Pirouette

by Robyn Bavati

  “Let me see that.” Simone closed her mouth while Dr. Johnson studied the file. For a few long seconds all was quiet save for the low hum of the fluorescent lights and the tinny background noise of the radio.

  “Someone’s messed up,” said Dr. Johnson. “This isn’t her file.”

  “But there’s her name,” the nurse said, sounding flustered, “and we’re always so meticulous with our records … ”

  “Not this time,” said Dr. Johnson. “Files are subject to human error. Teeth, on the other hand, never lie.”

  “I don’t see how this could have happened … ”

  Dr. Johnson lowered his voice. “Someone must have mixed up Hannah’s file with somebody else’s.”

  The smell of alcoholic disinfectant was suddenly nauseating, and Simone wished she could run away and disappear.

  “If this gets out,” the dentist told the nurse through gritted teeth, “the reputation of this clinic will be completely ruined.”

  “I realize that.” The dental nurse sounded more frantic by the second. “But I honestly don’t know—”

  “It may have even been deliberate,” Dr. Johnson was saying. “Someone’s warped idea of a joke. Who’s had access to these files?”

  “I’ve no id … Wait,” said the nurse, “it must have been that student nurse who was here last year.”

  “Well,” said the dentist, “make damn sure she never comes back. And from now on,” he instructed the nurse, “don’t let anyone near those files.” He moved back into Simone’s line of vision to continue the checkup.

  “Sorry about that,” he said to Simone, his voice falsely cheerful. “I’ll just give your teeth a clean before you leave.”

  Back in the waiting room, Vanessa was flipping through a magazine when Simone stepped out of the exam room, followed closely by Dr. Johnson. He called Vanessa over to them and spoke in a tone too low to be overheard. “I thought I should let you know myself that there was a slight mix-up with Hannah’s file. But not to worry, it’s all been sorted. She’ll need another appointment in a month or so.”

  “Did he find new cavities?” Vanessa asked Simone after the dentist had gone.

  “No. He just wants to replace my Fischer seal.”

  “Really? Didn’t you have that done last … no, no, that must have been Adam.”

  As soon as dinner was over, Simone escaped to her room. The “mix-up” at the dentist had left her feeling inwardly shaken. This time, she and Hannah had somehow managed to get away with it, but next time they might not be so lucky.

  “I swear my heart was in my mouth,” she said when Hannah called, “and I—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hannah interrupted. “It worked out, didn’t it?”

  “I guess, but—”

  “Listen, Sim.” Hannah launched into a garbled story about having to teach some new girl a dance. “I don’t see why she had to pick me, out of a whole class full of people who could have taught her.”

  “Okay, calm down,” said Simone. “Which dance is it?”

  “The Bollywood one. Do you know it?”

  “Of course.” It was a fast, tricky dance, full of classical leaps interspersed with traditional Bollywood moves: flexed feet, isolated head movements, thrusting hips, and intricate handwork. Simone had enjoyed it, although the teacher kept changing the choreography and it had taken weeks to learn it.

  “Can you teach me?” Hannah asked.

  “I guess, but—”

  “Brilliant,” said Hannah. “How about Sunday?”

  “Where?”

  “The botanical gardens?” Hannah suggested.

  “What if it rains?”

  “What choice do we have?”

  They arranged to meet outside the kiosk in the botanical gardens, at two o’clock.

  twenty-nine

  On Thursday, Hannah couldn’t wait to get to school. After their morning break, the Year Tens would be starting pas-de-deux, in which they would learn to dance with a partner. Standing on the crowded tram, as the throng of city-goers jostled around her, Hannah imagined throwing herself into a risky fish dive, one leg bent beneath her, head just inches from the floor. Not that they would start with anything quite so dramatic. At least, not today … still, she smiled to herself in anticipation. Neither she nor the rest of her class had ever had proper pas-de-deux classes before—the lessons didn’t begin until Year Ten, as only then were the boys considered strong enough to lift and support their female partners.

