CHAPTER 3
‘All right boys and girls!’ called Lesley as she puffed into the studio, her image following her in the mirrors. ‘I have good news. And I have more good news.’
Gino, stretching in front of me, turned his head away from Lesley and made a crazy face at the rest of us. Good news for Lesley wasn’t always good news for the rest of us.
‘We’re doing a new opening number,’ said Lesley. ‘And it’s going to be spec . . . tacular.’ She waved one arm in a dramatic circle.
‘But we just did a new half-time number,’ groaned Abe, rubbing her calves.
Lesley kept smiling as she pushed some buttons on the sound system. Then she walked to the front of the room and stood facing us with her hands on her hips. I liked the way she moved, even though she was big these days. She must have been an amazing dancer once.
‘Some of the fans have been asking about you – the girls and the guys,’ Lesley grinned. ‘Who you are . . . What you do …’
Bodies around me pulled out of splits and stretches. This news was interesting.
‘So I’m planning to give you solos. All of you.’ Lesley pulled her black hair into a quick ponytail. ‘Thirty seconds in the spotlight. Enough time for you to really strut your stuff.’
As Lesley continued talking about how it would work, I leaned forward and hid my face between my knees. This was exciting. And scary. Dancing with the troupe was safe, even though there were thousands of people watching. Having the other dancers around me, moving with me, was like having a security blanket. I could stay hidden and perform at the same time. But dancing in front of a basketball crowd alone? Every eye watching me. Every move my own.
‘Each of you will hold your last move, freeze in a pose, until all of you are on the court together. Then the whole troupe will dance in formation,’ Lesley finished.
I sneaked a look at Megan. She smiled and raised her eyebrows meaningfully. For Megan, this was a dream come true. A chance to really perform.
‘So, you mean we have to make it up ourselves?’ asked Abe. She was the only one in the troupe who was frowning.
‘You bet. You’re all professional dancers,’ said Lesley dramatically. ‘Time to step up to the challenge.’
The phone rang and Lesley ran to answer it.
‘Let me get this straight. Lesley gets paid to choreograph our routines,’ said Abe quietly, ‘and makes us do the work for her!’
‘Cheer up, Abe,’ said Bec. ‘She’s done you a favour. Now you have something new to complain about.’
Abe glared at Bec, and I tried to hide a smile.
When Lesley came back from the phone she played us the music for the new number. It was a Madonna song, not my style at all but good for dancing – strong and sassy. Lesley put it on repeat and disappeared into reception again.
All nine of us started moving then, feeling our way into the song. At first, all the dance steps were small, shy and self-conscious. Megan was the first to come out of herself, with a split leap into a turning swivel on the floor – it was a side to Megan that I hadn’t seen much of. The way she was dancing made me want to see more.
Everyone’s moves grew bigger and we spread further apart on the dancefloor. Andrew did an awesome series of back flips.
I played with some fast turns and a fan kick, feeling the thrill of being able to use my favourite steps, like finally coming home to my body. I’ve been dancing since I was five – all my life really – and it’s so much more for me than just doing the steps. There’s a memory in my arms and legs of every move I’ve ever done, like an emotion that comes back to me when I move that way again.
I reached out with both arms, then sucked them tight into my torso – a secret moment for myself in the middle of a scary solo. Then I moved to the side and paced through my first steps again. It was a calming, methodical way to work. No time for thinking. Only the moves and how they felt in my body.
Soon I started timing my steps, up to twenty seconds. Then nearing thirty and my allotted time. Finally I stepped naturally into an arabesque penchée – my favourite ballet pose, balanced on one leg, torso tilted forward, with the other leg extended backwards in the air. I felt like a peacock with my long tail extended for all to see. It was the perfect end to my solo.
Then I heard a screech. Maybe I wasn’t the only peacock in the room.
‘You can’t end like that, Saph,’ called Lesley, rushing over to me.
‘Why not?’ I pulled out of the pose and rubbed at the tightness in my back.
