by Robyn Bavati
Hannah showed Miss Sabto a photo of her and Simone, taken at Candance and stored on her phone. When she finished explaining how she and Simone had met and discovered they were identical twins, the teacher still looked a little dazed.
Hannah went over the story again, this time more slowly, adding bits of information she’d overlooked in her first, rushed attempt to get it all out.
“Weren’t your parents … suspicious?” Miss Sabto finally asked.
“Not really,” said Hannah. “Simone and I swapped as much information as we could about each other’s lives. And we’re pretty sure our parents didn’t know they’d adopted an identical twin.”
“Still, don’t you think swapping lives was rather a … drastic thing to do?”
“I do,” said Hannah, her face twisting in anguish. “But Simone was desperate to leave the VSD, and I’d always wanted to come here. I thought if I was confident enough, and worked hard enough, I could prove I belonged.” Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes. “But now everything’s gone wrong and … ” The tears slid unhindered down her cheeks.
Miss Sabto placed a comforting hand on Hannah’s shoulder and produced a box of tissues. Hannah took a few, then blew her nose and wiped her face before continuing. “I miss my family so much, and I don’t know if they’ll ever forgive me. And now you’re going to ask me to leave, and I—”
“Hang on a minute,” said Miss Sabto. “Who said anything about leaving?”
Hannah choked back a sob. “I heard you. I was passing the staff room, and—”
“You jumped to conclusions.” Miss Sabto’s voice was an odd mixture of accusation and reassurance. “That conversation had nothing to do with you. I was talking about another student.”
“You were? But this whole week, I—”
“Performed poorly, I know. I’m aware of the recent friction between you and … certain members of the class. But dancers are only human, and you’re still a student, a teenager. I can’t expect the same degree of professionalism from you as I would from an adult dancer, despite what Mr. Dixon might say. Hannah,” said Miss Sabto, “you clearly have talent.”
Hannah felt a glimmer of hope. “You really think so?”
“I do,” said the teacher.
“But … I’ll never be as good a dancer as Simone.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Miss Sabto countered. “You have the same physical facility as Simone, and you’ve just about attained the standard Simone had reached by the end of last year. But technique is only part of what makes a dancer, and what you lack in technique, you make up for in passion.”
Hannah felt her spirits lifting.
“I’ll admit I had some concerns at the start of the year,” Miss Sabto continued. “At the end of Year Nine, you—or, should I say, Simone—left here a skilful, disciplined dancer, and you returned so different. But after your performance at the Dance Spectacular, your future here was never in question. There’s a joyousness about your dancing, Hannah, that Simone never had. She was a perfectionist, but she never seemed happy, never had your animation.” Miss Sabto paused, remembering her former pupil. “How is she doing?”
“She’s fine,” said Hannah.
“I’ll need to confirm that,” said Miss Sabto. “She’s still officially enrolled in this school, and the VSD has a duty of care. I have to be sure that she’s okay. In the meantime, we’d better go and tell Mr. Collins what you’ve just told me. Then we’ll call your parents, and—”
“No!” cried Hannah.
“I beg your pardon?”
“No parents. Please,” said Hannah, clearly distressed. “I’m just … not sure how they’ll react.”
Miss Sabto sighed. “We’ll see the principal first and have a chat about how best to handle the situation. But I’m sure he’ll agree they’ll have to be told.”
The break was over, and as Hannah and Miss Sabto left the classroom, a stream of students filed in. Hannah went to the bathroom to wash her face and drink some water, while Miss Sabto went in search of Mr. Collins. In the time it took to locate him, Hannah had a chance to think.
Now the three of them were sitting in the principal’s office and Mr. Collins was listening to Hannah, open-mouthed.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured when Hannah stopped speaking. He sat up straighter in his chair, then turned to Miss Sabto. “You had no idea she wasn’t Simone?”
“None at all. At first I wondered why her technique wasn’t as strong as it used to be, but then she showed such rapid improvement. And if her dancing lacked polish, it was certainly heartfelt.”
“So you’re pleased with her progress?” the principal asked.
“Absolutely. There was always a kind of tension in Simone’s dancing, as if she were holding back. This year she seemed freer and more relaxed.” Miss Sabto pulled a sheet of paper from a manila folder. “Here are some comments her teachers have written for the upcoming interviews. Jenny Hill: ‘Simone is an accomplished jazz and hip-hop dancer with a vibrant and dynamic quality to her dancing.’ Roderick Dixon: ‘Simone is working well in both contemporary and pas-de-deux. She is a natural dancer with an exquisite line.’ And we’ve talked about her in the staff room,” Miss Sabto continued. “We all agree she dances with more abandon than she used to. And she seems happier, too. She—Simone—looked a bit miserable at the end of last year, though we had no idea she wanted to leave.”
Hannah chewed her lip worriedly as Miss Sabto and the principal discussed her progress. Then Mr. Collins turned to face her.
“I’ve had a quick look at the progress reports for your academic subjects,” he said. “Your marks in French are slightly lower than expected—though still above average. Other than that, you’re doing fine.”