  When the tram reached her stop, Hannah jumped off and flew down the street.

  “Hey, Simone!”

  She turned to see Matt sprinting toward her. She grinned and waved.

  “What’s your hurry?” he asked as he came up beside her.

  “Pas-de-deux today,” she reminded him. “I’m so excited.”

  “Me too,” he said, as they entered the school. “I hope I get to dance with you.”

  “Left hand on the barre, girls,” Miss Sabto was saying, “and pull up tall. Imagine someone pulling a piece of string up through the center of your body and out of your head toward the ceiling.”

  Hannah felt herself becoming taller.

  “Now,” said Miss Sabto, “I’d like two demi pliés bringing the arm to first and back out to second, and a grand plié with the arm sweeping down and into first. Miss Grunwald?”

  The pianist nodded and began to play.

  “Lift the eye line, Simone. Don’t look at the fingers, look beyond them. Alison, let me see those muscles wrapping.”

  The barre work continued, and Miss Sabto was meticulous and exacting, correcting every detail from the angle of the head to the position of the little finger. In return, she expected total commitment and dedication.

  Hannah had never minded being corrected, just as she’d never minded demanding ballet teachers, for she knew that the stronger her technique, the better all-round dancer she’d be—but Miss Sabto was adjusting her position every minute. There was something unnerving about it, and it was a relief when the barre work ended and they moved to the center.

  “When you perform a port-de-bras,” Miss Sabto was saying as the girls began their center work, “you should feel as though you’re embracing the entire world.”

  Hannah put her heart and soul into capturing that feeling, and it felt as if there was indeed something inside her, something huge and unstoppable.

  “That’s it, Simone,” said Miss Sabto. “That’s really beautiful. You have a lovely flow.”

  It felt good to be singled out for doing well, but there wasn’t time to savor the compliment because after that, the class became harder. The petit allegro was so fast she could barely keep up.

  “Good work, everyone,” said Miss Sabto, as the girls stood panting and catching their breath. “And now we’re almost out of time. Would you rather finish with grand jetés or fouettés?”

  “Fouettés,” yelled one of the girls. “We haven’t done them since last year.”

  “Fouettés it is, then,” said Miss Sabto. “One at a time.”

  Jess performed sixteen beautiful fouettés in a row. Julie did four before losing her balance, and when Hannah’s turn came, she managed eight.

  Not bad, she told herself, glancing at the teacher to see her reaction. But Miss Sabto was watching her with a puzzled frown.

  “You’re very quiet today,” said Jess as she and Hannah entered the courtyard. “What’s up, Simone?”

  Remembering the expression on Miss Sabto’s face, Hannah plunged in. “Tell me the truth—have you noticed anything different about my dancing?”

  “Ah … different?” Jess hedged, but Hannah persisted.

  “About my technique. Do you think I’ve regressed?”

  Jess refused to meet her gaze. “It depends how you define ‘regressed,’” she said. “To be honest,
I’m usually too busy concentrating on my own technique to pay much attention to anyone else’s.”

  “That’s a cop-out. You saw my fouettés.”

  Jess squirmed. “You sure you want my honest opinion?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I think your technique isn’t as strong as it used to be.” Jess’s words came out in a rush. “But I still think you’re a fabulous dancer … ”

  “Go on,” said Hannah.

  “At first I thought it was a bit weird that your technique had slipped, since you danced over the summer, but then I figured it out.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh-huh. You obviously had a teacher who told you to forget technique and focus on artistry and expression instead.”

  Great theory, thought Hannah. “I did,” she said.

  “And I think your teacher at Candance must have been really amazing,” Jess continued, “if she helped you remember that dance is more than sore feet and aching muscles.”

  “She was,” said Hannah.

  Jess smiled. “Anyway,” she said, “it’s great you’re into dance again. I’d miss you so much if you left the VSD.”

