Anne’s speech from the 1955 Laurence Olivier film.
The boys were sitting back, looking on with interest, safe in the knowledge of their own parts and relative importance – except for Drago who hadn’t arrived yet.
Mr MacDonald came in. He cleared his throat and smiled. Velvet was immediately suspicious. He hardly ever smiled.
“I’ve decided who will play Lady Anne.”
The girls stopped bickering and turned to him.
“What about auditions?”
“I’ve made an executive decision. Taleb’s working on a terrific song for Lady Anne, so it has to be someone with a really strong voice. Isn’t that right, Taleb?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But we haven’t heard the girls sing yet,” Peter said.
Mr MacDonald held up his hand. Not that that stopped them from all talking at once.
“Everybody, I’d like you to meet our Lady Anne.” Mr MacDonald beckoned to the open door and a Chinese girl walked in and bowed.
The cultural studies class stared at her. Velvet stood up to protest, but for once words failed her. She sat down again.
“Who the hell is she?” Drago had followed her in, his customary fifteen minutes late.
“Come on, guys, be nice. This is Mei Hua Qian. Wait till you hear her sing. She’s a trained Chinese opera singer.”
Mei Hua continued to stand to attention at the front of the class.
Velvet found her voice. “She can’t be Lady Anne. What about us?”
“There are plenty of other parts for the rest of you girls.”
“They’re all a bunch of old dragons,” Roula said.
“They’re all excellent parts.”
The girls glared at Mr MacDonald. The boys were unusually defensive on their behalf.
“That sucks, Mr Mac,” Peter said.
Drago walked over to the new girl and looked her up and down. Mei Hua’s smile didn’t falter. She was wearing the sort of pink floral dress that five-year-old girls love. Her hair was in short pigtails tied with bows. She wore neat turned-down white socks and a plush backpack in the shape of a panda. She looked like she belonged in primary school, except for her breasts, which were very well developed.
“If she’s such a good singer, let’s hear her,” Drago said.
“Would you like to sing, Mei Hua?” Mr MacDonald asked politely.
Mei Hua looked at him blankly, still smiling.
“Don’t tell me,” Velvet said. “She doesn’t speak English.”
Everybody groaned.
“She’s only been in the country for four weeks. She’s a very intelligent girl. I’m sure she’ll pick it up in no time.”
Mr MacDonald tried to mime singing, even sang a couple of bars himself, and Mei Hua finally got the idea. She took a deep breath and launched into a Chinese opera. The force of her voice nearly blew them out of their seats. It was strong, high-pitched and warbly, and of course they couldn’t understand a word of it. She stopped as abruptly as she’d begun. The cultural studies class sat with their mouths open.
“What was that?” Hailie asked.
Even Peter couldn’t disguise his horror. “Sounded like someone stepping on bagpipes.”
Drago was still standing at the front of the class, arms folded, looking unusually thoughtful.
“Let me get this straight. You want to give someone who can’t speak a word of English and who sings like a cocky on heat the main female part in our play?”
“Yes.”
Drago paced up and down, frowning. Velvet suspected he’d been studying acting techniques on late-night television. “Even though we have three girls who speak English?” Drago indicated the girls with a sweep of his hand.
“Yes.”
“Three girls who’ve been in this since the beginning?”
“Yes.”
Drago turned to Mr MacDonald dramatically. “Slinky threatened you, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Mr MacDonald.
“You’re pathetic … sir.”
“He made me,” Mr MacDonald whined. “Her parents don’t want her to play sport, they think running will ruin her voice. Slinky promised them she would get the leading role in the school
The boys were sitting back, looking on with interest, safe in the knowledge of their own parts and relative importance – except for Drago who hadn’t arrived yet.
Mr MacDonald came in. He cleared his throat and smiled. Velvet was immediately suspicious. He hardly ever smiled.
“I’ve decided who will play Lady Anne.”
The girls stopped bickering and turned to him.
“What about auditions?”
“I’ve made an executive decision. Taleb’s working on a terrific song for Lady Anne, so it has to be someone with a really strong voice. Isn’t that right, Taleb?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But we haven’t heard the girls sing yet,” Peter said.
Mr MacDonald held up his hand. Not that that stopped them from all talking at once.
“Everybody, I’d like you to meet our Lady Anne.” Mr MacDonald beckoned to the open door and a Chinese girl walked in and bowed.
The cultural studies class stared at her. Velvet stood up to protest, but for once words failed her. She sat down again.
“Who the hell is she?” Drago had followed her in, his customary fifteen minutes late.
“Come on, guys, be nice. This is Mei Hua Qian. Wait till you hear her sing. She’s a trained Chinese opera singer.”
Mei Hua continued to stand to attention at the front of the class.
Velvet found her voice. “She can’t be Lady Anne. What about us?”
“There are plenty of other parts for the rest of you girls.”
“They’re all a bunch of old dragons,” Roula said.
“They’re all excellent parts.”
The girls glared at Mr MacDonald. The boys were unusually defensive on their behalf.
“That sucks, Mr Mac,” Peter said.
Drago walked over to the new girl and looked her up and down. Mei Hua’s smile didn’t falter. She was wearing the sort of pink floral dress that five-year-old girls love. Her hair was in short pigtails tied with bows. She wore neat turned-down white socks and a plush backpack in the shape of a panda. She looked like she belonged in primary school, except for her breasts, which were very well developed.
“If she’s such a good singer, let’s hear her,” Drago said.
“Would you like to sing, Mei Hua?” Mr MacDonald asked politely.
Mei Hua looked at him blankly, still smiling.
“Don’t tell me,” Velvet said. “She doesn’t speak English.”
Everybody groaned.
“She’s only been in the country for four weeks. She’s a very intelligent girl. I’m sure she’ll pick it up in no time.”
Mr MacDonald tried to mime singing, even sang a couple of bars himself, and Mei Hua finally got the idea. She took a deep breath and launched into a Chinese opera. The force of her voice nearly blew them out of their seats. It was strong, high-pitched and warbly, and of course they couldn’t understand a word of it. She stopped as abruptly as she’d begun. The cultural studies class sat with their mouths open.
“What was that?” Hailie asked.
Even Peter couldn’t disguise his horror. “Sounded like someone stepping on bagpipes.”
Drago was still standing at the front of the class, arms folded, looking unusually thoughtful.
“Let me get this straight. You want to give someone who can’t speak a word of English and who sings like a cocky on heat the main female part in our play?”
“Yes.”
Drago paced up and down, frowning. Velvet suspected he’d been studying acting techniques on late-night television. “Even though we have three girls who speak English?” Drago indicated the girls with a sweep of his hand.
“Yes.”
“Three girls who’ve been in this since the beginning?”
“Yes.”
Drago turned to Mr MacDonald dramatically. “Slinky threatened you, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Mr MacDonald.
“You’re pathetic … sir.”
“He made me,” Mr MacDonald whined. “Her parents don’t want her to play sport, they think running will ruin her voice. Slinky promised them she would get the leading role in the school
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