‘You have to hold it for a full minute. Maybe more! I don’t want to see even the shadow of a wobble.’
‘Oh.’
Lesley went to watch one of the other dancers and I started work on a different ending. But nothing felt quite right.
‘What if I promise not to wobble?’ I called.
Lesley turned to face me and put her hands on her hips. ‘Show me.’
Around I went in a turn, arms circling in the air, then I stepped out of the turn and slowly into the arabesque. And hold …
‘Looks good,’ said Lesley quietly. ‘It would look fabulous on the court.’
I kept holding it – back muscles pulled tight, leg strong behind me. I could feel a slight stretch in my thighs. Each breath sucked in, then out. In, then out. But nothing else moved.
I could feel Lesley beside me, watching, probably timing me. Some of the others stopped dancing.
There I stayed, holding my pose.
It was asking for trouble, really. Like volunteering to use the dodgy parachute before jumping out of a plane. Not exactly the brightest plan. But I knew I could do it. And, being the youngest in the troupe, here was a chance to show the rest of them exactly what I could do. Prove that I deserved my place.
‘How long now?’ asked Megan, after a while.
‘Fifty seconds,’ said Lesley. I could hear a smile in her voice.
Everyone was watching now.
‘Okay, you made a minute, Saph. Point taken,’ said Lesley.
I came out of the arabesque and beamed at her, careful to still move gracefully even though my back was killing.
‘Do you still want to do it?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘You bet.’
‘Okay.’ Lesley held me by the shoulders and looked into my face. The smiling assassin. ‘But if you wobble, you’re OUT OF THE TROUPE!’
‘No problem,’ I said, and almost choked.
When Dad picked me up from dancing I was buzzing all over. The other dancers had all created amazing solos. It was awesome to watch them – I must have been born under a lucky star! Maybe, one day, I would be dancing full time for a living. No worries about school or home – just me and a life of beautiful moves.
‘That song,’ said Dad as soon as I slipped into the car. ‘It’s new?’ He was frowning. ‘It sounds racy …’
He must have been sitting in the car with the window wound right down – checking up on me.
‘Yeah, we’re all doing solos,’ I said happily, moving straight into damage control. ‘Mine has a heap of ballet moves.’
‘Ballet …’ repeated Dad, nodding as he pulled the car away from the curve.
Yeah, and Abe’s solo makes Madonna look sweet and innocent, Gino’s has taught me new and amazing things about the male body and Megan has a moment in her solo where every guy watching will wish he was lying on a specific section of the floor . . .
‘So, Dad, how was work?’ I asked. His work was much safer territory.
‘Busy,’ answered Dad. ‘One of the boys crashed a truck.’
‘Yikes! Did he get hurt?’
‘No,’ came the reply. But I could see stress lines on his face even in the dim car.
We were quiet, Dad driving, and me looking out at the streetlights flashing past. I let my body sink further into the car seat.
This was such a normal part of my life – the happiness in my body of dancing followed by the comfort of being picked up by Dad. But we were finishing later and
later these days, and Dad’s work seemed to be getting busier. Another family would have changed the system by now, organising lifts home with Megan, or letting me catch the bus – anything that would let Dad get more rest. But I knew he wasn’t ready to let me go it alone – his little girl out in the big bad world. And I wasn’t totally sure that I wanted him to. Especially not after the past few days.
I sighed and turned my face to look out of my side window, waiting. When I dance I always forget about everything else, but in the car on the way home, the rest of my life somehow creeps back into my mind. And here it came: my English essay, Damien Rowsthorn, the Valentine’s letter. And Jay.
Why did Jay care what I thought of Damien Rowsthorn? What was he trying to prove?
As Dad steered the car into the driveway, I felt tiredness sink into my limbs. Home after such a long day. But I had also come to a decision: tomorrow I would confront Jay. I didn’t know what his problem was or why he had tricked me, but I needed to find out.
On Tuesday Jay and I had English right after recess. I made sure I was early . . . well, at least on time. Miss Ingleby wasn’t there yet. I sat at one of the side tables, books still stacked in a pile. Waiting.