  Pas-de-deux was all that Hannah had hoped it would be. The class was taught by Mr. Dixon, who’d devised a series of exercises so successful that they were now well-known and used throughout the world.

  “If you can master these,” Mr. Dixon explained, as the captivated Year Tens watched the two Year Eleven students who had come in to demonstrate, “you’ll be able to execute virtually any supported promenade, lift, jump, or turn that any choreographer throws your way. Now grab a partner.”

  Matt began heading in Hannah’s direction.

  “No, wait.” Mr. Dixon held up a hand. “It’s important to know how to establish a rapport quickly and easily with any partner, so we’ll be changing partners fairly often. However, for this first lesson, it will be easier if I pair you up according to height.”

  Matt was paired with Julie, Hannah with Mitch.

  “Lucky you,” Jess said to Julie. “Matt’s the best partner in the school. He’s been doing ballroom dancing since he was five. Two years ago, he won the Victorian State Ballroom Championships for the under-fifteens, and now he’s working toward winning in the open section.”

  “I thought it was against school rules to dance outside the VSD,” Julie replied.

  “It usually is,” said Jess. “The staff here don’t trust outside training. But in Matt’s case, they’ve made an exception. They know he’s got the best ballroom teachers in the country. He does ballroom every Saturday afternoon and three nights a week.”

  Hannah imagined being Matt’s ballroom partner. A dreamy look came over her face as she pictured them winning competitions together. She wished she’d been partnered with him today.

  Mitch tugged Hannah playfully by the arm, but she was still watching Matt, who gave her a disappointed shrug.

  “Next time,” she mouthed silently as she caught his eye.

  Her gaze slid to Julie, whose height was exactly the same as her own. She couldn’t help feeling a touch of envy, though she knew she had no reason to be jealous.

  “Hey,” said Mitch. “You’ve developed a thing for Matt.”

  “Is it that obvious?” Hannah asked.

  “Only because I know you so well.”

  “It’s agony watching him dancing with somebody else.”

  “Now you know how I feel all the time, and it’s hopeless for me ’cause he’ll never be gay.” Mitch spun Hannah around in a lively twirl. “Don’t know why you’re complaining. He’s liked you forever.”

  “Really?”

  “As if you don’t know!”

  “Starting positions, everyone,” called Mr. Dixon. “Now, let’s see how well you’ve been paying attention.”

  After English, the last lesson that afternoon, Hannah headed for the tram. She’d loved every minute of her jam-packed day, but it had been a long one. Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered what Harriet was planning to make for dinner. She hoped it wouldn’t be steamed fish and vegetables again. Though Harriet’s meals were undeniably healthy, sometimes she felt like she’d been put on a diet. It made her want to lash out and overdose on ice cream and chocolate. Strange! She’d never felt like that before. The irony was that Harriet needn’t be so strict about food. Hannah never gained weight; it didn’t matter what she ate. The same would be true for Simone. Thinness was clearly in their genes.

  A mechanical tune interrupted her thoughts. “Hello?” she said into Simone’s mobile phone. There was no name on the caller ID.

  “Simone, is that you?” The guy on the line sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him.

  “Uh … who is this?”

  “Forgotten me already? I’m gutted,” he said.

  Now Hannah knew exactly who was calling. She collapsed onto a bench at the tram stop. “Hi, Tom,” she said. “And no, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just … I’ve never heard you on the phone before.”

  “That’s true.” She could imagine him smiling. “I’ll forgive you this time. Anyway,” he continued, “I’m calling to see if Saturday suits.”

  “Saturday?”

  “We did say we’d get together back in Melbourne?”

  “Uh … right, we did,” said Hannah quickly, “but I dance on Saturdays.” She knew Simone would be spending a large chunk of her Saturdays at Armadale Dance, though she wasn’t sure if it started this week or next.

