One Perfect Pirouette

by Sherryl Clark

  ‘Now don’t be too upset if it doesn’t work out,’ Mum whispered.

  I nodded. I didn’t want to think about No.

  Finally Ms Ellergren turned to us. ‘Hello, Mrs Davies, Brynna. How are you enjoying the class?’

  ‘It’s great,’ I said.

  ‘We wanted to talk to you – Brynna has heard about the special class,’ Mum said. ‘I wanted to know a bit more about it.’

  ‘It’s open to everyone to try out,’ Ms Ellergren said. She focused on me. ‘You know my approach to the National Ballet School auditions. Only the best should apply.’

  ‘We put Brynna’s application in for the auditions last month,’ said Mum.

  Ms Ellergren’s gaze swung back to Mum, and it had turned icy. ‘Brynna still has some technique problems she needs to deal with. There’s a lot more work to go yet.’

  Steel fingers gripped my stomach. I thought I’d improved! ‘I think the special class will help me. I really want to do it.’ Next to me, I heard Mum make a huffing sound, but I didn’t care. Ms Ellergren was serious. I needed this class so badly that I was ready to grovel at Ms Ellergren’s feet.

  ‘How many extra classes will it entail?’ said Mum.

  ‘Two extra classes a week until the auditions at the end of July.’ Ms Ellergren picked a sheet of paper off the piano and gave it to Mum. ‘It’s all explained here, including the cost. If Brynna wants to try out, she’ll be assessed on her progress so far.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good. Now you’d better get ready for class.’ She left us standing there and headed for her little office.

  Mum scanned the sheet and shook her head. ‘Brynna, I think –’

  ‘Let me at least try out. Please.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it at home. Now’s not a good time. Enjoy your class.’ And she left, still looking at the sheet, her lips moving as she added up the costs. All the hope inside me nosedived. If it was going to cost a fortune, there was no way Mum would let me do it.

  And if Ms Ellergren thought I wasn’t good enough for the class, I had a horrible feeling that I’d be wasting my time with the NBS audition. Mum would say that my application had already gone in, but to know Ms Ellergren had no faith in me – how could I go ahead with that stuck in my brain? The thought of failing filled my legs and arms with lead; I dragged myself into the changing room and stripped off my tracksuit.

  ‘Hey, Brynna, is something wrong?’ Lucy stood in front of me, arms folded. She’d been kind of friendly at school all week, but she hadn’t made any effort to hang with me. At lunchtimes she’d gone off with Jade and Taylor. I wanted to tell her to go away, but I couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said.

  We filed into the studio behind the Silhouettes and I noticed Stephanie had on a new leotard with silver edging. All of their ballet shoes looked perfect, from toes to ribbons. But in a few hours, my scuffed old shoes were going to be replaced by beautiful new ones! My feet skipped a little at the thought.

  And Ms Ellergren was talking about technique. I could improve, I knew I could. I would work harder, practise more, conquer every step and position. I’d put my heart and soul into my dancing and I’d make it happen. I lined up along the barre, behind Lucy instead of at the end, and felt determination burning inside me again.

  Today, the piano kept us in strict time and Ms Ellergren paced up and down, correcting arms and feet by millimetres, nodding and smiling occasionally. She made me nervous – but surely I knew what to do by now? I needed to trust my own body, the way it felt, and then double-check in the mirror, paying special attention to my shoulders and arms.

  Ms Ellergren nodded at me several times and only corrected me once! In the centre, it was the same and my confidence grew. The hours I’d spent on the lino were worth it, even if it did take ages to warm up. Now if only I could find a big space and really get to work.

  We repeated the movements across the floor from last week, then Ms Ellergren added more steps. She put us into groups of four and spaced us out so we were all dancing at once in our group patterns. It was a bit like square dancing at school and I had to totally concentrate to keep up my part. I guessed everyone else felt the same, judging by all the pained looks.