The rest of the class wandered in. Then Miss Ingleby dashed in, looked at her desk, scratched her hair and rushed out again. Finally, Jay sneaked in and sat up the back.
I stood straight up and, cool as you please, moved to sit next to him. As I sat down, Jay’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t say anything.
Miss Ingleby rushed back in and began the class. But I had other things on my mind. Teachers weren’t getting much out of me this week.
I pulled out a piece of folder paper, and wrote, So, what EXACTLY is wrong with me thinking Damien is hot?
Jay leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and tried to ignore me. But I underlined ‘exactly’, my hand clasping the pen in a fist. Jay was sitting next to a woman on a mission. I pointed at the note again.
Jay unfolded his arms and sat forward.
OK, he wrote. It’s all about what he looks like, isn’t it? Bet you haven’t even spoken to D.R.
I snorted when I read that.
I have SO spoken to D.R., I wrote back. But I didn’t add exactly what Damien had said – just ‘Can I help you,’ and not much more.
For a moment, Jay looked at me, biting his lip. He didn’t seem angry, just thoughtful. Then he flipped the page over, and started to write.
This is what’s wrong with this world, he wrote. You just judge Damien by how he looks. And other people do the same to you. Do you know what some people say about you in the stands? They sit there judging YOU and they don’t know you at all.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. What people in the stands? The group of uni guys who always sit in the front row were okay, but I wasn’t too keen on just anyone talking about me like that, especially not the old man who wears a football scarf and a scraggy old duffel coat.
What DO they say in the stands? I wrote back.
They say the girls are beautiful and the guys are hot. They have fantasies about you. But they don’t even know how old you are.
And that was the end of the note writing. What could I say to that?
‘Do you have the rose?’ asked Summer. She jumped around me like a puppy ready to play.
It was Friday morning, ten minutes before assembly.
‘Yep.’ I lifted a long paper bag from a side pocket of my school bag.
Summer grabbed it and peered inside. ‘Oooooo, pretty!’ she laughed.
Inside was a single red rose, plastic, from an old ballet concert. Around it was a cone of thick clear plastic decorated with red and pink ribbons.
‘Here. Stick this on.’ Summer held up a little teddy bear with a heart on its belly.
I scrunched up my nose. ‘That’s a bit corny don’t you think?’
‘Corny? Of course it’s corny! This whole thing is corny.’ Summer started sticking the teddy to the bottom of the cone. ‘We’re aiming for maximum embarrassment, remember?’
‘All right.’ I smiled through my grimace.
All week we had been planning this, our cunning and sweet revenge. Something to make Jay stop and think about what he had done to me.
‘Ready!’ Summer held up the rose.
‘I can’t believe we’re really doing this,’ I said.
‘You better believe it, baby!’
Seconds later we were knocking on the staffroom door. ‘Is Mr Kissinger in?’
He appeared straightaway, rubbing his hands together. Then he looked around like a spy. ‘Operation Red Rose all set?’
I giggled and handed him the paper bag. ‘Thanks, Mr K.’
Mr Kissinger peered inside like a kid looking in a lolly bag. ‘Reminds me of my uni days in Munich.’ Then he winked and was gone.
Summer and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Normally the longest part of assembly is waiting for everyone to sit down, but today they were announcing members of the interschool swim team – lots of names and lots of time to settle in for a snooze.
Except that Summer and I were on the edge of our seats, leaning forward biting our lips and giggling. We had chosen seats behind and to the side of Jay and his pals. I could see the side of his face – no baseball cap today – but I didn’t think he could see us. Judging from how he had acted around me all week, he probably didn’t plan to ever look my way again.
Finally all the swimmers had been announced, and the principal was starting to wrap up. That’s when Mr Kissinger appeared.
‘Just one more thing, Mrs Hahn, if you please.’ He strolled to the front, holding the paper bag.
Mrs Hahn went to say something, then sighed and moved to the side.
‘We’ve just had a special delivery!’ Gently Mr Kissinger pulled out the rose and held it up.
