Oh shit.
My eyes flicker open as I remember what I did that weekend. I kissed a boy.
I bounce out of bed, my sore and tired legs forgotten, and hop in the shower. Water flows deliciously warm over my aching body.
I KISSED a boy.
A strange awkwardness fills me, and I try to reassure myself that I’m just like any other teenager now. People do this all the time. Maybe I’m a little late to the game, but it’s cool, it’s hip, and I tell myself it will be fine.
At fourteen, it feels like I have waited an eternity for this moment, but I didn’t expect to suddenly feel awkward about it.
I’m not sure I like this feeling. Dance consumes my every thought while at school, but I try my best to stay out of trouble and concentrate on my schoolwork before heading straight back to the studio as soon as the afternoon bell rings. Even though it was just a silly little kiss, I am concerned that this could be the start of me losing focus on my dream of becoming a dancer. I also wonder how this will change the way my peers see me. My dedication to dance has made me cultivate a particular kind of image—the perfect ballerina. Will that change now?
My internal commentary keeps running as I dry off my hair and tie it into a neat slicked-back ponytail to match my perfectly pressed school uniform with a white hair ribbon to match. Clearly I’m not ready to give up this image just yet.
I don’t know why, but I feel nervous when I think about arriving at school. It was just a kiss. No one cares, Chloe. Standing in front of the mirror, I trace my finger around my lips as images of my weekend flash through my mind.
* * *
My best friend Katy has a habit of trying to drag me out of the dance studio every couple of weeks to ‘go have fun’. Nine times out of ten I say no to her pleas for me to loosen up and go to parties like a normal fourteen-year-old. This time I said yes.
In a hot-pink sequined top, my back was bare and my long black hair was pulled high into a pony. I felt… pretty. No. Hot. I think. It’s something I had never felt before. Katy stood a whole head taller than me, looking gorgeous as ever with her long legs, beautiful blonde hair and sun-kissed skin. My tiny frame, porcelain skin, dark hair and blue eyes are the complete opposite to her beach-babe beauty. She exudes a playful energy and is always taking risks and bending the rules ever so slightly. I’m a rule follower, a goal setter, a girl who doesn’t let anything—including boys— distract her. Katy likes to party and socialise and carries a don’t-give-a-crap attitude with her everywhere she goes, but she isn’t rough. No. Her free spirt and slightly careless manner make her a magnet for attention, and I watch boys and girls consistently try to befriend her, but no one can ever quite catch or impress her. Except for me. I’m not sure why we became friends. I guess it was just a case of opposites attracting. She’s constantly trying to shake me up.
So there I was. Standing next to Katy in line to enter the Port Macquarie under-eighteens Hot House party. No drugs. No alcohol. Just a huge dance party. I could handle that.
As the night heated up, the room became more and more crowded with what looked like almost every high school student in town dancing and making out. My eyes were glued to the Year Eleven girls bumping and grinding against each other on the raised dance platform in the centre of the floor. They were moving in a way I’d never seen before; no choreography, just bodies moving to the beat. Desperate to move the way they did, I began swaying my hips in a circular motion, trying my hardest to feel the music while my body contorted and swayed about. I’d never danced like that before; so freely. No technique or dance combination. No voice in my head shouting out corrections.
Just as I was starting to get the hang of this energetic pelvic swirling, someone yanked twice on my arm.
‘Chloe, Caleb wants to make out with you.’
Before I had time to protest, Katy was dragging me through the crowded room, past sweaty-faced teenagers smelling strongly of BO mixed with salt-and-vinegar chips. Then I came face to face with Caleb, a short but cute boy with sandy hair and tanned skin. A typical Port Macquarie surfer type. I had seen him a few times at school, always hanging out with the cool kids. I stared blankly at him. I’d never spoken to him. Ever. Not even a passing hi in school. I half smiled, waiting for him to tell me he had the wrong girl.
