Starlet Rivals E-Book

Puneet Bhandal

• Herausgeber: Lantana Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Bollywood Academy
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 256

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

12-year-old Bela has always dreamed about becoming a famous Bollywood star, and now the opportunity might finally be within her grasp. When a reality TV show gives her the chance to dance in front of the nation, she knows that she is performing for a place at the most prestigious stage school in Mumbai. Can Bela win the Dance Starz competition to bag a place at the Bollywood Academy and move one step closer to her dreams of stardom? And will child star Monica, the most "in" girl at school, see her as a friend or a rival?

Leseprobe

First published in the United Kingdom in 2022 by Lantana Publishing Ltd., Oxford.

www.lantanapublishing.com | [email protected]

American edition published in 2022 by Lantana Publishing Ltd., UK.

Text © Puneet Bhandal, 2022

Artwork & Design © Lantana Publishing, 2022

Cover and internal illustrations by Jen Khatun

The moral rights of the author and artist have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Distributed in the United States and Canada by Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

241 First Avenue North, Minneapolis, MN 55401 U.S.A.

For reading levels and more, look for this title at www.lernerbooks.com

Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available.

ISBN: 978-1-915244-00-0

epub3 ISBN: 978-1-915244-02-4

Printed and bound in the Czech Republic.

For my dad,

for introducing me to the magical world of Bollywood.

For my mum,

for your unwavering support.

TAKE ONE

I was transfixed. Fully focused on the TV screen. There was pin-drop silence, which was amazing for a room crammed so full of people that there was barely space to move.

“And the winner is…”

“Eeeeeeeeekkkkk…” I squeezed the arm of my bestie, Priyanka. A little too hard, apparently.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, Pri!” I said. “I’m just so nervous. It’s taking ages!”

“Shhh!” said Auntie Brinda from the other end of the sofa.

I was about to answer back but Raman Sood, the TV show host, spoke before I could. “…Chintu! Congratulations, Chintu – you’re through to the finals!”

The room erupted. There was screaming, shouting, jumping, cheering.

“He’s done it!” I yelled, leaping off the sofa. “Oh wow! He’s actually done it!”

Chintu had won. The “slum kid” who defied the odds to win five heats of Dance Starz – the biggest TV talent show in India – had bagged a place in the final.

Everyone was buzzing and talking over each other.

“I told you he would do it!” proclaimed Daadi, my grandma. She looked so proud, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Chintu was her own grandson.

“Ma, you always say that – no matter who wins!” my dad shot back.

I grabbed a corner of Priyanka’s T-shirt, tugging her towards the door. “Let’s go to my room,” I whispered, edging past Auntie Poonam who had started waving her arms around in an impression of Chintu’s winning dance.

“What are we gonna do when the show’s over?” Priyanka asked as she plonked herself down on my bed. She lifted my new eyeshadow palette off my dresser and got to work on my eyelids. She was great at makeup, while I was terrible, and she always insisted on giving me a makeover when she came to visit. “I love Dance Starz so much. Chintu was just…amazing! I mean, how is he so flexible? Those back flips!”

Priyanka wasn’t the only one who had been swept up in the talent show’s craze. Even though this was the first series, it seemed that there wasn’t a single family in India that wasn’t glued to their screens on Friday nights.

I had seen every episode. Sometimes, when I was in my room alone, I would pretend I was on the show. I’d do the whole routine, imagining someone was introducing me, and then I’d dance and fantasise that the crowd was going wild for my performance.

Priyanka continued to sweep the shimmery green eyeshadow across my lids, taking a step back to check her work.

“You know, you should have entered, Bela,” she said. “You could have been on your way to fame and riches.”

I opened my eyes wide.

“Keep them shut!” she scolded.

“Are you crazy?” I asked. “Me?Enter Dance Starz? I mean, yes, I’m classically trained, but these TV shows want that modern, stunt kind of dancing. I can’t even do a single back flip!”

Priyanka laughed. “It’s a dance show, not a circus!” She snapped the little box of shimmer shut. “You’re a great dancer, Bela. I don’t know anyone as good as you.”

I smiled. She always championed me, even though I was nowhere near as good as she thought I was. Priyanka was the definition of BFF.

I walked over to the dressing table mirror to admire my new look.

“Mmmm, smells soooo good,” stated Priyanka, closing her eyes and taking a deep whiff of the smell of freshly cooked samosas wafting over from the kitchen.

