PROLOGUE

‘Cinderella audition tape: take one.’

I cough because my vocal chords were not designed for busting out such gravelly bass tones. The coughing fit morphs into a cussing fit. Suddenly aware of the camera again, I slap a hand over my mouth – if I’m going to win the judges over, I’ve gotta be less Gordon Ramsay and more My Little Pony. Ah, screw it! I delete the video, setting my phone back on the window ledge for take two.

Our poky lounge is my recording studio, the one room in our house that doesn’t look like a tornado hit it. Even when Dad was alive, we weren’t exactly rolling in money, but for some reason we’ve always had way too much stuff. Ten boot sales worth of tat squished inside a two-bedroom house. Thank God I’m not claustrophobic. I glance at my watch. Got an hour forty-five before my first ever date. I’m nervous as hell but Tariq seems pretty chill. I made it completely clear that Netflix and dinner is in no way the same as ‘Netflix and Chill’. Our evening will be strictly PG and if he can prove he’s not some pervy goonda, there may be a follow-up appointment.

‘Take two!’ I say, making a cutesy peace sign. ‘Thanks for having me. Honestly, I’m trying so hard not to fangirl right now. Ms Hirsch, I can’t believe it’s actually you. You’re my acting inspo.’

OK, less arse-kissing, more auditioning!

‘So, anyway, my name’s Salma Hashmi.’ I frown, wondering whether to move straight on to take three. ‘Make that just Salma. My surname belonged to my dad and, well, it’s complicated.’

Why did I even bring Dad up? He’s dead, buried, gone forever – which is exactly why I now get to try out for this role. I rub my temples, trying to remember what’s next on my prompt sheet instead of focusing on my disapproving departed dad. Casting directors are busy people. You got twenty seconds to knock it out of the park or you’re going home.

‘I’m fifteen and from Haringey. All my life I’ve wanted to be an actress.’ Lame. ‘You probably get that a lot, huh? But for me . . . look, good stuff doesn’t happen to people like me. It don’t matter how much talent you got, nobody gives you a chance. They take one look at you and they think they got you sussed.’

Wow. I’m in a whole other postcode from the script. The camera’s running but I suddenly feel I need to say the words that have been sitting inside me like broken glass. Better to get it out now than in the actual audition.

‘I just want a chance to show the world what I can do. I know I look nothing like the Cinderella in your head but I’m going to prove that I can be ten times better. Talk is cheap and time is money. You asked for a song, so here it is. Enjoy.’

My song choice is ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Apart from boasting a bulletproof melody and sentimental Cinderella vibes, it speaks to me on a whole bunch of levels, about hoping for a better life and being frustrated with the hoops and hurdles between you and your dreams. I know there are people in my community who think acting is all kinds of evil, just like Dad did, but I’m done caring. Drama is the only thing I’m good at and I’m not going to be ashamed of it.

Inhaling deeply, I open my mouth and out drifts a lilting lullaby. So far so good – maybe even great? But let’s not hold a party just yet cos if life’s taught me one thing, it’s that karma comes for show-offs. So I get a grip, remembering to sing from the diaphragm, working my way up to the top note. My core temperature rises and I can feel it happening, like me and Adele just got body-swapped. Excited butterflies flutter in my belly, beating their wings faster and faster and—

My voice cracks.

What should have been a showstopping power note comes off like a squirrel’s fart. I collapse back onto the settee, cringing. Kill me now.