Tara: Catch Me if I Fall

by Meredith Costain

  Zach rolls his eyes. ‘Jealous. Show me what jealousy looks like.’

  Kat skips around us with her fairy wand, pretending to split us up, but Zach’s not impressed.

  ‘I’m not really a jealous person,’ she admits.

  ‘Well, Tink is. Find a way to tap into that.’

  ‘Like this?’ Kat asks, giving one of my plaits a gentle tweak.

  Zach shakes his head, worried.

  He dismisses Kat and Christian and calls Ben and me over to learn the steps for our brother – sister sequence.

  It’s going pretty well until Ben decides to lick his finger and stick it in my ear.

  ‘Gross, Ben,’ I scowl.

  ‘Little brothers, they’re annoying,’ Ben jokes.

  Rolling my eyes, I continue the dance, readying myself for our final lift. But Ben’s got more annoying tricks up his sleeve.

  ‘Put me down!’ I shriek as he catches me, then parades me around the room.

  ‘Like this?’ Ben asks innocently, lowering me so quickly I land awkwardly on the floor. He puts out his hand to help me up but I slap it away.

  ‘Great work, guys,’ Zach calls out. ‘Very authentic!’

  He calls Kat, Christian and me over and hands us a laptop loaded with the Peter Pan music.

  ‘I want you three to work through your motivations for your pas de trois. Jealousy, Kat,’ he adds, tapping his chest. ‘It’s in there somewhere.’

  We head off for lunch at our favourite spot above the harbour. Christian tosses Kat his phone.

  ‘Go through that if you want,’ he offers. ‘Pretty standard jealous behaviour.’

  Kat pretends to scroll through his texts. ‘Who’s this girl sending you brilliant, witty texts?’ she jokes. ‘Oh, wait, it’s me!’

  It’s not fair. Kat’s so well adjusted, it’s ridiculous. She’s obviously never experienced the gut-wrenching emotions most of us have to go through.

  ‘All right,’ I tell her, ‘I’ll break jealousy down for you. Your blood runs cold, your stomach tightens and it feels like you’re shooting laser beams out of your eyes.’

  Kat blinks a couple of times. ‘Right,’ she says, unconvinced. She taps the glossy magazine full of anorexic models she’s brought along. ‘You guys practise your Peter – Wendy part and I’ll try to envy these girls who haven’t eaten for days.’

  She presses play on the laptop then starts flicking through the magazine. Christian and I begin to dance, moving fluidly through the steps of our lyrical pas de deux.

  ‘I think something’s happening,’ Kat calls out as I fall back into Christian’s arms. ‘Cold blood. Tight stomach. Keep going. This could be useful.’

  I laugh, then block out everything except the music and concentrate on my steps.

  Ben’s in the corridor, flouncing round in a pink tutu in front of a crowd of students. And he’s wearing my bra.

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he simpers, bending forward into a deep arabesque. ‘I’m Ta-ra Web-ster.’

  ‘Give it back!’ I hiss, snatching at the bra.

  Ben fends me off, then hurtles down the corridor before I can catch him. I follow him out onto the wharf, pummelling him with my fists.

  Ben finally stops, turning to face me. ‘What’s wrong?’ he smirks. ‘Can’t take a joke from your little brother?’

  I give him another whack. Ben stares at me, puzzled.

  ‘Look, I apologised for what I did at the Nationals. I performed a song for you –’

  ‘That wasn’t about me,’ I fire back. ‘That was so you could be the centre of attention.’

  Ben shakes his head. ‘No, I did it because I liked you.’

  ‘Did you? What did you like about me, Ben?’

  But he waits too long to answer.

  ‘See, there were actual things I liked about you, Ben. And I told you how I felt,’ I add, my voice cracking. ‘Do you know how scary that was after the year I’ve had?’

  Ben bites his lip.

  ‘And you didn’t feel the same way,’ I continue. ‘So admit that the only reason you’re chasing me now is because I’m no longer interested.’

  I wait for his response. When it doesn’t come, I wheel around and head back to the Academy.

  The next run through of our pas de trois goes much better. Kat’s Tink is much stronger. She leaps around Christian and me as we dance, stamping her feet and zapping us angrily with her fairy wand. This time when she pulls at my plait, then pushes me to the floor, it actually hurts. It’s like she’s suddenly found the motivation Zach’s been talking about.

