Polly Plays Her Part (17 page)

“I know but…but…” I struggled to find the right words but it was hopeless. I couldn't even think properly let alone string a sentence together.

“If there is a problem, something you're worried about, you can always come to me. I can't promise I'll be able to help but I can try.”

I shook my head. “There isn't a problem,” I muttered. “I'm fine.”

Mandy sighed. “The thing is, when you have a big part in a show,
the main part,
it's a responsibility – I thought I'd made that clear the last time we spoke. And I did keep giving you chances,” she added gently. “And you kept promising me you'd learn the lines – I even spoke to your dad, remember?”

I nodded miserably.

“So when you didn't turn up on Saturday I had to ask Sam to read your part. I didn't want to, Polly, but you didn't really leave me any other choice.”

I stared at the floor, blinking furiously to stop myself from crying. I wanted to turn round and run out of the room but Mandy hadn't finished. “It's a little bit complicated,” she went on, “because Phoebe's going to do Sam's part and Rachel is going to do Phoebe's. But it's not as bad as it sounds. You'll still be able to sing in all the chorus numbers and I really am happy to see you here today.” She stopped speaking and squeezed my hands. “Are you okay, Polly?”

I nodded again, even though I wasn't okay at all. I wanted to go home. I wanted to walk out and never come back, but I didn't have the guts.

The session seemed to last for days. First of all, Mandy got everyone to try on their costumes to make sure they were okay before the dress rehearsal. Marcia's costume was pretty plain, because she was just an ordinary girl sitting at home playing on her computer, but some of the others were incredible. They all rushed off to the toilets but I just sat at the side not really sure what I was supposed to be doing.

“Don't worry, Polly, I'll sort you out a virus costume for next week,” said Mandy. “I've got a couple of spares here but I'll have to adjust the size.” I felt like a virus all right, sitting there all by myself. Like I had some deadly disease and everyone had been ordered to stay as far away from me as possible, just in case they caught it.

When Mandy had finished adjusting the costumes and they were all packed away, we ran through the whole show, stopping and starting and doing bits over and over, and it was a nightmare. Sam was strutting about as if she was in charge of the entire production. Phoebe looked as if she was going to burst out crying at any minute and Rachel kept saying how sorry she was, and how she didn't even
want
Phoebe's part because it was only her first show and she was horribly nervous.

Monty B was the only one who tried to cheer me up.

“I'm going to start a campaign!” he announced at break. “The
Give Polly Her Part Back
campaign. I'll get thousands of people to sign a petition and we'll take it to the Prime Minister! The Queen! Anyone who will listen!”

“I've never heard of
anyone
listening to a baboon's bottom,” said Adam.

“How about you, Sam?” said Monty B, ignoring Adam. “You'll sign, won't you?”

Sam didn't answer, she just gave him a look, but then just before we packed up to leave she came over to me with this horribly smug look on her face.

“Really sorry about your part, Polly,” she said, sarcastically. “But I guess Mandy felt she
had
to choose someone she could rely on.”

“It's fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “It's not like I wanted the crummy part anyway.”

She was talking to me just like I used to talk to Phoebe last term; pretending she was sorry when it was obvious she didn't care at all. But she was right in a way. Mandy
did
need someone she could rely on and she
had
given me loads of chances. It wouldn't matter how many people signed Monty B's petition – I'd blown it.

Mandy tried to give me some tickets before I went home but I said I didn't want them. She'd handed them out the week before and apparently they were selling like mad, but it's not as if I was going to ask Dad and Diane to come and see Sam Lester playing
my
part!

As soon as I got home I logged straight on to friend2friend. I only needed thirty more points to reach my target and I chatted and chatted until my head was fit to burst. Phoebe texted me a few times but I didn't text back. I didn't care about Star Makers or about Sam pinching my part – the only thing I cared about was getting into that room.

I had to stop for tea but I went straight back upstairs as soon as I'd finished. I was determined to get into the Diamond Den before I went to bed and I'd almost reached my target. I'd just started chatting to Pixie in the Emerald room when the screen changed suddenly.

“YOU'VE MADE IT, MARCIA MOON!” it said. “YOU HAVE 1000 POINTS.”

I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen next. It had taken me so long to get to this point and I was desperate to know what was in the Diamond Den but I couldn't help feeling scared – as if in some way it was too late to turn back. And then the screen changed again. Everything disappeared and the only thing left was a door with a diamond handle. A new message flashed across the screen…

“BUT TO ENTER THE DIAMOND DEN YOU MUST COMPLETE ONE FINAL STEP.”

Congratulations, Marcia, you are one of the chosen few. Only SPECIAL people like you are granted access to the Diamond Den. To take up this rare opportunity you must pay £100 and enter the following details.

This is a one-off payment. You will not be asked for any more money. Your bank details will be safe with us. We will not share this information with anyone else.

Hurry, Marcia. You have only
one week
to pay.

Your time starts now.

A clock appeared on the screen and started to tick. The ticking seemed to grow louder until it was right inside my head. No one had mentioned paying money when I first logged on to the site and Skye had never said anything about it either. Filling in my name, address, and date of birth would be easy, but I didn't have a credit card and I certainly didn't have a hundred pounds.

I tried to reason with myself that my details would be safe. It's not like I was giving them out to some stranger in the Emerald room. And, anyway, I deserved to enter that room. I'd been chatting for so long and I'd earned so many points and it didn't seem fair that Skye had entered the room and left me behind.