Hannah twisted her hands in her lap. Now that Miss Sabto had acknowledged her potential, she burned with a renewed determination to keep her place at the VSD, no matter how unpopular she might be. “So … do you think I can stay?”
The principal tugged at his tie and nodded briefly. “When I talk to your parents, I’ll recommend that you do.” He paused, and, noting the concern on Hannah’s face, continued kindly. “We can also strongly advise Ms. Stark that Simone should leave. We’ll speak to your parents first, shall we?”
“No,” said Hannah. “You can’t. I mean, I don’t want you speaking to my parents, or to Harriet. At least, not today. And not on the phone.”
Mr. Collins tugged at his tie again. “I understand you have some concerns about how to explain this … situation to your parents. It’s a delicate matter. But do you have any alternate suggestions?”
“Actually, yes,” said Hannah. “I have an idea.”
forty-four
As the train sped toward the city, Simone glimpsed the unfamiliar suburbs rushing by. Since it was Sunday, there weren’t many people on the train. The VSD, too, would be fairly deserted.
At the back of the carriage, a couple were kissing, and Simone recalled the precious afternoons she’d spent with Tom. A pang went through her. At least the next few Sunday afternoons would be taken care of—she’d be too busy to think of Tom.
The train pulled up at Flinders Street Station. Simone got off and walked toward the VSD. She couldn’t wait to see Hannah—in fact, the best part about her sister’s plan was the fact that they’d get to see each other every Sunday for the next few weeks.
It had taken all Hannah’s powers of persuasion to convince Miss Sabto and the principal to go along with this idea. In the end, they’d agreed, though not without reservations. Simone too had reservations, though for different reasons. Still, she wouldn’t back out.
She wondered what it would be like to see Miss Sabto again. She’d always liked Miss Sabto—the ballet teacher had always been kind—but then, Simone had been a model pupil. Until this year, she’d never missed a single lesson unless she’d been sick or injured. Now she had in
effect been playing truant for weeks. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help feeling a bit apprehensive.
Simone got off the train and rounded the corner to the VSD. Hannah was already at the entrance to the campus, and when the twins caught sight of each other, they ran toward each other, their faces wreathed in identical smiles. They wrapped their arms around each other and for a moment, all else was forgotten.
Apart from an initial, awkward moment, the reunion with Miss Sabto was surprisingly easy. “You look wonderful, Simone,” the teacher said as she embraced her. “What have you been doing these last few months? Hannah’s told me, of course, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
As they crossed the courtyard, Simone spoke and Miss Sabto listened.
“Your new lifestyle must agree with you,” Miss Sabto said when Simone had finished. “You really do seem well. You looked a bit peaky at the end of last year. I had no idea what you’d been going through.”
“I know,” said Simone.
“We staff do what we can to make sure our students are happy,” the teacher continued, “but we’re not mind readers. If you don’t tell us you’re having problems, we just can’t know.”
“No, of course not,” said Simone. She thought of all the kids who starved themselves, or binged and then took laxatives, or threw up deliberately. The staff rarely knew—there was an unspoken pact to keep it a secret.
“Anyway,” Miss Sabto continued, “are you okay with Hannah’s plan?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You don’t think it’s a bit … cheeky?”
“It is, a bit,” Simone admitted. “But it’s no worse than anything we’ve already done.”
Miss Sabto gave Simone a wry smile. “You really are the spitting image of each other,” she said, looking from Simone to Hannah and back again. “Still, I can’t decide if what you did was very brave or very foolish … ”
Not brave, thought Simone. Well, perhaps changing places with Hannah was a little brave, but it was mainly cowardly. She’d been so afraid of confrontation that she’d lacked the courage to face her own mother—to speak up for herself and make a stand.
She vowed that would change.
“Either way,” Miss Sabto was saying, “I can appreciate why you acted as you did.” She gave Simone another hug.
Simone felt a rush of affection for the compassionate teacher. Perhaps she could have confided in her all along.
Despite her faith in Miss Sabto, Simone became increasingly anxious as the end of term drew near. She still had no idea who’d sent those dreaded texts, and whether that person meant to expose them.
She and Hannah were so close to getting what they wanted—but everything depended on no one from home or school knowing the truth until she and Hannah were ready to tell them.
forty-five
Hannah watched Harriet apply a second coat of lipstick and smooth down her hair.
“How do I look?” Harriet asked as she pulled on her jacket.
“Fine,” said Hannah. “It’s just a boring parent-teacher interview—it’s not like you’re going to the Oscars.” Strange how Harriet was behaving as if she were the one who had to make a good impression.
In the car, while Harriet hummed along to the radio, Hannah sat quietly with her fingers crossed, hoping the evening would be uneventful. It was lucky that both Miss Sabto and Mr. Collins were such good sports and had agreed to keep her secret just a little longer. Even so, it would be all too easy for them to inadvertently give the game away.
Simone had warned Hannah that Harriet took the parent-
teacher interviews very seriously. Still, Miss Sabto had promised to be diplomatic. Hannah would just have to trust her.
