Free In Sarah's Shadow by Karen McCombie

for that to happen – their ‘harmonies’ are enough to make your ears bleed.
    Speaking of flame-throwers, I could do with one now, to heat me up. This gaff is the size of an aircraft hangar and about as cosy. And then, if I wasn’t cold enough already, I hear something that makes me freeze.
    “Listen – it’s like I told you, Mr Fisher! She can do it!”
    “Now, come on; you don’t know that, Conor.”
    “But I do – I’ve heard her. She sings along all the time, backstage, and she sounds as if she could harmonise just as well as Sarah. Actually, close your eyes and it could be Sarah singing!”
    Instinctively, I throw the hood of my fleece over myhead and huddle down into its cosiness. But I’m not just doing this to keep warm; I’m trying to make myself disappear. If I try and move away, it’ll be obvious to Mr Fisher and Conor – who must be standing practically behind me – that I’m here, within listening distance of their conversation. So I reckon it’s better if I just stay put and try to think myself invisible.
    “I don’t know, Conor…”
    “Look, you know and I know that it just doesn’t sound strong enough with only Cherish and Angel doing backing vocals. We definitely need that third voice!”
    “But it’s a lot to ask of her. And it’s all a bit last-minute.”
    As I listen in hard, I absent-mindedly doodle circles round the names Geeta, Neil and Omar on the sheet of paper on my clipboard. I flick my eyes up from the scrawl and see if I can actually see Geeta and the others: yep, over at the back of Stage 2, there they are, the so-called ‘artists’ working maniacally on the backdrop that they were meant to have finished weeks ago. The reason they’re suddenly working so feverishly on it is that they decided at the last minute to add the band name on, since one had finally been chosen. Working on changes this late is kind of mad, if you ask me. But then they’d spotted the backdrop Dunmore School’s entry had come up with – the name Seeker done out in tinysparkles of light on a sheet of dense, black cloth – and panicked, I think.
    “So what if it’s last-minute? If it means the difference between standing a chance in this competition or not, then what’s the problem?” Conor is arguing. “Anyway, it’s our turn for a run-through in five minutes’ time. We get her to rehearse with us then and if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. And if it does, well…”
    “But how will Cherish and Angel feel?” Mr Fisher continues finding problems with Conor’s suggestion.
    “They want to win this thing as much as we do! Come on, Mr Fisher – let’s find her and ask her!”
    “She might say no, Conor.”
    Wrong, Mr Fisher; she might say yes.
    God, am I acting really deluded here? It is me they’re talking about, isn’t it? I can’t stand it any more, and spotting that the millions of members of the hip-hop band from Kendale School are just about to strut by, I swiftly stand up and duck behind them, using them as cover to walk just far enough away from Mr Fisher and Conor to pull my hood down, turn back and casually join them without either of them sussing that I’d been anywhere within earshot.
    “Megan! Just the girl we wanted to see!” Mr Fisher beams at me.
    I knew it, I knew it, I knew it…
    How? Call me deluded (again), but I did another spell last night.
    I know…I’m not really supposed to seriously believe in that stuff, am I? But this particular spell, I got it in my head to do it after the sort of uncomfortable few days I’d just had, what with Pamela now going icy cool on me at school, and Sarah giving me the silent, dead-eyed glare at home. It was a spell for confidence – ie, having some – and, I’m not kidding, after I did all the staring at the candlelight and spell recitation stuff, I could hardly sleep last night for this weird ball of excitement burning in my chest. Something good, something amazing, was going to happen today, for sure.