Kat: Breaking Pointe

by Sebastian Scott

  ‘I thought this was about ballet, not your social interests.’ She goes to walk away but I stop her. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask for a very long time.

  ‘Miss Raine. When you first let me into the Academy was that because I was good enough or was it another favour to my parents?’

  She stares for a moment. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Katrina.’

  She strides away.

  Abigail finds me sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the wharf. I’m stuffing chips into my mouth. Miss Raine’s silence was enough to convince me, I was never good enough for the Academy. I am just another Karamakov, trading on the family name.

  ‘It’s like training a goldfish.’ Abigail snatches the chips out of my hand. ‘You were due in the studio twenty minutes ago.’

  I scowl. ‘For leg squats? I had six days to prepare, you don’t think that time would’ve been better spent at the barre?’

  Abigail shrugs. ‘As far as technique goes, there’s nothing you can do in six days. It’s impossible.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me I’m hopeless.’ I grab my bag.

  ‘You would be if you were starting from nothing. You’ve been dancing since before you could walk, Kat. Your technique is in there.’

  She grimaces. ‘Somewhere.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I retort. ‘I was given every opportunity known to balletbot kind and I still never deserved to be here.’

  ‘At some point you might want to stop inventing excuses to quit.’

  ‘Yeah. Why’s that?’

  Abigail sighs. ‘Because. You’re not actually terrible.’

  That night Mum calls to wish me luck.

  ‘I’m proud of you. You’ve shown a lot of character this year.’

  ‘Must be all that rejection.’ I’m only half joking. ‘Listen, Tash, don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘Whatever happens,’ she says, sounding close despite the distances between us, ‘you’ll always be my Katrina.’

  CHAPTER 15

  I pull on a new pair of tights, the purple leotard and tie up my wrap-around chiffon skirt. I’ve worn many costumes this year, tried on so many different Kats. Cheerleader, schoolgirl, chicken, fairy, dancer with the Moulin Rouge. So many costume changes that I didn’t know who I was supposed to be in between. I stand in front of the mirror. Despite her tight, worried face, I recognise this girl.

  All year I’ve been waiting to arrive somewhere. But perhaps what I was really looking for was a way to come home.

  The group audition is with the junior girls. Little mini Tara and Abigails flock around, shooting me big-eyed, questioning looks. There’s nowhere to hide. I am giant-sized, an ungainly Gulliver to their Lilliputian cuteness.

  We run through familiar exercises and I’m relieved that my body seems to know what it’s doing. I’m thankful for Abigail’s workout regime – the cardio, the strength training. I can feel that I have more control in my movements. I look across the heads of the little girls I am dancing with. Some will get in, some won’t. The ones who don’t will either keep dancing, or they’ll get their Saturday mornings back, they’ll find other things to do: swimming or studying or music or boys. I wonder what I will do if I don’t get in. I banish that thought from my mind. And dance.

  The solo audition is later in the day. Sammy is hanging around – he has a make-up exam but the others are off to Prix training. Tara gives me a gentle hug goodbye and briefly I wonder if she is holding her body a little awkwardly. In my altered state I feel a love surge for Abigail but her eyes say absolutely no hugging so I pat her arm instead. Christian meets my eyes and looks away.

  After they’ve gone, I go to change into my tutu for the solo. I realise there is something peeking out the top: a little turtle. It is silly and fuzzy and the sick feeling in my stomach goes away when I hold it. I take off the practice clothes and put on the tutu. Purple again, the first-year colour. I feel a pang. I’ll always be a year behind the others. But at least I’ll be here, I tell myself.

  I join Sammy in the corridor and we wait for our turns.

  ‘You know, if I fail my exams again I’ll probably end up being a doctor,’ Sammy says. ‘Go on to save lives.’

  ‘Play golf,’ I add. ‘Buy a yacht.’ I pull the turtle out of my bag. ‘Did I mention how much I love my good luck present? We will call him Shecki.’

  ‘I didn’t buy you a turtle,’ Sammy says. I frown down at the big-eyed green fuzzball. If not Sammy, then who?

  Interrupting my thoughts, Miss Raine calls Sammy in.

  I watch through the slatted blinds with Ollie, the third year who’s been mentoring Sammy. I am sick with nerves. I can no longer tell which butterflies are for him and which are for me. What would be the point of the Academy without Sammy? He finishes and there is a moment of absolute stillness. I can’t see Sammy’s face, and though I can see Miss Raine’s lips are moving, her expression is as inscrutable as ever.

  Sammy emerges, dazed.

  ‘Unofficial, but she said it’s in the ballpark of a credit.’

  Relief floods through me, but my elation is brief. ‘Katrina,’ Miss Raine’s voice rings out. ‘I’m ready for you now.’

  I hand Sammy the turtle. ‘Don’t let Shecki watch.’

