-shaped Christmas lights, and the wide pavements were full of market stalls selling everything from French cheeses and wine to designer jewellery and handmade cards. Tilly picked out a couple of cards for her parents and her older brother, Bobby, then headed down one of the side-streets to her favourite charity shop. Tilly loved charity shops. Browsing through their racks and shelves was like treasure hunting – you had to sift through a load of junk, but Tilly had a knack for finding the gems. Her friend Andre loved this about her, because she was always finding weird and unique outfits for his fashion blog, Spotted. Tilly felt another twinge of sadness as she thought of Andre. He was even further away than Billie, spending Christmas in his hometown of New York.

The bell above the shop door jangled as Tilly made her way inside. The air had that slightly musty smell that all charity shops have, mingled with the spicy scent of a Christmas candle. She made her way to the women’s clothes section and started rifling through the jumpers and blouses. Straight away, Tilly’s mind filled with brightly coloured pictures, as she imagined snipping a sleeve off a shirt, or layering a vest top over a jumper, but none of the clothes passed the tingle test. The tingle test was something she and Andre always used for Spotted.

Unless an outfit was so exciting it made their skin tingle it wouldn’t make the cut. But then she saw a hat, randomly perched on top of a pile of records. It was an old-style captain’s hat, huge and black with a curved rim. Tilly picked it up and turned it over in her hands. There was so much blank space on the black felt – it was just begging to be customized! She pictured the hat covered with pink, black and gun-metal sparkles. She imagined gold chains hanging down from the rim around her face. Her skin began to tingle. She took the hat over to the counter to pay.

When Tilly got back home her parents were still out, picking Bobby up from uni, so she set to work at the dining-room table. In her first term at WEDA she’d collected loads of accessories customizing things for Andre’s blog, and had bought a vintage trunk to store them all in. She opened the trunk and piled paint, glue, glitter and costume jewellery on to the table. Then she took out a pack of strawberry bubble-gum and popped a piece in her mouth. Her parents hated her chewing gum in the house, but it helped her to think. She placed the hat in the middle of the dining-room table and stared at it, waiting for inspiration to strike. This was how she always worked when she was customizing something, or creating a look. She didn’t need to try out different things – she could see the finished look straight away. Andre called it her styling superpower. And sure enough, as Tilly stared at the hat, she saw an image start to appear on the front, like a Polaroid picture developing. The image was of a bright pink flamingo – it would go so well against the black of the hat! She imagined it glinting and shining in the light, and reached for her bag of Swarovski crystals and a tube of pink paint. Then she grabbed the hat and a pencil and started sketching the outline of a flamingo on the front. Tilly LOVED flamingos. Not only were they her favourite colour – pink – but they had long legs, like her.

When Tilly was younger, a bratty girl at her school called Angelica had constantly taunted her about her long legs, calling her ‘lanky’ and ‘daddy-long-legs’. Tilly finally snapped and got her revenge by squirting ketchup into Angelica’s school bag one lunchtime, which, of course, had got her into loads of trouble. But when she’d told her dad why she’d done it he’d said something she’d never forgotten. ‘You’re not a daddy-long-legs,’ he’d told her, as he gave her a hug. ‘You’re my fearless flamingo.’ Tilly loved her dad for saying this. Flamingos were way cooler than daddy-long-legs and they made her feel proud of her body instead of embarrassed.

Within a couple of minutes the outline of the flamingo was complete. Tilly blew a satisfied bubble with her gum and kept on blowing till it popped. The rest of Il Bello loved watching her draw and paint. They always made a big deal of her graffiti murals in the old stable they used as a studio. But to Tilly, art came easy – a bit like words came to them, she guessed. Oh well, at least there was something she could do that the others couldn’t. She painted in the outline of the flamingo in pink and while she was waiting for it to dry, she took a photo of the hat and texted it to Andre. He texted back straight away.

OGM! That si so goign no SPOTETD! Xoxo

Tilly stared at the words until she finally figured them out – OMG! That is so going on Spotted! Xoxo

She sent back a smiley-faced emoji. Tilly was so grateful for the invention of emojis. If only she could do her school work in them!

