She’s right. I’ve been kidding myself. Ballet is all or nothing. I text Finn to say I can’t make our date. My possessive boyfriend’s back, he demands I focus on the end of year ballet.
In rehearsals for Peter Pan, I’m fighting with Ollie, who’s playing Captain Hook. He’s meant to be kidnapping me and I’m resisting, obviously.
‘Abigail, Wendy is in battle but she’s still Wendy. I want to see some sweetness, some vulnerability.’ Sweetness? This part is so not me.
Sammy comes in. He’s meant to be resting for the Prix, but he feels lost so Zach gets him to film our rehearsal so we can go over the footage later and spot where I can add some more wimpy sweetness.
In the common room later, I’m sewing a pair of my pointe shoes, minding my own business when Tara comes in, ranting about Grace. She’s back from England. I knew there was more to her sudden departure and I was right. She made a move on Zach, our teacher and then accused him of doing it to her. Why am I not surprised? It was Tara who exposed her scheme to Miss Raine and now Grace is out for revenge.
In her non-competitive ‘oh did I really win that?’ way she’s representing England in the Prix de Fonteyn. Not only that but she’s going to dance The Red Shoes. With so much natural talent, and her own revenge subplot, she’ll be almost impossible to beat.
‘Grace has manipulated me this whole year. And now she expects me to lie down and …’ Tara’s ready to explode.
‘Hang on …’ says Ben. He’s clearly not read the status update. ‘You and Grace are friends.’
‘Grace doesn’t have friends,’ says Tara.
‘Only roadkill,’ I add. It’s war.
War is where my natural talents lie, but I have to go in the opposite direction – Wendy. I head to the rehearsal space only to find Sammy taking up half the room with a laptop and some DVDs.
‘Can you take whatever that is somewhere else? I have to find Wendy’s “sweet side”.’
He’s working on something for his Prix final performance. He’d told us all that he wanted his friends on stage with him. It sounds pure gimmick to me.
‘You’re trying to distract the judges because you don’t think you deserve to be there,’ I tell him, but he’s got his smiley determination thing going. He can be incredibly stubborn when he’s happy.
‘No. This is my chance to be on the world stage. I’m showing them who I am. That’s the only way I’ll be good enough to win.’ He grins and closes up the laptop. ‘Watch my tech rehearsal and if you still think I’m sabotaging, I won’t do it.’ If there’s one person he can rely on for brutal honesty, it’s me.
At the Opera House, I’m alone in the auditorium while Sammy stands on the empty stage in the dark. Then his voice comes over the speakers. ‘Every dancer knows that being technically perfect isn’t enough. We need to know why we dance.’ Video footage appears behind him, filling the back stage. It’s Tara dancing Clara from The Nutcracker, the end of year performance last year. Sammy starts dancing, like he’s dancing with her. ‘For me it’s to be connected. I’m inspired by my friends,’ his voice continues. Then I’m on the screen doing my solo from the Showcase this year and he’s dancing with me. One by one, all his friends appear and he dances with each one of us, responding to us, changing with us but still maintaining his own unique style. It is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen him do. It’s not just good. It’s magical.
As we walk home, Sammy’s on a complete high. I’ve already told him it’s good but he can’t get enough positive reinforcement.
‘I can still change it,’ he says.
‘Lieberman, you’re not seriously still fishing for compliments.’
‘It’s good isn’t it,’ he says, picks me up and spins me around. He’s so happy, so excited, it’s impossible not to get caught up. I never thought he could be a great dancer, but he could. He is.
Suddenly we’re face to face. He tries to kiss me. I turn away but then before I know it, we’re kissing. Like we used to. For a second nothing else matters. No Prix, no Wendy, just the two of us. I stop. It’s weird. Nice, but weird.
‘I better … rehearsal in the morning.’
‘Me too. Competition, not rehearsal obviously,’ he says.
It must have been his performance that moved me, his confidence, his excitement. Whatever it was, I can still feel it as I lie in bed. My Sammy, the world-conquering hero.
