Step Up and Dance

by Thalia Kalipsakis

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ I bit my lip, tasting the sugar and hint of liquorice, and stared down at Jay. ‘But it’s a bit cruel don’t you think?’ I didn’t want to be too mean about this. Then again, I didn’t want to be a pushover either. Bimbo, fake, pushover – if I saw myself through Jay’s eyes, I wasn’t exactly fearsome opposition.

  ‘Well, we could tell the coach that he’s on drugs and get him kicked off the team.’

  ‘Summer!’ I play punched her on the arm. ‘You’re terrible, girl!’

  She grinned at me and popped another jellybean into her mouth.

  Summer was right, though. Basketball was the perfect way to get back at Jay.

  I leaned forward again, resting my elbows on my knees, watching the ball race from hand to hand.

  That was when it hit me – the start of an idea at least. Jay loved basketball, but he didn’t just love the Bats. There was another club that he loved just as much. Maybe more . . .

  And it was a club where I had connections.

  We didn’t stay for all of the Bats training session. After an hour, Summer started getting fidgety with a wild look in her eyes. Summer on a sugar high? It was time to go home.

  ‘I don’t feel so great,’ she mumbled as she tottered behind me down the steps.

  We were headed out the main doors when one of Jay’s jock friends ran up and blocked our way.

  When I saw him, I groaned out loud. Someone save me! Chook was thick, in body and mind. He snorted and laughed as we stopped.

  Summer and I said nothing, just looked at him. But I could feel Summer beside me, clutching my hand in both of hers, swaying slightly.

  ‘Hey, Saph, do you have a crush on one of the Bats boys?’ Chook cracked up laughing like a loon.

  ‘As if …’ I pulled on Summer’s hand and went to walk past Chook. But he moved to block my way.

  ‘Well, what are you doing here then?’ Another dumb snort. He had a look in his eye like a bear about to grab its lunch.

  Summer squeezed my hand. ‘Is this Jay’s next joke?’ she giggled, tickling my ear with her breath. ‘Better not be, ’cause then you’ll be two behind.’

  I shook my head, unsure. My heart was thudding in my throat.

  Then I heard a familiar voice behind us. ‘Chook, rack off.’

  I turned to see Jay approaching, red faced and angry. He pulled Chook out of our way.

  ‘All right, all right!’ Chook lumbered off, snorting and laughing.

  Already Summer was pulling me out of the double doors, escaping while the path was clear.

  ‘Hey, Saph, thanks for coming …’ Jay called, raising one arm in a kind of wave.

  I turned and walked back a few steps. But all I could do was nod before Summer pulled me away. I stumbled after her in the darkness, leaving Jay behind in the bright light.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘Thanks, Dad!’ I blew him a kiss as I got out of the car.

  ‘Normal pick-up time?’ he asked, hands on the steering wheel like always.

  ‘Normal time,’ I said, scooping up my million-and-one bags. ‘But I’ll call your mobile if anything changes.’

  In a flash, Dad’s eyes darted to me, then relaxed into a smile as he saw me giggle and wink.

  ‘Just joking …’

  ‘Saph,’ he said, shaking his head as if he wasn’t sure what to think.

  Poor old Dad. I leaned over and patted his knee. ‘Don’t stress, okay? You worry too much.’

  A long sigh, a slight nod, before Dad said goodbye. But I wasn’t going to let a dad from the 1950s drag me down. Tonight I was pumped. It was a big game, and the Charms might be on TV. But even with that extra pressure I couldn’t help remembering that Jay would be in the crowd. It would be the perfect chance for me to get him back for signing me up for school basketball.

  Problem was, I couldn’t think of what to do. I could tell Lesley that I’d found a gay guy who wanted to join the troupe. Or introduce him to one of the players as my friend who has brain damage. But it all seemed a bit lame.

  As I headed into the main stadium, an image flashed into my mind of holding Jay down and waxing his legs. See? Beauty takes balls . . . rrrrip!

  Ah, the look of agony on his face would be pure bliss.

  Forty-five minutes later, my brain was numb with effort and all thoughts of revenge were in the dark depths of my sorry mind. Our newest time-out had eight turning kicks, then the same again on the other side. Super-easy to remember, but torture to do well.

