Dance Academy Anywhere but Here

by Bruno Bouchet

  ‘I know,’ he concedes. ‘I throw like a girl.’

  Ethan’s turn. He picks up a cake. ‘Okay – to my sister. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.’

  While Sammy and Christian snort at that fib, he throws and misses, too.

  ‘What is wrong with you people? I specifically asked you to fulfil my one birthday wish – not for presents but for a world seen through cream and sugar and all things …’

  Splat! Petra hits me square in the face. Cream covers me. I love it.

  ‘Petra, I’m so glad I met you.’

  While I’m enjoying the cow-fat facial Tara finally turns up. She’s probably been busy doing a few minutes extra barre work.

  ‘What did I miss?’ she asks. I’m kind of waiting for the screams of happy birthday, hugs, and another cream cake in the face. Instead I get the terrible truth: she’s forgotten.

  ‘Oh my gosh. Your birthday. I’m so sorry, I just totally … ’

  ‘… spaced? It happens.’ She didn’t space out, she pliéed out. Tara has been in total bunhead mode this semester, making Abigail look half-hearted. But it’s my birthday and nothing is going to spoil it.

  ‘So what’s the plan? Are we doing anything tonight?’ Tara asks.

  ‘No. The parentals get back tomorrow. I’ve made Natasha promise to cook us something edible.’

  ‘The woman can do sixty-four fouettes but give her an oven and it’s a disaster,’ Ethan says just as my phone rings. It’s the masterchef herself.

  ‘Hello, we were just talking about you. I hope you’re studying your recipes,’ I say.

  ‘Darling. Happy birthday, but I’ve got some bad news. I feel terrible but …’

  I really don’t need to hear the rest but she piles on the excuses. I can see Ethan looking at me. He knows exactly what she’s saying.

  After the call I report back, ‘So Ma and Pa have extended the tour. Estonia needs them, apparently.’

  Everyone looks glum on my behalf, but I’m not having that. Pity is one birthday gift I did not request.

  ‘Why the sad faces? They put money in my account and said I can buy anything I want. Thing is I don’t want anything and the house is empty, which means party at our house. Tell your friends. All of them.’

  Later as I’m handing out invitations Ethan gives me the big-brother talk about not going overboard but I soon persuade him that if a party’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘But you’re doing all the work. I’m hanging out with Tara.’

  ‘Good luck with that. She hasn’t had time for a lot of people lately.’

  ‘Does she seem all right to you?’ he asks. ‘She hasn’t said anything about me?’

  Weird alternative reality moment – Ethan asking me about his girlfriend. Normally it’s the girlfriend who’s grilling me.

  ‘Yes. We discussed you in detail, because the world revolves around you.’ I give him a sarcastic grin and take another phone call. It’s the Diplobrat. If anyone can get a decent crowd together at short notice it’s him. I tell him to promise his friends wall-to-wall ballerinas.

  On Saturday morning I’m way too excited to take Miss Raine’s class seriously. She makes us swap partners to experience dancing with different people. I get Christian, who seems to be in as silly a mood as I am. Everything sets us off. Miss Raine shoots death stares at us and even Tara goes priggish and tells us to stop being silly.

  Eventually we do a complete disaster of a lift and end up rolling around on the floor. Miss Raine storms over to us. ‘I can’t imagine why you think I want my time wasted on a Saturday.’

  ‘What about our time?’ says Christian under his breath and I start laughing again.

  ‘Miss Raine, we were …’ I try to explain but fail miserably.

  ‘Out,’ she commands. ‘You can injure yourselves somewhere else.’

  We seize the opportunity and run for it.

  When classes have finished, Petra volunteers to come over early with me and set up. You’d think that’s what friends would do for your sixteenth birthday but Tara has other priorities, like yet another private session with Miss Raine. She claims she’s had a ‘full-on week’. I’m not impressed with the funectomy that appears to have been performed on her.

  ‘It’s been a full-on week for me, too,’ I say. ‘Small issues like my parents ignoring my birthday.’

  ‘We should talk tonight,’ Tara says, realising she’s being weak on the friend supporting.