The car ride was over quickly. Harriet maneuvered the car into a tiny spot and turned to Hannah. “Right,” she said. “Let’s see what your teachers have to say.”
The interviews were spread over five different classrooms, with three or four teachers assigned to each, their names on the door. With Hannah in tow, Harriet made a beeline for the classroom furthest from the main entrance, where she knew Miss Sabto would be waiting.
The teacher was deep in discussion with Julie and her parents, and two other students were already waiting.
“We could come back later,” Hannah suggested. “Go see one of the other teachers in the meantime?”
“And miss our turn? No,” said Harriet. “We’ll see Miss Sabto first. Who’s that girl talking to her? Is she in your class?
Hannah nodded. “She’s new this year.”
“Is she any good?”
Hannah groaned. “Of course she is. That’s why she got in.”
“Don’t make that face. I was only asking.” Harriet tapped her foot as she waited first for Julie and then for the other two students to finish their consultation.
At last Miss Sabto called them over. She smiled at Harriet. “Ms. Stark,” she said, “good to see you again.”
Harriet gave a tight smile in return. “So,” she asked, in a down-to-business tone of voice, “how is she doing?”
Miss Sabto glanced down at her notes, then up at Harriet. “How do you think she’s doing?”
Harriet frowned. “I’m not the one who sees her in class. Why? Is something wrong?”
Miss Sabto quickly shook her head. “Simone is, as you know, a wonderful dancer … ”
“But?”
“As talented as your daughter is,” the teacher said, “I think I should warn you that dancing as a career is not for everyone. It’s tough, emotionally and physically exhausting, and highly competitive.”
“And you don’t think she can handle it?”
“That’s not what I said.” Miss Sabto paused, choosing her words with care. “This school exists for two reasons,” she continued. “One is to nurture talent. The other is to give our students options. All our students have potential, but only about one-third of them go on to become professional dancers, and we really don’t mind, just as long as they’re all happy and fulfilled.” The teacher’s tone was sympathetic but firm. “The goal of this school is not to produce dancers at any cost, but to empower our students.”
“I’m not sure I understand you,” Harriet said. “Are you saying that Simone lacks the drive to become a professional?”
“No, I’m saying she may not choose to make that commitment. And that’s okay.”
“Okay? After all these years of training?”
“Yes,” said Miss Sabto. “Education is never a waste. Ms. Stark, don’t count on your daughter becoming a dancer—not because it isn’t possible, but because it may not happen. We say this to all our students’ parents. Your job, like ours, is to support them in their choices.”
Harriet looked peeved and did not reply.
“Are you coming to next week’s concert?” the teacher continued.
“Of course,” said Harriet.
“Prepare yourself,” said Miss Sabto, smiling. “You may be in for a surprise.”
It was dark by the time they left the school, and a tense silence filled the car.
“What an annoying parent-teacher interview,” Harriet began. “Miss Sabto didn’t say anything informative about your dancing, and I didn’t like the implications of what she did say.”
Hannah sat still in the passenger seat and didn’t reply.
“There was something … not quite right about her,” Harriet continued. “She was almost deliberately cagey.” She braked sharply as the light turned red. “And what did she mean when she said I might be in for a surprise?”
Hannah said nothing.
“Simone? What surprise was she referring to?”
Harriet had turned to face her. Hannah looked her in the eye and aimed for a lightness of tone she hoped would mask her apprehension. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?”
The light turned green. Their car picked up speed as it crossed the intersection.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Harriet said. “Something important, to do with school.”
Hannah sighed. “Please, Mum, can we talk about it after the concert, over the holidays? It’s only a week till the end of term.”
forty-six
As it turned out, Adam had been right to worry about the parent-teacher interviews. He’d been misbehaving in most of his classes, and while Simone sat reading in her room, the argument downstairs was becoming louder. The words “consequences” and “withdrawal of privileges” floated up the stairwell as Manfred and Vanessa remonstrated with their only son.
Later that evening, the defeated sound of his footsteps was followed by the creak of the door as he entered his bedroom. Would he let her console him? Having lived in fear of disappointing her mother, Simone knew how awful he must feel. And though he mightn’t want her sympathy, she should at least offer some support.
The occasion seemed to call for silence, and she tiptoed quietly through the open door of Adam’s room.
He didn’t hear her as she came up behind him; he was too busy texting into his phone:
Wtch out! Ur secret ISNT safe with me!
Simone froze, disbelieving, as he pressed send.
In the next room, Hannah’s phone beeped a moment later.
“Adam!”
He swung around, his face flushed with guilt.
“You! ” she shouted, her face red with anger.
“What?” said Adam, his expression defiant.
She pulled him into Hannah’s room, grabbed the phone, and showed him the message:
Wtch out! Ur secret ISNT safe with me!
“You did this,” Simone said, her voice shaking. “You sent this text. You sent all those texts.”
“What if I did?”
“I should throttle you,” she yelled. “Do you know how much they freaked me out?”