Kat: Breaking Pointe

by Sebastian Scott

  Contents

  Cover

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Read a sample from … Tara Catch Me If I Fall

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  And finally the kombi is driving over the Harbour Bridge. Stretching above is an enormous, blue, cloudless sky, wiped clean for a new day. I rub the sleep out of my eyes. It’s been a long night on the road.

  Almost home, I message to Sammy. Meet you at the Academy of Pants in twenty minutes?

  Myles is sulking like a little kid as we pull into my street. (All right, I’m sulking too, but in a totally mature way.) As soon as he pulls to a stop, before he even has time to put the handbrake on, I leap out of the passenger seat and wrench open the side door of the kombi, grabbing my bag.

  ‘For the record,’ I snap, ‘playing your own music is egotistical, not ironic.’

  I slide the door shut and Myles drives off without a goodbye.

  I wish I had time to shower and brush out these stupid braids (so over the hippie chick thing), but I’ve got places to be. I go inside to dump my bag, but before I get far Natasha pounces.

  ‘Darling, look at you!’ she gushes.

  ‘Tash,’ I say. ‘Gotta dash.’

  She pouts, slipping into the part of Disappointed Mother. ‘But you only just got back.’

  No way, Tash, I think, shutting the front door behind me, you do not get to play the guilt card. How many times has she ‘just got back’ from months of touring only to go straight out to a cocktail party or a performance?

  I jog through the park, sleep-deprived, running on excited energy and the sugar hit from the entire packet of barley sugars I ate for breakfast.

  At the Academy, there are first years flocking nervously, poor deluded things. I refuse to be slightly jealous of how excited they are, how special and important they feel. Ballet hasn’t broken them yet. The second and third years are almost worse. They know what they’re in for, but they still have stars in their eyes.

  I spot Sammy and break into a sprint. Sammy hugs are awesome hugs. I feel energy coursing out of him into me, I take some of his strength, his solidness.

  He smells a bit whiffy though. Sort of detergenty and his hands are all wrinkly. ‘Don’t look at my dishpan hands,’ he says, hiding them behind his back. ‘I’m hideous.’

  ‘Still no joy from the olds?’

  ‘Dad had his joy surgically removed a long time ago.’ We walk along together. ‘I’m bored of my stuff. Tell me about your stuff.’

  ‘Ugh.’

  Sammy shakes his head. ‘He’s Myles Kelly. Who gets sick of those dulcet tones?’

  ‘Even you, Samuel, the fortieth time he complains about how no one takes him seriously. Even you.’

  I can tell Sammy doesn’t believe me. We’re interrupted by a gushing first year, bringing biscuits. She kisses Sammy’s cheek.

  ‘You’ve been well-occupied then?’ I say when she’s gone.

  ‘Kat, I’m a boarding house advisor. It’s my duty to welcome the new first-year students.’

  A familiar voice chimes in. ‘Is that what you call it?’

  It’s Tara and Christian. My heart beats twice as fast when I see Christian. But that’s old news. Old, bad news – my long-term longing, my secret crush. Straight away I notice Tara and Christian are holding hands. So they’re on again? I kind of guessed as much, reading between the lines of the text messages Tara and I have been exchanging. After a single breath, I choose to be happy for Tara. My friendship with her has always come before my totally pathetic crush on Christian. I leap at her and we hug. It’s so good to see her. I don’t want to let go.

  Tara’s excited, loving energy surges into me. I feel the most like my true self around these people.

  ‘So how long exactly did the “just friends” rule last?’ I tease when I finally release her.

  ‘Yeah,’ adds Sammy. ‘Who caved first?’

  Christian and Tara point sheepishly at each other. But then Tara is distracted by her other true love. Ballet. She looks up at the building. ‘Second year. Wow.’

  ‘Did anyone ever think we’d make it this far?’ Sammy asks.

  I scrunch up my face at him.

  ‘Oh, wow, Kat.’ Sammy flinches. ‘Sorry.’

  I let him off the hook. ‘It’s okay. My new holding cell’s just around the corner. It’ll be like old times.’ I smile, as if that’s what I really think. But it hurts to watch them walk through the Academy doors. The thing is, this time last year, this is what I thought I wanted, to find out who I was away from ballet. Freedom is a lot lonelier than I thought it would be.

  When I get home I take a long, hot shower and finally wash Myles Kelly out of my hair, using most of a bottle of Natasha’s expensive conditioner. I find my new school uniform laid out on the bed for me. ‘Try it on for size,’ says a note from Tash. ‘We can exchange it or get it altered before term starts.’

