‘Thanks, but my dad’s coming.’ I swapped hips and flicked my ponytail. ‘Tell your parents thanks.’
Jay had his hands on his hips. ‘Well, we come every game.’ He grinned. ‘As you know. So anytime you’re stuck …’
For a moment we just looked at each other in the dim light. His gaze felt so close it made my cheeks flush.
Then he spoke, still smiling but with a strain in his voice. ‘And that announcement . . . you think that was funny?’
I poked out my tongue at him. ‘Gotcha good!’
But Jay was shaking his head, ‘What did you do, flick your hair at the man with the PA?’
‘I’m not just a dumb bimbo, Jay Wilson.’
Jay snorted and half-laughed. ‘I never called you dumb.’
‘But you do think I’m a bimbo?’ A rush of something like anger rose in my chest.
Jay was still smiling like I was a naughty kid. ‘Did you know that your nostrils flare when you’re angry?’
But I wasn’t in the mood for joking anymore. Did he expect me to sit back and take his pranks but do nothing in return? Not this dumb bimbo . . .
Now a jumble of words tumbled out of my mouth – ‘You deserved it today Jay Wilson! I was just getting you back.’ I finished and crossed my arms.
Jay dropped his shoulders and tilted his head. The mood had well and truly changed.
But I kept going. ‘You started all this, Jay! Just because you’re good at basketball. You’re so . . . so arrogant!’
By now it was hard to see Jay’s eyes in the darkness. But his voice had a strain to it that I’d never heard before. ‘Tonight was an important game. The last game before the quarterfinals. And you distracted the team by playing tricks on the crowd!’
‘Only those in the crowd who deserved it.’
Jay threw up his arms like he was lost for words.
‘It’s just a game, all right? So don’t get all high and mighty with me,’ I said.
In the dim light, I could see Jay’s shoulders stiffen. ‘Just a game?’
Suddenly the loading bay was flooded in light – long shadows spreading and changing in moving headlights.
‘Here’s my dad,’ I said calmly, as my mind kicked into overdrive. Dad was about to find me alone in the dark with a guy. I didn’t need to be a brainiac to know how Dad would react.
The station wagon jerked as it came to a stop, and the door started to open before the handbrake was even on. Dad got out of the car and looked from me to Jay.
Jay was standing tall, with his arms by his sides. He took a couple of steps back.
‘Dad …’ I started, knowing that nothing I could say would help. Don’t do this, Dad, don’t.
Then Jay seemed to grow in height and confidence. He stepped forward and held out his hand for Dad to shake. ‘Mr Giannopoulos, pleased to meet you.’
For the second time that night, I was impressed with Jay. He had pronounced my surname right, pretty much. It was almost as if he’d been practising. And watching Jay step in like that, gave me a sudden clarity about what to do.
‘Dad, this is Jay Wilson. He’s a Magic fan and a friend from school.’
It was weird watching them shake hands, like seeing Luke Skywalker shake hands with Darth Vader. I almost felt left out.
‘Nice to meet you, Jay,’ said Dad. His Greek accent was stronger than normal, the only giveaway that this was a stretch for him.
‘My family has season tickets,’ Jay continued. ‘So if Saph ever needs a lift home . . .’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Dad quickly. ‘Thank you, Jay.’
For an awkward moment, no one said anything. Then Jay took a couple of steps back and waved at me. ‘See you on Monday, Saph.’
Our eyes met, taking us for a split second back to the tunnel that seemed to connect us during the game. Then it was gone. ‘Yeah, see you then.’
Jay turned and scooted around the corner.
Dad and I were quiet on the way home, neither of us knowing what to say, not wanting to start a fight.
As the car stopped in the driveway, Dad turned to me and shook his head. ‘Nothing to worry about, you say?’ Then he climbed out without waiting for an answer.
It was hard to see his face in the darkness. But I think, maybe, his eyes were smiling.
CHAPTER 8
After German on Monday, Jay caught up with me as I walked up the hall. His head was tilted down towards me.
‘Do you want to watch the Bats play on Sunday?’ he asked. ‘It’s an important game.’
