Dance Academy Anywhere but Here

by Bruno Bouchet

  Lucas is the reason the hotel rooms of Europe were bearable. His parents are diplomats so he’s probably the only person who has travelled around more than me, though he’s eighteen so he does have two years head start.

  He is amazing. There isn’t a city in the world where he doesn’t know where there’s a great party, a brilliant bar or an awesome band playing. His life is pure party and I think he’s probably an even bigger rule breaker than me. Best of all, my mother took an instant dislike to him. That makes him just about perfect in my book. He’s my very own Diplobrat.

  When I get to the Academy boarding house with Lucas in tow, I discover he’s not my only good news for the start of the new semester. Rumi, the roommate of the foul smells and peculiar habits, didn’t make the cut at the end of semester one. There’s now an empty bed in my room and it’s got Tara’s name on it.

  I drag Lucas down to the Academy to find Tara and share glad tidings. She’s already on her toes in one of the practice rooms doing barre work. If I didn’t know her better, I’d call in Bunheads Anonymous for an intervention. Semester hasn’t even officially started and she’s already practising.

  ‘Hi honey, I’m home!’ I shout out as I enter. Tara waddles over to me flatfooted and almost goes derriere over pointe shoe. Her questions fly out. ‘When did you get back? Was Europe amazing? Did Natasha really ground you in the hotel?’

  I tell her about Rumi and introduce Diplobrat just before Miss Raine sweeps in and ‘hopes’ we’ve all been practising during the holidays. Then she announces Tara has a ‘private session’. It’s all way too serious so Lucas and I make a quick getaway. I can see that this semester I’ll have my work cut out for me bringing some light to the heavy dance atmosphere.

  I don’t realise quite how serious things have gotten at the Academy until later when Tara and I are packing her stuff up to move into my room. I’m telling her about Diplobrat.

  ‘His mother’s an attaché case or something. Natasha loathes him. It drove her crazy when he kept turning up.’

  Tara’s acting weird. I’m expecting excited girl talk but I’m not feeling the love from her.

  ‘What? Don’t you like him?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s not that. Miss Raine just gave me the third degree. According to her I can’t hang out with you and be serious about dancing,’ Tara tells me.

  ‘She can’t tell you who to be friends with. What is this – primary school?’

  I totally get that Tara won the scholarship last semester and so needs to ‘focus’ but this is ridiculous.

  Still, I’ve got a horrid feeling that Tara is thinking about taking Miss Raine seriously. On the following day I catch her doing crunches in our room. It’s Sunday, it’s meant to be a day of rest. Clearly it’s time for a fun intervention.

  ‘Cease to crunch, little one. We are going out,’ I tell her.

  ‘Only three sets to go,’ she pants, but I have better things for her to get out of breath over.

  ‘The Kiefers are playing a warm-up gig.’

  Tara stops crunching. I have her attention. The Kiefers are the best band ever.

  ‘The Kiefers!’ she says.

  ‘At a private warehouse, all ages. Our names are on the door.’ I fill in the essential details.

  Tara sags. ‘It’s the first day of term tomorrow, we’ve got Miss Raine classical at 9 am.’

  She’s being way too responsible. I’m not taking it.

  ‘It starts at six. We’ll be back before curfew.’

  ‘We’ll be wrecked,’ she moans. ‘Besides, you’re going with Diplobrat. Why do you need me?’

  ‘You don’t like him,’ I say, wondering if my boyfriend has ruffled her tutu.

  ‘I barely know him,’ she answers carefully.

  ‘Then make an effort.’

  Finally she gives in and I reassure her, ‘When we’re old, we will look back on this as the defining moment of our friendship.’

  When we reach the club, the bouncer is a complete control freak with the door list.

  ‘It says Lucas plus one,’ he says and refuses to let Tara in. I suggest that Tara and I wait while Lucas speaks to his mate Kassim, the manager, but the bouncer says it’s now or never for the plus one.

  ‘We’ll take five minutes. You’re okay with that, aren’t you?’ Lucas says to Tara.

  ‘By myself?’ she asks.