For a moment, there was silence in the auditorium. Everyone stared. Then whispering and giggles spread like wildfire.
‘Jay Wilson, you sly dog,’ called Mr Kissinger. ‘This is from your sweetheart!’
Jay didn’t move.
I could hear snorts and laughing around me. Summer clutched my hand and squeezed.
‘Come on Jay, it’s not every day you get treated as good as this,’ persisted Mr Kissinger, eyes twinkling. ‘Come and accept this token of loooooove.’
Jay still didn’t move.
‘Come on, mate, down you come,’ Mr Kissinger tried again.
Jay’s mates were whispering to him and laughing, while everyone watched. He would have to do something soon. But he sat, stiff and still.
Then, just slightly, he shook his head at Mr Kissinger.
‘Don’t want to make the other girls jealous, eh?’ Mr Kissinger bounded up the steps. He leaned past two of Jay’s mates and held out the rose.
Slowly, as if forcing his arm to move, Jay took the rose.
I squeezed Summer’s hand, squealing on the inside. Victory! The auditorium erupted into hoots and clapping.
‘This is yours, isn’t it?’ Jay said later that day, holding out the rose. It was more a statement than a question.
I kept pulling books out of my locker, not sure what to say. I didn’t want to lie about it, but there was no way I was going to admit to the rose trick. Not if I could help it.
I looked around to Summer, for help. But she had her head stuck in her locker at the other end of the corridor.
Jay leaned against the locker next to mine. ‘If you don’t want it, then I’m putting it in the rubbish.’ His voice was calm, almost smiling.
I glanced at the rose in his hand. It had been part of my favourite ballet solo, my first one dancing on pointe. I hadn’t thought about it until now, but the rose did mean something to me. Normally it hung above my mirror with my first-ever pointe shoes. I did want it back. And there was no way out now, anyway. I was going to have to own up.
‘Fine.’ I grabbed the rose and threw it into my locker. The little teddy bear dangled by a single p
iece of sticky tape. I slammed the door. Then I turned to Jay, forcing myself to meet his cool gaze. He was quite a bit taller than me, so I had to look up. Don’t flinch, Saph. Don’t look away.
‘I knew it,’ Jay said, raising his eyebrows.
‘Well . . . feels crap, doesn’t it?’ I hugged my books to my chest. ‘Being tricked is embarrassing, isn’t it?’ My voice sounded whiney and high-pitched, more like a toddler than a woman standing up for her rights.
Jay shook his head and turned without a word.
My shoulders tightened. He was walking away, leaving me with all the blame. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that.
‘Well, you deserved it, Jay Wilson!’ I called so everyone around us could hear. ‘You’re a forger and a FAKE.’
Jay stopped, and turned.
As he walked back I had to will myself not to run away.
‘I’m a fake?’ said Jay when he was close to me. His voice was quiet. ‘You dress like a model, pretend you’re eighteen, and cheer for a basketball team that you care nothing about.’ He said the last part slowly, as if I had committed a terrible sin.
‘What!’ I snorted to show that he was talking rubbish. ‘Of course I care! I’m in love with their star player, you idiot!’
Jay just rolled his eyes. Then he turned and walked away. This time, I didn’t try to stop him.
‘Hey, Saph!’ Two lockers up from me was Zoe. She was one of those bubbly, bouncy kind of girls. ‘Are you and Jay …’ She glanced up the corridor, watching Jay’s head above the crowd of kids.
‘Are we what?’ I said gruffly. This Friday morning was turning out way worse than I had expected.
Zoe was beaming at me. ‘Are you, well . . . you know?’
‘Not on your life.’ I looked past Zoe, trying to find Summer in the crowd.
‘Well, do you mind if I …’
‘Go for it. Knock yourself out.’ I walked off, frowning.
‘Saph! Glad to have you on the team,’ said Mr Sandown when I passed him in the yard at lunch. He pointed to his clipboard and nodded with satisfaction.
Step Up and Dance Page 3