“Bela! Priyanka!” came Mum’s voice as if on cue. “Food is ready. Here, now!” Mum was forever calling somebody in the household to come and eat. It was funny how she used the same come-and-eat tone each time.

We walked into the kitchen which was a carnival of aromas and animated chatter. Each auntie talked louder than the next, as though the louder they spoke, the greater the importance of their opinion. The funny thing was that they weren’t even my real aunties. I always wondered whether India was the only place where kids addressed every adult as “auntie” or “uncle” out of respect.

“Come girls, sit,” Mum said, frowning a little when she noticed my eyeshadow. She always told me I was too young for makeup but she was the one who had bought it for me as a treat for performing to her students the week before. I’d danced to Tap To My Heartbeat – the hit song of the year. It was ridiculously catchy with its Hindi verses and English chorus against a disco beat.

Apart from being an outstanding dance teacher, Mum was the best cook in our neighbourhood. People were always telling her to start a food business, but with her full-time job as a teaching assistant while also running weekend dance classes, she just didn’t have the time.

Priyanka tucked in while I nabbed two of the smallest samosas. I was known as a picky eater – just like my sister, Zara, who came and plonked herself in my lap.

“Zara, do you have to?” I chided. It was way too hot to have a sticky six-year-old in your lap.

Mum shot me a glance – the glance that said, “She’s your younger sister. You must look after her.”

“When I was your age, I looked after all 4000 of my younger siblings…” I whispered to Priyanka, mimicking Mum’s voice.

Priyanka and I giggled, while Zara slid off my lap and ran away. We grabbed our plates, walked through our narrow, tiled hallway, and went and sat on the front doorstep.

There was no respite from the heat outside but at least it felt less claustrophobic. The near-hysterical chitter chatter of the aunties dimmed just a little. I couldn’t blame Dad for going into his room and closing the door behind him.

“Hey, Bela,” said Rimpi, Auntie Brinda’s eight-year-old daughter and our next-door neighbour. She was on her bike, wearing a frilly pink party dress and somehow expertly gripping the pedals with her rubber flip-flops.

“Did you see the end of the show?” she asked, looking at my plate.

I shook my head. “No, I’m recording it to watch later,” I replied, dipping a corner of my samosa in the homemade chutney. I offered her the other one, which she politely declined.

“Shashi Kumar said he wants one more contestant for the final. So they’re doing a wild show.”

“Wait, what? You mean a wild card show?” I asked, glancing at Priyanka.

“Yes, that’s it!” squealed Rimpi. “It’s video entry. Shashi Kumar said that because so many people couldn’t travel for the live auditions, they’re going to do one more round and find one more finalist. All you have to do is send a video to the Dance Starz website. The best one gets into the final.”

Priyanka and I looked at each other again. She was beaming from ear to ear. I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Shashi Kumar also said that the finalist will be allowed to bring friends and family members to the actual live event!” our little informer added excitedly. “He said he wants to fill the arena with people who can’t pay for a ticket.”

Ever since Shashi Kumar – former Bollywood hero-turned-movie producer – had launched Dance Starz, he seemed to be on every radio and TV show going, and he never wasted a single opportunity to mention the prize. The overall winner of Dance Starz would bag a place at the most prestigious stage school in the Eastern world: the Bollywood Academy.

The school, owned by Shashi Kumar and other VIPs, was on Kohinoor Island, a thirty-minute crossing from Mumbai. It was still in its first year but was already attended by lots of rich and famous kids, including Shashi’s daughter – child star and model, Monica. The fees were eye-watering, but the message was that you were pretty much guaranteed a job in the industry once you graduated.

To get into that kind of school would be a really big deal.

Priyanka put her plate down. She stood up and pointed at me. “You know exactly what you have to do, Bela. For me, for Rimpi, for our school, for our neighbourhood. For us!”

If she didn’t become a makeup artist, Priyanka would make a great politician.

“Please, Bela! Please!” begged Rimpi, clasping her hands together. “You’re the best dancer in the whole street. The whole neighbourhood! The whole town! You’re the best dancer in the world!”

I smiled at Rimpi. Even though she was clearly exaggerating, it was still flattering.

A couple of local boys who were playing football in the alleyway outside must have heard the elevated shrieking and, before long, I was cornered.

