Super Sporty

by Chrissie Perry

  ‘Grrr!’ growled Angie. She thumped her leg with her fist, angry at herself.

  But I didn’t want Angie to feel bad. ‘Hey Angie!’ I called. ‘Aim at the bib! Not the person’s face.’

  For a moment, she looked at me, confused and a bit annoyed. Our eyes met and I smiled cheekily.

  Then Angie smiled. Suddenly she realised what I was doing. The worst player telling the best player what to do? How silly!

  But it worked.

  Angie relaxed after that. The whole team did. We started calling more, and laughing at ourselves even when things went wrong.

  When it was all over, I felt light and happy and proud. Not because of the score, but because I had found my place in the team again.

  We lost the grand final by seven goals. But we had done it together, and I had helped the team.

  That game was my favourite of all.

  I leant out a plucked a blade of grass. Then I split it in half with my thumbnail.

  It was the last day of P.E. for the term. We sat on the oval while Mr Dwyer explained the rules of tunnel ball.

  But I was only half-listening. No more netball. And no more Dream Team! I felt a bit sad.

  In a dream, I pulled at another blade of grass. But Becky shook my arm.

  ‘Alex!’ she said, pointing to Mr Dwyer.

  Mr Dwyer was looking at me with raised eyebrows. ‘Awesome Alex!’ he said. ‘You’re one of the tunnel ball captains.’

  I gulped and stood up. Me, a captain? This was something new. For once I didn’t have to worry about being last person picked.

  The other captains started choosing their teams. I scanned the faces in front of me. Who should I choose?

  Of course, I started with everyone on the Dream Team. Just to make him squirm, I left Callum until last. When I called his name, he wiped his forehead and said, ‘Phew!’ in a jokey way.

  But I still had three more choices. Who next? Lots of faces looked up at me. Some kids were sitting straight and hopeful. Others were staring at the ground, looking bored. One boy was scratching a mozzie bite on his arm.

  Then I saw another face. He was sitting up the back, ready to wait until the end.

  ‘Tony!’ I called out.

  Slowly, Tony stood up. He looked surprised to have been chosen so soon. As Tony walked over to us, I glanced back at the gang. Would they be upset that I chose someone so bad at sport?

  But Brad and the girls were smiling. Mickey was giving Tony the thumbs-up. Best of all, Tony was beaming.

  ‘I’m not so bad at tunnel ball,’ he said, grinning.

  And he was right. Tony actually wasn’t the worst on our team. To my surprise, Callum was!

  In tunnel ball, the team stands in a long line and forms a tunnel. Everyone has to lean down and push the ball through their legs.

  But Callum’s really tall. He had trouble folding his long body and reaching way down to the ground. His big feet kept getting in the way, too.

  At one point Callum lost his balance and fell backwards onto Mickey. As they fell, they pushed everyone behind them over, like dominoes.

  ‘Argh!’ Poor Becky was squished at the end.

  ‘Up you get!’ called Mr Dwyer.

  But everyone had the giggles. Claire was laughing so much that she fell down and knocked us over again. I think she did it on purpose.

  It was pretty silly, but loads of fun.

  By now, the other teams had finished and were shaking their heads at us – a laughing, groaning line of bodies.

  We had no chance of winning now! I rolled out from under Angie and stood in front of my team. ‘Right! Good warm-up, everyone,’ I called. ‘Now let’s play the game.’

  My team stood up straight, with beaming faces and weak giggly legs.

  Mr Dwyer smiled at me and winked. He seemed proud of me as captain.

  I smiled back. I was proud of myself. And I was proud of my team, too.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Rosie’s

  DANCE ACADEMY

  Charlie looked up at the sign and grinned. Here she was at last — at a real dance school. No more dancing in the cold church hall. No more daggy ballet classes with old Miss Plum.

  Charlie was finally at a real school that taught modern dance.

  She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and pushed on the heavy old door.

