Contents
Cover
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
Copyright
Have you read all of the Dance Academy books?
CHAPTER 1
‘Come on!’ I urge, willing the traffic light to change from red to green so I can cross the road. I check my watch for the fourth time. I can’t be late. Not today.
I jump as a loud toot sounds behind me. But it’s only a ferry, coming in to dock at the Quay. I stare out at the harbour for a moment, where the morning sun is making the water dazzle, before my attention snaps back to the road. I’ve never seen so much traffic! Taxis, cars, buses, cyclists … It’s nothing like the quiet, dusty roads back home.
The light finally changes and I’m on my way, swept across the street by a crowd of people on their way to work. And then I see it–a long, low building perched on the edge of the harbour.
The National Academy of Dance.
I’ve been dancing since I was five years old. Back then my imagination got me into a whole lot of trouble. Like the time I stood on the top of our haystack, dressed in my fairy wings and my blue nightie that made me look just like a fairy princess. I really, truly believed that those fairy wings would allow me to fly. So I jumped.
Okay, so I broke my wrist when I landed in a tangled heap at the bottom. But there was a moment there when time stopped, and I was floating through the golden air, the paddocks stretching out around me all the way to the horizon. Just for that moment I really was flying–and everything made sense.
From that moment on I’ve always known that in another life I could fly. Which is why in this life I dance. Now it’s up to me to prove to other people how good I am. Because I don’t just dance. Anyone can do that. I want to be a principal dancer in the National Ballet Company and to achieve that I need to go to the best dance school in the country.
This one.
First of all, I have to pass the audition.
‘Um, excuse me, is this the way to …’
I stand in the middle of the corridor, clutching my registration papers and a map of the building, bleating like a lost lamb. Geography was never my strong point at school. But nobody’s listening to me. They’re all too busy rushing off to class. Or shoving the last few bites of breakfast into their mouths. Or adjusting their tutus or dance belts. Guess I’ll have to find my own way around.
I check my watch again–8:50. Only ten minutes till class starts and I’m not even changed yet!
There’s a huge thump as a purple-shod foot connects with the vending machine at the end of the hallway. I hurry over. At least this person’s standing still.
‘Think you’re clever, don’t you?’ the owner of the foot snorts at the vending machine. She gives it another well-placed kick. ‘I’m gonna wipe that smile right off your–’
I hesitantly tap her shoulder. The girl spins round and stares at me.
‘Hi,’ I pant, waving my map in her face. ‘Um, dressing rooms?’
She gives me a long look then grabs the map from me. Like me, she’s dressed in street clothes, though they look more like something you’d find in the Patchewalling Op Shop than a High Street department store. Except on her, they look kind of funky.
‘Are you auditioning too?’ I ask her. ‘Isn’t it exciting!’
‘Yeah,’ she agrees. ‘I think I just peed a little in my pants.’
Is she joking? It’s hard to tell. I wish I was better at reading people. I’m much better with dogs and sheep.
Op Shop girl holds out the map. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tara,’ I tell her.
‘Kat.’
Cool name. I grin at her.
Kat taps the map. ‘Okay, Tara, you’re here, right? Just go straight down that corridor, yeah?’ She flings her arm out to the side, almost decapitating two tutued girls hurrying past. ‘Then it’s the second door on your left. The second door.’
‘Got it,’ I say. ‘Thanks. Um …’
Kat’s already turned back to the vending machine. The last things I hear as I rush off down the corridor are an almighty thump as her foot reconnects with the front panel, followed by the sound of chocolate bars spilling out onto the floor.
The dressing room’s totally empty. I drop my dance bag on the bench and check my watch again. Five minutes to go. I yank my top over my head and am just about to grab my leotard out of my bag when I see something reflected in the mirror.
A guy.
I whip my arms across my chest.
‘Don’t let me stop you,’ the guy says.