Once the paint had dried, she began gluing the crystals around the outline of the flamingo. She pictured dancing in the hat on a stage somewhere, a spotlight casting reflected beams from the crystals all around her. She was so engrossed, she didn’t even hear her family arriving back home until Bobby walked through the door.

‘Sis! It’s so good to see you!’ he cried, dropping his bag to the floor and throwing his arm round her shoulders. Even though it had only been three months since Tilly last saw him, his hair was a lot longer and he looked older somehow. Uni life clearly suited him, but then Bobby was a brainiac just like their mum. ‘What are you up to?’ He nodded at the hat. ‘I hope that isn’t Dad’s Christmas present – I’m not sure pink’s his colour!’

Tilly burst out laughing. Their dad was an accountant who specialized in corporate taxation. Tilly wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but she knew it sounded seriously boring. And her dad had a seriously boring wardrobe to match, spending his entire life in grey suits or brown cardigans. The thought of him wearing the flamingo hat was hilarious!

‘What’s so funny?’ Tilly’s mum came through the door smiling, but as soon as she saw the dining-room table, her face fell. ‘Oh, Tilly, what a mess!’

‘She’s being creative,’ Bobby said, instantly slipping into his usual role as the family peacekeeper. ‘Look at the flamingo she’s made. Isn’t it cool?’

‘It’s ridiculous.’ Her mum sighed. ‘Who would ever wear such a thing?’

Tilly felt a red-hot rush of anger. I would! she wanted to yell. But she managed to stay silent.

‘I have a ton of work to do, Tilly,’ her mum continued. ‘I need you to get this mess cleared away immediately.’

‘It’s not mess,’ Tilly muttered. Then she had an idea. Maybe if her mum saw some of her finished creations she’d be more impressed. She picked up her phone and did a quick search for Andre’s blog. ‘Look. Here are some of the things I’ve made recently.’ She showed her mum the phone. ‘I put the braiding on those trousers and I added the pink fur trim to that coat.’ She waited nervously for her mum to respond.

Her mum stared blankly at the screen. ‘And when exactly did you do this?’

‘When I was at WEDA – in my spare time.’

Her mum frowned so hard two sharp lines appeared in her forehead between her eyes. ‘You’re supposed to be studying in your spare time, not playing dress-up or arts and crafts. No wonder your grades were so low!’ She handed the phone back to Tilly. ‘I knew it was a mistake sending you there. I said to your father that –’

‘It wasn’t a mistake!’ Tilly interrupted, her stomach churning. ‘I love it there and I’m doing really well in my dancing.’

‘I don’t care about your dancing!’ her mum snapped. ‘Once you’re out in the real world it’ll be your academic exams that count.’ She folded her arms and stared at Tilly, the way she always did when she was done talking.

‘But you don’t understand,’ Tilly blurted. ‘I find it so hard to concentrate! It’s not my fault I have dyslexia!’

‘But you told me your dyslexia wasn’t much of a problem any more,’ her mum replied. ‘That was one of the reasons I agreed to let you go to WEDA.’

‘It isn’t. I – I was just using that as an excuse . . . for my grades.’ Tilly’s face flushed. Whatever she said now, she’d end up busted. She might as well avoid the dyslexia conversation.

‘Right, so clearly you aren’t trying as hard as you should be.’ Her mum sighed. ‘I mean it, Tilly – if you don’t get your academic grades up next term, I’m taking you out of WEDA.’

Tilly walked into her dorm room at WEDA and gave the world’s biggest ever sigh of relief. It was so good to finally be back – it had felt like the Christmas holiday would never end. But as she looked around her side of the room – at the bed crammed with cushions in every shade of pink and the brightly coloured mood-boards hanging on the wall – the relief she felt was tinged with fear. Her mum had reminded her yet again of her threat to remove her from WEDA when she’d dropped her back at the academy. ‘I meant what I said, Tilly,’ she’d repeated as they got out of the car. ‘If you don’t get your grades up this term, we’re moving you to a normal school.’