  I try it on. Maroon and grey. I look in the mirror and watch myself disappearing, becoming just another anonymous schoolgirl, the kind you see on trains and buses everywhere, in cities all over the world. I have been dancing in costumes since I was a toddler. When you put on the costume, you put on the character. Standing in front of the mirror, I feel like I’ve just been cast for a role I’m not even sure I want. But the character I’m playing is me. Kat Karamakov, played by herself.

  CHAPTER 2

  I leave the uniform lying on the floor, hoping it will at least acquire a wrinkle or two and go downstairs. I expect to open the fridge and find a single tub of fat-free yoghurt and a lettuce leaf. But my mother has actually been shopping. In a supermarket. Someone’s been messing with her core programming.

  Motherbot finds me raiding the kitchen.

  ‘Tash, what’s going on? Some of this stuff is actually edible.’

  ‘I thought we’d have a family dinner.’

  ‘No can do. I’ve organised a beach catch-up. But don’t worry, these little guys won’t go to waste.’ I grab a tray of steaks.

  ‘You can’t just waltz in and out when you feel like it. This isn’t a hotel.’

  ‘Where did you read that?’ I scoff. ‘Mummies for dummies?’

  ‘I gave you a lot of freedom this summer. And I didn’t say anything when you threw away your place at the Academy.’

  And there she is. The mother I know and love. ‘Don’t worry,’ I assure her. ‘The disappointment rang out loud and clear. We both know the only part of me you’ve ever been interested in is dancing.’

  ‘That’s unfair.’

  ‘Is it? Then why are you putting me straight into yet another boarding school? You can’t wait to be rid of me.’ I push past her.

  It was true, she had given me space over the summer. But I figured that was just because it fitted with her plans. Face it. Things are easier for Tash when I’m not around.

  I kind of went all out for our reunion party. Strings of paper lanterns on bamboo poles. Maybe I was trying just a little too hard, but I wanted to create the right atmosphere. Stage dressing. I push that thought away. Dancing, the theatre, that’s not who I am anymore.

  ‘You should see my new uniform,’ I say to Christian, who’s barbecuing the steaks. ‘I’m seriously thinking about shaving my head in protest.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Christian replies. ‘It suits you long.’

  I decide right there to leave it long, b
ecause I am pathetic. I turn to watch Abigail playing with a small child on the beach so Christian doesn’t notice the effect his words have on me. I wait for her to knock down the kid’s sandcastle but she maintains bizarre enthusiasm. Maybe she’s been drinking the same water as Natasha.

  ‘Is it me,’ says Christian, ‘or does anyone else feel like it’s going to be a – ’

  ‘Strange year?’ I ask. ‘Yeah.’

  The sky begins to dim and I light the lanterns. Tara rocks up late, looking flustered, muttering something about Ethan – so some things don’t change at least. She keeps exchanging glances with Christian, and eventually they nick off together to go for a swim. I sit with Sammy.

  ‘There are three hundred girls in my year,’ I say. ‘I need to do something to make an impression.’

  ‘You’ll stand out Kat,’ Sammy assures me.

  But Sammy doesn’t get it. In Crazyballetworld, I’m a celebrity by association. There isn’t a friendship I can’t buy with front-row tickets to a preview performance at the Opera House. But I’ve never been to regular school before. None of them will have a clue about the Karamakov surname. And besides, ballet isn’t who I am anymore. And what if where ballet was, there’s just a big, empty, black hole? Girls don’t want to be friends with a hole, do they?

  Sammy watches me. ‘So what really happened with Myles?’

  I try to fob him off. ‘You get to know someone way too well when you’re stuck in a van.’

  Sammy isn’t fooled. ‘And?’

  ‘And … it was incredible. We did little mini trips to Byron. Swam with dolphins in Hastings.’

  Abigail’s voice drifts down. ‘That’d be so spiritually transcendent.’ Sammy and I turn to look at her. She is seriously creeping me out.

  ‘Yeah. Well.’ I gesture at Tara and Christian, swimming and splashing each other. ‘We weren’t like that.’

  ‘Who is?’ Sammy says and I hear a wistful note in his voice. ‘Come on,’ he says suddenly. He stands up. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration.’

  He strips down to his shorts and runs into the sea and Abigail and I follow him. The water is cool and cleansing and I feel everything – Mum, Myles, boarding school – wash away.

  For Christian’s sake, I don’t get my hair shaved off.

  No, I get my tongue pierced instead.

  As I sit in the beautician’s chair I can’t stop my nervous prattle.