Next day in rehearsal, Zach’s got nothing but praise. I’ve found Wendy’s sweet side. The rehearsal carries on and I know why I’m there. I want to dance. I want this. I really do. I haven’t just found the character, I’ve found my reason for being here, my love for dance. And I have Sammy to thank for it.
When I first see Miss Raine enter, I feel annoyed. I don’t want this rehearsal to be interrupted. I don’t want this feeling to end, but it does. I realise straight away something’s wrong. Miss Raine isn’t the happiest of people but her face is so pale it’s almost grey and one hand is holding her other arm, trying to stop it from shaking. Something’s happened. I watch her neck as she swallows hard and raises a finger to make the music stop.
‘I need to interrupt rehearsal Zach,’ she says. The rest becomes a blur. I can see her mouth move and I can hear words, but they don’t make any sense.
My head pulses, the sweat from dancing turns to ice, freezing over my skin as I make out the words, ‘Awful news’, ‘a terrible road accident’ and ‘dead’. She says a name, but I don’t want to hear it. She has to be wrong, lying, mistaken, confused, anything but right. She can’t be right, she can’t have said Sammy Lieberman. Sammy can’t be dead. Not my Sammy.
But there is no correction, no confusion, no waking up and discovering this is a dream. She said it, she really said it. Sammy’s been killed in a road accident.
All the air’s sucked from the room as everyone stands frozen by the news. Except for me, I can’t stay here or I’ll suffocate. As I run for the door, I can feel a hand on my arm. Miss Raine trying to stop me, calling my name but I can’t stay, I won’t stay. I run, I don’t know where or why but I will not stay in that room where I heard that news.
The next thing I sense, it’s hours later and I’m sitting somewhere, feeling cold. I’m wet and my teeth are chattering. I look up to see Tara and Kat with their hands outstretched, reaching to pull me up.
CHAPTER 12
Sammy’s funeral doesn’t make sense. It’s not that the service is in Hebrew. It could be in any language and I wouldn’t understand it. All we can do is go through it, observe the ritual, hoping that something at some point will make sense. But I can’t imagine any event less like Sammy, dark, formal, structured … on time. It’s like he isn’t even there. But he has to be. He has to be somewhere. There can’t be a world without him.
Afterward we are at the Academy in the dance studio. I can’t remember the number of times he’s dropped me, fumbled a hold, mistimed a turn in that room. We’re still in our funeral clothes, carrying his funeral with us. Miss Raine addresses us. ‘Out of respect, the Prix de Fonteyn committee has decided to postpone the remaining sections of the competition for a week … And we’re cancelling our production of Peter Pan.’
Suddenly I am angry. Why assemble us in the dance studio and tell us we can’t dance? It doesn’t make sense. I need things to make sense.
‘He wasn’t even in it. So what are we doing here?’ I ask.
Miss Raine says the school is still running classes but, ‘it’s up to you whether you feel like attending.’ Miss Raine making classes optional – this world is not right. I won’t have it. I need sense. She starts talking about grief counsellors but I don’t hear her.
I move over to the barre, slip my heels off and begin doing pliés. I don’t care if I’m in a black dress. This is what we do in this room. This is what makes sense, the first exercise of any class. Tara joins me, then Kat, Ben, Christian and Ollie. Soon all the students are at the barre. Doing what we do. Doing what we have to do to get through this.
That
night, Tara sleeps in our room. Only she doesn’t sleep. She and Kat are pouring over the funeral, no detail too small to repeat constantly.
‘A couple of prayers, some bad sandwiches,’ says Kat for the tenth time. ‘How can anyone expect that to give you closure?’
‘Today just felt formal. Like it was for one Sammy. But not our Sammy,’ says Tara.
Kat turns the light on and announces that we’ll hold our own memorial. ‘A proper Sammy Lieberman tribute’.
Do they have to? How is anyone supposed to deal with this, when they won’t stop talking?
‘Do you guys know what he would have wanted?’ Kat asks. I do, but I’m not torturing myself or them by obsessing.
‘There’s no point dragging it out. That’s all anyone has done since it happened,’ I say.
‘You’re bored of the grieving talk?’ Kat asks.
‘It’s morbid.’
Then her phone rings. It’s Ethan calling for the thousandth time to see if she’s okay.
