‘You beat Grace in the Nationals. You can beat her again here.’
‘She let me win in the Nationals.’
‘So she said. And you didn’t have me then. I’ve studied you for two years. I know every strength. Every weakness. All you need to do, is get your edge back.’
As we enter the dressing room, Grace is there, holding court with the other competitors. She’s wearing a ridiculous headband with a bow that makes her look like a polka dot rabbit. ‘He was one of those truly beautiful souls. I rang his parents and told them I’m dedicating my solo to him.’
She’s daring to talk about our Sammy like she cared about him. ‘How noble,’ I say. Grace is shocked to see Tara. Good.
‘I thought you weren’t up to competing?’ she says.
‘I wasn’t. I am now,’ says Tara. Grace doesn’t take long to recover.
‘Yay. Wouldn’t have been a fraction as much fun without you.’
But I saw her vulnerable moment. She’s scared. She knows Tara has something she doesn’t. And now she has me too.
It really isn’t easy being Tara’s backbone. Even with the world’s biggest dance competition and pointe to pointe combat with Grace she still has time for boy drama. I literally have to drag her away from Christian and make her run to the stage to be there in time to compete. My entire life, I will never understand that girl.
She dances her contemporary piece well. She’s got that emotion thing that I’m always being criticised for lacking. And technically she’s good, until Grace waves at her from the wings and distracts her. Tara misses a couple of steps. Allowing herself to lose focus like that makes it too easy for Grace.
‘I don’t think anyone noticed,’ says Ben afterwards.
‘They’re not blind. You handed her at least four marks,’ I say.
Grace goes on and dances brilliantly.
‘Shake it off,’ I tell Tara as she watches Grace. ‘She was always going to have the upper hand in contemporary.’
‘She will again tomorrow with The Red Shoes,’ Tara says. ‘You should see her.’
She’s almost determined to psyche herself out. It’s time she learned how to compete – if you want to win, you face your enemies head on. Beat them exactly the way they think they can beat you.
‘Why don’t you do The Red Shoes as well?’ I suggest. ‘You want to dance that solo so much you’re dreaming about it.’
‘It’s bad luck. I haven’t done it since the Preliminaries and Saskia was right then. I could never do it justice.’
‘Saskia said you didn’t have enough life experience. You want a tally of what you’ve gone through this year?’
Then I think of it, I didn’t spend years studying the history of each ballet for nothing. ‘There is another version. Not the one Saskia did, the original. It would suit you.’ It will mean a lot of work to get the new choreography right, but it could really give Tara the edge she needs. The original version is softer, more lyrical. It suits Tara’s dancing. She could make Grace look brittle, like the fake she is.
We’ve got one evening to get it right. Kat tries to help but in no time she’s asleep on the dance studio floor. I talk Tara through her performance. She gets through the happy deluded part where Victoria thinks she can have everything and then we move into the dark, competition-winning territory. Victoria’s supposed to be grief stricken but Tara simply acts some tears. It’s not good enough.
‘Actual tears. Grace will exploit the melodrama. You have to be real.’ She stops dancing.
‘I can’t cry. I told you that,’ she says, sits down and starts to undo the ribbons on her red pointe shoes. ‘Which is why I’m dancing Aurora as originally planned.’ I sit next to her.
‘You cry every time you step on an ant. You’re a cryer. Why the blockage?’
We sit for a moment and then Tara speaks. ‘When I broke my back it was like falling into a hole. I didn’t know how to get out. This is a million times worse. I’m scared if I start crying, I won’t be able to stop.’
We’ve never really talked like this before, but I know she’s stronger than that.
‘It’s not the reason,’ I challenge her, swallowing hard. It’s not easy being this emotional.
‘Then what is?’ she asks. I can feel tears creeping into my eyes again.
‘If you cry, it’s real. And if it’s real, he’s gone.’
The next day, competition is on. My protégée needs all the focus and direction she can get. I’m putting her make-up on in the changing room when Christian comes in.
‘Hey can we …’ He wants to talk. Moments before competition. Really?
‘No Christian, no you can’t. Because if you break her focus, I will pierce this mascara stick through your skull cap.’
But Tara wouldn’t be Tara without the last minute boy trauma.
‘It’s fine,’ she says. ‘Just thirty seconds?’
I leave them alone, stand in the corridor and count out thirty seconds precisely. I go back in on the dot. My timing is never off.
‘Time’s up. Evaporate,’ I say to Christian.
Grace performs The Red Shoes first. Tara and I watch in the wings with Kat and Ben. Grace puts in a great performance. She’s brilliant, but it’s still a performance. She’s never felt a genuine emotion in her life and it shows. As Grace runs off, Tara tells her it was beautiful.
‘I think it was a nine. Nine point five,’ Grace says. ‘How does it feel? To go out there knowing I’ve already taken away what you want most?’