“Do it, man! Just send a video!” encouraged Mujeeb, doing kick-ups as he spoke. He had been in my brother Reuben’s class at primary school and they were still close.

“What’s all the commotion for?” said Mum, suddenly appearing behind me. “Samosa, Mujeeb?” she asked, holding her plate up towards him and his pal.

“No thanks, Auntie,” he said politely, before explaining what was going on.

Mum’s eyes widened as he spoke. A dance fanatic herself, she had desperately wanted me to audition for the show from the day it was launched, almost four months earlier. She had told me over and over again not to let the opportunity slip by – that it was “now or never”. Contestants had to be under thirteen; I had just turned twelve. I guess she was right on that front.

But I really didn’t think it was ever going to become such a big deal and, despite everyone always telling me how brilliant I was, I was no way good enough to be on national TV.

Now though, I couldn’t help but mull it over. Ever since I was four years old, I’d told anybody who would listen that I wanted to be an Indian film star when I grew up. A place at the Bollywood Academy might just be my ticket in.

“But what if I do badly?” I said, once everyone around me had stopped talking. “I obviously won’t win. It’ll be embarrassing! I mean, I can’t compete with these kids, Mum, can I?”

Mum’s face lit up. She sensed I was caving in. “You might surprise yourself,” she smiled. “It could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I wish I’d had these chances when I was young…”

I groaned. The number of times I’d heard that.

“Even if you don’t win,” reasoned Priyanka, “you might as well enter. It’s so easy to make a two-minute video.”

“Do it for your daadi!” Mum added. “She won’t be here forever.” Emotional blackmail was Mum’s special talent.

She saw the expression on my face.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “I’ll get you a mobile phone if you do it.”

“Really?” I stood up.

“Yes, really,” she agreed.

“An iPhone?”

Mum glared at me.

“Fine! I’ll do it,” I announced, not quite believing what I was saying. “But I won’t win. No way will I get into the finals against all those super talented kids.”

They didn’t care much about that part. Nobody was looking that far ahead. All they heard was that I was willing to enter the competition and that they were in with a chance of being in the live studio audience.

Mum ran back inside to share the news with Daadi and the neighbourhood gossip girls and it wasn’t long before I heard whooping and cheering from the kitchen.

Next, I heard the sound of Zara’s little feet as she ran towards me. “Belaaaaaaaaaa! You’re gonna be on Dance Starz!” she screamed as she put her arms around my waist.

Priyanka grabbed both of us and gave us the tightest hug ever. “You won’t regret it, Bela, I promise!”

I wasn’t so sure about that but I sincerely hoped she was right.

TAKE TWO

The next day, I was woken by the sounds of the street outside. Our neighbourhood, Sector R2 in the suburb of Chandivali, North Central Mumbai, was always bustling. Car horns were honking and music was blaring from the taxi drivers and rickshawalas scuttling past.

Chandivali was famous as a mini Silicon Valley. Lots of tech companies had sprung up there recently and it was modernising fast. Little rows of houses with small front and rear gardens were springing up on every spare patch of unused land. Daadi hated the pace at which Chandivali was changing. She was particularly sad that the small chai sellers had been forced to leave to make way for national coffee chains.

My eyes kept closing and I couldn’t stop hitting the snooze button on my alarm clock until Mum burst in and pulled my duvet off. “Up you get!” she said. “You know we have to upload the video by this evening. Which means filming NOW!”

I bolted out of bed. Mum meant business. While I was hurriedly getting changed, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. Then, I remembered. Firstly, Mum would finally get me a phone if I went ahead and, secondly, there was a teeny weeny chance that even if I didn’t get on the show, perhaps a big film producer would spot me and offer me a movie role?

“Mum, can I borrow your phone to message my friends?” I puffed as I scraped my hair into a high ponytail.

She handed it to me with the usual: “Straight back to me when you’re done.”

I clicked the messaging icon and sent pics to my best friends – Priyanka, Ayesha and Reshma – who had all sent me texts to make sure I wouldn’t change my mind.

“No, Ayesha, I won’t chicken out! And yes, Reshma, I will wear that sparkly red jumpsuit!” I wrote back. Reshma was the fashion guru in our gang.

Uncle Manoj – Rimpi’s dad and Auntie Brinda’s husband – had volunteered to film my segment. He was Sector R2’s party photographer and had the snazziest video camera of anyone I knew.

I grabbed Zara’s hand. The ten-minute walk to the dance studio always seemed longer when you had a little kid in tow.