  ‘We’ll sort it,’ I tell her. ‘Five minutes?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be fine. Alone,’ she says. It’s only five minutes so I don’t know what she’s moaning about.

  Inside the club is heaving and it seems like everyone there knows Lucas. For someone who spends half his time overseas, he’s got a major group of friends in Sydney. We look for Kassim to get Tara in the door but every other step we take we get stopped with a, ‘Hi Lucas, you’re back!’

  The five minutes stretches out to ten then twenty and even longer. Lucas is so busy with all his friends that I think he’s forgotten about Tara.

  ‘We have to go back for Tara!’ I remind Lucas.

  He pulls a face.

  ‘Not leaving the friend alone outside!’ I say and drag him back to the door.

  When we get there Tara’s already gone. The bouncer says that her boyfriend collected her, which is bizarre because Ethan’s away on tour. Someone else must have come to pick her up. I feel bad that we left her there, but I did try.

  Lucas drags me back into the club and his hordes of friends.

  We stay out way too late and it’s all for nothing. The Kiefers don’t even show up. I miss curfew and have to climb in our bedroom window. Tara’s bed is right by the window so I carefully try to avoid landing on her and waking her up. Just when I think I’ve got through without disturbing her, my foot catches on the window sill, I squeal and roll right onto her bed. I brace for the scream but nothing comes. Her bed’s empty and hasn’t been slept in.

  Now I panic. Who collected her? What if she was dragged away by a guy the bouncer thought was Tara’s boyfriend but was really some weirdo? I should never have left her.

  Before I call the police and report her missing I realise I should check the rest of the boarding house. Tara must be pretty annoyed with me and might be taking it out on me by sleeping somewhere else. Where would be the one place she could sleep that would get back at me? The one place where she knows there’s an empty bed? It’s not that hard to guess.

  I creep up the stairs to Abigail’s room and find my guess was right. Tara’s asleep in her old bed. She’s sleeping with the enemy, but I can’t really blame her. I did drag her out to a club and then dumped her outside.

  When I see her on the way to class in the morning it’s grovel time. Tara doesn’t say who the mystery boyfriend that collected her was, but I’m in total apology mode so I don’t ask.

  ‘I am sooo sorry. If it makes it better, standing in the queue with you was the most fun I had all night.’

  ‘The Kiefers?’ she asks. I’m relieved. At least she’s still talking to me.

  ‘Never showed. And Diplobrat’s friends are hard work.’

  ‘I think I’m moving back in with Abigail. I feel too bad leaving her alone,’ Tara says.

  ‘Our friendship probably wasn’t gonna survive living together anyway. I belong in small doses.’

  It’s supposed to be a joke to make her feel better but I’ve got a horrible feeling Tara agrees.

  CHAPTER 8

  Another night, another broken curfew, only this one is totally worth it: Harbour Day – more awesome bands than I thought could possibly fit into ten hours at one venue unless I hadn’t personally experienced it. And finally I get to witness the majesty of The Kiefers. They totally killed their set. Amazing.

  Lucas walks me back to the boarding house. It’s way, way past curfew, but that’s what a ground-floor room and an easily opened window are for.

  ‘Genius! Pure, unadulterated, let me die now because I am never going to be this happy ever again, geniosity.’ I’m on a total high.

&nbs
p; ‘I saw them last year in the States, I think they played better then.’ Lucas attempts the downer, but I’m not having it.

  ‘That is so pretentious. You can’t tell me magic didn’t just happen here tonight.’

  He shrugs. ‘They weren’t bad.’

  What? Emotional blackmail is required to bend him to my point of view.

  ‘I’m not kissing you until you admit that was the most amazing music ever played on the entire planet.’

  He gives in. ‘The entire universe.’

  I smile and we start kissing. It’s the perfect end to a totally mind-blowing day. As we kiss everything else fades into the distance – the sound of cars passing, a car pulling up, doors being slammed, footsteps – they’re all a million miles away until there’s a flash of light. Someone’s taken a photo of us.

  I open my eyes and it’s like I’ve woken up in an alternate reality. Miss Raine is standing there with a girl and a suitcase. The girl’s just taken a picture of us with her phone. Where did they come from? I am so busted.

