Mum was leaning back in her chair, taking fast sips and licking her lips in between.
Dad smiled, staring into distant memories. ‘I decided if I just sneaked a taste of ouzo, then they wouldn’t notice anything missing.’
I took another sip, and then another. Soon my feet were tingling and my head felt like a balloon.
‘But I couldn’t stop!’ Dad continued. He reached across to grab my hand, his eyes flashing bright. ‘When they came home,’ he laughed, ‘I was passed out in the hall, clutching the half-empty bottle of ouzo.’
‘Dad!’ I shook my head, eyes wide. My father, the alcoholic. ‘How old were you?’
Mum leaned forward and started giggling.
Dad sighed, and took another sip. ‘I was nine years old.’
‘What?!’ I let my mouth drop open and shook my head, giving Dad the full force of my disapproval. ‘That’s way too young to start drinking, old man.’
After that we talked and laughed and ate the sushi rolls, which fell apart because they were so fresh. Dad always dips his in olive oil. (How weird can he get?) So I talked him into a deal: I’ll try an olive oil piece if you try one with soy sauce. The olive oil roll wasn’t too bad, even though I pretended to choke and almost fall off my chair.
Soon Mum and Dad were starting their second drinks and laughing about nothing, while I switched to straight lemonade. Mum spent fully half an hour gushing about her cheese-making class, then Dad told us why he doesn’t want to fire the hippy driver who keeps having bingles with his truck. For some reason, the image of Dad frowning at new dents made me laugh so hard I had tears rolling down my cheeks.
Near the end of the evening, they both turned to me. So what’s been going on in your life, Saph? I knew they wanted me to start talking about cheerleading. But when I opened my mouth, a whole heap of other stuff came out – about Summer and school and having trouble with my German essay.
‘German’s a lot harder this year than I thought it would be,’ I said, yawning and stretching back in my chair.
There was a pause as Dad reached across the table to hold Mum’s hand. ‘Your mother and I have been talking,’ he said. A look passed between them, then Dad smiled at me. ‘And we support your dancing, Saph. We don’t want you to quit.’
‘You mean …’ I looked from one to the other. ‘You don’t mind …’
Dad smiled and shrugged.
‘Just because I dance like that, it’s not like …’ I sat straight in my chair. It was strange talking like this with my dad. But in some ways, not strange anymore. ‘I’m not like that, you know? It’s just a dance.’
‘I know, Saph.’ He glanced at Mum, then back at me and sighed. ‘You’re growing up, koukla.’
That made me want to cry. I knew how hard it was for Dad to say that. ‘I’m probably kicked off the troupe, anyway …’
Dad reached out and brushed my cheek with rough fingers. ‘You know I think you look best without all that make-up,’ he said. ‘But either way, you’re a beautiful girl.’
I smiled, a tear in my eye. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I looked across at Mum. ‘Really, thanks.’
Then I went to bed and sank into it deeper than I have for a long time. I was myself again – not trying to be eighteen, or wishing I was eight again – happy being jellybean sixteen.
CHAPTER 11
‘Do you want me to call Lesley for you?’ asked Mum in the kitchen the next morning. ‘I’m sure I can work it out.’
Hmmm. It was tempting to hide while Mum faced the growling lion. I finished pouring milk on my rice bubbles and bit my lip. The bowl started crackling as I sat down.
But as much as I liked the idea, I knew I couldn’t let Mum call Lesley for me. I was a professional dancer. (At least, I hoped I still was.) And that meant facing the great growling choreographer, even when she wanted to bite my head off.
‘Thanks, Mum, but I’ll do it,’ I said. Just one bowl of rice bubbles and a mug of Milo lay between me and the wrath of Lesley.
Ten minutes later, I dialled Lesley’s number and waited. My breath came short and sharp into the receiver.
‘Hel . . . uhm . . . Hello?’ Lesley’s voice was croaky and thin. ‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’ I blurted out. Oops! ‘It’s Saph.’
‘Saph.’ Now Lesley’s voice was clearer. ‘I’m glad you called.’ I could hear a faint rustling as she climbed out of bed. ‘I wanted to thank you, Saph.’ Lesley cleared her throat. ‘From what Abe tells me, you saved the opener when her costume didn’t arrive.’