  Already she could hear music pounding from the studio above. From the thudding and clapping it sounded like a toddler class. Or maybe junior beginners.

  For months, Charlie had begged her parents to let her start dancing here. At first, they had just said no. The classes cost a lot of money. And to get here, Charlie had to catch a bus all by herself.

  But two weeks ago, as a birthday surprise, Charlie’s parents had said yes.

  Quietly, Charlie climbed up the stairs. Soon she came to another door and another sign.

  Charlie smiled to herself. Yet another thing that was different from her old ballet classes! This dance school was the real thing.

  She was still smiling as she pushed open the second door.

  But as she walked in and scanned the waiting area, Charlie gulped away her smile and felt her heart pounding quickly in her chest. Suddenly the dance school seemed a long way from home.

  Grouped in a huddle in the corner were four girls about Charlie’s age. They were leaning in together as they giggled and whispered. From the school bags near the group, Charlie could tell that they all went to the same school.

  But they seemed linked in other ways too — the way they sat with their legs crossed, the cut of their T-shirts. They even wore the same funky black dance shoes.

  Charlie didn’t even realise she was staring. But she couldn’t take her eyes off their shoes. Oh no! she thought. The shoes.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked one of the girls, sitting up straight and looking at Charlie.

  Her hair was long and worn loose like the others. She was smiling, but her eyes seemed cold.

  ‘Ummm,’ Charlie looked down at her school shoes, wondering if she should just turn around and go home. ‘I’m OK,’ she mumbled.

  For some reason, she wanted to hide from the group of girls. But the waiting area was not very big.

  Charlie walked a few steps to the nearest wall. She wasn’t thinking straight. All she could think of was hiding.

  Then another girl walked up to Charlie. She had dark curly hair that bounced when she moved. She wasn’t from the group of friends, but she wore the same black dance shoes.

  ‘Do you want the toilets?’ she said. She raised her eyebrows and gave Charlie a broad smile. ‘They’re through there.’

  The next thing she knew, Charlie was spinning the lock in a toilet cubicle. Did she say thanks to that girl? She had wanted to. But she had felt too shy to talk.

  Charlie leaned against the toilet door and gulped.

  Never mind. Charlie couldn’t worry about saying thanks now. She had other things to worry about.

  Charlie unzipped her bag and looked inside. For the past four years she had worn the same clothes to dancing — a plain black leotard, pink tights and pink ballet shoes. Yuk.

  Why was Miss Plum so old-fashioned?

  Charlie was so used to the old uniform that she hadn’t thought of getting new clothes for this class.

  But she couldn’t wear ballet shoes at a modern dance class. Could she?

  Charlie shook her head and sighed. If she didn’t wear her ballet shoes, what could she do? Her tights had feet in them. It would be too slippery to dance like that.

  But if she didn’t wear tights, what was she left with? Just a black leotard and bare legs. For some reason, t
hat almost felt like dancing naked.

  Charlie shook her head again and groaned. How could this be happening?

  Not now!

  Then she heard the thud and bang of the beginners coming out of the dance studio.

  Charlie’s first class in modern dance was about to start.

  ‘Scissors? What do you want scissors for?’

  The receptionist frowned over the counter at Charlie. She had long hair, worn loose, like everyone else.

  ‘I … um …’ Charlie didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell the receptionist what she was planning.

  ‘You’re the new girl, aren’t you?’ the receptionist said. But she wasn’t smiling.

  Charlie nodded. She could hear the girls whispering and giggling as they walked behind her and into the studio.

  ‘Make sure you bring them back,’ the receptionist said. Then her voice softened. ‘OK?’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  Charlie took the scissors and rushed back into the toilets.

  She had to work fast.

  As she snipped, she thought about what her mum was going to say. But Charlie couldn’t worry about that now.

  Making her mum mad was better than wearing ballet shoes to a modern dance class. There was no way Charlie was going to do that. Not in front of those trendy girls. She just couldn’t!