I spin round and dash behind the low wall on the other side of the bench. ‘I have pepper spray in my bag and I’m not afraid to use it,’ I warn him.
‘Hey, I was just standing here, minding my own business.’
‘In the girls’ dressing room?’
‘I’m pretty sure those are urinals,’ the guy tells me, pointing. He grins. ‘Unless you can go standing up, of course.’
I follow his gaze. He’s right. Somehow I’ve managed to take off my top in the boys’ dressing room. Why does he have to find it so funny? It’s humiliating!
‘Can you turn around, please?’ I beg him, running back for my top.
‘You might need this,’ he says, picking it off the floor and dangling it in front of me.
Now what do I do? If I move my arm he’ll see my bra. Not to mention other parts of my anatomy.
He slips the top between my fingers then turns his back while I attempt to struggle back into it.
‘So. Is it an attention thing?’
‘What?’
‘Stripping in front of strangers. Cause that’s cool, I’m sure there are support groups for this kind of thing.’
His voice sounds awfully close. ‘If you’re looking, I swear I’ll hurt you.’
‘Sorry, guys. I’ll come back later.’
I jump. There’s another guy in the room and I’m still only half-dressed. And not just any guy. This guy is gorgeous. There’s something about his eyes, and the softness of his hair, and the way his lips curl up on one side … And then I remember that I’m standing there with my arms in the air and my top half over my head. Oh no, what if he …
‘Hey,’ I splutter, pulling my top down as fast as I can, ‘it’s not what you think!’
But he’s already gone. I can’t believe this is happening. I grab my bag and follow him out the door to try to explain what was really going on back there.
Five minutes later, after the most embarrassing conversation I’ve ever had with the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen in my life (he picked straight away I was here for audition week–is it that obvious?) I’m finally in my leotard and tights, standing in a room filled with other students my age. At least he took the time to show me the right place to go.
‘Welcome to the National Academy of Dance,’ booms a grey-haired man I recognise from the photo in my information pack. It’s Mr Kennedy, the director of the Academy. The woman to his left gives me the death stare. You can tell she doesn’t tolerate students who are late. Or whose hair is a mess, I think, running my fingers quickly through it. All the other girls look perfect, their hair pulled tightly back in neat buns.
‘You have all been chosen from among thousands of dancers,’ Mr Kennedy continues. ‘However, we only have room in first year for just a few. It will be your job over the next few days to make sure you’re a
mong them.’
I will be among them, I vow, as the director and the rest of the teaching staff file out of the room.
CHAPTER 2
I find a place at the barre and begin warming up for our first class.
Kat bounces up to me. ‘Hey, it’s you again. Did you find the dressing room okay?’
‘Yep,’ I say, determined not to let her see that her little prank upset me. ‘Thanks.’
But she’s already gone, shimmying over to the other side of the room.
‘I see you met Kat.’
I turn around. Two girls in matching leotards have joined me at the barre.
‘Um, yeah. She sent me to the boys’ dressing room to get changed.’
‘Typical,’ the first girl says, her right foot pointing towards the ceiling at an impossible angle as she moves into a deep stretch. ‘Look, we were all at junior school together. Friendly warning, okay? Kat’s lots of “fun”, sure, but if the staff know you’re tight with her, they’ll know you’re not really serious about dancing.’
‘Yeah,’ echoes her friend. ‘Bad impression to make in audition week.’
‘Got it,’ I say, watching Kat drag a nervouslooking guy up to dance with her. I’ll definitely be steering clear of her from now on.
‘I’m Abigail,’ the first girl tells me.
‘Georgia,’ adds her friend.
‘I’m Tara. Webster.’
‘Hey, cool,’ Abigail says. ‘You and I are roommates.’
Phew. Abigail seems really friendly and nice. Imagine if I’d ended up sharing with Kat!
She smiles at me. ‘Nice leotard.’
‘You think?’ I say. I always thought so, but next to her hot pink one my pale blue outfit looks kind of babyish. ‘My mum made it.’
