by Robyn Bavati
Adam shrugged. “I wouldn’t have even sent them if you’d just told me yourself. You never used to keep secrets from me.”
“Get a life,” she shouted. “And don’t you dare—”
Tell anyone, she was about to say, when Adam interrupted with, “Relax, will you? I just wanted you to know I know.”
Suddenly, it was as if he’d flicked a switch, and voice in her head said, Hang on a minute—what does he know?
Keeping her voice light, Simone asked calmly, “What is it that you think you know?”
“That you’ve got a boyfriend.” Adam spoke in a childish, singsong tone.
Simone exhaled, only vaguely aware she’d been holding her breath. “What makes you think that?”
Adam paused before admitting, “I followed you … twice to Luna Park and the beach, and once to the botanical gardens.”
“You followed me?”
“I was mad at you.” Once again, a flash of guilt crossed his features.
“Mad at me, why?”
Adam shuffled his feet, avoiding her gaze. “You’ve been different ever since you got back from that summer dance course,” he said at last.
Simone gulped air. “Different how?”
Now it was Adam’s voice that shook. “You hardly ever share your music with me anymore, or grab the ball when I’m shooting goals. You never come bike riding with me, or hang out in my room. You … you’ve been ignoring me,” he said. “It’s like you don’t care.”
By the time he’d finished speaking, Simone’s anger had subsided. A flush of shame crept over her cheeks.
“And I’m not the only one who’s noticed,” Adam continued. “I heard Mum and Dad talking about how you’ve changed.”
Simone stiffened. “What did they say?”
Adam sniffed, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They think you’re quieter and more withdrawn. But they’re glad you’re reading more and taking your schoolwork more seriously.”
“They said that?”
“Yeah.”
“In front of you?”
“Not exactly.”
“So, you were eavesdropping?”
“No, I was standing outside their bedroom door.”
The corners of Simone’s mouth curled up in amusement.
“What’s so funny?” Adam said.
“Never mind. Look, I’m sorry I haven’t hung out with you more. It’s just that I’ve had a lot on my mind. But still,” she said, her voice severe, “you had no right to spy on me.”
“Sorry,” said Adam, looking sheepish.
“And about that boyfriend you’re so sure I have? He’s not my boyfriend anymore. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Anyway, what makes you think I was keeping him secret?”
“He never hangs out with you and your friends.”
“So?” Simone asked, folding her arms. “Why would I keep a boyfriend secret?”
“If he wasn’t a secret, then why were you so freaked out when I threatened to tell?”
Simone narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t,” she said, beginning to seethe.
“You just said you were.”
Simone shook her head. “It wasn’t the thought of people knowing I had a boyfriend that freaked me out—it was the idea of some psycho-stranger knowing something about me.” She prodded his arm, none too gently. “There’s such a thing as privacy, Adam. What you did was stalker-like and creepy. It was a really crappy thing to do.”
“Sorry,” said Adam, but Simone knew he wasn’t entirely to blame. He’d wanted her company and she’d denied him. She’d been too self-absorbed to give him time, or find out what he was really like. She could only hope her oversight wouldn’t effect his relationship with Hannah in the future.
“Apology accepted,” said Simone, “as long as you never, ever do that again.”
forty-seven
The end-of-term concert at the VSD was underway. The Year Sevens, Eights, and Nines had already performed, and as the Year Nine dancers completed their final movements, the lights in the theater came on and Mr. Dixon walked onto the stage.
He coughed into the microphone and began: “Tonight, we’re thrilled to bring you a very special performance.” He was modulating his voice like a professional host, with just the right amount of tension and excitement. “Those of you who have been to our previous productions will no doubt remember the very accomplished Simone Stark, who has been with us since Year Seven.”
An expectant hush came over the audience. Many leaned forward in their seats as Mr. Dixon continued: “Now, for the very first time … ” The suspense in the theater was almost palpable—not a breath could be heard. “For the very first time, the lovely and very talented Simone will be dancing a duo with her equally lovely and talented”—here he paused for full effect—“twin sister, Hannah Segal.”
While Mr. Dixon was speaking, Hannah and Simone stood in the darkened wings, watching their parents. Harriet’s hand flew to her mouth, while beside her an astonished Manfred turned to Vanessa, whose dropped-jaw expression revealed her shock. Adam was perched on the edge of his seat, open-mouthed.
In the row behind them, eyes wide with disbelief, sat Sam, Liam, and—yes—even Tom, as well as Dani and some other girls from Carmel College.
“I’ve never been this nervous,” Hannah said, clasping her sister’s hand. “How about you, Sim? Are you okay?”
Simone took a deep and calming breath. “Yes,” she said, and oddly, she was. This was the last time she’d ever have to dance onstage, and the knowledge freed her; her old anxiety just fell away. She would give it her all, because she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not anymore. “It’s my final gift,” she murmured softly.
“To who?” asked Hannah.
Simone glanced at her sister. “To myself, to you, and to my mother.”