  I take my place in the centre of the studio. Miss Raine is impossible to read as the music for my classical variation begins. I hear Anne Black’s voice in my head. ‘Just see this audition as a chance to dance. It doesn’t matter if it’s for a ballet company or to be a cheerleader. You’re a dancer. Dance.’ I focus, take a breath and dance.

  When the music is over I stand, panting, before Miss Raine. Her face is grave.

  ‘Please don’t drag it out,’ I beg. ‘Decapitation hurts less when it’s clean.’

  ‘The bad habits ingrained in your technique … You’ve been working the wrong way for a long time.’

  I nod. Hope fades.

  ‘You’re right. I have.’

  ‘Even more worrying, is your commitment. Last year – ’

  ‘I threw away my place here.’ I accept this. It’s over. ‘I think this is the part where I make the speech about how it isn’t a phase … How before I was fighting ballet because I never got to work out for myself what it meant.’ I take a breath. ‘But I don’t want to make that speech. I should’ve just danced well enough to change your mind.’

  I curtsey and turn to leave.

  ‘Then where are you going?’

  I stop. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  ‘You’re letting me back into the Academy?’ My breath catches in my throat.

  ‘This time on your own merits,’ she says. And finally, barely, she cracks a smile.

  I know this isn’t the end of the story. There’s unfinished business between Christian and me. The feelings I have for him and the guilt I feel about kissing him that night haunt me. The part of me that thinks Christian might like me back is terrified, because there’s so much to lose if I’m wrong, and so much to lose if I’m right.

  I don’t know where ballet will take me. I still have doubts, I still have fears. I don’t know if Grace will ever like me, or what it will be like being in first year when all my friends are in second. I don’t know if I’ll try out for the Moulin Rouge in a few years, or dance in the Company like my mum, or teach baby balletbots in a suburban church hall somewhere.

  But I do know, as I walk down the corridor with Sammy towards the dazzling Sydney sun, that I’ve come home. I’ve found it, the thing that I was looking for, and it turned out I had it all along.

  For all the latest Dance Academy news and info, head to: abc.net.au/abc3/danceacademy

  Read a sample from …

  Tara

  Catch Me If I Fall

  Dust flies up from the driveway as Dad’s trusty farm ute winds its way through the paddocks, bringing me home. I step out of the cabin, my mind a blank. When Mum tries to hug me, I stumble past her into the house.

  All I
want to do is climb into bed and sleep forever. I kick off my shoes, then wince as a spasm of pain ricochets across my back. I’m finally settled, a tower of pillows guarding my spine, when my phone rings. I check the caller display, then flick the phone to silent. Sometimes there’s nothing left to say. All you want is to be left alone.

  Mum’s at the door with a sandwich and the portable phone.

  ‘Hold on, Kat,’ she tells the caller, her voice falsely bright. ‘I’ll put her on.’

  She looks at me, her eyes hopeful. I shake my head. After what she’s done to me, why would I want to talk to Kat?

  Mum sighs. ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ she fibs into the phone. ‘She’s sleeping right now. Can I have her call you back?’

  Day after day my voicemail fills up with messages. Sammy, telling me I’ve made it through to the Nationals of the Prix de Fonteyn, the dance competition we’re all desperate to win. Ethan, promising me he’s there for me if I need him. Abigail, letting me know she placed higher than me in the Prix preliminaries.

  I ignore them all.

  There’s only one person I want to hear from, and so far he’s been silent.

  I’m lying in bed reading, our latest rescue joey tucked under one arm, when I hear Mum and Dad arguing outside my door.

  ‘Leave her,’ Mum’s saying. ‘She’ll go in her own time.’

  ‘It’s been six weeks,’ Dad fires back. ‘Our daughter is not going to hide in that bed any longer.’

  ‘Up!’ Dad commands me, storming into my room.

  ‘You’re getting dressed,’ he continues, ignoring my buts, ‘and then I’m driving you to school.’

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  Copyright

  The ABC ‘Wave’ device is a trademark of the

  Australian Broadcasting Corporation and is used

  under licence by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia.

  First published in Australia in 2012

  This edition published in 2012

  by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited

  ABN 36 009 913 517

  www.harpercollins.com.au

  Text copyright © HarperCollins Australia

  Based on DANCE ACADEMY

  A WERNER FILMS PRODUCTION

  ORIGINAL STORY BY: Samantha Strauss

  CREATED BY: Samantha Strauss & Joanna Werner

  Copyright © 2012 Screen Australia, Screen NSW and Werner Film Productions

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Scott, Sebastian.

  Kat : breaking pointe / Sebastian Scott.

  ISBN: 9780733329999 (pbk.)

  ISBN: 9780730497103 (epub)

  Series: Dance academy. Series 2.

  For primary school age.

  Dancers--Juvenile fiction.

  Interpersonal relations--Juvenile fiction.

  Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

  A823.4

  Cover design by Karen Carter