‘Ri-ight,’ Abigail says. ‘Look, I know this sounds ridiculous, but I have this thing about …’
Georgia butts in. ‘Abigail always stands at the front of the barre.’
Oh no! I’m in her place! Trust me to stuff up on my first day. I hastily move along the barre till I’m standing behind them.
‘Sorry,’ I bleat.
Abigail beams at me. ‘Forget it.’ She moves gracefully into first position. ‘This is going to be such a great week. I can feel it.’
I grin back. So can I.
When I call them after class, I tell Mum and Dad that my first day was fantastic, everything I’d thought it would be. They’re so proud of me and have made so many sacrifices over the years to pay for my dance lessons that I can’t let them down. So I let them think I’m just as good as the other girls, even though I’m actually the worst dancer here. Miss Raine, the one who gave me the death stare, even told me my technique is what she’d expect from a twelve-year-old. She said that I had ‘potential’ physically but she just didn’t feel I was ‘ready’. That’s pretty hard to hear when you’re actually fifteen.
I definitely leave out the part where I crashed into the barre at the end of my grand jeté. Everybody else’s jump was perfect, especially Abigail’s. Even Kat made it look easy, though you could tell she wasn’t really trying. It’s not my fault I didn’t learn to do those at the Patchewalling School of Dance.
All I have to show for my hard work today are blisters on my toes that bled right through to my tights. Though I did discover one new fact. The gorgeous guy from the dressing room this morning is called Ethan. He’s a third year. Abigail told me this morning at break. He was fooling around with Kat in the café, and first of all I thought maybe they were together. But he’s actually her half-brother. Ethan Karamokov. Even his name sounds like a character from a Russian ballet.
I’m standing on the stairs chatting to this guy Sammy about how hard today was (his teacher told him his technique was lousy as well, which makes me feel a bit better) when Kat comes barrelling up and grabs my hand.
‘Great. You are coming with me.’
‘What? Where?’
‘The third years are having a party on the Company roof.’
I shake her hand away. ‘I’m not really in a party mood.’
Kat rolls her eyes. ‘Negative, bunhead. What have you got to lose?’
If she only knew …
I point to the homemade leotard I’m wearing. ‘Can I go like this?’
Kat raises an eyebrow. ‘Ah, no.’ Then she drags me back to her room to find something a little less daggy.
The party’s in full swing by the time we arrive. Music blares from a giant set of speakers and the tables are laden with drinks and food. Everyone looks much older and more confident than me, as if they go to parties like this all the time. I guess they do.
I’d be happy just standing quietly by myself, watching everyone else have fun, but no way is Kat going to let that happen. She drags me through the middle of the crowd to where a guy’s leaning against the balcony railing.
‘Have you met Christian?’ Kat asks me. ‘He’s auditioning as well.’
Ooh yeah. I’ve met Christian all right. I just didn’t know his name.
His eyes light up. ‘Training bra,’ he jokes. ‘Didn’t recognise you.’
Kat laughs. ‘What did he just call you?’
‘N-nothing,’ I stammer, turning away quickly. The last thing I need today is Kat finding out what happened in the boys’ changing room this morning.
I grab a drink from a table then lose myself in the shadows, watching the party people revolve around me for a while. Nobody comes over to talk to me, and that’s just fine. I’d probably say something dumb. I check my watch. It’s getting late and we have an early start in the morning. I’m heading down the steps to the door when I bump smack bang into …
Ethan.
‘Hi,’ he says, giving me that killer smile of his.
‘Um, Kat invited me,’ I blurt, my heart thumping against my rib-cage, ‘but I’m just going to … go.’
‘Don’t do that,’ he tells me, his smile reaching his eyes. ‘Stick around. I’m Ethan, by the way.’
‘I know,’ I say, then instantly regret it. Now he’s going to think I’ve been stalking him or something.