The next day I’m in the studio practising. It’s what I would do. It’s what a normal day in the real world is. Miss Raine comes in and asks how long I’ve been there but I can’t tell her.
‘The fact you’ve cancelled Peter Pan doesn’t mean I have an interest in sacrificing technique.’
‘In that case, Sydney Dance is doing a regional tour over Christmas. Rafael’s asked to see some third years who didn’t get contracts, but I thought maybe you …’
I stop. ‘Yes. I’d love to audition.’
‘It is tomorrow, so if that’s too soon’
‘Tomorrow’s perfect,’ I say. And a tour would be perfect. A chance to be a real dancer. Something to focus on.
I finish my practice and head to my room to pack. After the audition, they’ll want to go straight away. I don’t have any time to waste, I need to be ready. I’m pushing clothes into my suitcase when my mother comes in.
‘Packing already?’ she asks as if I’m presuming too much.
‘You don’t think I’m better than the third years?’
‘Of course I do. You have had a big knock though sweetheart. Maybe, right now, you should be …’
Not her too. I take more leotards from my wardrobe and put them in my case.
‘… sobbing on the bathroom tiles? History dictates you should be pleased I have my priorities back in order, mother.’
The next day, Rafael Bonachela, the artistic director of Sydney Dance Company is waiting for me in the rehearsal studio. There’s a male dancer there too. This is a huge break. A chance to tour with Sydney Dance Company, perform with people who are really talented. It makes Peter Pan seem like child’s play. Rafael kisses me on both cheeks. So European.
‘Thanks for coming in. I imagine it’s a difficult time,’ he says.
‘No, I’m thrilled to be auditioning. I have a solo to show you,’ I say and hand my CD of music to him. When the music starts I have a second’s doubt, that I’m not going to be able to do this, but the music urges me. I dance. Dancing is such an escape, I don’t want to ever stop.
When I finish, Rafael seems pleased. He asks me to partner with Richard, the dancer he brought with him. ‘You’d be working with him on the tour.’
Richard puts his hand on my waist. There’s a confidence in the way he moves. He’s not afraid to touch me, not like Sammy was. I’ve never danced with someone so good. He anticipates my every move, knows exactly where he should be. He holds me, lifts me. I don’t doubt for a second he’ll catch me. He’s perfect. I’m not used to perfect. Suddenly all I can think about is Sammy and his clumsy fumbling and I can’t believe I’ll never have to put up with it again. I can’t believe that it’s what I want more than anything in the world. How can I be so stupid as to want that? Why did Rafael do this to me?
‘Is there a problem?’ he asks and turns the music off.
‘Yes. Why would you make me dance with someone so good?’
I’m not prepared for that. How could I be when I learned the basics with a crap partner.
‘Everyone wants to talk about how amazing he was but he wasn’t. He was indescribably terrible. As a pas de deux partner. And as a boyfriend. And then he got his own boyfriend. And then he kissed me. And then he died.’ Suddenly tears are streaming down my face. ‘What sort of a person does that?’ I’m angry. More furious than I’ve ever been before. I run from the room. Mum’s outside. She catches me and holds onto me as I cry so hard I can hardly get the words, ‘I hate him, I hate him so much’ out.
The audition is over, I can’t go on tour. All I can do is cry. I cry with my mother for hours. Washing away my fury one tear at a time until there are no tears left and the anger’s gone. Instead I’m just sad. Sammy’s gone. No amount of practice can make this perfect. I have to deal with this.
After the storm of tears, I finally begin to feel some sense of calm. Nothing could ever replace that clumsy boy, and I don’t want anything to. Mum wants to stay with me in my room, but I tell her go. I need to be with Sammy’s friends. My friends.
I find them in the sitting room. They’ve been trying to organise his memorial, trying to sum him up on a whiteboard of plans. They’ve got nowhere. Tara, Kat, Ben, Christian and Ollie are all there, frustrated, exhausted, lost.
‘I know what he wanted,’ I say. ‘He told me. Energy drink incident. He thought he was going into cardiac arrest.’ They smile, recognising their Sammy.
