Jasmine's lucky star

JASMINE'S LUCKY STAR

Chapter One: Turning Point

Hi! I’m Jasmine. And right now I’m feeling very excited because my best friends, Poppy and Rose, are coming for a sleepover. In a way, I wish it was just Poppy coming, so we could get on with our dance. We’re doing the choreography ourselves and it’s important to make it really good because it’s for the show at the end of term.

Poppy and I don’t go to the same school, but we do ballet together every Tuesday and we often go to each other’s houses. She’ll be here in a minute, and Rose isn’t coming till a bit later, so that gives us time to work on the dance. But maybe “work” isn’t the right word, because ballet is our very favourite thing in the whole world…

“Jasmeen!”

That’s my mum calling me from downstairs. She’s French, so she speaks with a bit of an accent. I bet I know what she wants.

“I’ve done it, Maman!” I called back. (I’ve always called her “Maman”. It’s the French for “Mum”.)

“I can’t talk through the door, Jasmeen!”

I went out onto the landing and leaned over the banister. “I’ve finished it all, honestly.”

“Good girl. Papa will be pleased.” She broke into a smile and I broke into a shiver. That’s the effect my dad has on me. He’s away at a doctors’ conference at the moment, and I know it’s horrible of me, but I like it when he’s away. You see, he’s very strict – stricter than any of my friends’ dads. Even worse than that, he doesn’t approve of ballet. He thinks there are much more important things that I should be doing, like homework. I also have a tutor once a week so that’s even more homework. Then there’s my piano practice that my teacher expects me to do five times a week for at least twenty minutes each time. It gets on my nerves. All I want to do is ballet!

When I’m eleven, Papa says that I’m going to a school called Mansons where the work’s really hard. Rose’s brother knows someone who goes there and he says you have to take loads of exams and pass them with very high marks and finish up by being a lawyer or a banker or a doctor or a big-chief executive or something.

And that’s the problem. I don’t want to be any of those things. All I want to be is a ballerina. Papa doesn’t know that and, believe me, I’d never ever dare tell him. If he knew, he’d go mad and probably make me give up ballet lessons straight away. He wasn’t very happy when it was my ballet exam and I had to have a few extra lessons last term. At the moment, I only have one lesson a week. He doesn’t mind that because it doesn’t interfere with my homework or the extra work that my tutor gives me, or my piano practice or anything. He doesn’t realize how much time I spend practising ballet up in my room.

The worst thing of all is that Papa says I’ve got to give up ballet when I leave primary school. I used to think that was ages and ages away and that he’d have changed his mind by then, but I’m ten now and I’m scared that time’s running out.

Rose is always saying that one of these days she’s going to tell my dad a thing or two. I haven’t known Rose as long as I’ve known Poppy, so she’s never actually met Papa. Poppy and I have both tried to explain that he’s not the kind of dad that you go round “telling a thing or two” to, but Rose doesn’t really get how strict he is.

“Poppy will be here in a few minutes, chérie,” called Maman. “Is your room tidy?”

I sighed. “Yes, my homework’s done and my room’s tidy.”

“Oh, there she is now!” Maman turned at the sound of the doorbell.

“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” I shot downstairs and got to the door just before her.

Poppy was standing on the doorstep with her bag, her hair already scraped back in a bun, her ballet hairband on and a big smile on her face. “Hi, Jasmine! Look!” She yanked the poppers on her denim jacket apart. “I’m ready, see! I’ve got my tights on under my jeans.”