A bunch of sporty kids walked past, and Jay nodded, lifting one thumb.
I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. I didn’t want to let my guard down. Especially not with Jay acting friendly again.
‘It’s at the Sports Centre, two o’clock.’ Jay was all serious and earnest, like Mr Sandown.
I laughed and let one arm swing free, holding my books in the other. ‘Well, I’ll see, okay?’
‘Yeah, okay . . .’ Jay nodded.
As we walked out the double doors and down the senior school steps, Jay dodged some kids and moved ahead of me, then slowed so I could catch up. We walked up the path, falling into a rhythm with our steps.
‘I’ve been working on a whistle,’ Jay said halfway up the path. ‘Like a cheer for Magic, see?’
I flicked my ponytail and did a dancey kind of skip. ‘You trying to do me out of a job? Figure if I can do cheerleading it can’t be that hard?’
‘Nah, listen.’ Jay smiled and nodded at me eagerly. Then he stopped walking and rested two fingers in his mouth.
Whooo wip. Whooo wip.
A sharp, crisp sound came from his lips.
‘Ah, that’s great Jay,’ I said. He sure was keen about the quarterfinal.
‘To egg them on, you know? Any little bit helps.’
When we got to English, I dumped my books on my normal desk expecting Jay to sit up the back where he usually does. But Jay dropped his books next to mine with a bang.
‘Magic’s got a chance this year,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Maybe make it to the grand final series. Do you think?’
Two other kids glanced over at us, then kept talking.
‘Well, it was a good win on Saturday. I think they have a chance.’ I sat down, not sure what to do with my feet or how to hold my arms.
He smiled at me as if he sat there every day and we kept talking about the finals until Miss Ingleby made it to class. Weird. I was sitting next to a jock, talking about sport.
Halfway through the class Miss Ingleby called Jay up to the front to go through his essay while the rest of us kept working or, in my case, pretended to keep working.
As Jay pulled his essay from his folder, an extra page slid out onto the floor. Jay had already walked up the front so I leaned over to pick it up.
Disappears – that was the word that caught my eye. The rest of the world disappears. I knew straightaway that it was Jay’s German essay, written in English before being translated. I leaned an elbow on the desk, glanced up the front, and covered my mouth with my hand. I kept reading.
It’s like I go into a zone where I don’t have to think. I just go for it. My hands know what to do before I do. Then the rest of the world disappears. It’s just me and the ball. With sport, you can’t talk. So you can’t lie.
I wanted to read more, but it was so personal I felt like I was reading his diary. So I forced my hands to slide the piece of paper back into the folder.
Up the front, Jay’s tall body was leaning forward awkwardly. He seemed too tall to be standing. Miss Ingleby was talking quickly and pointing at the page.
Soon Jay came back and folded himself back into his seat. ‘Do you want to catch a lift with us on Saturday night?’
Miss Ingleby called someone else to go through their essay up the front.
I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but my dad …’ I scrunched up my mouth and shrugged.
‘Here.’ Jay shoved all his papers back into his folder, tore
a corner from one and scribbled a number on it. ‘Get him to call my parents. They’re very responsible.’ He said the last bit in a posh voice that made me laugh.
I took the paper and smiled. How weird would it be catching a lift with Jay and his family?
But it was a great chance to escape Dad’s pick-ups. He might come round if Jay’s parents spoke to him.
‘Okay, I’ll try,’ I said and glanced at Jay. Suddenly feeling shy, I bent over my work, and we didn’t say anything else to each other for the rest of the class.
‘Don’t go soft on me girl!’
At the bus stop after school, I told Summer about maybe getting a lift with Jay. She launched into a pep talk using her American accent. ‘Jay could do any-thang from here. Especially if you do something stupid, like trusting him!’
I laughed and shook my head, holding my arms around my waist against the cold wind. ‘I think we’re both over the jokes by now.’
‘Over them!’ Summer buttoned up her jacket. Even when she was cold, she still looked good. ‘That’s what he wants you to think!’ She leaned in close to me, eyes shining. ‘It’s his turn now. After the prank you pulled at the game, you might say the ball is in his court. He’s probably planning his trick right now . . .’