My breathing halted for a moment. Lesley was thanking me. ‘Oh . . . um . . .’ I wasn’t sure what to say. All through breakfast I’d been going over this call in my head, but Just one more chance, Lesley suddenly didn’t seem to fit.
‘Anyway, I’ve learnt a few lessons from that night. That new formation for eight? I like it. It rotates well on the court. Think we could do lots with it.’
A formation for eight? ‘You mean . . .’ I didn’t want to say it.
Lesley laughed – booming like loud music. ‘Don’t worry, Saph, I’m just adding in some slack. We need some routines that suit eight dancers and a rotating understudy. That way if anyone’s sick or busy, then they get some time off. Remember last year when Bec had to dance with the flu?’
Sure I did. Lesley had dosed her up on tablets and sent Bec out with a glassy look in her eyes. She danced as if in a dream and then fell asleep on her pompom bags at half time.
I laughed. And I wasn’t just laughing about Bec. A wave of relief washed through me, soothing me like the ouzo had.
‘Anyway, no class tonight. Did you get that message?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’ There was a pause – space to come out and say it. I gulped. ‘I’m sorry I wobbled, Lesley.’
‘Ah that.’ Lesley’s voice was flat, but not angry. ‘Well, Sportscraft are still willing to negotiate. So it’s not the end of the world. And we won’t let it happen again because we’re changing the end of your solo.’
I sighed, half-laughing at the same time. ‘Yeah. Good plan.’ If only we’d done that to start with.
When I hung up the phone, I stared at it for a while.
Mum’s hand felt firm on my shoulder. Her voice was quiet in my ear. ‘How’d it go?’ she asked.
I turned, nodding with my lips squished together, a jumble of hopes and fears inside. ‘It’s all fine. I mean . . . I’m not kicked off. And she’s changing things, to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Mum hugged me around the neck and then pulled away, smiling. ‘I knew it, Saph.’
I nodded, letting a smile break out across my face. This was great news. Not just about having a place on the troupe. But also about dancing – messing up so bad and finding that I still had a second chance. I’d just lived through my worst nightmare, and woken to find the sun was shining.
I didn’t let myself worry about the Jay-shaped cloud on the horizon.
‘Wunderbar, Annette! And which case is that?’
The next day, Mr Kissinger had left his funky self at home and morphed into a normal German teacher. Colour me pink, we were working on grammar! Maybe after having a drink with my parents, I really had landed on Mars.
Across from me, Jay had his long legs folded under the table; his eyes looked vaguely up at the screen. His cheeks were pale. No longer the calm, controlled sporty guy that I now knew so well.
‘Das Buch steht auf . . . anyone?’ Mr Kissinger raised his eyebrows at the class hopefully. ‘Den Tisch? Dem Tisch? Der?’
Seeing Jay didn’t make me feel empty anymore. In fact, I felt full up. Jumbled thoughts raced through my mind and crashed into each other: disappointment, sadness, anger, the heat of guilt. I shook them away and glanced down at my desk. There was nothing I could do about it now.
For the rest of the class, I kept my eyes away from Jay. He could have jumped on the desk and pulled all his clothes off for all the difference it would have made. Nothing could have made me look at him. Not that he was doing anythin
g to get my attention, anyway. In fact, he didn’t so much as glance my way all lesson. Did he know what Summer and I had done?
When the bell rang, Mr Kissinger clicked his fingers like a cool cat. ‘All right class! Essays to me on your way out.’ He did a weird kind of jig and clicked his fingers again. ‘Bet you’re all glad you’ve discovered the true meaning of happiness!’
Someone snorted, but in a joking kind of way.
Jay was at Mr Kissinger’s desk, holding his paper with both hands as if he didn’t want to crinkle it. He’d get a good mark for that one – I let my eyes skim over the other people handing in papers – maybe top.
It’s like I go into a zone. With sport, you can’t talk, so you can’t lie . . .
The weird thing was, I felt the same about dancing as Jay felt about sport. That was what got me so mad with him. He didn’t see that dancing was about much more than looking good and acting a role. It was about feelings. Expressing how I felt in my body was so much more powerful than words. Happiness is a dance from the heart, each move showing the world how I feel.
