Tara: Everything to Lose

by Meredith Costain

  And she’s amazing. Incredible. As she blitzes a series of fouettés I turn to Abigail. ‘So when she danced in London, it was …’

  ‘The Royal Ballet School.’

  So that explains it. Grace is good. Seriously good. Far better than me.

  ‘I’m glad she’s not staying,’ I tell Abigail, meaning it. ‘Does that make me a bad person?’

  Abigail snorts. ‘Nice is over-rated.’

  I stare at her. Looks like Abigail’s finally dropped the caring sharing act and is showing her true colours again.

  I look back at Grace, dancing effortlessly, my conscience twinging. It must be hard having a guardian like Miss Raine on your back twenty-four seven. It’s too late to take back what I said but perhaps I can make it up to her. As soon as the performance finishes I look for her backstage. I finally spot her walking towards the exit, a large bag slung over one shoulder, and race to catch up with her.

  ‘Grace!’ I pant. ‘You were extraordinary. Please don’t quit permanently.’

  Grace shrugs. ‘I was rusty,’ she says modestly.

  And then suddenly she’s asking me to say her goodbyes to Miss Raine for her. She’s booked herself a seat on the night flight to London. I watch her walk jauntily down the corridor, shiny blonde hair swinging, out of the building – and out of my life.

  The next morning, I’m back in the studio, lining up with my friends for our first class as second year students. We listen earnestly, dressed in our new practice gear, as Miss Raine runs through what is expected of us this year: no easy path, no allowances and definitely no second chances.

  And I realise I’ve finally figured out that dream I’ve been having, where I spin endlessly en pointe in the middle of the stage – not knowing if I’ll hang in there and win or fall and fail. Last year I started out with no friends, no boyfriend, the worst in the class. The only place to go was up.

  But this year, I have everything to lose. Sure, I can try to hang on, but I don’t know what’s around the next corner.

  Or maybe I do. The studio door opens and Grace appears. It seems she’s not going to London after all. She’s staying right here.

  The knot in my stomach reappears, clenching and twisting. There go my dreams of staying at the top. Then my body takes over and I bend into a deep plié. I just have to trust I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  Home.

  CHAPTER 3

  My nanna used to say – and she totally stole it from someone else – that the key to happiness was having something to do, something to love and something to dream about. I used to think the moment I got into the National Academy I would die on the spot with happiness.

  But I didn’t. Five seconds later I just started focusing on the next dream – getting a contract with the Company. Maybe I’m destined to always want something just out of reach.

  Last night we went to see the Company dance The Firebird. It’s one of my favourite ballets, so passionate and dramatic. Saskia Duncan, the youngest principal dancer in the Company’s history, was dancing the lead role. She was stunning, technically flawless. I can only ever dream of being as good as her.

  So I can’t believe my luck when I discover her sitting at a table at our café during our break. She’s just as beautiful in practice clothes, her hair swept up in a loose knot, as she was on stage last night.

  I take a deep breath and approach her table. ‘Excuse me. Are you Saskia Duncan?’

  Saskia smiles. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I saw you in The Firebird last night,’ I gush. ‘You were amazing.’ She’s going to think I’m an idiot, but I just have to have her autograph. I reach into my bag and pull out the ballet program.

  ‘Do you mind?’ I ask, waving it at her.

  Saskia smiles again. ‘Of course not. And you are …?’

  I tell her my name and she scrawls a message for me across her face in big loopy letters.

  ‘Well,’ I say, taking the photo from her. ‘I don’t want to disturb your lunch, so …’

  Saskia pats the seat beside her. ‘No, join me!’ She grins. ‘I miss Academy gossip.’

  I perch myself on the chair beside her, amazed someone so important is even talking to me, let alone being so approachable.

  ‘So, Tara Webster,’ Saskia says. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say dreamily, thinking of Christian. ‘Yes, I do.’

  Saskia sighs. ‘I remember my Academy boyfriend. Hamish Maddsen.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘Completely gorgeous, but so much trouble.’