  ‘Tonight I’ll be pretty busy,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah of course. I’ll just … ’

  I cut her off. If she hasn’t got time for me, then I don’t have time for her.

  ‘I’ll just see you there.’

  The party goes from ‘oh my God nobody’s going to come’ to ‘wow who are all these people?’ in the space of about four jelly shots. It may be five but it’s my birthday so who’s counting. The parentals are bestowing their artistry on Estonia, my best friend’s fouetting until smoke comes off her pointe shoes, Abigail’s turned up with a bouquet of barbed comments, but nothing and nobody is going to spoil my night, especially not when there’s another tray of jelly shots to bring out of the fridge.

  I see Christian standing on his own looking moody. That is simply not allowed.

  ‘Hey loner, having fun?’ I ask him.

  ‘Not really in a festive mood. You?’

  ‘Definitely. Massive improvement on dinner with the parents.’

  We’re interrupted by someone very good-looking. ‘So I was told the birthday girl cut the cake without me.’ It’s Lucas. He drags me outside to join his friends.

  I ask Christian to come along but he wants to stay on his own. He gives me a ‘concerned’ look, like I need looking out for.

  Lucas is in the mood to party and he’s brought the drinks to prove it, if the cupful of neat vodka he gives me is anything to go by.

  ‘Ethan would burst a blood vessel if he knew you brought that in here,’ I say, but that’s all the more reason to have another drink.

  While Lucas talks to some of his friends I look out at the harbour. The lights are really bright tonight and I am having a good time. I am.

  There are two older girls to my left being snooty.

  ‘Do you know whose party this is?’ one says.

  ‘Some ballerina chick wanting a rent-a-crowd,’ the other replies.

  I’m about to tell them it’s not some ballerina chick, it’s THE ballerina chick but I decide to let it go. They’re not worth it. I have another drink instead.

  Time for cake I decide. I push my way to the kitchen and collect the pink mountain of sugar and fat. I need to take it back to Lucas. He wants to see me cut it. As I pick up the cake, the trip back to the terrace suddenly feels like an epic journey – out of the kitchen, past Sammy, who’s held in a bewitched trance by the evil Abigail creature. She fires jets of ice at me from her deadly eyes. I push through the scary forest of seriously unco dancers in the living room, and slide past the swamp of Christian who’s staring, trying to lure me into his bog of misery. Then I have to pass between the terrifying posts of the rent-a-crowd cows who don’t know whose party it is before I finally reach the haven of Lucas’s knee.

  Cake safely delivered.

  ‘I’ve come to cut the cake. I like cake.’

  ‘Lovely,’ says Lucas, ‘but you might want to clean up first.’

  I look down and discover the cake wasn’t so safely delivered. Half of it is on my chest.

  Oops.

  I need to tidy myself so Lucas makes me put the cake aside, stands up and guides me up to my bedroom. It feels like years since I lived here but there’s one old friend I recognise as I collapse onto my bed.

  ‘Daisy the rabbit. I haven’t seen you in ages.’

  Suddenly the bed feels snugly warm and the only thing in the world that isn’t spinning around.

  ‘Don’t pass out on me yet, birthday girl,’ says Lucas. ‘We have to get you out of these cakey
things.’

  He sits on the bed and tries kissing me.

  ‘No I’m shy!’ I say.

  He doesn’t believe me and starts kissing me again. ‘Come on, you’ve got to work with me.’

  My head’s spinning but I can tell he’s really going for it. ‘Can’t we just talk?’ I ask.

  He laughs. ‘We’ve been talking for weeks. And we both know that is not why you brought me up to your bedroom.’

  Everything’s a blur but I know I shouldn’t be here. ‘I should go back to the party. I’m not being a good hostess.’

  ‘Everyone’s fine. It’s your birthday. They want you to enjoy it.’

  I try standing up but Lucas pulls me back onto the bed. For a moment I let him kiss me but then I feel his hands lifting up my dress. I may be drunk, but I know this isn’t right. I can hear the music of the party thudding through the walls. I focus on that, trying to think beyond my spinning head.

  ‘No, I want to go back downstairs,’ I say.