  When the class was over, she clapped her hands. ‘Most of you grasped that very well,’ she said. ‘Next Saturday, after class, I will be assessing those who wish to try out for the special audition class. The dance steps you learnt today will be part of that assessment, so those of you trying out will need to practise them during the week. You are dismissed.’

  We made our way out of the studio without talking, because that was the rule, but once everyone was in the changing room, voices rose instantly.

  ‘Why didn’t she tell us before?’ someone said. ‘I’ll never remember those steps now.’

  ‘It’s not that hard,’ someone else sneered. That had to be Stephanie – and it was. Her friends were nodding, agreeing with her and looking down their noses at everyone else.

  ‘Who’s going to try out?’ a voice asked.

  We looked around at each other, but no one said a thing and I guessed they were like me – they didn’t want to speak up and have the Silhouettes give them a hard time.

  ‘Well, I heard she’s only taking a maximum of six,’ Danielle said, ‘so two of you had better start working hard right now.’

  ‘What do you mean “two”?’ said Lucy.

  Danielle shrugged. ‘For the two places that are left after the four of us are selected, of course.’

  That was so over the top that I couldn’t keep quiet. ‘Don’t count on it. There are lots of dancers here better than some of you.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should wipe the cow crap off your shoes before you open your mouth?’ Stephanie said.

  chapter 9

  The changing room went deadly quiet. Stephanie’s words hung in the air like a poisoned cloud and the other girls glanced at me and then her, wondering if a fight was about to start. My face burned and I was so mad I could have spat, but yelling back at her wasn’t going to help.

  ‘Ms Ellergren would say that everyone has an equal chance,’ I said, trying to breathe evenly and not explode with the effort.

  ‘Yeah, so stop being such a bitch,’ said Lucy.

  Stephanie looked round and saw that most of the girls were nodding. ‘Oh, bite me,’ she said, grabbing her gear and walking out. The other Silhouettes followed her, leaving smiles and sighs of relief behind them.

  ‘We sure told her,’ Lucy said.

  I sat and untied my ribbons slowly, feeling the heat leave my face and my heart slow down. I didn’t need enemies here, but the Silhouettes seemed to hate everyone and think nobody was as good as they were. It was awful that someone could say nasty things to you and not care about whether they hurt you or not. By the time I got outside, Mum was waiting.

  ‘We’ll have to hurry,’ she said. ‘Orrin’s game starts at three.’

  ‘But what about my shoes?’

  ‘We’ll go there now. It’s only ten minutes away.’

  Mum gunned it as usual and we tore along the streets, keeping a lookout for the shop sign. ‘There,’ I said, pointing at a huge ballet shoe above an awning.

  ‘Dancing Daze, that’s it.’ She found a parking spot and we hurried inside. The display of ballet shoes drew me at once and I ran my fingers over the pointe shoes – $105! To think that dancers in the Australian Ballet could go through two or three pairs in one performance.

  ‘Brynnie, sit down,’ Mum said. ‘The lady’s going to get you a couple of different sizes.’

  Just as I sat on the chair near the display, I heard a familiar voice. ‘How about elephant size?’

  Stephanie! She was like a bad smell, following me round. A woman in tight blue jeans stood by the cash register with her credit card – probably Stephanie’s mother. Her nose in the air, Stephanie came out from behind the big display of sequined ballroom dancing shoes
and headpieces in the middle of the shop and added, ‘They obviously sell to everyone here, no matter how badly they dance.’

  Mum caught on straightaway. ‘Your bad manners wouldn’t be a sign of jealousy, would they?’

  ‘As if!’ Stephanie said and flounced away to her mother’s side, where she whispered something obviously rude. Her mother stared at Mum and me and then turned her back on us.

  ‘Hmph. Lovely people,’ Mum said. ‘I gather she’s in your dance class?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘The best schools don’t necessarily attract the nicest students.’ Mum’s mouth tightened. ‘I hope she’s not hassling you in class.’

  ‘Ms Ellergren wouldn’t put up with that.’ The problem was afterwards when she kicked me in the ankle! The bruise had developed into a large circle of black and purple that was only just starting to fade. But when the lady came back with some shoes, Stephanie bounced right out of my head. It was lovely to try on brand-new shoes, even though they’d soon be scuffed and worn, and we bought new ribbons too.

