Lou-Anne and the First Time on the Decks

One sunny afternoon, Lou-Anne came racing towards the baobab tree with a grin so wide that M’Pofo noticed it before she had even reached the shade.

“You look like someone with news,” he said.

“I have news,” Lou-Anne replied, dropping her little satchel onto the grass. “There’s going to be a party in the village hall on Saturday, and Mrs Belleri asked if I’d like to help with the music.”

Vakawu swung down from a branch at once. “Help with the music? Meaning sing?”

“No.”

“Play the drums?”

“No.”

“Stand in the corner and look artistic?”

Lou-Anne laughed. “No. She wants me to try DJing.”

That made everyone pause.

Even Ubejane.

“DJing?” asked Kiera, tilting her head. “What’s that exactly?”

“It means choosing songs, playing them, and making sure everyone has fun dancing,” said Lou-Anne. “Opi says there’ll be a little mixing controller and speakers.”

Vakawu puffed out his chest. “At last. A role of real importance.”

“It’s my role,” said Lou-Anne.

“Yes,” said Vakawu, “but I will support you from nearby in a glamorous and musically informed manner.”

Ubejane snorted. “That sounds dreadful.”

Marmalade, who had been pretending not to listen, opened one eye. Party food, clearly, had become a possibility.

That evening, Opi set up a small table in the house with his laptop, two little speakers, and a simple DJ controller he had borrowed from a friend in the village.

Lou-Anne stared at it with shining eyes.

“It has so many buttons.”

“That,” said Opi, “is because music people enjoy feeling important.”

Omi laughed softly. “And because each button does something useful.”

Opi showed Lou-Anne the basics.

One side played one song. The other side played the next. She learned how to fade gently from one to the other, how to adjust the volume, and how to listen to the next song in headphones before everyone else heard it.

“It’s like serving food at the right time,” Omi said. “You don’t want pudding first and soup afterwards.”

“Unless it’s a very strange meal,” said Vakawu from the windowsill.

Lou-Anne practised starting songs cleanly, then stopping them without panic. She made a few mistakes. Once she pressed the wrong button and made the same song start again from the beginning.

Kiera, who was listening nearby, began laughing so hard she had to sit down.

“It sounds like the song forgot what it was doing.”

Lou-Anne giggled too. “I forgot what I was doing.”

“That,” said Opi kindly, “is exactly why we practise.”

Over the next two days, Lou-Anne worked hard.

She made a little list of party songs that felt cheerful and danceable. Some were fast. Some were slower. Some were just fun.

M’Pofo helped by listening very seriously and swaying his great head from side to side.

“This one,” he said, “makes me want to step in a circle.”

“That’s good,” Lou-Anne said. “That means it might make people dance.”

Kiera helped too, although her method involved hopping wildly whenever she liked something.

Vakawu appointed himself Head of Musical Judgement and gave every song a dramatic introduction.

“This one,” he declared, “has bounce.”

“This one,” he said of another, “has possibility.”

“This one,” he added, frowning at a slow tune, “belongs in soup.”

Ubejane listened to each one with the grave expression of a rhino who had not asked to be dragged into cultural evaluation.

At last he said, “This one is acceptable.”

Lou-Anne smiled. “High praise.”

Even Marmalade helped in his own way. Whenever he curled up and fell asleep during a song, Lou-Anne decided it might not be the best choice for getting a room dancing.

Saturday arrived.

The village hall had been decorated with paper lanterns, bunting, and long tables filled with snacks and drinks. Children chased each other near the doorway. Grown-ups arranged plates and chatted in little groups. At the far end of the room stood Lou-Anne’s DJ table.

When she saw it, her stomach gave a tiny flip.

“What if I do it wrong?” she whispered.

Omi crouched beside her. “You probably will do some bits wrong.”

Lou-Anne looked at her in surprise.

Omi smiled. “First times are like that. The point is not perfection. The point is beginning.”

Opi adjusted one of the speakers. “And remembering that if one song ends a bit awkwardly, civilisation will survive.”