  As she stepped into her leotard, Charlie thought about taking her hair out of its pony-tail and pulling off her headband. But she didn’t have time to fuss with her hair. She was already late for class.

  Charlie put everything except the scissors back in her bag.

  She took a deep breath. This was it.

  Time to face the music.

  ‘Weeeeeeeelcome, Charlie!’ Rosie, the dance teacher, yelled above the music. As she clapped her hands, her nail polish glittered. ‘Just find a spot at the barre,’ she said.

  The rest of the class stared at Charlie.

  Charlie could feel all eyes on her, looking at her ponytail and her plain black leotard. Under that, she wore pink tights, cut off at the knees, and below that, bare feet. She felt her cheeks burning as she clutched the barre. She wished she could disappear. It was like being naked in front of a mob of cameras.

  ‘OK, warm up, girls.’

  Rosie changed the music and started counting in time.

  The rest of the class stopped staring, and started kicking and stretching at the barre.

  ‘Just copy the others, Charlie,’ Rosie called. ‘You’ll be fine!’

  And for most of the class, Charlie was fine.

  Once everyone started working and stretching together, Charlie stopped feeling quite so different.

  She was surprised how similar this warm-up was to her old ballet warm-up. The kicks and stretches weren’t too hard at all.

  The leaps across the floor were fine too. It was pretty much the same as ballet, except the rhythm was different. When the other girls leaped across the floor, they reminded Charlie of deer — leaping with strength and power.

  But when it was Charlie’s turn, she felt light and pale. She didn’t know how to stop leaping like a ballet dancer.

  The girl who had shown Charlie the toilets was easily the best dancer. Her name was Kathy, and she had a dynamic, punchy way of moving. She was balanced on the floor, but she seemed to fly through each leap.

  Charlie couldn’t stop watching her. The way Kathy moved was exactly why Charlie wanted to learn modern dance.

  But then it came time to dance in the middle of the floor.

  As soon as they started a dance sequence, Charlie realised that modern dance was very different to ballet.

  Everything was so fast. The other girls seemed to explode out of themselves, kicking, spinning, ducking. They all had a special way of flicking their head to the side with a rush of long hair.

  Charlie fumbled and fluffed for a while.

  Then she just stood at the back of the room, wondering how on earth she could ever dance like that.

  ‘Don’t worry, Charlie,’ Rosie called out. ‘We’ve been practising this for weeks.’

  Some of the girls turned and sniggered.

  But Kathy didn’t. She moved in front of Charlie and slowly went through the moves. Charlie smiled a thanks, and tried to copy Kathy.

  But it was no use. Charlie just couldn’t get into the flow. She felt so out of place — she didn’t belong here at all.

  Charlie had not expected modern dance to be easy, but she also hadn’t expected to feel like this — so very new and so utterly, completely different.

  ‘Charlotte Anderson, what on earth?’

  Charlie’s mum stood in the doorway of her bedroom, frowning. She held up Charlie’s ballet tights with the feet cut out.

  ‘Oh … yeah …’ Charlie jumped up from her bed, letting the magazine she was reading drop to the floor. ‘I had to cut the feet out.’ Charlie cleared her throat. ‘I couldn’t wear my ballet shoes.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Charlie’s mum, shaking her head. But she didn’t seem too angry. ‘Imagine what Miss Plum would say if she saw these tights!’ Her eyes twinkled.

  Charlie giggled. Now was the time to ask her mum something.

  ‘Mum —’

  Just then, Charlie’s brother yelled out from his bedroom. ‘Muuuuuumm, where’s my footy jumper?’

  Charlie’s mum yelled straight back at him. ‘It’s on the line, Harry.’

  ‘Awwww, Mum!’ Harry’s voice came back.

  There was always a lot of yelling at Charlie’s house. Not because anyone was angry. That was just how everyone talked to each other.

  But not Charlie. She preferred to stay quiet, or to speak face-to-face.

