Our bodies jerk slightly as the wheels turn, then again as they stop.
I click off the belt. ‘Thanks for … well, you know.’ I want to say more, but I’m not sure how to say it. I might not see Bruno again.
‘No worries, kid.’ He points his chin towards the steps. ‘Now go do your stuff.’
I glance at the huge Academy doors before turning back to him. ‘Yeah, thanks.’
Bruno doesn’t reply, but our eyes meet. It’s enough.
Then I’m out of the door and taking the steps three at a time. I’ll just have time to change and warm up before rehearsal, but no more.
As soon as the main doors shut, faint piano chords reach me from a ballet class down the hall. Sally is pressing buttons at reception as I pass. I’m ready with a smile, but she doesn’t glance up. I’m a few steps away when I hear her hushed voice behind me: ‘Yes. She just came in.’
As I turn the corner I see Paige and Izzy huddled together in front of my locker, talking quickly with heads close.
‘Hey!’ I call from halfway up the corridor. They look up and just stare. I’m only a few steps closer when I hear Jack behind me.
‘Scarlett.’
The hardness of his tone makes me stop. Slowly, I turn.
Jack has his arms crossed. I see veins sticking out against his red neck. I glance at the others for any last clues. What reason did they give for why I was gone? But they’ve both shrunk back, their eyes on Jack. Paige has her hands over her mouth.
‘Now, Scarlett!’ snaps Jack. ‘Mr Winchester’s office.’
I do as I’m told.
Jack strides straight towards the office with me almost running to keep up. He walks in without knocking and stands beside the desk, arms crossed and eyes straight ahead. Second in command.
Mr Winchester looks up, phone against ear. ‘I’ll have to call you back. Yes. Thank you.’
No-one has asked me to sit but I do anyway, on the very edge of the chair with my back straight. I’ll just explain what I was doing.
For a moment, Mr Winchester considers me, elbows on the desk and hands locked together. His breathing is slow, and when he speaks I sense anger burning beneath the surface, and his effort to keep it controlled.
‘Scarlett, it seems that your relationship with Moss Young is causing some … problems for the Academy.’
This isn’t what I was expecting. Quickly I glance at Jack to read his expression, but he keeps his eyes straight ahead, arms still crossed. ‘I … it’s okay,’ I begin. ‘You don’t need to worry. There’s no relationship with Moss Young.’
‘His name is on the VIP list for closing night,’ says Mr Winchester.
Already, my head’s shaking. ‘He won’t be coming. That’s where I was this morning. It’s all finished.’
‘That may well be true but the media is all over this, Scarlett. I received a call from a reporter this morning, asking questions.’
There’s not much I can say to that, so I don’t. I can tell that he’s playing with me, trying to make me scared. One last tug on my puppet strings before opening night.
‘Of course I set the reporter straight. This Academy is run with the utmost professionalism. Even a hint of bad behaviour is dealt with zero tolerance.’
‘Yes, of course.’ I nod agreeably, playing the game.
There’s a pause while Mr Winchester watches my reaction for any hint of doubt or fear. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
‘After the reporter called, I made some enquiries of my own,’ says Mr Winchester. ‘Is there anything you want to tell me, Scarlett?’
‘Sorry?’ I glance again at Jack, panic starting to creep in.
Mr Winchester stands and walks to the window. His movements are contained but deliberate. ‘I like to think that I’m on top of everything at this Academy,’ he says quietly. ‘Goodness knows that I keep an eye on small problems and try to catch them before they become big ones. But I have to say that I didn’t see this one coming. I consider this my own failure as much as anyone else’s.’
I’m aware of Jack’s eyes on me. All I can do is shake my head, confused. Tightness returns to his expression and he looks away.
Mr Winchester faces me. ‘Scarlett, we have an eyewitness who claims to have seen you in the possession of drugs.’
‘What? No!’ Surprise and disbelief burst out. That night at the Dixie Bar. How could Grant do this?
‘Are you saying that you dispute this account?’
‘Yes, yes … of course!’ I look to Jack, pleading for help, understanding. It was only one time.