That helped.

A little.

M’Pofo stood near the wall like the calmest security guard in the world. Kiera wore a ribbon round her neck and could barely keep still. Vakawu had somehow acquired a shiny scarf and looked as if he expected to be interviewed by the press.

Ubejane positioned himself near the refreshments.

“I am here,” he said, “to observe.”

“You are here,” said Vakawu, “for pastry.”

“That as well.”

At last, Mrs Belleri tapped a spoon against a glass and welcomed everyone.

“And now,” she said with a smile, “our music this evening will be looked after by Lou-Anne, who is trying DJing for the very first time.”

Everyone clapped.

Lou-Anne swallowed, put on the headphones, and started the first song.

It came through the speakers clearly and brightly.

People smiled at once.

Some of the younger children began bouncing where they stood. Two old ladies near the cake table nodded in perfect rhythm. Opi gave Lou-Anne a thumbs-up from across the room.

The first song ended well.

The second started even better.

By the third song, the dance floor had come alive.

Kiera was absolutely magnificent. She bounced and spun and clapped her paws. Vakawu danced as though he had eight elbows and no concern for dignity. M’Pofo stepped in a gentle circle just as predicted, ears flapping in time. Even Ubejane, after claiming he would never dance, was seen tapping one foot in a suspiciously musical fashion.

Lou-Anne began to relax.

She faded one song into the next.

She lifted the energy when people were excited.

She slowed it slightly when everyone needed a breather.

Once, she pressed the wrong button and got a tiny squeak of feedback from the speaker.

Lou-Anne winced.

But nobody minded.

Vakawu simply pointed at the ceiling and shouted, “Bold sound choice!”

That made everyone laugh, including Lou-Anne, and her nerves floated away like dust in the sun.

Later in the evening, Omi came over with two glasses of lemonade.

“You’re doing beautifully,” she said.

Lou-Anne took a sip and smiled. “I think I’m actually enjoying it.”

“Good,” said Omi. “That is usually a helpful sign.”

Then Opi leaned over the table and said, “Time for one really big one.”

Lou-Anne nodded.

She chose the happiest, bounciest song of the night and brought it in smoothly.

The room erupted.

Children danced in a wild circle. Grown-ups joined in. Mrs Belleri laughed so much she nearly lost one shoe. M’Pofo lifted his trunk and turned in place. Kiera hopped so high she had to be reminded not to collide with the bunting. Vakawu danced on a chair until he was told, quite reasonably, to come back down at once.

And Ubejane?

Ubejane ended up doing three clear steps to the left and three to the right before realising he had been seen.

“I was repositioning.”

“Rhythmically,” said Lou-Anne.

He gave her a look, but it was not a very grumpy one.

At the end of the party, as the final song faded and everyone clapped again, Lou-Anne took off her headphones and looked around the hall.

People were smiling.

The floor was a mess of paper streamers and tired feet.

The snack table had been bravely defended but not entirely saved from Vakawu.

And Lou-Anne’s heart felt full.

Mrs Belleri came over and squeezed her shoulder. “You did wonderfully.”

“Even with the little mistakes?”

“Especially with the little mistakes,” said Mrs Belleri. “You kept going. That’s what made it work.”

As they walked home beneath the stars, Lou-Anne carried the borrowed headphones round her neck and grinned into the night.

“Well?” asked M’Pofo.

Lou-Anne smiled. “I think I’d like to DJ again.”

Vakawu lifted both arms dramatically. “A star is born.”

Kiera laughed. “You were brilliant.”

Ubejane gave one thoughtful nod. “Acceptably musical.”

Lou-Anne laughed so hard she had to stop walking for a moment.

And that night, tucked up in bed with tired feet and happy thoughts, she decided that trying something new could feel frightening right up until the moment it became fun.

Especially when your first audience includes a dancing elephant, a bouncing kangaroo, a dramatic monkey, a quietly approving rhino, and one orange cat who mostly came for the party snacks.