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in primary school.”
    “Terrific.” Mr MacDonald sank back into his chair. “Anybody else?”
    “I’ve had three saxophone lessons,” Hailie said. “But Mum gave my saxophone to her boyfriend.”
    There was a kid at the back of the room with a patch over one eye who could play
Chariots of Fire
on the recorder.
    “Okay, we’ll forget about the musical recital. Back to the play. Anybody done any drama? Velvet?”
    “I had a part in
The Mikado
at St Theresa’s.”
    Mr MacDonald looked hopeful. “Anybody else?”
    Silence.
    Peter was looking through the book of plays. “We can’t do a Shakespeare play. No one can understand this stuff.”
    “Drago can hardly read,” Hailie said.
    “We’re all in this together, Hailie,” said Mr MacDonald.
    “Well, he can’t. He’s a dummy.”
    “Shut up.”
    “That’s enough, you two.”
    Drago pushed his chair back noisily and stood up.
    “I’d just like to say, I’m not sexist or nothing … but girls suck.” He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him so that piles of sports equipment swayed precariously. No one took any notice.
    “Can’t we do something more modern,” Velvet said. “A musical. Like …
Wicked
?”
    “I saw that,” Hailie said. “It was dumb.”
    “What about
We Will Rock You
?” Roula suggested.
    Velvet sighed. “That’s not a proper musical. It’s just a string of pop songs.”
    “It’s got to be Shakespeare. That’s what Mr Kislinski wants,” Mr MacDonald said. “No one will expect it to be any good. You just have to learn the lines.”
    “All of them?”
    “We could just do extracts. Something funny like
Twelfth Night
.”
    “Has anybody ever read any Shakespeare?” Peter asked. “Apart from Velvet, of course.”
    Not a hand went up.
    “I saw a movie with Mel Gibson where he went crazy,” Jesus said. “That was Shakespeare wasn’t it?”
    Mr MacDonald sank back into his chair. “Gundiwallop North here I come.”
    Velvet had an idea. It took her a minute or two to decide whether she’d even mention it, since all they did was groan whenever she said anything. But Velvet wasn’t the sort of girl who kept her opinions to herself.
    “Why don’t we do a modern version of a Shakespeare play, with music? You know, like an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.”
    “Who’s he?”
    “The guy who wrote
The Phantom of the Opera
.”
    Everyone groaned again.
    Velvet didn’t tell them that she was a big fan of musical theatre. Three-quarters of her iTunes collection consisted of songs from musicals.
    Taleb hadn’t said a word up till then, but he put his guitar aside. “I refuse to play anything by Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
    “Not by him, just like that sort of thing.”
    “No way. I’d rather stick my head down the toilet.”
    Velvet was annoyed. “What do you know about Andrew Lloyd Webber?”
    Taleb didn’t answer. As far as he was concerned the subject was closed.
    “That’s not such a bad idea.”
    They all turned round to see who had said this. It was Drago. He was standing by the door.
    “Sticking my head down the toilet?” Taleb said.
    “No, making our own musical.”
    “Are you kidding?” Taleb said. “What do you know about music?”
    “Nothing,” said Drago. “But you do, and I reckon I could act a bit.”
    After a few moments of stunned silence, the idea began to catch on.
    “It could work,” Peter said.
    “Can we wear gothic dresses?” asked Roula.
    “Will there be battle scenes?” Jesus wanted to know.
    Apart from Taleb, who seemed to be ideologically opposed to anything even vaguely connected with Andrew Lloyd Webber, Mr MacDonald was the only one who wasn’t won over by Velvet’s idea.
    “A Shakespearean musical?” he said dubiously.
    “It could be good, sir,” Peter said.
    Mr MacDonald liked it when they called him sir. “But which play would we do?”
    “Stuffed if I know,” Drago said.
    The cultural studies class was silent again.

C H A P TE R 7
    The following Thursday,