The more I thought about it the more unfair it seemed. The more unfair
everything
seemed. I mean it wasn't really my fault that I'd let Mandy down so badly. The way I saw it, if Dad hadn't dumped Mum to move in with Diane, then Mum would never have moved to Spain and none of this would've happened in the first place. Basically, it was all
Dad's
fault: Mum leaving, Cosmo's accident and me losing my part at drama. And since
he
was to blame for everything, it was only fair that
he
should pay for me to enter the Diamond Den, wasn't it?

I sat there for ages just staring at the screen. The room grew cold around me. I didn't want to enter my personal details and I didn't want to steal money off Dad but I
did
want to get through that door more than anything. In the end I logged off and went to bed, but it was impossible to get to sleep. I tossed and turned all night going over everything that had happened. It was like I had a virus inside my head – whirling round and round, twisting everything up – until I didn't know what was right any more.

It was a terrible week. Phoebe kept nagging me to tell Mandy about Mum going to Spain and Cosmo's accident, but I knew it wouldn't make any difference; not now. She went on and on about it so much that in the end I told her to get lost.

Cosmo got more and more fed up with his plastic hood and I was convinced that the minute Mr. Adesina removed it he'd be straight back down to number 25. On Thursday, Mum called to say she wouldn't be able to get back for the show because she had a meeting she couldn't afford to miss, something to do with her promotion. She was really upset and she promised she'd make it up to me, but it was obvious her job was more important to her than her own daughter.

And every night I went to bed and thought about getting into the Diamond Den – I went over and over it until I thought my head was going to explode.

Friday night was the worst. I had to make my mind up by the next morning and I still didn't know what to do for the best. Obviously it would be really bad to take Dad's credit card, but I couldn't help feeling that somehow he
owed
me the money. I had never taken anything from anyone in my life but, for some reason, this felt different. I heard Jake wake up at one point, deep in the night, and I heard Diane soothe him back to sleep. I almost called out to her, to tell her
I
couldn't sleep; to ask her to soothe
me
back to sleep – but of course I didn't.

As soon as I got up on Saturday morning I knew what I was going to do. Dad and Diane were in the kitchen with Jake getting breakfast ready, so I had to act fast. I crept into their bedroom and started to rummage around in the drawer next to Dad's side of the bed. There was a book and one of Jake's yucky dummies and lots of receipts and things, but no credit card.

I looked around the room. My heart was thumping and I felt completely sick. I spotted a pair of trousers Dad had left lying across the bed. The pockets were heavy, jangling with keys and coins and I could feel the shape of his wallet in there too.

“Breakfast,” Diane called up the stairs. “Come on, Polly. It's on the table.”

My hands froze, clutching the trousers. “I'll be down in a sec,” I squeaked. I shoved my hand into one of the front pockets, grabbed the wallet and scooted down the hall to my room.

There were quite a few cards to sort through: a supermarket loyalty card, a library card and a couple of others. His credit card was red and gold and it had a long number right across the middle. I slipped it under some papers on my desk, stuffed everything else back into the wallet, and then raced down the hall to Dad's room before I could change my mind.

“Morning, princess,” said Dad as I walked into the kitchen. He handed me a glass of juice. “How do you fancy a day out? It's such gorgeous weather we thought we'd meet you straight from drama and find a lovely walk somewhere. We could take that picnic hamper you won at the dance contest. What do you think?”

“Sorry, Dad, I'm way too tired. I didn't sleep very well last night.”

“Oh no! It wasn't because of Jake, was it?” said Diane. “Did you hear that, Jake?” she said, waggling her finger at the baby. “You've kept your big sister awake
again.
”

Jake reached his arms out to me and tried to say Polly but it came out sounding more like poo and Dad and Diane burst out laughing.

I desperately wanted them to stop being so nice. It was almost as if they were doing it on purpose to make me feel guilty. But then I thought about Sam taking my part and how unfair it was and how
everything
was Dad's fault and I didn't feel half as bad.

“It wasn't because of Jake,” I mumbled, sitting down at the table. “But I'm not going to drama today – I'm just too knackered.”

Dad glanced at Diane. “What's up, Polly?” he said. “You can't keep missing drama when the show's so close. It's the dress rehearsal today, isn't it?”

“Look, have something to eat,” said Diane, gently. “Your dad will drive you up there so you won't have to get the bus.”

I trailed back upstairs with a slice of toast. It tasted like cardboard and the more I chewed it the harder it was to swallow. I dropped it in the bin and sat down at the computer. I took out Dad's credit card and typed in the long number. My fingers were trembling but it was like my brain had stopped working. I had to get inside that room and
nothing
was going to stop me; not Dad or Diane or baby Jake.

I lifted my hand up to press enter. The clock on the screen was ticking. It was so loud it seemed to fill the whole room. I lowered my finger towards the keyboard and was just about to enter the information when the doorbell rang.

I froze, my finger suspended over the key. The ticking seemed to get even louder. I heard a muffled voice I didn't quite recognize. And then feet pounding up the stairs. My bedroom door burst open.

“For goodness' sake, Polly, you're not even dressed! Come on! We've got to go!”

It was Sam!

“What are you talking about?” I stammered. I minimized the screen and slipped Dad's credit card back under the papers.