  One – kick out to the side, swivel and flick the same leg behind.

  Two – kick, swivel, flick. Pompoms out to the side.

  Three, four, five – pant, strain, ouch.

  Six, seven, eight – leg down at last. March to face the other way. Pompoms count the beat. Then begin again from the top. Kick, swivel, flick . . .

  The muscles in my supporting leg were screaming: We can’t keep doing this Saph! We can’t hold you up! But, dear muscles, you must.

  Finally we reached eight again. Then – bam pow – the end of our newest time-out routine.

  Behind me and to the side, bodies dropped like dying flies. Two lay sprawled on the floor. Others leaned forward, gripping their knees for support.

  I stretched out my back, feeling a last moaning cry from my spine. Then I dropped forwards on all fours to see a bead of sweat splatter on the court.

  It was only rehearsal, lots to do before the game, but already the troupe was wrecked.

  ‘That was absolute CRAP!’ Lesley was the only one with enough energy to talk, and jeez was she using a lot of it. ‘Bec, that face! Is that what you look like when you’re on the toilet?’

  Like a General walking among her wounded troops, Lesley moved to each of us, showering us with praise and encouragement . . . No wait, I was just delirious with the pain.

  ‘Megan! You’re our cornerstone . . . NEVER fall out of formation!’

  When it was my turn, Lesley stopped and peered down at me as if I were a dog. ‘Saph!’

  Here it comes . . . For once I was glad to have had such solid ballet training – the tightness of my stomach was the only thing holding me up.

  ‘Saph, don’t …’ Lesley waved her arms about as if she was lost for words. ‘Don’t flirt with the crowd!’ she growled.

  Wow, thanks Lesley.

  To one side, I could see Bec was flushed in the cheeks, like she always is when she’s holding back tears.

  I shook my head at Lesley as she thundered across to Andrew. Then, without thinking, I scrunched up my face like a grumpy kid and poked out my tongue. A tad immature, I know, but jeez it felt good.

  I turned to the others, expecting rolling eyes and shaking heads, ready to poke out my tongue at them too. Baby of the troupe, eh? Care factor: zero.

  But no one was rolling their eyes. Bec had stopped looking teary and was smiling. Abe was stretching forward, head turned to grin at me, her shoulders shaking in a giggle. Then Megan – gorgeous professional cornerstone Megan – lifted both hands like puppets and mouthed blah blah blah behind Lesley’s back. She winked and we shared a quiet chuckle.

  ‘Take five,’ called Lesley, after she had finished blasting the rest of the troupe. ‘Then I want to see it again. No excuses this time.’ She grabbed her laptop and lumbered up the stairs to the camera area.

  Oww . . . back pain. I dropped backwards to lie on the floor, staring at the steel beams in the distant ceiling.

  ‘You know what I think?’ said Abe from somewhere nearby. ‘If she starts screaming again, we should ask her to show us how it’s done. “If you’re so perfect, Les, then you do the damn time-out.” ’

  ‘Ha.’ I let out a single tired laugh at the image of Lesley trying to lift and flick her leg.

  ‘Well, you know what they say,’ said Gino from the front. ‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.’

  I hitched myself up onto my elbows and looked up the empty rows of chairs, to where Lesley was talking to a cameraman.

  ‘I thi
nk I know why she’s being a dragon,’ I said. ‘She’s trying to get a time-out televised.’

  Everyone stirred and slowly sat up. We were used to the TV going to an ad during time-outs. Sometimes we were on a promo, just a second or two. But a full time-out on TV? That would be huge.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Megan.

  Everyone watched as Lesley raced back down to us. ‘All right people! We’re doing the new time-out again. And I want to see perrrfection!’

  I stood with the rest of the troupe, all of us moving with the same calm confidence. No more tongue poking, no more bitching. We had a job to do.

  Then Lesley hit play and nine legs shot out to the side, high and strong.

  Care factor: one hundred per cent.

  An hour later I was made-up, shining like a charm and sitting in position behind the basket. Along with us cheerleaders, the stadium had been transformed – it was writhing with movement and noise.