‘This is a very serious matter, Scarlett. For you and for the Academy. Do you understand what I’m saying? Drug use is punishable by suspension at the very least.’
‘Of course, yes, I understand.’ Part of me just wants to find Grant and slap him in the face. How could you? But first I have to deal with the fireworks in front of me. ‘Look, the … eyewitness who says he saw me with drugs, he’s just worried about me. That’s all.’ I look from Mr Winchester to Jack. ‘I spend six days a week rehearsing …’
Jack is watching me now, one eyebrow raised.
‘Do you really think I’d be able to do that if I was taking drugs? Don’t you think it would have affected my dancing?’ They’re watching me and listening. ‘Why would I risk messing this up? This is my life.’
‘Yes,’ says Mr Winchester. ‘This is your life, Scarlett. That’s why we’re taking this so seriously.’
Jack places his hands on the table. ‘We have to be sure, Oscar. It’s just one student’s word against another. We need to organise a test. At least give her a chance to clear her name.’
Jack turns to me. ‘Will you agree to a drug test?’
One tablet, weeks ago. Would it still be in my system?
In the seconds it takes me to consider, Jack’s expression changes. His lips part and his eyebrows pinch.
‘Scarlett …’ Jack’s tone falls with disappointment.
‘I …’ What can I say? ‘It was only one time. Sort of. But that’s all over. I’m not doing that anymore.’
There’s an awful pause where Jack just shakes his head. He turns to Mr Winchester. ‘Paige will have to take the lead,’ he murmurs.
‘No!’ I’m out of my chair.
‘Yes,’ says Mr Winchester and picks up the phone. ‘I’ll organise a media statement.’
Jack passes me with barely a glance and leaves the room.
‘Sally?’ says Mr Winchester. ‘Please draft up a media statement saying that the student in question has been suspended until further notice … Yes. And make it clear that it all happened outside of school hours and away from the Academy. Try to distance us from this as much as possible.’
Mr Winchester hangs up the phone. ‘I’ll call your mother,’ he says, lifting it again.
‘Wait. You don’t need to do this, Mr Winchester. Please, I promise you. That’s all finished for me.’
‘I’m sorry, Scarlett,’ he says dismissively. He speaks into the phone. ‘Sally? Could you get Scarlett Stirling’s mother on the line for me?’
Mum on the line. What will she say? How is this even happening? Panic churns and spreads inside me. Then it finds focus. Grant.
I spin around and push out into the corridor, carried forwards like a heat-seeking missile. I reach the theatre and scan the bodies in warm-up poses. I don’t focus on any of them.
No-one out here is Grant. Change rooms next. I go straight through the one marked MALE.
Lachlan is on a bench, wrapping a bandage around his ankle. Beside him, smiling, is Grant. ‘Well, I sure didn’t expect to see you in –’
‘What the hell did you do that for? Geez, Grant! I had it all under control.’ I clench my fists, trying to control the anger. ‘What gives you the right to tell them anything about me?’
Grant just looks at me blankly. ‘What are you talking about? Had what under control?’
‘You told Winchester I was taking drugs!’ I explode.
Lachlan’s jaw has dropped.
‘What? I never said anything –’
‘You never said anything? Then why am I suspended?’
Grant’s still holding his ground. ‘I didn’t say anything! It wasn’t me.’
‘Really?’ I have my hands on my hips. I nod sarcastically. ‘Then who else could it have been?’
Voices from outside the door make it clear others can hear. Not that I care. Not that it matters. The change room door squeaks as it opens. ‘I didn’t need this, Grant. I didn’t need to be saved.’
‘I’m telling you, Scarlett, it wasn’t me!’ Grant yells back.
‘I can’t believe this! You’re going to deny it?’
‘You better believe it!’
I’m spluttering through words to yell back at him when I hear a voice behind me. ‘Scarlett.’ Frustrated, I turn to find Paige holding the door open.
Her eyes meet mine. ‘It was me.’