  ‘Brilliant, Kat,’ Zach calls as we finish up. ‘I can feel the jealousy oozing through your pores.’

  ‘That was frightening,’ Christian tells her.

  Kat fiddles with her hair. ‘It was what I was aiming for,’ she tells him. But there’s a slight edge to her voice. Has something happened between them?

  Zach calls us all together so we can discuss our characters one final time before the weekend. I can’t wait. He’s been working us hard all day.

  I’m slumped down on a bench next to Kat when a beep runs round the studio. Everyone stops what they’re doing and checks their phones.

  ‘Bondi Beach,’ Kat reads from her message display. ‘All invited. Bring jumper.’ She turns to me. ‘Intriguing.’

  ‘And from Ben,’ I say, snapping my phone shut. ‘Pass.’

  Zach claps his hands to get our attention. ‘Okay, let’s get started. Christian? Any thoughts on Peter?’

  ‘Um. He doesn’t want to grow up?’

  Zach rolls his eyes, disappointed that Christian’s done no more than state the obvious. ‘That’s very insightful. But can you expand on that?’

  Christian chews his lip while he tries to gather his thoughts. ‘He wants everything,’ he says finally. ‘You know, he wants Tink because she’s awesome and she’s always there when he needs her. But I think, deep down, Peter loves Wendy.’

  ‘And why’s that?’ Zach probes.

  Christian shrugs. ‘She challenges him to be better than he is. But he’s scared of it so he gives her up, which makes him kind of a sell-out.’

  Beside me, Kat stiffens slightly. But I’m more interested in what’s in the bottom of my bag. The bra Ben ‘borrowed’ from me, neatly folded.

  I’m still thinking about it when Kat drags me down to the beachfront. ‘Come on, T,’ she coaxes, ‘it might be fun.’

  ‘Do we have to go?’ I whine. ‘All it’s doing is feeding Ben’s ego.’

  Kat nudges me as we reach the boardwalk. ‘Look,’ she points.

  I look down, expecting to see sand. Instead, I see Ben standing in the middle of a huge outdoor ice skating rink. It’s beautiful, the crisp white ice sparkling in the sunshine. Ben waves to us, grinning.

  ‘Woo!’ Sammy calls as he and Abigail run down to the rink with Kat and Christian. I follow slowly, shaking my head. What is he up to this time?

  I hang back as everyone exchanges their shoes for skates, then wobbles shakily across the ice. Ben skates over to me, wearing a furry hat and a sheepish expression.

  ‘Prasti menya,’ he tells me. ‘It’s Russian for “I’m sorry”. That’s where you want to go if you win the Prix, isn’t it? See? I do listen to you.’

  He waits for me to say something, then pretends to be hurt when I don’t.

  ‘But if you don’t want me to stay, then, I’ll just –’

  I smile inwardly, impressed by his actions in spite of myself. ‘Well, now you’re just being manipulative,’ I warn him.

  Ben looks embarrassed. ‘I actually really do want to stay.’

  I reach for his hand, finally in a forgiving mood. ‘Then stay.’

  We move out onto the ice together, dancing in slow circles. It’s actually kind of fun.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ Ben jokes as he grabs my waist and dips me backwards. ‘Do you trust me now?’

  I regain my balance and give him a shove, sending him sprawling. Around me, my friends are skating h
and-in-hand, laughing and joking, revelling in the magic of an ice rink in the middle of a beach.

  Ben tries to spin me under his arm as Abigail and Sammy glide past me, pulling Kat behind them. No Christian? I think, wondering vaguely why he’s missing. Then Ben loses his footing and falls heavily, bringing me down with him. We lie on the ice together, laughing as the coldness of the ice seeps into our backs.

  And then suddenly we’re kissing. And it’s good.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ben taps the whiteboard with his pointer. ‘Who’s this?’ he demands.

  I stare at the photo he’s selected. It’s one of the other competitors in the Prix. ‘Josie Mason,’ I parrot. ‘Sixteen, Royal Ballet School. Gold Medal and the Audience Choice at last year’s Genée.’

  ‘Very good,’ Ben tells me. ‘How will you beat her?’

  ‘She can’t turn from fifth position.’