  It was the same at school. Charlie didn’t say much there, either. The only person she really talked to was her best friend, Laura. Laura wanted to be a singer and she understood Charlie better than anyone.

  Now Charlie tried to make her voice loud for once. ‘Mum, I need new dance shoes.’

  ‘Oh, Charlotte,’ her mum said, shaking her head.

  ‘All the girls wear them,’ Charlie said. ‘Pleeeeease, Mum?’

  Her mum leant down and put her hands on Charlie’s shoulders. ‘Charlotte, you’ve only just started,’ she said.

  Charlie nodded.

  ‘So let’s make sure you like the new classes first, OK?’

  Charlie sighed. Of course she liked them. It was just all so different to what she had imagined, that was all.

  ‘My little butterfly!’ Charlie’s mum winked. ‘Maybe ballet suits you better, after all.’ She kissed Charlie on the forehead and walked out of the room.

  Charlie slumped back on her bed.

  A butterfly.

  Her mum always called her that.

  But Charlie didn’t want to be a butterfly. She wanted to be able to dance strong and fast, like the rest of the class.

  At the start of the next class, Charlie was feeling good. She told herself not to worry about the shoes. And this time, she didn’t feel quite so out of place.

  She was wearing new dancing tights that she had bought with her pocket money. They were black and cut off above the knees. Over those, Charlie wore her swimmers from last summer. They were a trendy lime green — perfect, except the straps were a bit thin.

  Over the top, she wore an old black T-shirt — cut to look like a dance top, of course!

  Charlie was getting pretty handy with a pair of scissors.

  At the start of the class, Kathy called Charlie over to a spot at the barre. They stretched together while Kathy talked about her gymnastics team. It sounded like a lot of work. No wonder Kathy’s dancing was so good.

  ‘Gym is really hard,’ Kathy said, from upside down in a stretch. She looked up and smiled at Charlie. ‘It’s not as much fun as dancing.’

  ‘OK, girls!’ Rosie called out. ‘We need to talk about the concert.’

  ‘Yay!’ Kathy whispered.

  Charlie raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected a concert!

  E
veryone stretched quietly while Rosie talked. The concert was only two months away, and Rosie wanted to spend more time practising.

  When Rosie said that, the trendy girls started whispering together. Even Kathy looked excited.

  Then Rosie walked over to Charlie at the barre. She leant in close enough for Charlie to see her sparkling orange nails.

  ‘It’s a bit late to fit you into our dance, Charlie,’ Rosie said.

  Charlie pulled out of her stretch and nodded shyly. She used to love her old ballet concerts. But she couldn’t imagine doing a modern dance on stage!

  ‘But I still want you to be understudy,’ Rosie said, smiling. ‘If someone gets sick, then you dance in their place, OK?’

  ‘Umm …’ Charlie wasn’t sure about that. What if someone did get sick?

  ‘Just watch for the first run-through,’ Rosie called back, as she walked over to the CD player. ‘Then you can copy the others!’

  Kathy winked at Charlie. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you,’ she said.

  Charlie just gulped.

  ‘Places, everyone!’ cried Rosie.

  It was time to practise the dance for the concert. But Charlie was still at the barre, stunned that she was now an understudy

  Please, don’t let anyone get sick, she thought.

  The rest of the class formed a line at the back of the room. Charlie slipped quietly around to watch from the front.

  Then the music started — loud and strong, with pulsing beats.

  Boom, boom, boom.

  With the beats of the music, the line of dancers started moving jerkily. Their legs were stiff. Their arms moved like cogs in a machine.

  Thud, thud, clunk.

  Charlie sat down and hugged her knees. The dancers were so clever. They looked just like robots!

  Soon, the music changed. The clunking sounds stopped and a sweet voice started singing.

  Friday night and the lights are low …

  Now one of the dancers broke away from the machine. It was Kathy. She danced in the centre of the room, with the other dancers still clunking like robots behind her.