I practised Sabine’s song every spare minute. I practised it in my room and in the bath and on the way to school in my head. I practised it so much I began to think I was Sabine, living in that dreary Dream Factory with her cruel parents. Ellie and Sam had practised loads as well and they both sounded brilliant, especially Sam.

“I just really hope I’m brave enough to audition,” said Ellie at school on Wednesday. We were in the playground at lunchtime talking about Star Makers and the auditions and about how much all three of us were dying to be Sabine.

“I don’t know what you’re so scared about, Ellie,” said Sam. “I can’t wait until Saturday. I could give you some tips if you like.” She jumped up in front of us. “First of all you have to stand with your legs apart and your shoulders back like this, and it’s really important that you don’t fidget.”

“But you know what I’m like,” moaned Ellie. “I can’t keep still for more than two seconds.”

“Well, you’ll have to practise,” said Sam. “The other thing to remember is to make eye contact with Miss Howell and to show her that you really understand the meaning of the song. Like, it’s no use looking happy if the song is sad like Sabine’s song is.”

I thought about Donny and his Razzle Dazzle Smile but I didn’t say anything.

“Oh yeah, and you have to open your mouth properly. That’s mega. If you don’t open your mouth really wide you won’t make a loud enough sound even if you’ve got a good voice.”

Sam always had her mouth wide open, so I was sure that wouldn’t be too much of a problem for her.

“But listen, Ellie, if you’re too scared to try out for a main part,” she went on, “why don’t you audition to be one of the Sweet-Dreamers? You always have the weirdest dreams anyway, so that part would be perfect for you.”

“I actually had the weirdest dream ever last night,” said Ellie. “I was standing on the stage about to audition for the show when this dinosaur burst in to the room and gobbled everyone up except for me and Miss Howell. It was a T. Rex, I think. The funny thing was, Miss Howell didn’t seem to be upset or shocked or anything. She just said, “Oh, well done, Ellie. I guess that means you’re going to be Sabine.”

Sam snorted. “I’d carry on practising if I were you,” she said. “I don’t think there’s much chance of a dinosaur turning up on Saturday. How about you, Phoebe? Are you ready to audition?”

“Phoebe’s got a brilliant voice,” said Ellie. “You should hear her, Sam.”

But just then Sam went charging off across the playground after some Year Nine boy she fancies and I was left wondering if she ever would hear me sing – or if I’d be too scared when it got to Saturday.

The next day, Dad and Sara came to pick me up from school. Mum had some bridesmaids’ dresses to finish, so we were going over to Dad’s for tea. They were waiting for me outside the gates, their heads close together chatting. Dad was wearing his scruffy PEACE NOW T-shirt, some awful brown sandals and his fake smile.

He’s been smiling like that ever since he moved out; like he thinks if he sticks a smile on his face we won’t realize what a mess everything is. Sometimes I think I could reach up and peel that smile right off like a plaster, and underneath his real mouth would be all turned down and sad.

“We’re going to make popcorn, Phoebs!” cried Sara, when she saw me. She started to hop about like a demented rabbit. “Dad said we could make popcorn and watch a DVD like we’re in a real cinema. Barney absolutely loves popcorn,” she gabbled on, pulling Barney out of her book bag and whispering something in his ear. I grabbed hold of her and pushed her down the road. The last thing I wanted was Polly Carter to show up and see my loopy sister talking to her teddy – or my dad in his manky sandals.

Back at the flat, Dad and Sara got busy in the kitchen. There wasn’t really room for all three of us so I went to sit in the lounge. It was practically empty except for a tatty, old couch and a few boxes Dad hadn’t got round to unpacking yet.

Mum and Dad split up ninety-two days ago – not that I’m counting or anything. Mum said that Dad had gone strange in the head and she couldn’t live with his crazy ideas any more. Well, okay, she didn’t use those words exactly, but she’s right, he has gone strange in the head, especially since he lost his job and joined the Life centre. He used to work at this amazing nursery where they grew all sorts of rare, tropical plants. He’d worked there for years and years, ever since he left school – but then out of the blue they said they were cutting back the staff or something and that he’d have to leave.

At first he didn’t do much at all, just moped about the house watching rubbish TV all day. But then after about six months he went and joined this weird New Age group called Life. He goes to the Life centre all the time now, especially on Saturdays when he’s supposed to be with me and Sara. I don’t even know what they do there – but it’s obviously more exciting than being with us.

The popcorn was taking ages so I decided to try out Sam’s great audition tips while I was waiting. I stood in the middle of the living room with my legs apart and my shoulders back and pretended Miss Howell was sitting in front of me on the couch. I reached my arm out towards her, took a deep breath, opened my mouth as wide as I could and was just about to start singing when Sara burst in.