Tilly sank down on to her bed. She couldn’t go to a ‘normal’ school. She wasn’t normal, and she didn’t ever want to be. WEDA was the first place she’d ever felt free to be her own quirky and expressive self. She looked over to the other side of the room. There was a half-unpacked suitcase on the other bed, with clothes spilling out of it and on to the floor. Her roommate Naomi was obviously back, and there were no prizes for guessing where she’d be. Naomi’s twin brother Jordan was also at WEDA, so she spent most of her time in his room. Normally, Tilly liked this as it gave her loads of space to be on her own. But after the holiday she’d just had, being on her own was the last thing she wanted.

It was weird – even though she’d been with her family the whole time, she’d still felt all alone. Bobby had spent most of the break on Skype to his girlfriend or playing Xbox games with his mates, and their parents might as well have been on another planet, wrapped up in their work or talking about the news. Tilly had spent the entire holiday feeling like a jigsaw piece in the wrong puzzle. She jumped to her feet and looked in the mirror on the back of the door.

‘Time to be me again,’ she said to her reflection, before grabbing a pack of hair dye from her bag.

One hour later, Tilly looked back at her reflection and smiled. Her sharply bobbed hair was now fiery-red, her eyes were lined with black kohl in a perfect cat-eye and her skin had been smoothed out with a layer of foundation. Like a warrior dressed for battle, she felt ready to face the world again. She applied some rose-tinted gloss to her lips and pouted. She was about to pull a pose when the door burst open and Andre marched in. He was wearing a bright green tracksuit, lilac high-tops and a baseball cap with BORN BEAUTIFUL written in diamante around the rim.

‘Oh, thank God!’ he exclaimed. ‘If you weren’t here I think I might have actually cried . . . and that would have totally ruined my look. Red eyes so do not go with green.’ He came and stood behind Tilly and looked at her reflection in the mirror. ‘Babes, your hair is fetch!’

‘Thank you! It’s so good to see you, Dre!’ Tilly turned and hugged Andre tight. As always he smelled amazing – a mixture of coconut oil and cocoa butter.

‘How good?’ Andre pulled back and stared at her.

Tilly frowned. ‘What?’

‘How good is it? To see me? On a scale of one to ten?’

‘About fifty million.’

Andre breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Why?’

He shrugged and looked away. ‘Oh I don’t know. I thought maybe after some time away from here you might have gone off me.’

‘What? Why?’ Tilly stared at him in shock. It was totally out of character for super-confident Andre to show any sign of self-doubt.

Andre sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘Tillz, can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you like being my friend?’

‘Are you being serious?’ Tilly sat down next to him.

‘Why did you say that?’ Andre stared at her. ‘Why didn’t you just answer the question? Were you trying to avoid answering the question?’

‘Dre, chill! Of course I like being your friend! I love being your friend. You have no idea how much I missed you over the break.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes! Now why are you being so weird?’

Andre took his cap off and sighed. ‘Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have the happiest of holidays.’

Tilly gave a wry laugh. ‘Join the club!’

‘Really?’ Andre looked at her hopefully. ‘Did you have a lousy time too?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Oh good!’

‘Andre!’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean – I’m not glad that you had a lousy time. I’m just glad that I wasn’t the only one.’

‘But how could you have had a bad time? You were in New York!’

‘Yes, and so was my so-called dad.’

‘Oh.’ Tilly wasn’t sure what to say to this. Andre never talked about his dad, apart from saying things like his dad was dead to him and that he’d rather have a cardboard cut-out of Dr Dre for a father.

‘Why did you have a bad time?’ Andre asked.

‘My mum was stressing over my end-of-term report.’

‘What? But you aced your dance classes.’

‘I know. But she doesn’t care about that. She only cares about how I do in my academic subjects. Total nightmare.’

Andre sighed. ‘Parents!’ He put his cap on back to front and held his hand out to Tilly. ‘Come on. I know something that’ll cheer you up.’