“Come on, Za,” I said. She shuffled and ran to keep up.

“Walk faster, please,” Mum urged, her tan brown sandals kicking up dust as she steamed ahead. “I have so much to do when I get back home.”

I rolled my eyes. Like I’d had to beg and plead with Mum to do this!

As soon as we arrived, I donned my spangly, stretch jumpsuit. Mum then expertly created a bun out of my waist-length hair and secured it with bobby pins.

Because we didn’t have time to prepare a brand-new routine, I decided I would dance to Tap To My Heartbeat. The funky disco moves were still fresh in my mind and the song was so popular I hoped it would help sway the voters – especially the younger ones.

Priyanka, Ayesha and Reshma had bagged the front row, clapping and waiting for me to start. Uncle Manoj was at the ready, camera perched on a stand. Rimpi and Auntie Brinda were sitting a few seats behind my friends.

Zara was standing up on one side of the hall. No doubt she would try to mimic my moves from the floor. Zara was so cute and tiny but already an accomplished dancer. She, like me, had joined Mum’s dance classes as soon as she turned two. “There is no time to waste. We have something new to learn each day!” Mum would tell us. It was like a mantra.

The music started and I struck my pose, one leg raised in front of the other. My left hand was fanned out in front of my face and my right arm at full stretch to the side, fingers upturned. Although I was standing on one leg, I was perfectly balanced; dance had given me great core strength.

I didn’t feel any nerves – this stage was like my own personal playground. I’d started dancing there almost as soon as I had learnt to walk. The studio felt like a second home to me.

As always, when I danced, my body felt like it was being moved by some inner power. I didn’t need to think much about what I was doing, I just felt it. Mum had given me classical training but we loved to merge the traditional movements of Bharatanatyam – the oldest dance form in India – with modern Bollywood or Western steps. This was my happy place. I could seamlessly shift between them at the flick of a switch.

I savoured the experience with my whole being, embracing the stage, feeling the music and miming to the lyrics of the peppy Bollywood hit. I could see my mum urging me on, nodding her head in approval as I expertly performed the steps she had taught me.

Unashamedly, I was also enjoying the full attention of those watching. I pretended I was the closing act at a Bollywood awards show, imagining hundreds of people watching me, whistling and clapping.

Trouble was, it seemed to be over in a flash. I wanted to carry on. I could literally perform all day, all night.

I looked straight at Mum when I was done. Only her expression could tell me how good I had been. She quickly got up, climbed the few steps leading to the stage, and gave me a gigantic hug.

“Wonderful, Bela! You make me so proud,” she whispered into my ear as my private audience rose to their feet and applauded.

I loved to see my mum’s face light up each time I finished a performance. I knew she would have grabbed the chance to compete in Dance Starz with both hands at my age. Perhaps living it through me was the next best thing.

She was happy. I was happy. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

*

“I don’t want the whole neighbourhood coming round, Mum!” I huffed.

“It’ll be fun, beti. Auntie Brinda said she will make pakoras for us,” said Mum.

“I don’t care about pakoras,” I shot back.

“I love pakoras!” interjected Zara, who was dressed in a shiny Wonder Woman costume complete with headband and armbands. “Pleeeeease, Bela, let Auntie Brinda come! I want to play with Rimpi.”

I got up off the sofa and went into my room.

Things were getting out of control. I’d agreed to enter the Dance Starz wild card show mainly because I wanted a phone. And that part was done – Mum had promised I would get one over the summer holidays.

Yes, I also wanted to have an outside chance of getting spotted by a Bollywood bigwig, but I wasn’t banking on it. The whole neighbourhood was acting as though I had made it onto the show. I felt weighed down by their expectations.

The wild card show was due to be streamed live the following Sunday. Dad had uploaded my video the day before after some nifty editing by Uncle Manoj. We had then been informed by email that over the course of the week, members of the public would vote for their favourite entry, and the Top 10 would feature live on the show.

Although I didn’t expect to win, I didn’t want to lose in a humiliating fashion either. Daadi and I had sneaked a peek at some of the entries but I couldn’t really tell where my performance ranked in comparison. Dance Starz was cleverly keeping the number of votes each video was getting secret.

I picked up my pastel-coloured unicorn teddy and began combing its fluffy hair. Mum always laughed when she saw me doing this, but it relaxed me.