We gather before dawn on the beach around a bonfire. It’s cold, we need blankets to keep warm. We’ve got his favourite lemon poppyseed cake and a big picture of him smiling pegged to the sand. We surround ourselves with candles in bags, creating a circle. Just before we start, Kat sees someone coming in the distance. Ethan. For all Kat telling him she was fine, he didn’t believe her and came home. Timing was always his strong point, he should be here.
I share a blanket with Tara, her face is drained and her eyes dry as she stares into the fire. Her hand clutches mine, needing to hold onto something as Christian begins to read out Sammy’s list of 50 things he wanted to accomplish in life. It’s the most I’ve ever heard Christian speak. His voice cracks with pain. I can see how hard this is for him, but nothing’s going to stop him leading our tribute. The list is pure Sammy: funny, moving, stupid, annoying, heart warming. We all remember items on the list he did with us. I almost lose it at number three: ‘Fall in love so my heart takes over from my head.’ Tara’s hand squeezes a little tighter as tears roll down my face. Didn’t he know his heart was so big, it was always getting in the way of his head? Why didn’t I tell him? All the times I was so hard on him, so sharp, dismissive and yet somehow he always came bouncing back. Can’t he do it one more time?
After the list, Kat gets up to play the favourite song from the list on his laptop. We sit in silence as Christian’s words echo through our minds, with the gentle breaking of waves in the background. The moment is shattered by the cheesiest bubble gum pop ever.
‘Wow, that’s …’ Ethan can’t find the words, nobody could.
‘And it was definitely his favourite?’ Ollie asks.
‘He played it 836 times,’ Kat reveals with a laugh. Even here, even now, Sammy can make us all shake our heads and laugh. ‘We’re skipping to the ninth favourite,’ Kat adds.
As the music plays and dawn breaks, one by one everyone goes into the water, dancing for Sammy and each other, just like he would have wanted. Only Tara and I are left on the beach.
‘I haven’t cried since it happened,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
I look at her and feel connected for the first time. Not rivals, not enemies, friends. ‘Trust me,’ I say. ‘It’ll happen.’
I take her hand and we join the others to dance in the cold morning water.
CHAPTER 13
There’s no Peter Pan, no tour with the Sydney Dance Company, all I have to focus on is keeping up my technique and the Prix de Fonteyn – which I’m not even competing in. The break in the competition for Sammy�
�s death is over. The finals of the world’s biggest dance competition are about to take place and Tara’s supposed to be competing but now Grace is back, she’s scared. Grace has made it clear to Tara she wants to beat her in the Prix and do it by dancing The Red Shoes, the piece Tara was going to perform before Saskia tormented her over it. Tara’s still sleeping in our room and I see that every night she has the same nightmare involving that dance.
We’re having a picnic for Christian’s eighteenth birthday. It’s as happy as we can make it, but Christian’s present reminds us of Sammy. He got us all to chip in for a motorcycle jacket for Christian. When Ben arrives to speak to Tara, I can guess what it’s about. He was ranked third in Australia for the competition. It’s only logical that they’d ask him to compete.
I bring some drinks over to them in time to hear Tara saying that competing would be ‘dancing on his grave’.
‘Ignore her Ben,’ I tell him. ‘You’d be moronic not to compete. Tara’s feeling guilty because she’s using Sammy as an excuse.’
‘Am I?’
‘Grace declared war, but now you’re going to use the grief card and never stand up to her.’
‘That’s not fair,’ she says. She’s right, but none of this is fair.
‘Nothing is going to make us feel better. But extinguishing Grace, like the pterodactyl she is, that’ll help you sleep at night.’
Even if she doesn’t know it, Tara needs to dance. She needs to dance for Sammy and for all of us. If I can’t compete for myself, I want to make sure she competes, and competes at her best.
It’s the contemporary dance section for girls that morning. I stick with Tara to make sure she doesn’t back out. I can tell she’s feeling overwhelmed by the Opera House, the competitors, her memories of Sammy and the threat of Grace.
‘This is your revenge plot. I was happy with my decision to back out,’ Tara says, wanting to leave. I won’t let her.
Abigail: Nice Girls Finish Last Page 6