Little Swan (6 page)

“Weezer is so happy with your present,” I said to Mrs Posnansky. “She was nervous before you came, but she’s fine now. She says she feels like a real dancer.”

“
I’m
not fine,” said Mum. “I’m nervous for her. She’s so hard on herself – just imagine if she does something wrong.”

“She won’t,” I said. “She’s known every single step for weeks. She thinks of nothing but this dance. She even dreams about it at night.”

“Ssh!” said Mrs Posnansky. “Is beginning. Yes.” The theatre grew darker and darker.

The
Swan Lake
music filled the air. A thin line of blue light showed under the velvet curtains. They slid open, and the dance began.

The backcloth was painted with a picture of rocks and trees. Everyone clapped when they saw it. Then the girls came on as swans. They looked pretty. They danced well.

“They’re so sweet,” Mum whispered to me, and I was just about to agree when I heard the introduction to Weezer’s dance.

The four Little Swans came to the front of the stage. The white tulle of their tutus fluffed up like feathers. They started to dance. I couldn’t stop watching Weezer. She floated through the music as if she were weightless. She bent and turned as though she had no bones in her body. The feathered headdress made her carry her head as gracefully as a real swan. I couldn’t believe this was my stubborn, moody, uppity little sister. She had become magical up there on the stage under the blue light. I didn’t recognize her. I wanted to watch her dancing forever. When the music stopped, I glanced at Mrs Posnansky. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She must have felt my
eyes on her, because she turned to face me.

“I cry because dancing is so beautiful. Your sister, she is ballerina.”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, she is.”

After the show, dancers and parents and friends filled the dressing room. It was like a party. Miss Matting cut Dad’s cake into tiny pieces so that everyone could have a mouthful. Weezer collected the eight plastic swans and gave them out. All the adults kissed the girls and told them how wonderful the show had been and how well they’d danced.

At last it was time to go home. Weezer had packed her suitcase. Mum and Mrs Posnansky had left already. They were waiting for us in the car park. On the way out to the car, I said, “You’re still wearing your headdress.”

“There’s no room in the case,” Weezer said. “I don’t want it to get squashed.”

“Weezer, listen.” I felt embarrassed. I wanted to tell her how beautifully she’d danced. I couldn’t find the right words. I said, “You were the best Little Swan. Maybe it was the Russian headdress that did it. You looked like a real ballet dancer, Weezer.”

“Louisa,” said Weezer. “I think I should be
called Louisa. Weezer isn’t the kind of name a ballet dancer has, is it?”

“Right,” I said. “Louisa from now on.”

Almost as soon as we got home, the phone rang. I answered.

“It’s some chap wanting to talk to a person called Weezer,” I said. She took the phone out of my hand.

“Is that you, Dad?” she said. “This is Louisa speaking.”

Adèle Geras was born in Jerusalem and travelled widely as a child. She started writing over twenty-five years ago and is the author of many titles for young readers, including one previous title for the Corgi Pups list,
Chalk and Cheese
and the four
Cats of Cuckoo Square
titles for Young Corgi. Married with two daughters, she lives in Manchester.