  Ben smiles indulgently. ‘No. And you can.’

  He continues tapping photos, gouging answers out of my poor overworked brain. Then he flips the whiteboard over to reveal a glossy photo of himself, surrounded by a love heart.

  ‘Benjamin Tickle,’ I grin. ‘Sixteen, boyfriend.’

  ‘Does he get a score?’

  ‘The judges are still considering but he’s definitely one to –’

  Sammy sticks his head around the door. ‘Miss Raine’s ready for us, T.’

  I follow him to the studio. Miss Raine takes notes while we take it in turns to dance our Prix solos for her.

  ‘Not bad,’ Miss Raine tells us. ‘Tara, you need to remember to keep your neck long. And Sammy, your dancing is technically strong. You just need to get “inside” it.’

  Sammy nods, obviously rattled. ‘I know, I’m not connecting with my solo. It just feels like steps at the moment.’

  Miss Raine smiles reassuringly. ‘What you both need right now is rest and mental clarity. No more dancing until the competition, understood?’

  Sammy and I glance at each other. Is she serious?

  It’s 6 a.m. I’m standing with Sammy at the top of the Centrepoint Tower in the middle of the city, shivering. Kat, who’s dragged us both here for some reason known only to herself, tries to get us to appreciate the view, but we’re both too wrapped up in our thoughts of the looming competition to take it in.

  Sammy’s rambling on again about how, without any real connection to it, his contemporary solo means absolutely nothing. He’s worried that he’s lost sight of why he’s even dancing.

  ‘To win the Prix de Fonteyn,’ I remind him.

  Kat shakes her head, exasperated. ‘No, petal. You dance to fly,’ she tells me. She turns to Sammy. ‘And you dance because …’

  ‘See? I’m not doing it to rebel against Dad anymore.’

  I squeeze his hand, remembering what a hard year it’s been for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a father who can’t see why you’d want to choose ballet over law or medicine. It must have been such a relief when his dad finally accepted his decision.

  ‘Okay,’ Kat sighs. ‘As of tomorrow, you’re representing the entire country. And I am one very proud leg of this friendship tripod. So stop talking and just soak it up.’

  Kat pushes us around until we’re facing the view. The harbour spreads out below us, sparkling in the early morning light. We stand there in a group hug, drinking it all in.

  Dressed in our official Australian team tracksuits, Sammy and I jog up the steps of the Opera House. Competitors from all around the world stand in tight knots, chatting or shrugging off nerves. The atmosphere is electric with tension.

  A man moves away from a group of officials to shake my hand.

  ‘Tara Webster,’ he says, smiling broadly. ‘Congratulations.’

  It’s Steven Heathcote, a legend of the ballet world, and one of the judges from the preliminary rounds. I thank him, then glance around the concourse, checking out the competition.

  Sammy points to a group of dancers in blue and white tracksuits. ‘Team UK.’

  I study a petite blonde girl with her back to me. Her whole bearing exudes ‘dancer’. ‘I bet that’s Josie Mason,’ I tell Sammy.

  The girl turns round and stares at me, and my heart hits the ground with a thud. It’s not Josie.

  It’s Grace.

  She rushes over, enveloping us both in hugs. ‘I was wondering when I’d see you guys!’

  ‘What happened?’ Sammy sounds puzzled. ‘You just disappeared on us.’

  ‘Big family drama back in London,’ Grace fibs expertly. ‘I hate goodbyes.’

  Sammy wanders off, leaving me alone with Grace.

  ‘He doesn’t know about Zach?’ she probes. ‘Or why I left?’

  ‘I would never tell anyone about that,’ I assure her. ‘How are you now? I called, and emailed, but you never –’

  Grace nods, her eyes cold. ‘It’s really good to know you’re still looking out for me, T.’ Then she heads back to her team.

  Sammy’s called us all into the common room.

  ‘Dude, you’re not coming out again, are you?’ Ben jokes.

  We laugh, remembering the time he called us together to inform us he was dating Ollie. I was rapt. I’ve always wanted a gay best friend.

  ‘No,’ Sammy sighs. ‘Look, this morning I realised that I dance best when I’m with you guys.’

  His eyes light up as he outlines his plan. He wants us all up on stage dancing with him when he performs his contemporary solo for the Prix final. But one by one, each of us lets him know we think it’s a bad idea. It would be self-sabotage. And against the rules.