  I try to pull away but he won’t let me and starts kissing my neck. Suddenly I’m scared. This should not be happening, not here, not with me like this. He’s moving way too fast but I can’t stop him.

  ‘I mean it, Lucas. I don’t want to do this.’

  He still won’t stop.

  ‘Are you listening? Get off me!’ I push him, just as Christian walks into the room. He grabs Lucas, shoves him against the wall.

  ‘What is your problem?’ Lucas scowls and I get a flash of all the times he’s turned his nose up at people before. I see the faces of all my friends as they’ve politely avoided saying they don’t like him. And I was wondering why they didn’t give him a chance. Now I know. He’s called Diplobrat for a reason.

  ‘My friend wants you to leave,’ says Christian.

  All I can do is nod. I want him out of here and out of my home. He pushes past Christian and out of the room.

  Christian drags me out to the garden to get some fresh air. It’s where I used to play on the swings we had when I was a little girl. I remember swinging backwards and forwards, making myself go higher and higher till the frame started rocking on the grass. I’d keep going, shifting the whole frame, until someone made me stop.

  I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid, but in case I don’t realise it, Christian reminds me. ‘You’re stupid, Kat,’ he says.

  ‘You’re stupid,’ I say back.

  ‘What are you doing drinking like that? Do you think it makes you cool?’

  ‘No,’ I say.

  Christian seems really angry. ‘Cause it doesn’t. It wrecks things. And that guy – did you like him?’

  I start to say yes and then I realise that’s not true. ‘Not really. I just wanted someone to like me for once.’ And then I burst into tears again. It must be the alcohol. I don’t do tears normally.

  Christian passes me a bottle of water and makes me drink. ‘I’ll get Ethan,’ he says.

  ‘No, he’d freak. Anyway, he’ll be with Tara … because she’s perfect and he’s perfect and perfect people attract each other. I’m seriously not perfect.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not perfect either.’ Christian smiles at me.

  ‘Nope. I’ve always thought that you and I are the same.’

  He looks at me, in a way that Lucas never did, like he sees me, not just the good time.

  ‘Seriously un-perfect,’ I say, and it’s the greatest compliment I can pay. He’s a real person with faults and moods and problems. Right now, real is what I need more than anything. I kiss him, a very real kiss.

  It’s a total moment of un-perfection that blocks out Lucas, the party, my head, my pink cakey skin, everything. Until Christian pulls away from the kiss. In the distance I see Tara’s finally arrived at the party. She’s standing with Ethan but then she runs off when she sees Christian and me. Christian goes after her. By the time I get to Ethan, Christian and Tara have both vanished. Could my party get any more surreal?

  ‘Did I miss something? What just happened?’ I ask Ethan. He has no idea. He’s as confused as I am.

  ‘I’ll call her,’ I say. When I look at my phone there’s a message. It’s been beeping at me for a while but I’ve ignored it. When I open it there’s a picture attached which explains why they’ve both disappeared. Someone’s sent me a photo of Christian and Tara on the beach, kissing.

  CHAPTER 10

  Not forgetting that birthday party in a hurry. The police end up being called and there’s a fight. It seems like at least fifty per cent of the jelly shots didn’t make it into anyone’s mouths and are staining Natasha’s pure wool Persian rugs. Bad news travels fast. She hears about ‘the night to forget’ even in Estonia and attempts some strict parental authority over the phone.

  Everyone gets detention from Mr Kennedy and I’m put on probation. It’s supposed to be an extra punishment for the person who organised the party, but the threat of being kicked out of the Academy doesn’t exactly fill me with dread. The place is getting less fun by the second.

  Every time I walk through the doors into class, feeling the ache in my muscles from the day before that still hasn’t gone, wondering if I can possibly drag myself through another moment of barre work, I ask myself why am I punishing my body like this? I’m torturing my body and for what? I really don’t know what I’m doing here. Surely anything would be better than this.

  Tara and I are so not speaking. She’s even pretending to be angry with me. As if I’ve done anything wrong – other than kiss someone that I thought was interested in me. I think she blames me for the copies of the photo of her and Christian that keep appearing everywhere. Like I actually want to be reminded of that humiliation.