He stood slightly sunk into his hips, hands in his pockets, while a bunch of boys nudged his shoulders, egging him on to kiss me.
I looked to Katy, and she gave me a cheeky grin and pushed me forward.
It’s now or never, I thought. It felt like the whole school had kissed someone except for me, the girl who spends all her spare time in a dance studio. Without saying a word to each other, he grabbed me by the waist and I slung my arms around his neck like I’d seen in the movies. I opened my mouth and before I knew it his tongue was down my throat. His lips were slippery and wet as he tried to eat my face off. Or at least that’s what it felt like. Remembering the girls dancing on the podium, I tried to imitate their moves and my pelvis edged closer to his. Girls behind me cheered and the boys behind Caleb began whistling and chanting.
When he finally broke away from me, he smiled and disappeared into the crowd without a word. I had successfully completed my first kiss. With someone I had never spoken to before. Oh god.
And now it’s Monday. A school day.
* * *
At breakfast, I sit at our four-seater wooden dining table and stare out the window at my sister, who’s tearing down the garden path towards the house in her tiny red-and-cream toy car. Her legs drum along the pavers. I catch a glimpse of our dog Sammy’s black-and-white furry legs behind her, desperately trying to keep up with her madness. I would do anything to stay home and run around outside with our dog today. My stomach churns at the thought of facing my friends post-kiss and I can’t finish my Weet-Bix.
‘What’s up with you?’
Snapping out of my daze, I turn to see my brother, who’s slumped in the chair across from me. Surprised that he has taken a moment to drag his eyes away from his phone screen to pay me some attention, I sit up straighter, shrug my shoulders, then divert my gaze to my untouched breakfast. I know his dark-blue eyes are piercing holes through the top of my head. I have no interest in bickering with him this morning. My reckless weekend consumes me and my voice box seems to have checked out. My heart pumps hard at the thought of my brother worming his way into my mind and finding out that I’ve been kissing boys. He’s going to sense something’s up if I stay silent for too long. Or worse—he might spot my slightly pinker lips today.
‘Have you even brushed your hair today?’ My weak attempt at an insult doesn’t go very far.
Zac scoffs and pushes his chair back to stand up and lean over me. He inspects my face for a moment, then says, ‘Weirdo.’ He smirks as he steals a piece of my now stone-cold toast, picks up his school bag and heads for the door.
My body sinks into my chair.
* * *
I get off the bus and make my way down to the school’s main sheltered area. Teenagers huddle together gossiping or line up at the nearby canteen to chug down chocolate milk and eat cheese toasties before class.
Arriving at the shelter, I see Katy bounding towards me, hands outstretched. My hands fly to cover my head as she grabs at my ponytail, yanks out my ribbon and messes up my hair. She grins. ‘Much better.’
We go through this routine almost every day. I like to keep my hair nice and slick for dance class in the evening, but Katy thinks it makes me look prissy—or in other words, not cool. I don’t care. Having my hair like this reminds me to stand up straight, activate my core and practise walking like a dancer. Every little bit helps.
‘The whole school knows about your pash off with Caleb,’ Katy tells me as I hastily fix my hair.
Uh-oh.
I look around to see the other Year Eight students staring at me with their I know what you did eyes. I’m probably overthinking it. Then a couple of boys run past me yelling, ‘Chloe and Caleb, sitting in
a tree.’
Although I’m a little embarrassed that my good-girl reputation is ruined, at the same time I feel as if I’ve reached a milestone and I’m on my way to becoming a mature woman. There’s also no way I will let high school gossip ruin my last few weeks of school.
Yep, I’m in my last few weeks of high school. After that, I’m not stepping into this school or any other school ever again. I’m leaving. I’m moving to Newcastle. And I’m going to be a dancer.