I looked down at my essay and sighed. Hot chocolate and Making people’s eyes pop. Suddenly I didn’t want to hand it in.
‘Lucky last, Saph!’ said Mr Kissinger once everyone was gone. He sat down on his desk. ‘How did it go?’
‘Not too bad,’ I frowned at the pages in my hand. ‘But not so good either.’ I bit my lip, frowning. ‘Can I have a few more days, Mr K? There’s been some stuff going on . . . and I think I can make it better.’
Mr Kissinger smiled and nodded – cool cat, no problems. ‘Of course, Saph. See me when you’re ready and I’ll help with the translation.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’ It felt good to care about German again.
Happiness is having my parents on my side. Making a big mistake, and finding that the sun still shines.
Mr Kissinger stood up and hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘You know, Saph? Sometimes the things that are the hardest are the things that teach you the most.’
I giggled. ‘That’s a bit deep, Mr K.’ We started walking towards the door.
‘Just you wait till uni! It gets so deep that you’ll need an air tank.’
I shrugged and smiled up at him. ‘Uni? I’m not so sure . . .’ ‘Hey, Saph,’ Mr Kissinger stopped at the door, and winked. ‘Keep your options open, kid. I think you might love uni.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Then I walked down the hall, smiling to myself.
Happiness is having a teacher like Mr K.
I was still smiling as I headed out of the senior school building, and started down the steps.
Then I stopped dead. No more smiling, not even moving.
At the bottom of the steps, two clear eyes peered out from a pale face. Jay.
For a moment, I thought about spinning fast and escaping back inside.
‘What’s going on, Saph?’ He had his head tilted up to me, a pained look in his eye.
What was going on? I didn’t know anymore. You’re a fake. No, you are. Harmless pranks to prove a point. How did I let it go this far?
‘Brett said you . . .’ Jay started. ‘But I couldn’t believe it. I mean, you know how important basketball is to me . . .’ He kept stopping and starting as if he was choking on the words. ‘And I thought we were . . .’
My throat was tight. After all that had happened I felt furious and guilty at the same time. This was as much Jay’s fault as it was mine. I shook my head, not even able to look at Jay, and cut diagonally down the steps, up the path and away. Just get away. Saph: the extreme escape artist.
Jay got the idea after that. I hardly saw him for the rest of the week. He sure wasn’t looking my way. And if he did by accident, he’d get a cold, blank look in his eye and glance away.
Good. Life without Jay was fine with me. No more bimbo jokes. No more watching my back. No more learning about tactics. No more goofy grins.
No more Jay to turn my feelings upside down.
On Saturday night on the way to Zoe’s party, I told myself I was feeling good. Finally my life was going to be sweet sixteen and jellybean easy.
Summer and I skipped up Zoe’s front steps hand in hand, laughing at nothing except the promise of a fun time.
The house was huge; crisp and clean with polished floorboards that reflected the sound of high heels and laughter from room to room. There were speakers everywhere too, somehow all connected to the main stereo. For an awkward moment we stood in a front room, not sure what to do. Then the music changed.
‘Ooo, I love this song!’ Summer smiled, eyes soft and dreamy.
In the next room, someone yelled woohoo and started singing the lyrics wrong.
‘Come and dance?’ Summer pulled at my hand, already swaying her hips.
I let her lead me into the other room, singing the lyrics like an anthem. I felt good – free in my body, safe in the dim light. Happy just being with Summer.
The dance room was crowded, definitely the place to be. Bright light shone through an archway from the dining area. I kept dancing, looking through the archway to see a table with food and drinks, and people yelling to be heard. Then I saw a red cap moving through the bodies – Jay. He was alone, straining his neck and scanning the munchie room. Looking for someone.
Summer was bounding around me like a puppy dog at a disco. I kept swaying. Smaller moves now, no more singing. I kept my eyes on Jay.
Soon he was leaning in the archway, head almost touching the top, squinting into the darkness of the dance room.
Two seconds . . . three . . . Then his eyes stopped roaming. He was looking straight at me.