Tilly followed Andre out of the ultra-modern dormitory block and past the old WEDA building. It looked so majestic, lit up in the dark.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, and then it dawned on her. ‘Oh my God, is it ready? Are you taking me to the stable?’

‘That’ll be the official street dance Stable Studio,’ Andre said with a grin. ‘And yep, my mum said they completed the refurbishment over the holiday.’

As Tilly followed Andre through the cluster of trees at the back of the building she felt excitement bubbling inside her. Last term, the old abandoned stable at the bottom of WEDA’s grounds had become the secret HQ for their street dance crew. But then Andre’s mum, Miss Murphy, the world-famous ballerina and now Head of Dance and Wellness at WEDA had caught them rehearsing. They could have got into massive trouble, as street dance wasn’t on the curriculum back then and they were banned from rehearsing privately when they had a show coming up. But thankfully Miss Murphy had been so impressed by their routine she’d allowed Il Bello to perform in the end-of-term showcase and street dance had been added to the curriculum at WEDA. The old stable had been renovated over the Christmas holiday to make sure it met studio health and safety regulations. Tilly couldn’t wait to see what it looked like. As they approached the stable, Andre took a key from his pocket.

‘My mum wants you to paint a sign for over the door.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah, she loves your work.’

Tilly felt a burst of happiness, swiftly followed by a pang of sorrow. Why couldn’t her mum be more like Miss Murphy and appreciate the things Tilly could do instead of picking holes in those she couldn’t?

Andre opened the door and flicked a light switch.

‘Oh wow!’ Tilly gazed around the stable. The main wall was exactly as they’d left it, with Tilly’s mural of Il Bello and the street-style bumblebees. But the wall opposite was now fully mirrored and the remaining two walls had been painted white.

‘My mum asked if you’d do some more murals there too,’ Andre said, gesturing at the blank walls.

‘Of course,’ Tilly murmured. She looked up at the ceiling, which now twinkled with mini spotlights, casting a golden glow over the shiny pine floor.

‘So, what do you say we dance out our holiday blues? Have a ’rent vent on the floor?’ Andre said.

Tilly grinned. ‘I say, YEAH!’

Andre went over to the brand new stereo system and put his iPod on.

As the Jack Garratt remix of ‘Photograph’ began to play he dimmed the lights and closed his eyes, his face serious again. Tilly joined him in the middle of the floor and waited for a couple of bars, letting the rhythm of the song work its way inside her body, then they both started freestyling through and around each other. It was as if their bodies were talking to each other, both anticipating and understanding what the other was saying. Expressing the same frustrations. Then, as the music built, they broke away from each other and started dancing to their own flow. Andre started moving robotically but gracefully, as if he were carrying a load of heavy rocks. Tilly vogued with a contemporary twist, her body flowing like a river. As the song came to an end they leaped into a hug.

‘I feel so much better!’ Andre exclaimed.

‘Me too,’ Tilly said and to her horror, she felt tears of relief burning in the corners of her eyes. She blinked hard and turned away. She hated crying, especially in front of other people. She was fiercer than that. She was a fearless flamingo, not a cry-baby.

‘You OK, Tillz?’ Andre asked.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ Tilly replied quickly.

‘Sei bellisima, Tilly. Always remember that.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s “you’re beautiful” in Italian,’ Andre told her.

Tilly’s face flushed. She felt so happy to be back where she belonged, with people who really got her.

‘Speaking of which, we’d better get out of here and get some beauty sleep.’ Andre went over to the stereo and retrieved his iPod. ‘We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow and I’m going to be trialling a new F Dot look.’

Tilly frowned. ‘What does F Dot mean?’

‘First Day of Term, of course. Wait till you see it, Tillz. I got a green Marc Jacobs skull and cross-bones bandana at a thrift store in Brooklyn that’s to die for. And that’s not even an exaggeration, I actually did almost die for it. I was so eager to get to it I pulled the whole shelf down on top of me.’