“What’s the matter?” she squealed, staring at where my hand was pointing. “Did you see a spider or something?”

I dropped my arm, and spun round. “For goodness’ sake, Sara! Don’t creep up on me like that! What do you want anyway?”

“I was just gonna tell you about the popcorn.” She grinned. “We’ve made so much it’s flying around all over the place. It’s brilliant. We’re going to put butter and salt on it, but you can have yours plain if you want. Come on!”

In the kitchen the popcorn was banging about inside the pan and Dad was standing next to the stove grinning and looking very pleased with himself.

“Bet you didn’t know I could make popcorn, eh, Phoebe?” he said, as if it was some amazingly rare talent that only two or three people in the whole world could do.

“Isn’t this brilliant, Phoebe!” said Sara again, hopping around the kitchen. And just for that second, looking at Sara’s happy, shining face, it was brilliant.

I trailed back into the living room, still thinking about the audition. Dad came in a couple of minutes later carrying two big bowls of buttery popcorn.

“How was drama on Saturday, Phoebe? I never got the chance to ask you.”

“Of course you didn’t get the chance to ask me,” I felt like saying, “you were too busy rowing with Mum.” But I didn’t say anything. I just sat down cross-legged on the worn-out carpet and shrugged.

“It wasn’t that great,” I said in the end. “I might start karate instead.”

“Karate? But Phoebe, you’ve got such a lovely singing voice. Remember what I used to say to you when you were little? That you were born to be on the stage.”

I hugged my bowl of popcorn. Of course I remembered and maybe I was born to be on the stage – but that was before everything went wrong. Before Dad left, and before I started at Woodville Secondary, and before Polly Carter decided to ruin my life.

“Anyway, I can’t go back!” I blurted out suddenly. “We’ve got to do this stupid audition and I’ll never be able to do it, not in a million years!” The words tumbled out of my mouth. I wanted him to know that nothing was the same any more: that I wasn’t the same little girl who used to sing and dance around the living room.

“Sam says I have to stand in a certain way and Donny Dallesio says in this magazine that you have to smile showing all your teeth, and I don’t even know if I can sing in front of Miss Howell and all the others in the first place, so there’s no way I’m going to be able to sing and smile and stand properly all at the same time. It’s totally hopeless and I’m quitting, okay?”

Dad looked a bit shocked. It was easily the most I’d said to him for about a year.

“Well, we could tell you if you’re any good, Phoebs,” said Sara, coming in. She was carrying a huge bowl of popcorn for her and a tiny little one for Barney. “Just pretend it’s X Factor or something and we’re the judges. Dad can be—”

“I’m not singing in front of you,” I said, horrified.

“Come on, Phoebe,” said Dad. “Sara’s right. If you have a go here you’ll feel more confident on Saturday. Forget about what Sam said and about what you read in that magazine. Just sit there on the carpet and sing the song.”

“There’s no way! I can’t! You’ll just laugh, I know you will.”

“We won’t!” cried Sara. “We won’t even look, promise.” She plonked herself down next to Dad and put her hands over Barney’s eyes.

“Come on, Phoebe,” said Dad, smiling. “I’d really love to hear you sing.”

I looked at the three of them, Dad, Sara and Barney, the bear, lined up on the couch with their eyes closed tight, clutching their bowls of buttery popcorn – and I knew Dad was right. If I couldn’t sing here, in front of my own family, there was no way I’d ever be able to audition in front of everyone at drama.

“Do you swear on your life you won’t laugh?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Dad.

“Cross my heart and hope you die!” said Sara.

“Well…okay… I’ll sing a bit,” I said, ignoring Sara. “But the second you open your eyes or laugh or even smile I’m going to stop.”

They sat completely still right through the song. After a bit I forgot they were even there and I sang the way I always sing when I’m by myself in my bedroom. They didn’t even move after I’d finished. They just sat there staring at me. But then suddenly Dad went, “Wow, Phoebe. I’ll tell you what: no one else at drama stands a chance if that’s how you sing on Saturday.” And Sara started clapping and cheering and said, “You’re definitely going through to the next round, Miss Franks. And Barney thinks so too.”

I knew they were just being nice but I didn’t care. If I could sing in front of Dad and Sara then maybe I would be able to sing at the auditions on Saturday.

“What did you get up to at Dad’s?” Mum asked later when she came to pick us up.

“Oh, it was brilliant,” squealed Sara. “You wouldn’t believe it. We made popcorn and then we went into the living room and—”

“We made popcorn,” I said, kicking Sara. “That’s all.”