  In class, Patrick, our teacher, announces we are going to suffer an additional and cruel punishment. We’re going to connect with nature in the bush and workshop variations of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  Sean, my pas de deux partner, gets excited. He’s got it into his head that we should have an offstage romance and thinks we could share a tent.

  ‘You can’t deny there’s something between us,’ he says.

  ‘Something other than your sleaze and my casual loathing?’ I ask.

  ‘Kat, you’re sad. And I know I can make you happy.’

  The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

  ‘I’m going to prove it to you,’ he continues with a smarmy smile. ‘The wheels are already in motion.’

  Before we depart civilisation and hot showers, Patrick uses his class to talk us through the parts we’ll be playing in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It seems like everyone is in love with someone who loves someone else.

  ‘Kat – you’re dancing Hermia. Feisty, funny and betrothed to Sean,’ he announces.

  Yuck!

  Patrick continues. ‘Except he’s in love with your best friend, Helena, danced by Tara. She’s in love with Christian and he feels the same way about her.’

  ‘Delightful!’ I say out loud and then whisper, ‘Someone cue the vomit.’

  ‘The point you have to remember,’ says Patrick, ‘is that while most of the ballet is about mixed signals and misunderstandings, in the end true love wins out.’

  Yeah right!

  When we arrive in the designated middle of nowhere location for the camp we have to choose tent partners. Before Sean can pick up my bag, Patrick saves me from tent partner hell and declares the boys and girls will have separate camps. I grab Petra for a tent mate. We need a third so I recruit Abigail. Anyone is better than Tara. Anyone.

  As we’re sitting round the campfire on our first evening, I’m upholding the time-honoured tradition of persuading an overseas visitor about the existence of drop bears. Petra just about believes me when we’re interrupted by Sean. He’s bad enough but then Tara comes storming up to me.

  ‘You have to stop,’ she demands.

  ‘Excuse me. Sean and I were having a conversation.’

  ‘I get that we’ll never be friends again but you can’t keep attacking me with this,’
she says, and shoves a copy of the picture of her kissing Christian into my hands.

  ‘Like I could be bothered. In my mind you don’t even exist,’ I tell her. ‘And it’s so predictable that you think the world revolves around you.’

  ‘It’s hard not to when you’re waging a personal vendetta against me!’ she practically screams.

  I don’t know who’s posting the pictures around, but I wish she wouldn’t blame me for it.

  In the morning we start our outdoor nature-embracing workshop. Tara and I are wearing flower wreaths on our heads and wispy nymph costumes. Sean and Christian are ‘fighting’.

  ‘Boys remember, you’re both in love with Tara,’ Patrick tells them. ‘She’s the one you’re fighting over.’

  I roll my eyes. Do I have to spend my entire life watching boys fight over Tara?

  Then Patrick sends me ‘onstage’ to stop the fight. I drag Tara away from the boys and our characters are supposed to be having our own fight in the background.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Tara says under her breath. ‘I hurt Ethan, not you.’

  ‘That’s only part of it,’ I reply.

  ‘Then what’s the rest of it? Is it Christian? Do you …’

  ‘No. You’re welcome to each other.’

  Patrick calls Tara and me back to centre stage and asks for ‘some energy’. We’ve got plenty of that.

  ‘You have everything. And you rub it in my face,’ I jab at her while Sean and Christian hold us apart.

  ‘Good, Kat,’ says Patrick as the boys put us down.

  ‘I’m so over that self-righteous attitude,’ says Tara.

  ‘I am not self-righteous,’ I hiss.

  ‘Your problems aren’t real. They just happen in your head.’

  How dare she say that! I shove her and she falls down. Tara grabs my ankle and pulls me down to the ground. The fight is on.

  I can hear Patrick telling us to stay with the choreography, but we’re beyond character now. This is real. We fight on the ground – pushing, shoving, pulling hair. To be honest I’ve no idea how to fight and I don’t think Tara does either. In the blur of screams, hands and hair we roll ourselves into a puddle and coat ourselves in mud.