I stopped dancing, feeling the tunnel between us, holding us together and somehow blocking out everything else. And in a flash I knew what I had to do. I had to end this properly.
‘I’ll be back, okay?’ I screamed at Summer’s bouncing hair. She flicked it back, nodded, and disappeared again into the music.
When I reached the archway, I looked up at Jay. Then I motioned for him to follow and kept walking, drawing him away from the noise.
In the kitchen I stopped and leaned against the sink, a jumble of sharp feelings inside.
‘Jay, I’m really sorry.’ My arms were crossed, my eyes focussed on a blue button on his shirt. ‘Getting you kicked off the team? It was overkill. Way out of line. I promise, no more tricks.’ I bit my lip and peered up at his face.
‘You did it as a prank?’ Jay shook his head in disbelief.
‘I’ll speak to your coach. I’ll explain it all.’
Jay sighed, pushed back a tray of sausage rolls, and leaned on the bench. He was so tall he was almost sitting on it. ‘Nah, I sorted it out. I’m playing tomorrow. It’s …’ He trailed off, frowning and shaking his head.
For a time we said nothing. Jay’s body was stiff, but his eyes darted across the floor tiles.
Then his thoughts seemed to boil over, pouring out of his mouth. ‘How could you do that? I mean . . . Far out! You know I live for my team!’
My throat felt tight, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the hurt and anger in my chest.
‘You just don’t get it do you? All you can think about is basketball.’ I stood up from the sink, determined to feel tall, even though I was tiny compared to Jay. ‘Don’t you see, Jay? The way you feel about basketball is the way I feel about dancing! And I nearly got kicked off the troupe because of your stupid whistle. It made me wobble and pretty much wrecked our whole routine!’
I glanced up at him, savouring the surprise and sudden guilt in his eyes. I kept going. ‘All you care about is basketball, Jay Wilson. But there are other things that matter too. Lots of other things.’
‘Saph …’
I shut my eyes. Don’t say my name like that. Not now . . .
‘I care about a lot more than basketball.’
In the other room someone put on the Rolling Stones, accompanied by whoops and groaning.
I let my head drop back, pleading with the ceiling. ‘I’m s
o sick of it all: the letter, and school basketball, and . . . that whistle. You started it all and you have to stop.’
‘Stop? I . . .’ Jay threw up his hands, looking totally confused.
‘No more practical jokes.’ I held my head high, nose in the air, and walked past him, out of the kitchen, not sure where to go next. So this is the end.
‘Wait!’
As I passed the munchie table, Jay caught me and grasped my shoulders. His face was close to mine. ‘Listen, Saph.’
For the second time in an eternity of weeks, I felt the warmth of Jay’s hands.
‘Listen,’ he said again. ‘School basketball wasn’t a trick. I signed you up so you could learn about the game. I thought you’d enjoy it. Basketball’s your job.’ I glanced up at his pleading face. When our eyes met, he smiled. ‘Would I joke about basketball?’
I pouted and shrugged. Don’t smile, Saph.
‘Anyway, it worked, didn’t it? You’re smart about basketball now. You picked it up really quickly. And I see you at Magic games – you care now, don’t you? You watch the plays.’
‘So?’ I shrugged and flicked back my hair. ‘That doesn’t explain the whistle. Or the fact that you told your friends embarrassing stuff about me. You laughed at me behind my back.’
‘The whistle was meant to be a compliment. But as for the other stuff, what on earth are you talking about?’
‘Chook said you told your whole team that I was totally unco and laughed about me all the time.’
‘Saph, I talk about you all the time. I can’t help it. Chook’s an idiot if he can’t tell the difference between laughing at someone, and laughing because that someone makes you smile whenever you think about them.’
Great. Now I wasn’t sure what to say or how to hold my arms. Had I really been reading this all wrong?
‘But the letter . . . That was so mean!’
‘Saph, that letter wasn’t meant to hurt you. It was …’ Jay trailed off. A shadow fell over his eyes, hiding his thoughts from me.
‘What?’ I waited.
But Jay just shook his head. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry too.’ He seemed to grow taller, his body moving away from mine. ‘It won’t happen again.’
Step Up and Dance Page 11