SEVENTEEN
‘I found a tablet hidden in a magazine when I was at your place. But anyone could see something was going on. You’ve been coming to school hung-over, with your hair smelling like smoke,’ Paige says evenly.
I tell myself not to move. If I do, I’ll explode. ‘And you think that’s a good enough reason to destroy everything for me?’
Paige’s eyes widen. ‘You’re doing a good enough job of that on your own, don’t you think? I was worried –’
‘Worried!’
‘They were asking everyone! All I did was tell the truth.’
My stomach tightens. ‘Kind of convenient, isn’t it?’
Paige steps towards me. ‘You don’t know what it’s like … watching you throw everything away.’
‘I haven’t thrown anything away. You’re the one who’s done that for me!’
‘Not before you did it to yourself! All year I’ve sat back and watched –’
‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ I shout. ‘You’ve just watched while I’ve been doing all the things that you wanted to do. If you had the chance –’
‘What?’ Paige snaps. ‘You think I want to sit around smoking weed? You think I want to throw myself at some … seedy musician?’
For a moment our eyes meet and it’s all I can do to stop myself screaming at her. The tears in her eyes somehow make it worse. Can’t do this anymore. I head for the doorway, past Paige, making a point to look straight ahead.
Voices call my name as I take a fire exit out of the theatre, but I don’t stop to find out who.
Sunlight hits me outside. Before the door shuts, I start running, past the main wing to the edge of the school grounds. I reach the side fence and climb over. I don’t head for the bus stop, just keep moving, dodging around a group in business suits, tearing past office blocks, running out the rage.
Ahead, a bus slows and comes to a stop beside a shelter. I speed up. I’m up the bus steps in a flash, not caring where it’s going. Hopefully to the moon. I find a space up the back and sink low, feet hooked up on the seat. I rest my chin between knees.
Just take me away …
I’m carried along by the hum of the engine, waiting to find myself somewhere I’ve never been. After a while my feet slide onto the floor and I sit high enough to look out the window. It takes only a few seconds to realise that we’re heading into the city. No place new. My throat constricts and I swallow the lump away.
When the bus pulls up at Central, I file off with everyone else and let the crowd carry me along. Faces smile out at me from newsstand magazines.
Before I can hold it back, anger boils out as hot tears. How could she do that to me? A woman glances my way with concern as she passes so I wipe my cheeks with the back of a hand and start walking.
Inside Central station is a huge concourse with shops lining one side. I pass another newsstand, cafes, hairdresser … until I reach the arrivals and departures board at the other end. Cities are listed with platform numbers, departure times.
Perth doesn’t leave until 20.15, with a train change in Adelaide. Brisbane leaves sooner …
All I have to do is step on a train. I have enough money in the bank. I won’t even tell them where I’ve gone. I’ll find somewhere to live, work in a cafe until I can land on my feet. Maybe I’ll change my name.
‘Hi … can we have your autograph?’
Two girls about twelve or thirteen stand with their shoulders jammed together, smiling nervously at me. One holds out a diary. ‘You know Moss Young. We saw you on Celebrity Spotter.’
‘No.’ I step back, shaking my head. ‘You have the wrong person.’
‘But I’m sure it’s you.’ She pulls out her phone, taps the screen and holds it up hopefully.
I don’t want to look.
But there I am, standing beside Moss. He has his arm around me, smiling as if we’re a loving couple. It’s not just Moss’s face that strikes me, but my own. All the hope in my eyes. So much make-up. Wild hair.
The girls are waiting expectantly.
‘I’m sorry.’ Chin tucked low, I hurry away.
Back along the concourse, I pull my hair into a ponytail, dodging my elbows around passersby, twisting it into a messy bun.
The female restroom is up ahead and I burst through the door, finding some small relief when I see it’s empty.
I splash water on my cheeks, my forehead, not fussed about the spills. For a while I stare at my face. Eyes rimmed red. Strands of hair stuck out.
Roughly I pull out the hair tie and start using my hands as combs, yanking hard at tangles, then smoothing back my hair as best as I can. I tie it back with a twist and tuck into another bun.