* * *
Fourteen is around the age that serious ballerinas have to think about upping their training schedule. A career in dance can be incredibly short, so you have to mould and strengthen your body while you are still young and agile. And there’s nothing in the world I want more than to be a dancer. I already spend every spare moment I have in the studio each week, not including my own practice. Every Sunday, my dad reluctantly takes me to the studio and waits for hours on end while I practise my routines and perfect my technique. Well, I say ‘reluctantly’, because he grumbles half-heartedly as we make our way to the studio after his busy week working away from home. But I know he secretly loves our little training sessions; I think at times he feels like he’s training a football player. And his knowledge in that area is second to none.
My life is dance, and the only way I know I can make my dreams a reality is to leave my family home in Port Macquarie to train and study dance full-time, 8.30 am to 3.30 pm, five to six days a week, with the end goal of obtaining a Diploma of Dance and Performance. I know that accepting a place at one of Australia’s most elite dance training colleges—The National College of Dance in Newcastle—is the path I need to take. The college is a three-hour car trip south of my home, but out of the goodness of her heart, my nan is moving from her home in Tuncurry, away from my pop, to come and look after me in Newcastle. My parents always support anything I want to do, but they have to think about Phoebe, who is only six, and Zac, who is doing his Higher School Certificate. So it’s been decided that I’ll live with my nan for the first year, then my parents will move to Newcastle too.
I’ve spent half of Year Eight travelling across the countryside for dance competitions, ballet exams and workshops to further my training. The times I’m at school, I cram everything in, scrambling to stay on top of all the work I’ve missed. Surprisingly, I actually maintain pretty good grades, but it’s not easy.
So it’s time for me to take the next step.
Katy already knows I’m leaving. In fact, she’s told me every day for a month that she hates me for leaving her, that she won’t be able to survive at school without me. But after a lot of tears, she’s finally accepted that staying in school won’t work for me. I was born to dance. I’m an athlete. An artist. A performer.
I still haven’t told my other friends, and along with leaving my family, leaving them is the hardest part of my decision.
I’m a little bit of a coward when it comes to goodbyes, preferring to shove my emotions deep into my soul so I can pretend they don’t affect me. I don’t know about the viability of that strategy, but I’d rather focus on the exciting things my future holds. And I just know that dance is the path I’m supposed to take.
* * *
It’s the last week of school, and the time has come to say my goodbyes.
Standing at the top of the hill, I can see the dew on the grass disappearing as the morning sun comes up over classrooms and lands right on the faces of my girlfriends, all huddled together in a circle on the basketball courts. I’m going to miss seeing them each morning. I’m even going to miss hearing them chatter about their fun-filled weekend activities, none of which I ever attend. They’ve been a welcome escape from the dance world, a breath of fresh air, and given me the space I’ve needed to forget about my hectic schedule and turn my mind instead to who’s dating whom in the schoolyard.
Gathering myself, I run down the hill to meet them, and we do our usual morning hugs and hellos.
‘So,’ I say. ‘I have some news.’
Katy’s standing right beside me. She hasn’t got to my hair yet; she knows this is going to be a hard day for me.
I try to make my announcement lightly, like it’s no big deal. So I deliver it super quick. ‘Ah, so, um, I am moving to Newcastle next year to go and dance full-time.’ Then I crack a joke about my intellect staying forever at a Year-Eight level and reassure them that I’ll come back to visit.
But they know me too well. Tears stream down their faces as they smother me with hugs and tell me they’re going to miss me, but are so excited for me. It’s strange, but I don’t think I expected this reaction, even though they’re my closest friends. For years, they’ve been upset with me for missing their birthday parties and not turning up to their hangouts because I always have dance. But I let them shower me with love and listen to their words of admiration about how I am making them proud. It feeds my soul, and that’s all I’m searching for.
Afterwards, Katy grabs my arm and drags me to the silver seats that line the outside of the classrooms.
‘You sure you want to leave little old Port Macquarie and move to a big city?’ She takes my hands in hers, and my heart sinks. I thought we had both already come to terms with me leaving. Then Katy’s mouth starts to twist until her lips break apart and a cackle escapes her. ‘Clo, it’s okay—I was just joking.’ She throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight. ‘Crazy girl. I really am excited for you. I’ve seen how hard you work, and I know you’re going to do amazing things,’ she says, almost squeezing the life out of me. Trying not to cry, I kiss her on the cheek, before jumping up and setting off in the direction of the classrooms.