  Kat’s just starting to open up to me about what’s going on with her and Christian when Grace appears.

  ‘Look, T, I know we’re technically rivals, but can you give me some feedback on my solo?’

  I stare at her. ‘How did you end up in the finals anyway, Grace? What happened to Josie Mason?’

  ‘You mean, after I pushed her down the stairs and broke her ankle?’ Grace says innocently, then laughs when she sees my face.

  Half an hour later I’m sitting in the front row of the Opera House. The theatre is empty except for a few tech hands setting up lights. Grace steps lightly out onto the stage.

  ‘Bear with me,’ she calls sweetly, as she moves into position. ‘I’m a little nervous.’

  The music starts up. Victoria’s solo, from The Red Shoes. My eyes fly to Grace’s feet. Her pointe shoes are red. Blood red.

  I sit, stunned, while Grace dances, a million images jangling through my brain. Saskia. My broken back. Being kicked out of the Academy. Then my mind clears and I realise she’s talking to me. The rehearsal has finished.

  ‘So what did you think?’ Grace calls from the stage.

  I stare at her, numb.

  Grace laughs hysterically. ‘The look on your face, T.’

  I shake my head, incredulous. ‘You know how much that solo means to me.’

  ‘So why aren’t you performing it in the Internationals? Oh, right,’ she continues, smirking. ‘Because you could never do it properly.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I plead.

  Grace steps forward, her eyes flashing. ‘Don’t be that naïve. I was there for you – through Saskia, through Kat. And you betrayed me.’

  I cower in my seat, the reason for Grace’s return finally clear. She’s out for revenge.

  ‘Feel special,’ Grace warns me. ‘I had to move mountains so I could come back and take away what you want most.’

  I swallow. ‘Which is?’

  ‘I’m going to win the Prix de Fonteyn, doing your solo.’ She pauses dramatically, relishing each word. ‘And you’re going to watch.’

  I go looking for Abigail. There’s something I need to ask her.

  ‘Last semester,’ I say when I finally track her down in the common room with Ben. ‘Did you break my pointe shoes?’

  Abigail doesn’t answer but I can tell by her face it wasn’t her. Which leaves Grace.

  ‘Gra
ce has manipulated me this whole year,’ I cry. ‘And now she expects me to lie down and –’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ben says, confused. ‘I thought you and Grace were friends.’

  ‘Grace doesn’t have friends,’ I say.

  ‘Only road kill,’ Abigail agrees.

  I stare at the competitor board Ben set up for me. ‘Josie Mason was the frontrunner. Now she’s gone and Grace is here. That can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘But you don’t know for sure she did anything,’ Ben protests.

  ‘She’s more than capable,’ Abigail points out. ‘She was expelled from the Royal Ballet School for a giving a girl a nervous breakdown, remember?’

  ‘So I should go to the judges, right? Tell them what she said she did to Josie?’

  ‘Would you be doing it because you think it’s right?’ Ben asks me. ‘Or because you don’t think you can beat her?’

  This is difficult. I turn to Abigail for a second opinion.

  She shrugs. ‘How badly do you want to win?’

  Enough, I think. I race back to the Opera House, looking for Steven. I find him out on the deck, chatting with the other judges.

  ‘Mr Heathcote?’ I stammer. ‘I need to speak to you about a competitor. Confidentially.’

  He looks surprised. ‘Okay,’ he finally says, drawing me aside.

  I lean forward and whisper the whole story into his ear. By the time I’m finished, Grace sounds like an axe murderer.

  Back in the common room, I’m too strung out to stop Ben from fussing around me, giving me advice about which leotard I should wear in the Prix. It’s easier just to give in to him when he’s like this. Especially when he’s had Team Tiara T-shirts made just for me.

  Christian wanders in, just as Ben wanders off to find me the perfect tutu.

  ‘So, when you win,’ he begins, sliding onto the couch beside me.

  ‘If I win,’ I correct him. ‘It’s a big if.’

  ‘Are you still choosing Moscow?’

  ‘I think so,’ I tell him, smiling at the prospect of it. ‘Can you imagine? A whole year living overseas.’

  I pat his knee. ‘You’re going to miss me,’ I tease.