‘Hey, look, it’s her.’
Suddenly I’m surrounded by people checking me out. Kat’s one of them.
‘Who?’ I ask nervously.
‘This is the newbie who got undressed in our changing room,’ a dark-haired guy tells his mates.
Oh no. Not again. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ I whisper, trying to catch Ethan’s eye. ‘I would never, ever do something like that.’
‘All newbies should be like you,’ the dark-haired guy says. ‘Bonus points for enthusiasm.’
His mates snigger. I feel like I’ve just been slapped. I have to get out of here, now. I stumble down the rest of the stairs, my eyes blurry with tears, straight into a guy and his drink. It splatters all over me. Kat smirks. Could things get any worse?
The last person I see as I leave the party is Christian. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t blabbed to everyone …
‘What did I ever do to you?’ I snap at him, before scuttling back to the safety of the boarding house.
CHAPTER 3
Miss Raine claps her hands, calling us to attention.
‘Over the last few days here, you’ve all worked very hard to show us how well you can perform the basic steps of ballet. Tomorrow, in your final audition, we’ll be looking to see how you perform a real dance. How well you can tell a story.’
This is a big moment. If I fail at this, I might as well give up my dream of becoming a principal dancer. Because I discovered something else this week–it’s not just my dream. It’s the dream of every girl and guy in this studio. They’re all as hungry to be accepted into the Academy as I am.
Miss Raine presses the pause button on the stereo. ‘The solo we’ve chosen for you to dance is from The Ugly Duckling. It’s the part where the duck discovers she is actually a swan.’ She glares at us frostily. ‘Get ready to do a run-through. First group, please.’
My stomach twists, and I
begin to head to my usual spot at the back of the room. Abigail grabs my hand and pulls me with her.
‘Come on. Front row!’
I stare at her, horrified. ‘But she’ll see me!’
‘That’s the whole idea, silly. You have to stand out, prove to her that you’re special.’
‘But–’
Abigail moves in closer. ‘Look, on the rare occasions I get nervous I imagine myself onstage, in front of an adoring crowd. You should do the same thing. Picture yourself somewhere–a place where you feel comfortable.’ She nudges me. ‘Failing that, follow me.’
The music starts. It’s too late to run to the back row now. I’m stuck here, totally exposed. And then unexpectedly the beauty of the music snares me, carries me away from the harsh lights of a studio in the middle of a busy city to the golden paddocks of our farm. The air here is warm and fragrant, filled with the smell of freshly harvested wheat, and the grass is soft and springy beneath my feet. I’m spinning, twisting, leaping–higher and more gracefully than ever before.
The music stops and I’m back in the studio, my body pressed to the cold, hard floor.
The room is deathly quiet. I look up. Miss Raine is staring at me. Along with Abigail and the rest of my class.
‘Webster, isn’t it?’ Miss Raine says evenly. ‘You changed the steps. Why?’
I hardly even remember dancing. Why did I let Abigail push me into moving to the front row?
‘Um, I’m not sure.’
Miss Raine gives me a long look, her face a mask. She moves on to Abigail.
‘Abigail, there was a coldness in your dancing just now. I want to see what’s beyond the steps.’ She arches an eyebrow. ‘You could learn something by watching Tara.’ Miss Raine turns back to me, the tiniest of smiles flitting across her face. ‘It was surprisingly good.’
Later that night, rather than lie on my bed tossing and turning, I sneak out of our room to a little park on the edge of the harbour. The night air is fresh and clear. There’s a message from Dad on my voicemail, wishing me good luck for my final audition tomorrow. It’s exactly what I need right now. Before I know it, I’m rehearsing my solo one last time, giving it everything I’ve got. When I finish, I slip back through the empty corridors of the boarding house and climb into bed, hugging the memory of Miss Raine’s praise to my chest like a snuggly blanket.
Dance Academy Learning to Fly Page 1