  ‘Please don’t let us disturb you, Katrina,’ Miss Raine says.

  Lucas is dismissed and Miss Raine marches me into the boarding house. The girl who took the photo is following, dragging her suitcase.

  ‘This is well outside curfew,’ Miss Raine gets into her lecture as she storms along towards my room. ‘And don’t think it didn’t escape my attention that you skipped afternoon classes today.’

  ‘It was just jazz. Thought you’d approve.’

  ‘The day is getting close when you’ll discover that the joke is increasingly on you, Katrina.’

  Outside my room, Miss Raine looks at the other girl, wipes a bit of the thunder off her face and says, ‘This is Petra Hoffmann, on exchange from the Berlin Ballet School. She is your new roommate.’

  Petra smiles weakly. I recognise that ‘just got off the plane’ jet-lag smile.

  Miss Raine turns to Petra. ‘Ignore everything Katrina tells you. Welcome to the National Academy,’ she says and leaves us to get acquainted.

  Petra and I stand looking at each other.

  ‘Standard issue. Teachers are the same in Germany,’ she says.

  I’m liking the first impression, but she still needs to pass the challenge of the nest that is my room. I swing the door open. ‘Petra Hoffmann, welcome to Chateau Karamokov.’

  I’m not the tidiest of people. I collect things, pictures, clothes, mess. Somewhere under a pile of clothes is Petra’s bed.

  ‘Just push those clothes off,’ I tell her.

  She looks round the room and doesn’t run screaming back to the airport. That’s a good sign. After parking her suitcase, she notices my collection of feet photos and isn’t put off by the sight of all the dancers’ blisters and bunions. She even inspects the pictures more closely. I’m impressed.

  ‘You can tell everything about someone by their feet,’ she says. ‘How they stand in the world, how they dance, how grounded they are … I collect love.’

  She collects love? Maybe I’m lost in translation on that one, but it sounds just a bit stalker-like. It could be that I’m exhausted. A mind-blowing day followed by a Miss Raine lecture is enough to send anyone into a coma.

  Petra explains as she hands me her phone. ‘More like signs of love … Public Displays of Affection, couples … that sort of thing.’

  The phone has a picture of Lucas and me kissing on the street.

  ‘Sweet. You’ll have to give me a copy, my boyfriend will love that.’

  I lie on my bed, and as I’m looking at Petra’s photos my eyes close and my mind drifts off – from kissing Lucas to Harbour Day and The Kiefers’s awesome set, only I can see a swarm of pointe shoes flying around like pink bats, dive-bombing people. I’m asleep.

  In the morning it’s no surprise that the next Public Display of Affection Petra snaps is Ethan and Tara. Any random photograph around the Academy would probably feature my brother draped over my best friend. I manage to introduce Petra to the love birds just before Mr Kennedy storms past and demands the pleasure of my company in his office.

  I head off after him. Not hard to figure out what this will be about.

  ‘You’re late most days, your teachers tell me you’re working nowhere near your potential and now you decide that Friday afternoons are optional?’ he begins.

  ‘I was looking for inspiration. I’m planning a contemporary piece about young people and their religious attachment to music festivals. It’s very raw.’ All I’ve done is go to a concert, no one’s died, no one’s injured, no countries have been bombed.

  ‘You think this is a joke?’ he glowers. ‘You’re on shaky ground here, Katrina. If I hadn’t known you so long …’

  ‘Don’t treat me any differently because of who my family are,’ I shoot back. I really don’t want the Karamokov dynasty thrown on the table. It’s getting harder and harder to play my role in the legend that is our family. I’m looking at him. I know he ‘has my best interests at heart’ but it’s like I just can’t sit still in his office, in the Academy, or even in my own life. ‘What am I doing here?’ I want to scream but I keep quiet while Mr Kennedy continues.

  ‘I was going to say I know you well enough to realise that detention won’t change your behaviour.’

  He’s right about that.

  ‘One of our ex-students, Gus Walker, graduated from the Academy a few years ago, and has been doing some interesting community work.’

  ‘You must be very proud,’ I comment before I can stop myself.

  Mr Kennedy ignores the dig. ‘You’ll be spending this afternoon, and the next four Saturday afternoons, helping him out.’