  Seriously? I can’t believe Saskia and I have so much in common!

  ‘So what happened?’ I ask her, leaning forward eagerly.

  Saskia pulls a face. ‘The day I got my contract and he didn’t was the end of everything. I mean, we tour so much in the Company, there’s no time to date anyone outside. So I hope your boy’s committed.’

  ‘To me?’

  Saskia laughs. ‘To ballet.’

  Oh, I think, blushing. I force out a smile, but deep down it gets me thinking. Is Christian committed to ballet? Most days he seems to be, sure. But then I remember times like this morning, when he was clowning around in class rather than supporting me properly in our pas de deux. I lost my balance and fell off pointe, scoring serious disapproval from Miss Raine. And lately, he seems to be more interested in getting a hip-hop crew together than putting time into perfecting his classical technique.

  What if the same thing happened to us and only one of us made it into the Company? Would we break up?

  But no way is that going to happen. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it anyway.

  It’s taken me all afternoon but I’ve finally done it. I fly into the common room, clutching my masterpiece, and squeeze in between Christian and Kat on the sofa.

  ‘Hi, Kat!’ I say, then shove a piece of paper into Christian’s hand.

  Christian scans my present, then looks up at me, his forehead wrinkling.

  ‘Sorry. What is this?’

  ‘It’s a pie chart,’ I tell him. I point out the various components to him. Eating. Sleeping. Extra pas de deux practice with me. ‘It tracks all your out-of-class activities for maximum time management.’

  I hold up my own copy. ‘I have one, too. See? They’re colour coordinated.’

  Christian looks puzzled. ‘You pie-charted my life for me?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Surely he’s as excited about this as I am! ‘If we don’t both make it into the Company then Saskia says we have no chance of staying together.’

  And then I realise everyone’s staring at the crazy woman.

  I bite my lip. ‘I’m freaking you out, aren’t I …’

  Kat and Sammy nod wildly, but Christian’s cool with it.

  ‘No,’ he assures me. ‘It’s all part of your charm.’

  I smile back. Saskia’s wrong. Dead wrong. There’s no way anything could ever come between us.

  The next night, Christian comes with me to watch Saskia in another performance of The Firebird. Only instead of watching from out in the audience we’re in the wings, only metres away from the dancers.

  Saskia arranged it all for me this afternoon. I can’t believe how nice she’s being, taking me under her wing and letting me come to rehearsals. It’s a real privilege. I just had to share the opportunity with Christian.

  He almost didn’t turn up because of some hip-hop thing he’s organising with Sammy. But when I explained it was the last performance of the season, and how Saskia was going to introduce us to important members of the Company afterwards – it’s never too early to start networking she reckons – he agreed to come. Even if it wasn’t on the pie chart. He’s even wearing a tie!

  There’s a few minutes to go before the curtain goes up. I watch as the exotically dressed dancers begin to move into their positions.

  ‘Look, there’s Saskia,’ I tell Christian, pointing her out. ‘Do you want to meet her?’

  Christian shakes his head. ‘Nah, you go. She probably doesn’t want too m
uch distraction.’

  I creep onto the stage, my skin shivering with excitement. The air is electric with pre-performance energy. One day I’ll be dancing here with the Company, I know it. I share a few quick words with Saskia, then dart back to the wings to find Christian.

  ‘This is going to be us one day,’ I tell him, starry-eyed. ‘Just think …’

  ‘Look, sorry,’ Christian interrupts me. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Sammy just rang. The hip-hop thing’s exploded. They need me back at the studio.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You don’t need me here.’

  ‘You’re not just here for me,’ I point out.

  Christian sighs. ‘Yeah, I am. Look, you’ve got your whole life mapped out in front of you and that’s great but … Look, don’t overreact. I don’t even know if I want to get into the Company.’

  I pull away from him. ‘How can you not? Wait – so you’ve been lying to me. You don’t want to be with me long term.’

  Christian rolls his eyes. ‘No, no, see, that is overreacting. Whether or not I want to get into the Company or not is two years away. And it’s something I have to work out for myself.’