As Tilly burst out laughing she felt overwhelmed with relief. All of the tension that had built up inside of her over the holiday had been danced and laughed out of her body. She was back at WEDA and this term she was determined not to blow it. She was going to do whatever it took to get her grades up and keep her place there – and she was going to beat her dyslexia once and for all.

The next morning Tilly woke bright and early. She hopped out of bed, being careful not to wake Naomi, who was still burrowed under her duvet, fast asleep, and unrolled her yoga mat on the floor. Tilly liked to stretch and breathe first thing in the morning, checking in with her body, figuring out which muscles needed attention and filling her lungs with new air. The rhythm of her breath, and connecting it to a stretch, was the best way to get rid of any sad cobwebs and start fresh. After dancing with Andre her left hamstring felt a little tight, so she soothed it with some gentle downward-dog stretches, sending her breath to the sore parts of her body and feeling the tension gently release. Then she showered and took her make-up bag down from the shelf. She decided to go for a bright green cat-eye this morning, to celebrate the first day of the new term – or F Dot as Andre called it! She wondered why Andre had been so stressed when he’d first come to see her. She hated thinking of him having a tough time over Christmas, it made her feel really angry. She always got like this when someone she loved was hurting – she was as fierce and protective as a lioness with her cub.

Naomi stretched an arm out of the duvet. ‘What time is it?’ she murmured sleepily.

‘Almost time for breakfast,’ Tilly replied happily. That was another thing she was glad to be back at WEDA for – the amazing food. The chefs in their canteen had a magical ability of making even the healthiest of foods taste delicious.

‘Drat!’ Naomi muttered and burrowed back beneath her duvet. Naomi loved saying ‘drat’. She thought it made her sound distinguished.

‘Come on, you know you want one of those yummy coconut flour pancakes,’ Tilly said. ‘Just think of it, with some fresh, juicy blueberries on top. And a dollop of mascarpone – so creamy and delicious and –’

‘All right, all right, I’m getting up!’ Naomi flung back her duvet. Her dark hair was flattened on one side where she’d been sleeping. ‘I hate these early morning starts,’ she moaned as she shuffled off to their shared bathroom.

Tilly grinned. The only good thing about having a rubbish Christmas break was that it made her so happy to be back at WEDA she didn’t even mind getting up early. ‘I’ll see you in the canteen!’ she called after Naomi. She couldn’t wait any longer, she wanted to see the rest of Il Bello.

The canteen was buzzing with chatter as the other boarders all clustered around tables, catching up on each other’s holidays. Tilly spotted a tall, thin boy in a fedora hat standing at the juice bar.

‘MJ!’ she called as she ran over, fighting the urge to hug him. MJ was autistic and wasn’t a great fan of being touched, or of displays of affection. Like Tilly, he expressed himself best through dance.

MJ turned and gave her a tight smile. ‘Hey, Tilly. How are you?’

‘Great, thanks. So happy to be back here.’

MJ nodded. ‘Me too.’

‘Are any of the rest of the crew here?’ Tilly turned and scanned the canteen.

‘Andre’s still in our room trying to get his hair symmetrical – whatever that means – but Raf’s over there.’ MJ nodded to a table in the corner.

Tilly grinned as she saw Raf looking more tanned and handsome than ever . . . then frowned as she saw Cassandra sitting next to him, giggling and swishing her hair.

‘What’s he doing with the ice queen?’ she asked.

MJ looked at her blankly. He didn’t get metaphors.

‘Cassandra. Why is he sitting with Cassandra?’

MJ shrugged. He hadn’t got into any of the tension that had built up between Tilly, Billie and Cassandra last term. He tended to stay on the sidelines – until it came time to dance. ‘Billie’s just arrived,’ he said nonchalantly, before turning back to the juice bar.

‘What? Where?’ Tilly looked around and spotted Billie by the doorway to the canteen. Her blond hair was tucked up inside a blue beanie and she was carrying a sports bag over her shoulder. As a non-boarder, Billie had to make a two-hour train journey to get to WEDA every day. She must have set off extra early this morning to make it in time for breakfast.