“Which mother?” Hannah whispered.
“All three of them,” Simone said with a smile.
Onstage, Mr. Dixon was just completing his introduction. “Together, these two remarkable dancers will perform Mirror Pirouette, a unique and original work of art.” As he spoke, the lights in the theater gradually dimmed. “And now, please welcome: Hannah and Simone.”
There was a burst of applause, followed by a collective gasp from the audience as the two identical girls stepped onto the stage.
Then the music began, the song chosen a rare version of “Man in the Mirror” sung by a female singer who belted out the lyrics and changed the word “man” to “gal.”
The dance itself was a powerful mix of neoclassical and contemporary. The twins wore identical skin-colored bodysuits and, surprisingly, each girl wore only a single pointe shoe. Together the pointe shoes formed a pair, and when the two dancers stood in certain positions and at particular angles, they appeared to be one.
After building in intensity, the dance culminated in a series of pirouettes—Simone balancing on her right foot, Hannah on her left. At times the girls seemed to replace each other, define each other, become each other …
Their dancing was exactly matched, for Hannah’s technique had improved beyond measure and Simone’s dancing had lost some of its tension. With their pure energy and focus, they were simply mesmerizing, and as they lost themselves inside the dance, the audience too was lost, absorbed in the unfolding story.
As they spun, leapt, and flew across the stage, Simone’s love of dance came flooding back, and she remembered what it was that had drawn her to it in the first place. She was grateful that her final performance was one of joy instead of heartache.
As for Hannah, she hoped her parents would see that this was just the beginning.
And now the dance was over and they were facing the audience, hand in hand, taking their bows. The audience was on its feet, whooping, whistling, demanding more. Simone and Hannah threw their arms around each o
ther, then once again bowed to the audience, and the clapping and cheering continued even after they’d left the stage. Never before had either girl experienced such wild applause.
forty-eight
Though the dance had been a huge success, the hardest part of the evening was still ahead. Back in the dressing room, the girls whipped off their costumes and removed their makeup. The time had come to face their parents.
Harriet was already standing in one corner of the green room, looking overwhelmed and dazed. Miss Sabto had gone to find Manfred and Vanessa and bring them backstage.
Simone took a deep breath and turned to Hannah. “Here goes,” she said.
Hannah gave Simone a reassuring hug. “I’ll come with you, if you like.”
“No,” said Simone. “I have to do this alone.”
Simone walked across the green room carpet until she was standing in front of her mother. “Mum?”
“I think I’m in shock,” Harriet said.
“I know. I would be, too.”
“That performance was breathtaking. And Miss Sabto was right—it certainly was a huge surprise. How long have you known you had a twin?”
“Since Candance—that’s where we met.”
“Since Candance? But … why did you keep it a secret? When can I meet her?”
Simone held her mother’s gaze. “You already have.”
Harriet looked even more confused. “You mean … ?”
“She’s been living with you the entire term.”
Harriet let out a tiny gasp. “Then where were you?”
“At Hannah’s house.”
“You went to live with total strangers?”
“Not strangers. Hannah’s family.”
Harriet stumbled, and Simone led her over to a chair and sat her down.
“You swapped places with Hannah? But why?” asked Harriet.
Tell her. Just tell her, thought Simone.
“I can’t be a dancer,” she explained. “And I couldn’t face going back to the VSD, or home where I’d have to lie to you daily or else disappoint you.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but Simone pressed on. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be who you wanted me to be. I’m not sure you can understand this, but pretending to be Hannah was the only way I could really be me.”
Harriet fought to regain her composure. “What does that mean, you can’t be a dancer?”
“I just … can’t,” said Simone. “I always had such terrible stage fright. I used to throw up before every performance, and I was so exhausted all the time.”
Harriet was momentarily lost for words. Then she rallied. “We can fix that,” she said. “There are ways to cope with stage fright. We can get you some counseling. Make sure you get the rest you need.”
“No,” said Simone, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I won’t be a dancer.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen yourself onstage. You always look so composed and professional.”
“It’s a performance, Mum. It isn’t real.”
Harriet seemed not to have heard. “You’re a wonderful dancer. And after all those years of training—”
“So I learned to dance,” Simone said bravely. “Do you think that all kids who study math should become mathematicians?”
“No, of course not, but it’s not the same.”
“Yes, it is,” Simone insisted. “I understand why you raised me to become a dancer. You did it out of respect for my birth mother, as a kind of tribute—you thought there’d be no one else to follow in her footsteps. But there is—there’s Hannah. She wants to be a professional dancer.”
“You could both be dancers,” Harriet said.
“No!” Simone’s voice was choked with frustration. “You’re still not listening.”
“I am, Simone. And I still say you can have a wonderful life and a brilliant career. That’s all I want … all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
“Why?” asked Simone, years of resentment surfacing. “Because it would reflect well on you?”
Harriet flinched. “That’s not fair, Simone.”