I’m worried Tara will let Grace psych her out again, but she doesn’t. She’s focused and determined as she’s called out to the stage. As Tara begins to dance, she’s good but not brilliant. Then something happens. It’s like her mind goes to another place and her movements become real. Her emotion is so intense, so genuine. It’s no performance, she’s living the part, feeling, expressing. It’s one of the greatest dances I’ve seen. I can see the tears streaming down her face and I know the pain she’s feeling. She’s letting Sammy go. It’s not just the dance that’s real, it’s her grief, it’s our grief.
She finishes crumpled on the stage floor, sobbing as the audience erupts into deafening applause like it has done for no other performance in the entire competition. I realise it doesn’t even matter if she wins the Prix. She won The Red Shoes. She owned it, and I helped her.
We join the audience for the boy’s contemporary in time for Ben’s performance. I sit down next to Ethan. ‘Quite the coach now aren’t you,’ he says with a smile.
‘I bet they don’t dance like that in Barcelona,’ I say.
‘They don’t dance like you either,’ he answers.
Ben is called to the stage. He comes out with a microphone and announces that he is going to dance the piece that Sammy was going to perform. The judges interject.
‘I’m sorry Benjamin. But all choreography has to be approved in advance.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘You’ll have to disqualify me.’
The stage goes dark, Sammy’s montage appears and then we hear his voice.
Every dancer knows that being technically perfect is not enough. We need to know why we dance.
Even though I’ve heard the words before, listened to them in this very spot, my heart jumps. Sammy’s most brilliant, most beautiful performance and I was the only person who got to witness it. I’m the one who’ll carry it in my memory for everyone, forever.
Ben begins the dance but then pauses. ‘Guys? Leaving me on a limb here,’ he calls out.
Sammy’s inspiration was to have all his friends on stage with him when he performed. He can’t perform any more but he can have all his friends on stage. We can give him that, at least. One by one we go up. Tara and Kat, Christian and Ollie, Ethan and me, dancing with Ben to Sammy’s piece. On Sammy’s list of 50 things he wanted to do, his number one was ‘Make a group of friends I’ll know for the rest of my life’. He didn’t just do that for himself. He did it for all of us. It’s for him that we’ve been
brought together, for him that I could watch Tara dance earlier and be proud to call her my friend, for him that I can smile at Kat’s goofy steps as she cavorts on stage now. If only he could know how much he’s given me.
On this stage, as the balloons that were supposed to be for the competition winner cascade down, there’s only one way for me to express my feelings, only one way for all of us to do it, through our dance – not formal, not structured, not competitive, just moving to our joy and our sorrow.
There are no rules, there is no form, the Prix de Fonteyn is just a bunch of tired flowers and glitzy trophy. This moment is more important, we are more important, the ways we loved Sammy are more important.
We’re dancing to celebrate his life. Dancing for the gift of his presence. Dancing for my Sammy.
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Read a sample from …
Kat
Second Chance
I’m back, in a place where I never thought I’d be again. Or want to be. The National Academy of Dance.
All familiar faces, but I feel alone, all the same.
Why is Ben in a tutu, twirling around? ‘Smile, my pretty,’ Grace says, taking a photo of him with her camera phone. ‘This is for Tara.’ Grace deliberately knocks me out of the way as she prances past.
Tara won’t answer my calls. She must be feeling devastated about her back but in my heart I know her silence is about me and Christian. How can we not still be best friends? I can’t bear it.
I have class in a minute, but I have to try her again. This time her mum answers. ‘Hang on, Kat, I’ll put her on.’
Great. My heart thumps. What will I say?
But then her mum says, ‘Sorry, sweetheart. She’s sleeping right now. Can I have her call you back?’
‘Okay, thanks, Mrs Webster. Bye.’
I feel sick as I hang up and look around the studio. Back in first year. Oh boy, look at them. All at the barre, stretching like there’s no tomorrow. And they all ignore me. Guess I’d better join them.
The class is familiar, too. Mixed Classical. Miss Raine watches me like a hawk but says nothing to me, thank goodness. I give it my all. Now that’s unfamiliar!
After class, the first years walk past me like a small army, Lulu at the front.
I plaster on a smile. ‘Hi, Lulu.’ Ignored again. Remi sneers at me.
‘Hello? Look, I’ve been the new kid twice too often this year, so, if there’s a problem, can we just sort it out now?’
Lulu stops. They all stop. That’s good.
‘The problem?’ Lulu says. ‘Is with your kind.’
Remi backs her up. ‘You’re a second year in a first-year leotard. And we don’t like the second years.’
Huh? ‘You don’t think that’s a touch yearist?’ I ask.
Lily speaks up quietly. ‘We wanted to compete in the Prix de Fonteyn.’
Remi jumps in again. ‘We deserved to compete. But the second years suck up all the attention.’
This is seriously weird.