  “Sunday, then?” Tom suggested. “How about meeting at the entrance to Luna Park, two o’clock?”

  “Sounds perfect,” said Hannah, hoping the arrangement would suit Simone. “See you then.”

  Tom rang off just as Hannah remembered that two o’clock was exactly when she and Simone had planned to get together. She tried to call back, but a recorded message told her she was attempting to ring a protected number.

  Darn! Now what would she do?

  “Who’s Tom?” said a voice. Matt slipped onto the bench beside her, and Hannah wondered how much he’d heard.

  “No one,” she said.

  “He must be someone,” he argued. “Didn’t you just arrange a date?”

  “Not really.”

  “You sure?” he asked, digging a playful elbow into her ribs.

  “Why? Are you jealous?”

  “Could be. Is he your boyfriend?”

  Hannah shook her head quickly.

  “Good to know.”

  “Is it?” said Hannah, openly flirting.

  “Yeah.” Matt grinned. “Maybe there’s still hope for me.”

  thirty

  Simone was just stepping out of the shower when she heard the ringtone she’d assigned to Hannah. Since they’d agreed only to call each other late at night, except in an emergency, her first reaction was to panic. She flung a towel around her dripping body and grabbed the phone. “Hannah! Are you okay?”

  “Tom rang,” Hannah began.

  Simone felt herself becoming warmer. “He said he would.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’ve done something stupid. I told him I’d meet him at two on Sunday—meaning you would—but that’s when you’re meant to be meeting me. Do you have any way of contacting him? Facebook? Email?”

  “No,” said Simone. “He was planning to deactivate his Facebook account before starting Year Twelve, and I don’t have his email. How about the White Pages?”

  “The number’s not listed. I already checked.”

  “So,” said Simone, “what do we do?”

  “Well, you can’t stand him up,” Hannah replied. “Not now that I’ve arranged the date.”

  “No,” said Simone, her pulse beginning to quicken. “I’ll have to go.”

  “Ha! Don’t pretend you’re not dying to see him. But what about the Bollywood dance? When will
you teach me? We’re supposed to show it to Miss Sabto sometime next week.”

  “How about Saturday? Classes at Armadale Dance don’t start till Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, but my VSD timetable has me dancing for most of the day. How about Sunday morning?”

  “I can’t,” said Simone. “I’ve joined a study group with a bunch of kids from English Lit and I promised I’d go.”

  “But what about the dance, Simone? I’m really freaking out about it.”

  “Maybe you should just ask Jess to teach you.”

  “Then I’d have to tell her why,” said Hannah, “and we agreed not to. But maybe we should tell our closest friends.”

  “No,” said Simone. “You know what would happen. They’d each tell one other person who’d tell one other person

  —in the end the whole school would know.”

  “But—”

  “Wait!” said Simone. “I know how you can learn the dance. Jess’s dad filmed it at last year’s concert. He put it on YouTube.”

  “Really?”

  “I should have thought of that before. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. And you can watch it as often as you need to. I’ll send you the link.”

  “Come over on Sunday?” Dani asked, on Friday at lunchtime. “I’m working on Saturdays now, sad to say.”

  “Can’t,” said Simone. “I’ve got English Lit study group in the morning, and—”

  “Study group? Since when is studying more important than socializing?”

  “And in the afternoon,” Simone continued, ignoring the question, “I’m meeting up with that guy I told you about, the one from Candance.”

  Dani gave a resentful humph. “So you can’t fit me into your busy schedule?”

  Simone winced. “Sorry,” she said. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Just maybe ?” Dani pouted, clearly unused to not getting her way.

  Simone’s last lesson that day was Biblical Studies, which was compulsory at Hannah’s school. It dealt exclusively with the Old Testament—the five Books of Moses and the commentaries that explained them. How strange it felt to discuss the Bible without referring to the New Testament and to Jesus. But the class was so interesting that it seemed like no time at all before the bell rang and the week was over.