  There was hardly time for more than a peanut butter sandwich at home before we dressed in our warmest clothes and set off for the football ground. It was near a railway line and every so often a train rumbled past. There were no seats, so we all stood around the railing to watch the game. Orrin didn’t come on until after half-time and by then his team was trailing by twenty points. Within four minutes, he’d kicked two goals and Mum and Dad and I were jumping up and down and cheering.

  He aided two behinds and then kicked another goal of his own before the whistle went for three-quarter time. ‘Surely they’re not taking him off,’ Dad said.

  The other team’s coach was on the field, waving his arms at the referee, but then Orrin’s coach came out too. ‘Looks like the other team’s objecting to Orrin playing,’ said Dad.

  ‘Is he your boy?’ said the man next to us. ‘He’s damn good.’

  ‘Yes, he’s ours.’ Dad beamed. ‘He’s legal to play – got clearance from his old club, so there’s nothing they can do.’

  ‘Hope not,’ said the man. ‘We need a win for a change.’

  The whistle blew and the last quarter started, with Orrin still on. He kicked another goal, aided two more and at full-time his team had won by seventeen points. The crowd clapped like mad as they ran off the field. I could tell that Dad was busting to go into the change rooms, like he did at home, but he held back and we bought hot tea and chocolate from the caravan while we waited for Orrin.

  He came out about fifteen minutes later and, when he saw us, a huge grin split his face. ‘Hey, you guys, I wondered if you’d wait.’

  ‘Well done, son, well done.’ Dad slapped him on the back several times.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. The coach is pretty pleased. Says I can play a full game next week.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Dad said. ‘Do you want a lift home?’

  ‘Um, no, they’re having a bit of a team celebration. I thought I might stay.’

  ‘Righto. No drinking though, okay? You’re well under-age.’

  ‘Okay, Dad.’ Orrin shrugged, but he didn’t look too pleased.

  ‘You’re still on probation here, and off-field behaviour’s a big deal these days. Last thing you need is a scout from one of the clubs checking you out when you’re too drunk to behave yourself.’

  Orrin’s face reddened and he nodded. Dad had hit home with that one.

  ‘Anyway, give us a call if you want to be picked up,’ Mum said, and off we went. After dinner, I sewed ribbons onto my new shoes, saying a wish with each stitch. It was a superstition I couldn’t stop following – one day, Australian Ballet.

  On Sunday, while Dad and Mum stayed in bed with the papers and their breakfast, I went for a walk. If I couldn’t find a big space for practising the dance steps Ms Ellergren had given us, I wouldn’t have a hope of being picked for the class. Since there was nowhere at home, I had to find one close by.

  I hadn’t really noticed the rest of our suburb before – I walked to school and once I’d walked to the shopping centre – so I tried to cover the streets in a grid, using school as a central point so I wouldn’t get lost. A lot of the houses were old and rundown, with scraggly lawns and wrecks of old cars in the driveways. Some streets had rows of units that all looked the same and in one street there was an old people’s home, with half a dozen bent-over oldies sitting out in the garden in wheelchairs.

  The third time I ended up back near my school, I spotted Ricky on the court with his basketball and went in to say hi. He was dressed in an old red ski jacket with a striped Essendon beanie on his head.

  ‘Hey, the dancer' he said. ‘Gimme five.’ He whacked my hand and laughed. ‘You don’t look happy. What’s up?’

  ‘Just stuff,’ I said.

  ‘Want a game of one-on-one?’

  ‘Are you going to crush me like last time?’

  ‘Little shortie like you, I’ll give you a seven-point start.’

  ‘Okay.’ I grabbed the ball off him and ran up to the goal, throwing and making a hoop. ‘That’s eight for me.’

  He just laughed, took the ball and ran circles around me. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get the ball off him, and when it was my turn, he whisked it out of my hands every time.