“Bela,” said Dad, peering around the door before coming over and sitting on the bed next to me. There was a telling-off coming – I could feel it. Dad only ever came into my room when he wanted to lecture me.

“We won’t let anybody come over on Sunday evening if you don’t want them to,” he said softly.

I looked up. No lecture?

“You can invite your friends around, but don’t worry if you don’t fancy it. It’s a little unfair to make such a big deal of this. Maybe we shouldn’t have pressured you to enter.”

“I want to invite my mates over,” I told him. “But can we watch the show on your laptop in my bedroom?”

Dad must have been feeling really generous because he agreed, despite never letting any of us touch his precious laptop. We all had to use the dodgy tablet. To call it temperamental would be an understatement.

“What about Mum, though? She has high hopes of eating Auntie Brinda’s pakoras…”

“Don’t worry about Auntie Brinda’s pakoras,” said Dad, laughing. “Maybe we can send Mum over to her house instead?”

We high-fived. I loved that idea. I didn’t admit it to Dad, but I felt more nervous with the idea of Mum being around. She was the one who had painstakingly taught me how to dance. Failing in front of her would be the most painful way to fail.

Mum got the hint. She gave me a big hug at 6pm on Sunday evening. “Don’t worry about the result, Bela,” she said as she stepped outside. “We’ll be proud of you whatever happens.” Even so, I could sense her excitement bubbling underneath the calm exterior. She had a bag full of snacks to take next door to Auntie Brinda’s. All of the gossip girls would be there. Mum said the show was a perfect excuse for a girly get-together.

“I want to stay heeere,” moaned Zara as Mum dragged her away by the hand. “Why can’t I stay with Bela and her friends?”

“Don’t worry, Zizi,” I said. I called her that when I was being extra affectionate. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

Zara kept her gaze down. She always did that when she was sulking.

“And we can make a dance reel and post on Mum’s Instagram when you get back.”

“Yay!” She jumped up and down.

“Only on my private account,” Mum snapped at me. I rolled my eyes and Zara laughed, before waving at me as they walked off.

It was now time for my own girly get-together. Priyanka, as usual, was the first to arrive, followed by Reshma and Ayesha who arrived together. We had all been friends since the age of three. We’d been in the same class since nursery. And living within five minutes’ walk of each other meant we were in and out of each other’s houses all the time. The hashtag #friendslikefamily was us.

“Guys, don’t get too excited,” I said as the girls took off their shoes in preparation for snuggling up on the bed. “I don’t even think my video will make the Top 10, in which case they won’t even air it on tonight’s show.”

“Of course you’re gonna make the show!” said Ayesha confidently. She was so smart – she rarely got anything wrong at school. I hoped she was right about this too. “Have you seen some of the videos? Not being mean but, seriously! Some are just so bad.”

“She’s right,” added Reshma, wagging her finger. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the entries.” She held up the phone her dad had given her – it was her most prized possession. “Looking at the competition, your performance is miles better! You could well be famous by tomorrow morning!”

The girls giggled but my tummy was doing a dance routine of its own. I took a deep breath just as Reuben walked past with a big plate of pizza and a fizzing glass of cola. He went into his room and closed the door.

“Is he even watching it?” asked Priyanka.

“Doubt it,” I replied. “He’s always too busy gaming.” Reuben never hung around when my friends were over. Ever since he’d turned fourteen, it was like he was suddenly too cool to be around us. I wouldn’t ever admit it to him, but sometimes I missed my big brother.

“Evening, girls,” said Dad cheerily. He was carrying his laptop. “I’m going to set this up for you and then I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I smiled. I had butterflies in my stomach – a mix of nerves and anticipation.

Daadi came in with some plates of crisps and Indian sweets. “Yum! I love jalebis,” said Ayesha, helping herself. “Thank you, Boss!” That was the name my friends had given my daadi. She really was the boss, even if she didn’t look like one. She was half our size and always wore off-white or cream-coloured cotton sarees wrapped tightly around her small frame. She wore them a little high so her ankles were on show.

“Can I sit with you?” asked Daadi.

I looked at my friends. Then I felt bad that I’d hesitated. Daadi was so sweet, she’d never make me feel bad even if I came last.

I nodded.

“Boss!” said Priyanka affectionately, patting the bed next to her. “Come and sit next to me.”

We all lined up on the bed while Dad set up the computer. My friends tucked into the snacks, but I was way too nervous to eat. I got up and paced around the room, hands in the pockets of my joggers.