I thought back over the stuff that Jay had pulled so far. The letter – awful, horrible, beetroot-making. Signing me up for basketball – kind of fun, definitely educational.
Summer put her arm around my shoulder and whispered in my ear. ‘All I’m saying is watch your back, girl!’
‘Thanks, Sum.’
Summer cupped my cheeks in her cold hands. ‘And text me the minute you suspect anything.’
I nodded, moving her hands up and down as I did. ‘Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.’
‘I sure hope so, girrrrrl!’ Summer’s bad accent was back.
I put my gloved hands over Summer’s cold ones. I sure hoped so too.
I could hear Abe before I’d even pushed on the main studio doors.
‘I can hardly move, let alone dance!’
Other muffled voices talked beneath Abe’s whine.
Inside the studio, I stopped and stared.
Abe stood on a chair in the middle of the room, with a dressmaker fussing around her. To one side stood Lesley, hands on hips, jaw clenched tight. I’d seen that look in her eye enough times to know to keep my distance.
Abe was wearing the girls’ new costume – a backless halter neck in black velvet. She looked elegant and classy. That was, until she tried to move.
‘Hi, Saph,’ called Abe, throwing up one arm. As she did, she popped out of the costume, one nipple peeking up to say hi. ‘What do you think of the new look?’ she said with a wry smile.
Omigod! Imagine if that happened on court!
I made a freak-out face, biting back a giggle.
‘I’m so sorry, I must have written the measurements wrong,’ mumbled the dressmaker, frowning at her notepad.
‘We need them right,’ Lesley pushed her words out between stiff lips, ‘by Saturday.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. The others should be fine,’ she said quickly.
Abe snorted. ‘I’m getting changed.’ She jumped down from the chair, not worrying about what was flopping out or who could see.
‘Saph, isn’t it?’ The dressmaker held out a costume for me to try on.
‘Thanks,’ I said, and shot her a sympathetic smile. Ten minutes with pouting Abe and angry Lesley: she must be in the middle of a crappy day.
The new costume felt glorious – soft and silky, like a ball gown for the modern girl. Mine fitted perfectly, hugging my curves, and stretching me tall. (And I wasn’t about to fall out of it!) It had Magic colours sprinkled over one breast and down onto the skirt, contrasting beautifully with the black.
‘It suits the new opener, don’t you think?’ said Lesley beside me, watching me closely in the mirror.
I ran both hands down the length of the velvet – over my ribs, in at my waist, and out over the curve of my hips. ‘It’s perfect,’ I said, almost in a whisper.
By now the rest of the girls – everyone except Abe – were in costume, turning and peering in the mirrors.
Lesley smiled at my reflection. ‘We’re ready, don’t you think?’ She kept her eyes on me, watching every curve and move. ‘The new opener – do you feel ready?’
I nodded and took a deep breath, savouring the feel of the velvet moving with me. ‘Yeah, it’s feeling good, Lesley.’
She frowned and rubbed her cheek. ‘I’m sitting with the Sportscraft manager on Saturday. It would be perfect . . .’
I eased into a hip roll and raised my eyebrows at Lesley’s reflection.
She nodded. ‘Okay then. Let’s do it.’
One last head flick, arm out, arch back for the end.
Two hours later the Madonna opener was perfect, or as near to perfect as Lesley could squeeze out of the troupe. Each element had been drilled to perfection: the angle of our arms, the height of our kicks, even the size of each step.
‘All right, people, good work,’ Lesley called, with a slow clap.
I sucked in a tired breath and rested one hand on the ache in my lower back. That damn, rotten arabesque! After twenty run-throughs it had become my own private nightmare. Torture on one leg. But at least I hadn’t wobbled.
Stiffly, I turned to Megan beside me. ‘Remind me again why we do this?’ I asked with a small smile.
Megan shut her eyes, then opened them. ‘It’s in our blood, Saph.’
I snorted. Right now my blood just felt tired.