  He hands me the address. I’d rather clean out the shoe lockers than spend the afternoon with rowdy kids. I guess Mr Kennedy does know me well when it comes to effective punishments.

  My ‘community service’ doesn’t get off to a great start when I turn up and some brat grabs my vintage sunnies off my head and starts evaluating how much she’d get for them at the pawn shop. Eventually Gus, the graduate doing ‘interesting’ community work, appears and gets her to give them back.

  The kids perform a bit of hip-hop for me. It’s raw but kind of fun. I show them a few moves and the brat who took my sunnies shows herself to be a pretty good mimic. She’s called Scout and she’s a keen dancer. We do a few routines and they even ask me to teach them some ballet steps. This is easier than I thought. At least these kids just enjoy their dance and don’t live, breathe, eat and fart it.

  ‘Not bad,’ I say. ‘Couple more lessons and we’ll make ballet bots out of the lot of you.’

  ‘Is that what you are?’ Scout asks.

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘So what are you?’

  ‘Good question,’ I say and head off to grab my bag before I have to think of an answer.

  ‘Bet you’re not as good as the guys on Dance Explosion,’ Scout challenges me.

  ‘That lame TV show?’

  ‘As if. They’re amazing.’ Scout’s clearly impressed by the dancing ponies on TV.

  ‘They’re not bad,’ I say. ‘You want to see for yourself? I could make a call …’ Being part of the Karamokov family does have some advantages. I know practically everyone involved in dance in Australia. The producer’s an old family friend. Suddenly I am Ms Popular with the kids.

  As I’m getting my phone out Gus pulls me aside and tells me not to get their hopes up.

  ‘A lot of these kids do it tough,’ he says.

  ‘It’s fine, really,’ I tell him and call Liz at Dance Explosion on the spot. They’ve got room in the audience for tomorrow’s taping.

  ‘How does ten o’clock tomorrow sound?’ I ask.

  The kids go off.

  ‘No way!’ Scout beams. ‘I’m getting TJ’s autograph. She’s the best.’

  Gus says he’ll organise a bus for the morning. All I have to do is turn up to take them there.

  It looks like this punishment is going to be a breeze, until a new resident arr
ives at the boarding house. While I’ve been doing community work, Petra’s been out adopting a lost dog. She calls it Ziggy and we all get dragged into looking after him and putting up posters to say he’s been found.

  In the morning I get a call from Ziggy’s real owners. He is a she and she’s called Lady Curlington. Who calls a dog Lady Curlington?

  Naturally Ziggy, or Lady Curlington, decides to run off just as we’re about to return her to the owners so I have to help Petra look for her. While we’re running around the park I get a call from Gus. It’s ten o’clock. I’m supposed to be meeting him with the kids. I realise I better abandon the search and get over to the community centre fast.

  When I finally get there the kids are all doing floor exercises with Gus.

  ‘Guys, you’re here, great. We’d better get going.’

  Nobody looks at me, except for Scout who’s seriously scowling. This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  ‘It’s too late,’ says Gus. ‘I’ve sent the bus away.’

  ‘Can’t we get it back? I’m so sorry, there was this dog … and she went missing, we went looking for her … total chaos … ‘ I realise how pathetic it sounds. I stood the kids up for a dog. I shouldn’t have even mentioned Ziggy, or Lady Curlington, or whatever the dog’s stupid name is.

  ‘You promised,’ Scout says and goes back to her exercise. I look at her and remember all the times I said those words. I’ve pulled a Natasha.

  Gus looks at me like I’m some spoilt brat who doesn’t care about anyone other than herself. ‘I’ll call the Academy,’ he says. ‘I can’t risk the kids with someone they can’t trust. They can find you another punishment.’

  CHAPTER 9

  For my sixteenth birthday there are only two things I want: a face full of cream cakes and for Natasha to be forced to cook a meal for me.

  When the glorious day comes I demand the cake treatment in the morning. We’re outside the café on the wharf. Sammy is armed with a cream cake. I close my eyes waiting for the splat. Instead I hear a plop on the ground behind me. He’s missed completely.