  I could feel a rhythmic thudding in the floor beneath me as Grant Cunningham dribbled and then passed – whack – to Damien. A dodge. Another dribble, and Damien shot at goal. For a moment, time seemed to pause, all hearts flying with the ball, then it began again with a collective gasp. The ball bounced on the edge of the basket and fell down into the broad hands of the opposition.

  Usually I would have thought it was a valiant effort, but today the words ‘rushed and selfish’ came into my head.

  Damien. His legs were looking better than ever tonight. (What I wouldn’t give for legs like that!) He was still gorgeous, just like the poster on the back of my door. But the more I watched him the more he reminded me of Brooke – a razzle-dazzle player who took risks the team didn’t need.

  Damn . . . With all the Magic fans I groaned as the opposition sunk a three-pointer.

  ‘God, this is nerve-racking,’ said Megan beside me.

  A Magic player threw the ball back onto the court and players thudded back towards our end.

  ‘It’s okay, Meegs,’ I said, my eyes still on the boys. ‘They’re in the quarterfinals even if they lose this one.’

  ‘What?’ Megan frowned at me as if I’d gone crazy. ‘Not the game, I mean the next time-out! In case it’s televised.’

  ‘Oh.’ I sneaked a quick sideways glance at Megan. She was sitting tall, facing the court, but her eyes weren’t even on the players.

  Up, across and bounce bounce bounce went the ball. But Megan’s gaze hadn’t followed it. They could have been playing hockey for all she knew.

  Grant Cunningham had the ball now, pointing at one of his team-mates and dribbling up the sidelines. I could see why Jay had mentioned him in German last week.

  Jay . . . He was in the crowd tonight. Somewhere.

  Thud went the ball into strong broad hands, then through our basket.

  ‘Yay!’ Up shot both my pompoms, cheering for the score and urging the team for more.

  I brought down my arms and sneaked a peek at the rest of the gang behind me – vacant stares, eyes looking anywhere except the ball, even the guys looked bored. Abe was inspecting her nail polish for chips.

  I hoped Jay wasn’t watching the spectacular display of disinterest. Where had he said his season tickets were? The park side . . .

  My eyes began to wander. Away from our boys and the ball, away from Damien’s legs. I scanned the rows on the park side stands. No uni guys to worry about on that side. No sleazy duffel coat man. Just rows and rows of faces.

  Face after face, head after head . . .

  Then my eyes stopped. It wasn’t Jay I saw first, but one of his friends, shaking a poster in the air. Sitting next to him, quietly, not moving, was Jay.

  I had located the enemy.

  ‘Yaaaay!’ A three-pointer for Magic and I was jumping and kicking, then back into formation.

  At last I knew where Jay sat. They were halfway up the stands so it wasn’t easy to see expressions. He had two friends on one side, and that must be his dad on the other, and his mum further down. Was that his sister next to his mum? Hmmm . . . useful.

  A time-out! Suddenly I was standing with the rest of the troupe, running onto the court, even though I’d missed the ‘T’ hand-signal from a coach.

  For a second, my heart sped into panic mode. Which dance were we up to? Then the music began, my heart sighed with relief, and everything fell into place. We were doing our newest time-out.

  One. Out to the side shot my leg, then swivel and flick. My muscles woke and cried out as I pushed them through this again. But they held strong – staying with me and helping me to dance like a charm.

  Around me, I could feel the rest of the troupe dancing bold and holding strong. It must have looked pretty cool – the flush of colour and movement from the seven sets of pompoms, nine legs rising together, then a twirl of nine heads. All of our bodies flicking in time.

  Now we reached eight and turned to face the other way. Park side now.

  Holding my head high, I began the kicks again, aware of Jay sitting halfway up the stands.

  Don’t flirt with the crowd, Saph.

  This was different from the last game. I stayed safe inside my glass cocoon, clear in my mind. I held only the moves in my mind, talking to my muscles as they pushed and strained. Stay focussed, Saph. Stay true. But I could still see Jay in the distance, sitting among strange faces. Watching me.

  Kick swivel flick . . .