  ‘You’re just scared to try,’ I say, angry now.

  Christian flinches, but he doesn’t break. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ he blurts, his eyes flashing. ‘Why won’t you compromise?’

  ‘Because this is important,’ I grind out.

  ‘Exactly,’ Christian fires back. ‘And I wouldn’t ask you to give up something that is important to you.’

  Then he storms out, leaving me to watch the performance all by myself.

  The music swells and Saskia runs out onto the stage, a radiant drop of flame among the other dancers. I watch, dazzled by her brilliance. This is what I’ve been striving for – this is my dream, my passion. In my mind’s eye I’m with her every step of the way, every pirouette and perfect arabesque.

  Now she’s moving into a series of turns, spinning faster and faster on one perfectly extended foot. Until that foot gives way and she stumbles and falls, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  ‘Drop the curtain!’ Sebastian calls. ‘Somebody get some ice!’

  Dancers quickly gather around, unsure what to do. I run over too. Saskia’s my friend, isn’t she? She’d want me to be here.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ Sebastian comforts her, gently applying an ice pack to her rapidly swelling foot.

  Saskia shakes her head, her eyes huge. ‘I heard it snap,’ she wails.

  I did too. For a moment our eyes meet, then she looks away, defeated by pain.

  Christian’s in the studio when I get back. Not knocking out some complex hip-hop step like I’d imagined, but rehearsing at the barre.

  ‘Kat said you’d be here,’ I say quietly, not wanting to smother him. ‘She also said you were amazing with the hip-hop kids tonight.’

  Christian spins slowly round. ‘I’m sorry I bailed on you.’

  Then he sees my face. ‘Hey. What’s wrong? Did something happen?’

  ‘They took Saskia to hospital,’ I tell him. ‘She fell on stage. One minute she was dancing, and the next …’ I shake my head, scarcely able to believe it myself. ‘Her career is probably over.’

  Christian’s eyes soften. ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I say, looking at my feet. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow let alone in two years.’ I meet his eyes again. ‘I’ve been a total control freak.’

  Christian takes my hands in his. ‘I have a habit of throwing good things away. I just don’t want to … disappoint you.’

  I grin. ‘Impossible,’ I say, leaning in for a quick kiss. We smile shyly at each other, relieved that we’re no longer fighting.

  ‘Are you going to show me what you’ve been working on?’ I ask him.

  Christian looks puzzled. ‘Tendus?’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking more hip-hop,’ I tease. And then suddenly we’re leaping around the studio, cutting crazy moves. I’m bad – really bad – but somehow it doesn’t seem to matter. We’re back on track.

  It’s funny, I think. Dreams are complicated. Sometimes I forget they’re only one third of the happiness puzzle. Sometimes I’m running after my dreams so fast I miss the detours that could lead me to places new and unexpected. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop dreaming, because without dreams I’d be lost. There’s nothing more magical than when you catch a dream and get to hold it in your hands.

  For one perfect moment.

  CHAPTER 4

  I used to have posters of my favourite dancers all over my bedroom walls. I’d study them for hours. I thought I knew them. They were like my friends, only more perfect.

  Then I came to the Academy and met some of my idols in real life. It’s only when you see them close up that you realise they’re just people. Which isn’t so bad when you think about it. Because if they’re human – real flesh and blood – there’s the slightest chance that you could grow up to be on a poster as well.

  So when Miss Raine announced in class this morning that Saskia Duncan would be taking us for repertoire this year, I couldn’t believe my luck. She’s moving from the poster I had on my wall last year to being someone I can learn from and chat to about my dance technique whenever I want.

  There’s a hush as Saskia enters the room. She rests her crutches against the wall and smiles at us all. She’s so brave to want to keep up her involvement with ballet after her terrible injury.

  Miss Raine gathers us around her.

  ‘Second year, I’d like to introduce your new teacher. I’m sure you know her by reputation as the Company’s youngest ever principal dancer.’

  Abigail stands up straighter so Saskia will notice her. Suck.