‘Bill!’ Tilly yelled, racing over to her.

Billie dropped her bag to the floor and ran to meet her. ‘Tillz! It’s so good to see you!’ she exclaimed as the two girls hugged. ‘How was your Christmas?’

‘OK. How was yours?’

‘It was great.’ Billie’s eyes sparkled and she grinned excitedly. ‘My Uncle Charlie came to stay and my mum’s new boyfriend Tony took us to see the fireworks on the Thames on New Year’s Eve. It was so much fun!’

Tilly felt a bittersweet mixture of happiness for her friend and regret that she didn’t have such a fun Christmas break herself. Why did her mum have to be so serious the whole time? They’d spent New Year’s Eve doing a family quiz which, as far as Tilly was concerned, was just one small step away from doing an exam.

‘I’m so glad to be back, though,’ Billie continued, linking her arm through Tilly’s. ‘I really missed you.’

‘Me too,’ Tilly replied. She took off her backpack and pulled out a present. ‘Here, I made you something while I was home.’

Billie stared at her, puzzled. ‘But I thought we exchanged gifts before we broke up?’

‘We did.’ Tilly grinned. ‘This isn’t a Christmas present.’

‘What is it then?’

‘It’s a thank-you-for-being-the-best-friend-ever present.’

‘Oh, Tillz!’

Tilly watched nervously as Billie opened the wrapping paper and pulled out a black T-shirt. Tilly had printed the word BILLERINA in hot-pink graffiti lettering on the front.

Billie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘That’s what my Uncle Charlie calls me! How did you know?’

‘I heard him call you it after the end-of-term showcase.’

Billie grabbed her in a hug. ‘Tillz, this is one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given.’

‘Really?’

Billie nodded. ‘You’re the most caring, thoughtful friend ever.’

Tilly gave an embarrassed grin. ‘Yeah well, don’t tell anyone. I have my reputation to protect, you know. Come on, let’s get some pancakes.’

After breakfast, the students all filed through to the main hall for Mrs Jones’s traditional start-of-term speech. Along with Mr Marlo and Miss Murphy, Mrs Jones was Tilly’s main source of inspiration at WEDA. She’d been one of the founders of the academy and had taught Miss Murphy, who often credited Mrs Jones with her success. Tilly felt a flutter of excitement as she thought of how lucky she was to be there. Her mum might be dismissive of dance but Mrs Jones, Miss Murphy and all the other teachers at WEDA were proof of how successful dancers could be. Tilly needed to hold on to that thought and use it to keep her strong.

Andre, who hadn’t shown up for breakfast, came rushing into the hall and plonked himself down in the seat next to Tilly. His F Dot look had clearly taken a lot of effort, but it had definitely been worth it. He was wearing a bright red vest top and black cargo pants and he’d shaved two perfectly symmetrical skulls on either side of his head, which went brilliantly with his green skull and cross-bones bandana.

‘You look amazing,’ Tilly whispered. ‘With your green bandana and my green cat-eyes, we make the ultimate superhero duo.’

‘I know,’ Andre replied. ‘I think this might just be our FFM.’

‘What does that mean?’ Billie asked from the other side of Tilly.

‘Finest Fashion Moment, of course,’ Andre said with a sigh.

Tilly laughed. If anyone else said such a thing they’d seem arrogant, but Andre was so funny he got away with it.

‘Ooh, here we go,’ Andre said, as Mrs Jones, Mr Marlo and Miss Murphy came in.

The students fell silent as the teachers walked to the front of the hall. Miss Murphy and Mr Marlo sat down and Mrs Jones went up on to the stage. She was wearing one of her trademark long dresses, in a deep plum colour, and her white hair had been cut into a graduated bob. It really suited her heart-shaped face. Tilly hoped she looked half as cool as Mrs Jones when she was that age.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ Mrs Jones said with a smile. ‘And welcome back. I hope you all had wonderful Christmases . . . but now the party’s over and the hard work begins.’