“Isn’t it?” Simone’s voice had risen in anguish. “I hate disappointing you,” she said, “but I wish you could love me for who I am, not what I do.”
“I do!” cried Harriet. “Of course I do.”
A charged silence split the air as Harriet tried to come to grips with what Simone had said. “I do love you, Simone,” she repeated. “I’m … very sorry you had to doubt it.” Finally, she reached for her daughter and Simone let out a small sob as her mother embraced her. “I still can’t believe you’ve been living with strangers.”
“They’re wonderful people.” Simone sniffed and blew her nose. “They were sitting next to you, you know.”
“Really, but how—”
“Hannah bought the tickets,” Simone continued. “I told her parents and some of her friends that the VSD had invited selected students from other dance schools to perform, and that I—meaning Hannah—was one of them. They all believed me.”
“Well, even I couldn’t tell you apart … not in real life, and not onstage. That was an amazing performance, and you were both fantastic. You’ve obviously kept up your dancing … ”
Simone nodded. “Three times a week. At Hannah’s dance school. And Miss Sabto’s been coaching us the last few Sunday afternoons. Ever since she learned the truth. It was Hannah’s idea that we dance together—she wanted to show her parents what she could do.”
Harriet frowned. “I’m shocked the school colluded with you.”
“They almost didn’t,” said Simone. “They only found out three weeks ago. Hannah begged them not to tell you till the end of term.”
“Hang on,” said Harriet. “If you haven’t been at the VSD, then where have you been going to school?”
“Carmel College. It’s a really academic school, and I hope you’ll let me stay there for now. It would be awful to change schools mid-year.”
Harriet lifted a shaky hand to her head and smoothed down her hair.
“Mum, are you okay?”
Harriet sighed. “I suppose I am. It’s just—it all seems so unbelievable. And finding out I haven’t had you at home all this time … I feel as if I’ve been living a kind of lie.”
“How do you think I felt when I first found out I had a twin?”
Harriet squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I can only imagine. I wonder why the adoption agency never told us … ”
“I bet Hannah’s parents are wondering the same thing.” As Simone spoke, the Segal family entered the green room. “Here they are now. They’re coming to meet you.”
forty-nine
After Simone had entered the green room, Hannah went looking for her family. She was still fired up with adrenaline, still basking in the memory of that wild applause. What had her parents thought of the performance? It had been too dark in the audience to make out their faces when she and Simone had taken their bows, but surely they’d been bowled over by it. Surely they’d understand her now, and forgive her everything.
But what if, instead of seeing what a gifted dancer she was and how wonderful it was that she had a twin, all they could see was the deception?
It was a sobering thought, but when she found her parents outside with Miss Sabto, about to enter the stage door, she ran towards them. “Mum! Dad!” At the sound of her voice, Vanessa and Manfred turned toward her. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, flinging her arms around each in turn. “Wait, you do know that—”
“It’s been months since we’ve seen you? Of course,” said Manfred. “I think we figured it out almost as soon as we saw you both onstage.”
“And your teacher confirmed it,” Vanessa agreed.
Hannah shot Miss Sabto a grateful smile.
“Now it makes sense,” Vanessa was saying. “The p
ierced ears, the interest in reading, the switch to French … And oh, that poor dentist!”
Despite her anguish, Hannah couldn’t help but laugh.
“You and Simone might be genetically identical,” Manfred continued where his wife left off, “but you’re not entirely interchangeable. You’re two different people.”
“Then you’re not angry?”
“We’re your family, Hannah my love.” Oh, it was wonderful to hear her father call her that. “The day we adopted you, we signed on to love you no matter what.”
Tears sprang to Hannah’s eyes and she blinked them away.
“So,” said Vanessa gently, “what’s it been like at the VSD?”
Hannah thought of all the ups and downs, the triumphs and the disappointments. Ultimately, it had all been worth it, and she knew without a doubt that despite the hardships and the challenges, this was where her future lay. “It’s great to be in a place where dance is taken seriously. But I was pretty homesick,” she admitted. “What did you think of that performance?”
“We could hardly believe our eyes when we saw the two of you onstage,” Vanessa said. “That dance was magnificent.”
“It was,” Manfred agreed. “I only wish we could watch it again.”
“You can,” said Miss Sabto. “We thought the dance was so unique we’ve already filmed it and put it on YouTube—a bit of publicity for the school.”
Vanessa put her arm around Hannah’s shoulder and pulled her close. “I can’t wait to watch that performance again. Maybe next time I’ll be able to work out which dancer is you—though you were both superb. I was almost convinced you could become a professional dancer … ”
“She could,” said Miss Sabto, “if you let her stay at this school.”
“So, can I?” begged Hannah. “Can I stay?”
Manfred and Vanessa exchanged a look. “Dance is a tough career path,” Manfred began, “and there’s no guarantee you’ll even succeed.”
“Dad’s right,” said Vanessa. “It’s such a competitive field. And the slightest injury can end a career.”