Lulu says, ‘Which is infuriating because with the exception of Abigail –’
They all nod in agreement like sheep, and chorus, ‘We love Abigail.’
‘She’s so dedicated,’ someone pipes up.
‘– you’re more obsessed with relationships than ballet,’ Lulu continues, and sticks her nose in the air.
I blink, stunned. ‘Huh. Right. Carry on then.’
They sweep out of the room, and I shake my head. It’s so ridiculous, I want to laugh. But I can’t, quite.
It’s lunchtime and I grab some food and plonk myself down at a table with Sammy and Christian. I can’t wait to tell them about it. ‘Do you know there’s a whole creepy dictatorship going on that we’re not even aware of?’
Sammy gives us a funny look, and pushes back his chair. ‘I’ve got to get going.’
I turn to Christian. ‘Why does he have that face on?’
‘I don’t have a face,’ Sammy says.
‘It’s his running to the toilet face,’ Christian says.
‘No, it’s not,’ Sammy says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
‘Has he been eating green curry again?’ I ask.
Christian laughs.
‘It’s not my curry face,’ Sammy snaps. He glares at us both. ‘It’s …’ He sighs. ‘For weeks you guys have been using me as an excuse so you can hang out guilt-free.’
My mouth gapes open. ‘You don’t think we feel guilty?’ What is the matter with him? Christian and I are not together. Not really.
‘I’m not judging – actually I am judging. If you’re going to get together, fine, be together.’ He holds his hands up in surrender. ‘I just don’t want to be around to see it.’ And he walks off, just like that!
Christian can’t look at me, and neither of us says a word. We can’t be together – neither of us want to hurt Tara – but I can’t help how I feel about him. Where to from here? I have no idea, but that horrible, lonely feeling is getting worse.
When classes finish, I’m glad to see big brother Ethan, even if he is hanging out with Abigail yet again.
Only he seems to have said something that flusters her for a change. Interesting.
I wrap an arm around Ethan. ‘Family, you’re genetically obliged to talk to me.’
Ethan makes a face. ‘Can I do it while writing job applications? Today the Company decided it’s time I “spread my wings”.’
So he’s not having a good day either. ‘Y’ouch. Not to be selfish, but will you be seeking local work?’ Please let me at least have my big brother around!
He shakes his head. ‘Impresión said they’d look at my new showreel.’
‘Spain.’ Even Abigail looks a bit stunned.
‘I know, bad timing.’ He nudges Abigail’s arm and makes like he wants her to follow him, smiles at me and heads off down the corridor. Suddenly, behind me that little first-year army choruses, ‘Hi, Abigail.’ They’re smiling at her like she’s the Queen. That gives me an idea.
I turn to Abigail. ‘Hey, how do you get your hair like that? I mean, I spray and spray but – flyaways.’
I examine her hair and touch the flowers, but Abigail flicks my hand away and stalks off.
No problem – now I have a plan. If you can’t beat them, you have to join them.
As I warm up the next day in the empty studio, I try Tara’s phone – yet again. I get her voicemail – yet again. ‘Hi, it’s Tara. Sorry I missed you. Leave a message.’
I turn off my phone and swing my leg again. I’ve plaited my hair on top of my head with flowers threaded through, and my pointe shoes are shiny, brand new. Sheesh, if I didn’t know better, I’d think I looked just like Abigail!
Lulu and Remi stop in the doorway, surprised I’m there first for a change. I put on my cheeriest voice. ‘Top of the morning to you.’
Lulu stares. ‘Class doesn’t start for an hour.’
‘Endorphin overload,’ I chirp. ‘I’ve been in the Pilates studio since six.’
Lulu and Remi exchange a suspicious look, as Lily comes in, too.
I smile. ‘Did you guys know the American Ballet Theatre is in town?’
‘We’ve already booked,’ Remi says smugly. ‘Months ago.’
‘Drats.’ I lean down and grab a handful of tickets out of my bag, holding them up. ‘These are preview VIP.’
Lily looks edgy and I turn to her. ‘Lily, I couldn’t interest you, could I?’ I offer her the tickets, and she can’t help it – her eyes light up and she takes one.
‘Orchestra pit seating, exclusive entry to the after party,’ I say.
Lily stares in amazement at the ticket. Lulu and Remi can’t believe it either and Lulu glares at Lily.
‘Family connections,’ I say, and flash Lily a smile.
Score one to me!
On to Plan B. I soon have some of the other first years listening to my every word as we sit on the floor before class.
Lulu and Remi are still glaring at me.
‘I know this is name dropping a little bit …’ I say, ‘but Misha once brought a donkey to my tenth birthday party. Which was hysterical because at the time we were living in a penthouse.’
Lily gasps. ‘Sorry, you mean Baryshnikov? The most famous dancer on the planet?’
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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:
Abigail: Nice Girls Finish Last Page 7