Time to Shine. Lisa Clark

      “Finally Lola, this is your chance!” Sadie says, gently digging me in the arm. “You always said you were a should-be starlet, right? Well this is it, this is officially your time to shine!” Sadie sings ‘Time to Shine’ at the top of her voice while doing the same crazy jazz-hand movements that Lilly, played by Hollywood teen queen Farah Grant, does in the movie.

      How do I know this?

      Well, because…Shhhh, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve seen it.

      At least three times.

      Okay, maybe even more than that, but like I say, shhhh.

      I’m whispering because I need to keep this piece of info on the serious down low.

      Why?

      Because my passion is for old movies. The really old kind, filled with gorgeous and glamorous stars of yesteryear, like Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe, so Time to Shine, a super-cheesy, over-the-top, sing-along musical, should not be on my radar, in any way, shape or form.

      Except it is. In fact, it’s a total guilty pleasure. Like taking a nap in the middle of the day, or eating a whole bar of chocolate in one sitting. You know you shouldn’t do it, but it’s so, so good when you do. It’s the same with Time to Shine. You really shouldn’t like it, but you don’t care, you just do. Because really, what’s not to love about a musical set in the 1950s with quiff-toting boys and floral frock-wearing girls, insanely catchy tunes that you can never, ever stop singing, and a storyline that proves with a perma-positive, sunny disposition everyone gets their Time to Shine?!

      “Don’t be silly, Sadie,” I say, nudging her back playfully. “I don’t want to be in a school musical!”

      The thing is, I don’t think she’s silly at all, in fact, I’m so excited about the idea I’m doing somersaults of happiness in my head just thinking about it. Time to Shine is as contagiously happy as Hairspray, it’s as sing-along-able as Mamma Mia and as feel-good fabulous as Fame, and if Parkfield Comp needs a Lilly, then I could most definitely be their girl. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be scared x 1000 to actually audition, let alone take to the stage, step into the spotlight, and sing.

      Oh, and dance.

      Oh, and kiss a boy. Actually, forget it, because, scarier x 100 million trillion is the fact I’d have to literally lock lips with whoever plays Richie, and no matter how cute the potential leading man might be - it could be Jake Farrell for all I care - that is so completely, utterly, totally out of the question.

      “C’mon, Lola, you’ve got to audition at least,” Sadie says, pulling at the sleeve of my school cardi that she’d helped me customise with different coloured sparkle buttons. “You’re always singing that ‘Life is Too Short to be a Spectator’ song. And I mean, always. Go on, you know you want to - I’ll come along and hold your hand!”

      “Er, Sadie,” I say, lowering my voice so that my fellow corridor dwellers are unable to listen in, “even if I were interested in auditioning, which I’m not, I think you’re forgetting something. Something VERY important.”

      “I am?” she says, looking at me with a quizzical expression on her sweet-as-sugar face.

      “Yes, yes you are. You’re forgetting the scene. You know, the scene.” I whisper, making air quotation marks with my fingers.

      “What scene?” shouts Sadie, causing a tall girl, with surfer-girl