News spreads fast in this school, and I’m thankful that my weekend escapade has been overshadowed by my new adventure as other friends and people I don’t even know come up to congratulate me. I even get an awkward, ‘Hey, congrats,’ from Caleb as he walks past me. I’m glad to learn that the boy who gave me my first kiss actually has a voice.
I race up the two flights of stairs to my Maths classroom and knock on the door, wide eyed and grinning from ear to ear. So is Mr Carney when he opens the door.
Katy and I shared first place in a Maths exam, and our teacher was so impressed (and perhaps quietly relieved that the most talkative girls in the class had finally had a breakthrough) that he decided to give us a reward: a chocolate bar. So I’m here to claim my winnings.
In one big breath, I rattle off my big plans to move to Newcastle to pursue a career in dance. When I’m finished, my eyes feel like they’re bursting out of their sockets with excitement.
My teacher stares down at me through his square, silver glasses, and the blood visibly drains from his face. He looks angry. Or disappointed. ‘What a stupid idea,’ he says. My face drops and my insides start to ache as he continues to spit disapproving words. ‘What happens if you break a leg? You need a proper education. Dance is not a real job.’
My legs don’t move and I start to stutter. Struggling to fight back tears, I tell him with a shaky voice that I have everything under control. Perhaps he’s mad because he has worked so hard with me this year to get good results, and he thinks I’m throwing away my education. Which I’m not. I’m still going to get an education. Just not in a school. I’m going to dance all day and study by distance education at night. I want to tell him that I will be living with my nan and she’s an ex-principal, so she will be the perfect homeschool teacher. I want to tell him that I’ve got all the support of my family and friends, that I won’t be a failure.
But I can’t. He’s made me feel so small and insignificant that all these thoughts get jumbled up in my head along with my insecurities that I might never be able achieve my dream, and all the things I want to tell him never make it out into the world.
It takes me a long time to overcome the fear and uncertainties Mr Carney planted in me, but deep in my heart, I know this is the right decision for me. I can’t see how I will ever make it as a dancer any other way.
CHAPTER THREE<
br />
A typical day
FEBRUARY 2008
Two years have passed, and I’ve reached my final year as a full-time Diploma of Dance student. My biggest year yet. Looking back, I can’t believe how much I have grown and changed. My first year away from home was incredibly difficult. I no longer woke up to my baby sister playing with her toys in the room we shared. I could no longer enjoy a little morning banter with Zac, and I didn’t have my parents right next to me encouraging me to keep going. I missed my old life terribly, but I was able to experience a little piece of home each time Katy travelled down from Port Macquarie to see me. She never failed to brighten up my life with her wild adventures and scandalous stories.
During that first year away, my nan created a warm and loving home environment, and not a day went by that I didn’t have a home-cooked meal placed in front of me. A pile of schoolwork would always be set out with detailed notes from her to help me stay on track with my education after a big day of dance. She would sit with me for hours and coach me through my homeschooling before taking me to the park after I would insist on trying to run laps for my cardiovascular fitness. Running is the worst. But I’d always high-five Nan after every lap.
The following year, my whole family made the move to Newcastle after Zac finished his HSC. My parents grew up here, so it was just like coming home for them. Our new home buzzed with life and chaos once more. Zac went to university, Phoebe joined a performing arts school and I had my entire family surrounding me and supporting me as I completed my Certificate IV in Dance and Performance.
Training at an elite level for two years has shaped my body into something far greater than I could have ever imagined. The muscle definition supporting my small frame has helped me rapidly reach my dance goals sooner than I expected and I’m on my way to finally tackling my Diploma of Dance with the strong and precise technique I’ve always dreamed of having.
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