Bryony Bell Tops the Bill by Franzeska G. Ewart, Kelly Waldek

of coffee.
    â€˜To see Abid wearing it, and singing so divinely,’ she went on, ‘means more to me than words can say…’
    There was a long and awkward silence, then Bryony spoke.
    â€˜I’m really, really sorry, Mrs Quigg,’ she said. ‘I never wanted to ruin the play. I wanted to make it better. It’s a brilliant play, and I think it’s just wicked that you wrote it—’
    Bryony stopped, mid-sentence, and stared. She could hardly believe her eyes. Abid, without a hint of a wheeze or a cough, was stepping boldly right up to the music teacher and putting a large hand on her shoulder.
    â€˜We’re with you all the way, Mrs Quigg,’ he said, looking at her steadily. ‘Why don’t you come to the hall with us? Just keep an open mind — please?’
    They both looked imploringly at Mrs Quigg.
    â€˜We’ve been burning the midnight oil too,’ Bryony said, coming to stand opposite Abid. They each slipped a hand under the teacher’sarms and eased her up.
    â€˜We’ve got artistic souls too, Bryony and me,’ Abid added unexpectedly, steering Mrs Quigg gently in the direction of the door.
    Much to their surprise and relief, Mrs Quigg allowed herself to be led out of the staffroom and along the corridor to the hall, where Bryony and Abid sat her down at the piano.
    â€˜Give us three minutes to get ready, Mrs Quigg,’ whispered Bryony. ‘Then play the introduction to the Swan Song.’
    Like someone in a hypnotic trance Mrs Quigg sat, hands hovering above the piano keys, gazing up at the empty stage.
    â€˜We’ve got a bit of a
tour de force
too,’ explained Abid, lifting the piano lid and setting
The Ugly Duckling
music in position.
    â€˜So prepare to be blown away.’

Chapter: Ten
    On the night of
The Ugly Duckling
show, the hall of Peachtree Primary was filled to maximum capacity. Mrs Quigg, nicely done up in a high-collared white blouse and with her curls an interesting shade of blue, played a medley of
Ugly Duckling
songs to get everyone in the mood as they settled into their seats.
    In the front row sat Big Bob, Angelina, Melody, Melissa, Emmy-Lou, and Clarissa with Little Bob on her lap. Mrs Ashraf, looking more elegant than ever in a lavender and gold salwar kameez, was sandwiched between Clarissa and Dr Ashraf, both of whom took up rather more than one seat. Everyone was full of excited anticipation, although the little Bell girls were careful not to appear too keen. Their icy feelings had all but defrosted, but there was still a bit of a nip in the air.
    From time to time, Big Bob would dab the perspiration off his brow and dart worriedglances at his family. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. Alter tea that evening he had taken Bryony to one side and, without a word, had led her to the potting shed. Bryony, bewildered, had watched the door swing slowly open and when she saw what was sitting inside she had been quite unable to speak.
    â€˜I couldn’t do it, Bryony,’ Big Bob had said at last. ‘I know it was wrong of me, but the longer I stood in the queue at the Post Office the more I thought I just couldn’t hand them over. Tonight’s your big night, and I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t have your Vipers …
    â€˜I’ve the wrapping all ready, lass, and as soon as the show’s over they go straight back in the box and away. There’s still two days’ approval, and one performance won’t harm them.’
    Bryony had not known what to say. The Viper 3000s, sitting on top of their box, looked even whiter and ligher and shinier than she remembered — and she was going to wear them, one last time, for
The Swan Song!
It was too much to take in.
    â€˜Now don’t you worry, Bryony,’ Big Bob had told her as he handed her the Vipers. ‘You just do your very best — and if there’s any trouble, your Dad’ll take the