‘Oh! I almost forgot!’ In a rush of flowing fabric, Lesley darted out from behind the stereo. ‘Our first fan letter!’ She shook a piece of paper in the air.
My eyes darted to the paper and narrowed. A letter? I had an uneasy history with those things. Suddenly I wasn’t tired anymore.
‘Listen to this.’ Lesley’s voice was bright and clear, even though she’d been yelling at us all night. ‘To the Majic Charms . . .’ Lesley giggled. ‘Look, she spelt Magic wrong.’ She cleared her throat. ‘My name is Celeste and I am eight years old. You are all really good dancers. When I grow up, I want to be a cheerleader, just like you. Please, please, please write back to me! From Celeste.’
‘Can I see?’ Megan took the page and smiled.
Already I was peering over her shoulder, checking for that telltale handwriting.
‘Aw, so cute.’ Megan handed me the letter and headed out to the changerooms.
Frowning, I skimmed over the words. Purple pen. Love hearts for dots on each ‘i’. My forehead relaxed and I let myself smile. This wasn’t Jay’s style at all.
‘I think her dad’s one of the team managers, so she’s at every game,’ said Lesley, clicking off switches on the sound system. ‘Poor thing.’
Andrew was reaching under the barre for his top. Abe and the others were already heading out the door.
‘Does anyone . . .’ I held up the letter. ‘We should reply to this.’
Andrew shrugged, but no one else even looked back at me.
‘Looks like you’re it, Saph,’ said Lesley on the way past.
I was still holding the letter when Dad picked me up.
‘You look tired,’ he said before I’d even reached for my seatbelt.
So do you, Dad, I thought. But I just shrugged. ‘Lesley’s working us really hard. The quarterfinal and all.’
Dad nodded. I didn’t have to see his face to know he was frowning.
I folded the fan letter carefully and slid it into the side pocket of my dancing bag. There was already another scrap of paper in there.
‘Dad, you remember Jay Wilson? You met him on Saturday night?’
‘I remember him, Saph.’
‘Well, his parents want you to call them. They keep offering to give me a lift . . .’ I trailed off, resting my head against the seat. So tired . . . I didn’t have any energy for a fight. ‘I just thought, they’re parents, you know? And Ja
y, well, he’s a lot like me, really.’ I thought back to his German essay.
For a few seconds, the only sounds in the car were the rumble of the engine and the click-clock, click-clock of the indicator. Dad turned the corner, straightened the wheel and glanced at me.
‘Okay then, koukla,’ he said, his voice growling and warm. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ I let my body settle into the familiar seat. Considering Dad belonged in the middle of last century, I gave his answer an eight out of ten.
I sipped my steaming hot chocolate, enjoying the silky feel of it sliding down my throat. Come on sugar, do your stuff. Hit me with a shot of energy. I switched on my laptop, positioning it carefully, and peered at my page of scribbles – the start-stop plan for my German essay.
My head felt thick and my eyes were dry. My back was tight and sore. But I couldn’t go to bed yet. Not when I was so behind with my essay.
I shifted in my chair, trying to find a position that soothed my back. (A girl can’t start work until she’s comfy!)
Then I cupped my mug in two hands and blew over the top, before taking another sip. ‘Echtes Glück.’ Real happiness. Okay then . . .
Another sweet sip. And another . . .
Before I knew it, I was tipping the mug upside down and licking the inside for the last thick chocolate bits.
No more hot chocolate, and no further into my German essay.
Did the essay really matter anyway? I rested my elbows on the desk and held my head in my hands. How much German would I need when I was dancing full time? All this was a total waste of energy.
I slid off my desk chair and kneeled on my rug next to my dancing bag. From the side pocket I pulled out the purple fan letter and opened it carefully. It was pretty cool – the Charms getting our first piece of fan mail. Like we were movie stars, or fairytale princesses – living a life that others can only dream of. My life was Celeste’s dream.
Before I knew it, I was back at my desk opening a fresh document with a head full of things to say. If only my German essay was this easy . . .
Dear Celeste,
Step Up and Dance Page 8