  Was I dreaming? As I danced with my head high, the other faces of the crowd seemed to melt away. The troupe faded behind me, until I could sense only two things. My body. And Jay.

  Number five now. Out kicked my leg and around for a flick.

  I have watched you dancing for a year.

  Words seemed to float through me . . . words that I had read somewhere before. Over and over like a recurring dream.

  You dance like a goddess.

  We ended with a bang, and the entire stadium exploded in clapping and whooping cries. For once they really had watched.

  I ran back to my place with the rest of the troupe, heart pounding with pride, my cheeks flushed from the dream.

  ‘Did you see the red light?’ gushed Abe from behind me as the game began again. ‘The camera light. It was on the whole second half!’ Her voice bubbled with pride.

  ‘That was so awesome!’

  ‘It felt good, didn’t it?’

  Around me the troupe laughed and compared notes about the time-out.

  Sitting at the front, I stayed quiet, watching the play. Every now and then I glanced up to the park side. I could see him, sitting up up and away. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was Jay’s head turned slightly? Was he watching me? A tunnel, between us – connecting us through the writhing crowd.

  ‘Oooooh Maaaaaagic!’

  The stadium exploded again with a three-pointer from our boys. The Charms jumped up, kicking and cheering.

  And suddenly I snapped out of my dream. What was I thinking? I was dancing for the enemy. Summer would say I still owed Jay a trick.

  Then I smiled. My plan wasn’t very complicated, or even very sophisticated, but I got all beetrooty just imagining someone doing it to me.

  At the start of the second half, the stadium went wild, screaming ‘Magic Magic Magic!’ and trying to drown out the opposition chant.

  As the players ran onto the court, the chanting fell apart and became a series of claps and cries.

  ‘Go team!’

  ‘Yaaaaaay Magic!’

  ‘Let’s get ’em, boys.’

  That’s when it came – booming through the stadium for everyone to hear.

  ‘Attention, please. We have a child lost in the stadium. A child is lost.’

  A hush fell over the crowd. The players stood on the court, stretching out their ankles and thighs.

  ‘The child is in Magic colours and wearing a red cap. He answers to the name of Jay Wilson. Jay Wilson.’

  I bit my lip and smothered a giggle. Halfway up the park stands, heads next to Jay were moving and arms were gesturing.


  ‘Anyone who can locate Jay, please report to a stadium official.’

  Ha! Gotcha! I kept my legs crossed, eyes on the court as if everything were normal.

  Jay Wilson, mummy’s boy. It was supremely naff, really. Who cares about a dumb announcement? But I knew who I was dealing with. Jay was a jock after all. And what does a jock-boy hate most of all? Looking like an idiot in front of his friends.

  It had taken some fast talking to make it happen at all.

  I sneaked one last look up at the stands. Was I mistaken, or was that Jay’s friend, laughing and punching him on the arm?

  After the game, I stood in the darkness of the loading area, rocking on the balls of my feet and spinning my ponytail (or trying to) like I used to when I was little.

  The game had been awesome – a tight win, but a good one that put us safely in the quarterfinals. But more than that, the Charms were already getting great feedback from our televised time-out. And a meeting was being organised with the manager from Sportscraft. So awesome!

  But as good as all that had been, it didn’t stop me thinking about Jay. I only wished that Summer had been here to see his face.

  Now I started swinging my arms in time to my rocking feet. I could hear loud music coming from one of the side buildings, and the crunch of tyres around the corner in the staff carpark.

  In the distance I could hear running feet. Closer and closer they came, louder and louder, until a tall sprinting body shot around the corner and skidded to a stop in front of me.

  ‘Saph! There you are.’

  When Jay appeared so suddenly, my body jerked as if I’d been caught doing something wrong and my arms flapped awkwardly. Not a good look.

  Get a grip, Saph! I pushed out my hip and tilted my head to one side, like a girl who just didn’t care.

  I could see Jay’s chest rising rhythmically under his shirt. ‘Hey, do you need a lift home?’ he asked. ‘My parents have space.’

  I was pretty impressed, really. Jay had thought long enough about life as a bimbo cheerleader to see that lifts home might be a problem. Not bad. But he hadn’t thought hard enough to predict an overprotective Greek father.