I hate the girl in the mirror. Can’t look at her anymore.
Instead I spin around and push back out of the restroom. Past cafes, newsstand, hairdresser …
In the middle of the concourse I stop. Through the window I can see a woman sitting with foils in her hair, no-one in the waiting area. Shoulders square, I clench my jaw. The door pulls easily in my hand and I walk straight in.
A middle-aged woman with a short black bob steps briskly from the back. ‘Hi. Can I help you?’
‘Yes, I don’t have an appointment. Is there any space this afternoon?’
She picks up a pencil and scans down at the appointment book. ‘What about right now?’
I nod decisively. ‘That would be great.’
She pulls out an empty chair for me. I shuffle into position as the smock circles my neck. Soon I feel the tug of hair as it’s pulled free from its bun.
For a while the hairdresser arranges my hair around my shoulders, playing, getting to know her medium. ‘This is your natural colour?’
‘Yes.’ It’s the same question, every time.
‘Beautiful,’ she murmurs. ‘And what would you like today?’
‘I want it all off. Number one on the clippers.’
Her hands pause and I hear a tight laugh. ‘We can’t do that. Half the people who come in here would kill for hair like this.’ For a moment she keeps playing. ‘Let me try a new style, and if you don’t like it we can go shorter.’
‘No,’ I say patiently. ‘I just want it shaved off.’ She doesn’t realise yet, but she will soon.
This time her eyes narrow as they find mine in the mirror. ‘Just a minute,’ she says.
The hairdresser disappears out the back and I strain to make out the hushed voices. The woman sitting in foils glances up from her magazine. As soon as I catch her gaze in the mirror she looks away.
Soon the hairdresser comes back. ‘How about I make you a coffee? You can take some time to think it through.’
‘It’s okay. I’m sure about this. I won’t regret it.’ I know how regret feels.
Again, there’s a pause, but I know this time that she’s about to say yes. An alarm sounds for the woman’s foils to come off and another hairdresser appears from the back.
First comes the gentle tug of hair being combed out, then the neat snip of it being cut short. I close my eyes at the
harsh hum of the buzzer, feeling vibration against my skull. It’s almost like being stroked, not rough as I was expecting. For a moment I think that she’s just pretending, until I open my eyes to see half my hair gone, the other half still there but somehow absurd.
It takes a while for her to finish off, and tidy up. The buzzing dies away and all is quiet. My own face stares back, eyes more pronounced than before, perhaps, but nothing else worth noting. It’s something I’ve always known; without my hair I’m not much to look at. Entirely unremarkable. I lift a hand slowly and touch my scalp with fingertips. So soft.
‘Thanks.’ I glance away from my reflection to find them all staring at me.
‘You’re okay?’ asks the hairdresser gently.
‘Yeah.’ I nod with strange satisfaction.
She brushes loose hair from my neck and unfastens the cloak. I stand up, holding myself tall because they’re still watching me.
When I’m at the counter I notice the pool of dark red hair on the floor, like a blood stain. There’s so much of it. I want to turn away but I don’t. It’s like forcing myself to look at a corpse so that I know for sure that it’s dead.
Once I’ve paid, I slip back into the crowd. I can’t help glancing at people as they pass, curious about what they see. Mostly they barely look at me.
Back in front of the departures board, I find an empty bench and sit with my legs crossed. I think about buying a ticket, but something stops me. I just watch the world go by, feeling empty inside. It’s after three, only half an hour until the train to Brisbane. The time makes me think of the Academy. They would’ve half-finished the run-through by now. They’d be trying on last-minute costumes before the dress rehearsal.
It’s not as if any of them would miss me. Not Jack, not Grant, certainly not Paige. But still I don’t buy a ticket. I can’t leave without …
What?
The image of Mum comes to me, waiting at home. I can’t leave without facing her.
So that’s where I go.
She’s there as soon as I unlock the door, moving towards me in a rush, before stopping short. ‘Oh my goodness!’ Mum cups my jaw in her hands, her eyes darting over my bare head.
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