A few of the students gave mock groans but Tilly felt like cheering. She couldn’t wait to get back in the studio.

‘At the end of last term some of you were involved in a showcase at the Royal Albert Hall.’

Tilly and the rest of Il Bello looked at each other and grinned.

‘I’m proud to say that you were an absolute credit to WEDA and gave it your all, but this term, we’re going to be asking you to give even more than your all.’ Mrs Jones looked around, her expression now deadly serious. ‘I’m going to hand over to my colleagues Miss Murphy and Mr Marlo and they will explain.’

‘What’s up, WEDA?’ Mr Marlo boomed. ‘How you all doing?’

The students yelled back at him.

‘I hope you all had a cool Christmas,’ Miss Murphy said. As usual, she looked immaculate, in a long grey pencil skirt, crisp white blouse and sky-high heels.

Andre groaned. ‘I keep telling her not to say cool,’ he muttered. ‘It’s so uncool.’

Tilly laughed. As far as she was concerned, Andre had the coolest mum in the world – she’d give anything to have a mum as passionate about dance as Miss Murphy – but she guessed that, no matter who your parents were, you were embarrassed by them.

Mr Marlo dug his hands into his tracksuit pockets. ‘As Mrs Jones just said, this term we’re going to be asking even more of you than we did before.’

‘We’re going to be asking you to dig deeper than ever,’ Miss Murphy said.

‘And dance like the world’s depending on you . . .’ Mr Marlo paused for a moment, ‘. . . because in a way, it is.’

‘Here at WEDA we need to become more energy efficient,’ Miss Murphy said. ‘And as part of that initiative, we need to install solar panels to the studio roofs.’

‘But solar panels cost money . . .’ Mr Marlo said.

‘A lot of money . . .’

‘So that’s where you guys come in.’

Miss Murphy stepped closer to the edge of the stage. ‘This term, we’re going to be having an investor showcase to try to raise more funds for WEDA, so that we can pay for the refurbishments we badly need so that we can continue to run in line with our healthy and sustainable ethos.’

‘And fund some more bursaries so that more dancers are able to enjoy the opportunities WEDA offers, whatever their background,’ Mr Marlo added.

Tilly looked at Billie and grinned. Billie wouldn’t have been able to come to WEDA if it weren’t for the bursary system.

‘So, what do you say?’ Mr Marlo boomed. ‘Do we have your commitment?’

‘Are you willing to go that extra mile?’ Miss Murphy asked, looking out at the students.

A few claps and whoops rippled around the hall.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Mr Marlo said, cupping his ear.

This time loud cheers rang out.

‘Bravo! That’s more like it.’ Mr Marlo smiled. ‘Seriously, guys, this is your opportunity to give something back. Not just to WEDA but to the environment and to students less fortunate than you.’

‘I personally can’t think of a better motivation to dance,’ Miss Murphy said.

‘Me neither.’ Mr Marlo nodded in agreement. ‘And on that note . . . what do you say we have a welcome back West African drumming session? I’ve got some friends warming up the Djembe in the Murphy Studio as we speak.’

The students burst into applause.

‘All right!’ Mr Marlo yelled. ‘Let’s dance!’

As Tilly entered the Murphy Studio, every cell in her body tingled. Now she truly was back at home. As the students all found a place on the floor, a group of drummers in the corner of the studio started pounding out a rhythm on the Djembe. Tilly closed her eyes and let it reverberate through her body. She loved African dance. She loved that it was so raw, and the way it made you feel part of a team, a family. And she was part of a tribe – the WEDA tribe. She could feel the energy from the other students seeping into her as they began to dance. She allowed herself to sink deeper into the rhythm, letting herself go until there was no boundary left between her and the music. It was as if her body had become an extension of the drum, and she felt lit up with happiness. This was where she belonged – on a dance floor, expressing herself with her body. With every pound of the drum she felt an even stronger connection with her warrior within, and more determined than ever. This term she was going to dance as if the world depended on it, because it did. Her world depended on her staying at WEDA.

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