“I think I’m still confused about the rules,” Dad said.

“Basically, Uncle,” began Ayesha while Dad finished typing in the website address, “the videos have been up for seven days and the public has been voting. The ten videos with the most votes go through to the live wild card show.”

“Oh,” he said. “I thought it was all going to happen live?”

“No,” chipped in Priyanka. “There are way too many entries! We’d be here all night! At 7pm, the top ten videos will be played, and each judge will give a score out of 10. The contestant with the highest score goes through to the final.”

I looked at the clock and my stomach did a somersault when I realised that there were just five minutes to go till 7pm. Would I make the shortlist? What if my video wasn’t even there?

We sat back and waited. Then the familiar theme tune filled the room and the host, Raman Sood, appeared in a dazzling sequined suit – his trademark.

“Enjoy!” said Dad, giving me a “Good luck, don’t worry” squeeze before disappearing down the corridor.

I felt properly sick.

“Thank you for joining us for this special live show,” enthused Raman. “And a massive thank you to all those who entered. We’ve had hundreds of entries. Unfortunately, we can’t show you all of them. But let’s find out which ones made it into the Top 10!”

We watched as the first two-minute video was aired. The contestant was really good. She chose Kathak – a dance form originating in the north of India – and used lots of hand movements and facial expressions. The high-profile judging panel was made up of eight big names from TV, the movies and the press, including the Principal of the Bollywood Academy. They gave their score: 56, which I felt was a little low.

I was beginning to hope my video wouldn’t be aired, when I spotted someone on the screen.

“Who’s that girl?” I asked, pointing to her as the next video was about to play. “On the panel, sitting next to Shashi Kumar?” She looked familiar but I couldn’t place her.

“That’s Monica,” said Daadi. “Shashi Kumar’s daughter. Bhushan Kumar’s granddaughter. She was in that TV series. I forget the name...”

“House Party, Boss!” said Ayesha.

“Yes! That’s the one,” Daadi responded with a clap of her hands.

“That’s Monica?” I was gobsmacked. I’d seen her in House Party too but that was maybe five years ago, when she was six or seven years old. I used to pretend she was my best friend. I’d sit with my toys and imagine we were playing together. She looked much older now and very different.

“She’s the same age as us,” said Ayesha. “One of my Dad’s friends’ brother’s sons goes to the Bollywood Academy and he’s in her class.”

I was trying to process all of this when I was jolted out of my thoughts by the first few beats of the next video. I looked up and caught sight of myself on screen. A small shriek escaped my lips.

“Look! Look!” Reshma was screaming. “You did make the Top 10!”

Priyanka got up off the bed and crouched in front of the laptop, clapping enthusiastically. Daadi stood up to dance, copying my moves, while Dad and Reuben ran into the room to join us.

“What happened? What happened?” cried Reuben. I couldn’t remember seeing him that excited since he’d got his first gaming console.

I pointed at the screen. “Nothing yet. But it’s being aired. I made the shortlist!” I covered my face with my hands and peeked through my fingers.

Dad came and stood behind me. Nobody was sitting any more. The camera flashed over to the judging table as they all started scribbling.

My heart was in my mouth. I felt like I was going to faint. I couldn’t watch.

I ran off into Reuben’s room and closed the door behind me. I could hear my friends calling my name.

“Bela!”

“It’s fine!”

“Come!”

But I refused. I sat on the bed, arms crossed tightly.

Suddenly, there was raucous yelling.

“That’s my girl!” cheered Dad.

“She’s nailed it!” cried Daadi.

“Yes, Boss!” shouted Ayesha.

I ran back inside, scouring their faces, looking at the screen.

“You’re literally getting all 10s!”

Daadi hugged me tight, her glasses digging into me. “You have to win now,” she said. “No one else has got straight 10s.”

I watched as Monica held up her score card: “8”.

We all looked at each other.

“Ok, beti, you got all 10s except for that 8.”

“What’s her problem?” asked Reshma, taking it very personally.

I was still reeling from all the 10s. I mean, how was that even possible? From such a distinguished panel?

We stopped to watch the next few videos playing out. One of the contestants was seriously good. We gasped as she pirouetted in the air and finished her performance with the splits.

Despite her acrobatics, I sensed I would be hard to beat when we got to video eight and nobody had even come close to my score.