  ‘Fifteen-eight,’ he said. ‘You’re getting better.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I puffed.

  ‘What you doing out wandering around on a dead old Sunday?’

  ‘Looking for a space for my dancing.’

  ‘What space? Like the school hall?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not allowed in there, not even in school time now. Hey, do you know anywhere?’

  ‘How big a space you need?’

  ‘Half the size of this court would do.’

  He scratched his beanie. ‘I might know somewhere, but it gets used a lot, so – no harm in asking, maybe.’

  ‘Where? Can you take me there?’

  ‘Not so fast. It might not be open. It’s the youth hall, by the park.’

  ‘Can we look anyway? Please?’

  He grinned. ‘Take it easy, shortie.’

  ‘It’s really important to me.’ Was the youth hall a possibility? I jiggled on the spot, my body warm from the one-on-one, my legs already flexing and wanting to dance. ‘Can we go now?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ He tucked the ball under his arm and ambled over to the gate. I followed him out of the school grounds and along a wide curving road. ‘That’s the park, for the football freaks,’ he said, pointing to our left, ‘and that’s the tennis courts for the tennis freaks.’

  ‘So am I the dance freak?’ I said.

  ‘Probably.’ He did a little sidestep, a jive thing with his feet, and rolled the ball between his hands. ‘That brown shack there is the youth hall.’

  ‘Oh.’ It was old and shabby. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Just some rooms for meetings and kids’ clubs and stuff. There used to be a basketball stadium next to it, but it burnt down last year.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Team from over there,’ he waved his hand, ‘got beat by our team and they came back next night and torched it. Man, what a fire. So now we got nowhere to play.’

  ‘Did the police catch them?’

  ‘No evidence, but we knew it was them.’

  ‘So do you play in the team?’

  ‘Got no team now, with no court.’

  ‘But you’re really good. That’s not fair, that you can’t play.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He shrugged it off, but he looked pretty sad.

  We were nearly at the front door, which was propped open with a brick. ‘It’s open. Can we go in and ask?’

  ‘Not me.’ He stopped where he was, by the fence. ‘I’m banned. This is as far as I go.’

  chapter 10

  I stared at Ricky. What could he have done that was so bad? Burnt something down? I couldn’t ask – it would sound really rude. ‘But –’

  ‘Chill.’ He shrugged. ‘I just got in
a fight, that’s all. No big deal.’

  ‘Oh.’ Voices were coming from inside the hall entrance, but after a few seconds I worked out it was a TV. ‘Well, you wait here, all right?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  I wasn’t sure he actually would, but I couldn’t force him. I went in and found myself in a large room with couches, a TV and a small kitchen to one side. Five big teenage boys lounged on the couches, eyes glued to the TV, ignoring me.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  No response. No one even turned his head.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I shouted.

  Five pairs of eyes settled on me. Silence, apart from the gunfire on TV.

  ‘Who’s in charge of this place?’

  Five heads turned back to the TV, but one hand pointed down a narrow corridor. I edged around the couches and headed for an open door in the distance. It was an office and inside was a man at an untidy desk, writing on a notepad. I knocked and he jumped.

  ‘What? Oh, hello.’ He tried a smile. ‘Sorry, I thought you were one of the boys.’

  ‘No, I’m Brynna.’

  ‘Yes, well, what can I help you with?’

  I explained and as he sighed his weedy moustache twitched. ‘No big rooms here, I’m afraid. Except that one out there full of couches. Sorry.’

  My heart fell down to my stomach. ‘But – a small room might be good. Please? Can we at least look and see?’

  ‘Lots of things on here after school, you know. We have a lot of kids come in; can’t give one kid a room of her own. Sorry.’

  ‘Every room is used all the time, every night?’

  ‘Er – not every night. Most nights. I’ve got a timetable, see?’ He pointed at a huge chart on a whiteboard that had quite a few free spaces on it. I went closer.

  ‘What’s the PP room?’

  ‘Ping-pong. There are two tables in it.’ He mimed hitting a ball with a ping pong bat.