  Saskia grins at us. ‘You should know – for your own safety – I’ve never done this before. So, yeah, I’ll be flying by the seat of my pants.’

  Now Abigail’s pushing herself forward. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ she simpers. ‘Would you like to be called Saskia or Miss Duncan?’

  Saskia smiles warmly at her. ‘Saskia is fine.’

  That should be me she’s smiling at. I’m the one who rushed to her side when she had her fall on the Opera House stage.

  I step forward as well. ‘On behalf of everyone, I just want to say how great it is that you’re teaching us.’

  Now it’s my turn to receive Saskia’s smile. I glow, aware that Abigail is glaring at me. Saskia claps her hands, signalling she’s ready to start work.

  ‘Sycophant,’ Abigail mutters as she floats past me.

  ‘Hypocrite,’ I fire back.

  Class breaks and we head off to the outdoor café to soak up some morning sun. Sammy’s stressing about how many shifts he has to work to pay his fees when I see Saskia slowly making her way over to a table. Those crutches of hers look so awkward. I jump up to ask her if she needs any help.

  ‘Hi, Saskia. Can I get you a drink?’

  Abigail pushes in front of me, waving a coffee mug. ‘Here you go, one latte.’

  Saskia smiles, then invites us both to join her.

  ‘So,’ I say, fighting down the urge to kick Abigail for beating me to the chair closest to Saskia, ‘how are you? What happened was awful.’

  Abigail rolls her eyes. ‘Saskia probably doesn’t want to talk about it, Tara.’

  Oh, I think, cringing. No, she probably doesn’t. Now she’s going to hate me.

  But Saskia’s still smiling. ‘Talk to me about repertoire class,’ she suggests. ‘Any tips? Things you want to see improved?’

  Abigail and I exchange glances.

  ‘We-ell,’ Abigail says. ‘It’s only two months to the preliminaries for the Prix de Fonteyn.’

  ‘It would be great if we could work on our solos in repertoire class,’ I jump in.

  ‘Exactly,’ Abigail says, actually agreeing with me about something for once. ‘It would be so much more time effective.’ />
  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Saskia says. ‘How about if instead of carrying on with our normal class after break, you all go off to start thinking about your solos. You could borrow some DVDs from the library as inspiration.’

  Win! Abigail and I nod vigorously. If only all our teachers were this easy to get along with.

  I ignore the other second years scrabbling over DVDs and head straight to the list Miss Raine put up on the noticeboard. I already know exactly which solo I intend to dance in the competition.

  Victoria, from The Red Shoes. It has everything. Drama, passion, control. I’ve wanted to make this my solo ever since Miss Raine announced we’d be entering the competition. I fill in the details beside my name on Miss Raine’s list.

  Abigail reads what I’ve written, then raises an eyebrow.

  ‘The Red Shoes?’ she says, her voice sarcastic. ‘The piece that made Saskia Duncan famous when she represented Australia in the Prix de Fonteyn? Isn’t that just the tiniest bit obvious?’

  I shake my head, annoyed. ‘That’s not why I’ve chosen it,’ I insist.

  Abigail rolls her eyes. ‘Right,’ she says, forming quote marks with her fingers. ‘It’s because it speaks to you on an “emotional level”.’

  Sometimes Abigail can be so childish. I walk away, my head held high, on the search for something to transform my pink pointe shoes into a dazzling red.

  The music fills the studio, ringing in my ears as I push myself across the floor in a series of leaps and turns one more time. I’m beyond tired but I have to keep going. I have to perfect the steps if I’m to have any chance at all in the Prix preliminaries and impress Saskia. No wonder no one else wanted to take on The Red Shoes. It’s the most technically demanding and emotionally draining role I’ve ever attempted.

  I concentrate on my pirouette sequence, spinning from one side of the cramped studio to the other. Bad move. Before I know it I’m stumbling and falling …

  Only Christian’s there to catch me.

  ‘Oh, my hero,’ I say, straightening up. I hadn’t noticed him come in.