  ‘Cat got your tongue,’ I joke. ‘Get it? Cause my name’s Kat and …’

  The beautician doesn’t think I’m cute in the least. She clamps my tongue firmly enough to make my eyes water. All it takes is fifteen minutes and seventy bucks, and I am out on the street with a mouthful of bling.

  The pain starts almost immediately and within a few hours it’s bringing tears to my eyes. That night Tash drags me out to the Opera House to see the National Academy of Dance performance. I’m not even sure I want to go, even if it is to see Sammy and Tara, but I can’t say no because I don’t want to open my mouth. I don’t want her to see what I’ve done and go all Tash about it, roll her eyes, tell me how stupid I am.

  As we walk up the stairs, Tash carries on her one-sided conversation. ‘After this we can go stationery shopping. Do you want a new pencil case?’

  I shake my head. Where do you buy pencil cases at night? The 7-11? Jeez. Tash is so reality challenged. I guess when she’s on tour she can demand a pencil case at midnight if she wants one and it will magically appear.

  ‘The silent treatment?’ Tash says. ‘How long is it going to last this time?’

  Okay, so keeping my mouth shut is not my strong point. ‘I start school on Monday,’ I say, my head turned away so she can’t see my tongue. ‘So no time at all.’

  ‘Actually,’ Tash informs me briskly, ‘I’ve cancelled my tour commitments. You’ll go to school as a day girl.’

  ‘I’m going to be living at home? With you?’

  ‘It’s obvious someone needs to keep an eye on you,’ Natasha says. ‘We’re all going to have to get used to being a “normal” family.’

  My mouth drops open in amazement, totally forgetting about the stupid tongue piercing.

  ‘What have you done to yourself? Is that a piercing?’

  Tears spring to my eyes. ‘It hurts, Mum.’

  ‘Why on earth would you disfigure yourself? And what sort of place allows a sixteen-year-old girl, without permission, to … I’m talking to the family lawyer.’ Natasha pulls out her phone as if it’s a weapon.

  You know what, I am kind of impressed. Maybe we can almost pull off this normal family thing after all.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lexie surveys the room like a cat in a room full of tasty mouse snacks. ‘Ally.’

  The other leader, Elke, makes her pick. ‘Trilby.’

  So far I’ve been to seventeen ballet schools. That includes four in London, two in Singapore and an unfortunate month of classical tutoring from a half-deaf sadist in Prague.

  Lexie chooses again and I hear a sigh of relief from the girl she’s chosen. The rest of us mice wait.

  The one thing I never get used to is being the new kid. That angst over not fitting in. Usually you’ve got about three seconds to make a decent first impression. My usual tactic is to make a splash. That way, in theory, you get to choose your friends rather than them choosing you.

  ‘Ashley.’

  ‘Marysa.’

  But now that I’m at Normal School, I don’t want to stick out anymore. For once, I want to blend in. I tried to make friends with Lexie and her gang on the first day. I figured the best way to disappear was to become a drone, become just like them. I knew I wouldn’t fit in with any of the groups – the musicians, the nerds, the jocks. I didn’t have any special talents. I just had really, really blonde hair.

  I’m the last one left. Lexie sneers to Elke, ‘You can have her.’

  Lexie made it clear I wasn’t welcome though. I’d been eating lunch in the toilets to avoid being publicly friendless.

  ‘No!’ Elke protests. ‘Look at her, she’s one of yours.’

  The drama teacher rescues me, telling me to join Elke’s group. I almost like Ms Fawsie, except she was the one who started this popularity competition in the first place. Doesn’t she know how evil teenage girls are?

  ‘Now remember,’ Ms Fawsie is saying as I take my place in Elke’s group, ignoring the general eye-rolling and Lexie’s smugly victorious smile, ‘this piece is all kinds of exciting because it requires you to use two art forms, music and movement, to tell a dramatic story.’

  I groan inwardly.

  Ms Fawsie sends us outside to discuss our project. I sit quietly as they workshop their ideas.

  ‘So, we’re all boat people and we’re coming to Australia across the sea while Górecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs play,’ Elke says, reading from her writing pad.

  ‘How do boat people dance again?’ another girl asks.

  ‘Trilby, I am so sick of your negativity.’

  ‘It’s called realism, Elke. Look, we have to keep it simple. You can’t dance, I can’t dance. Marysa and Darcy can’t dance. What about you new girl?’ She turns to me. I shrink a little. ‘Can you dance?’

  A little too quickly I shake my head.

  ‘I’ve got it!’ says Elke. ‘A piece about humanity’s destruction of the environment. We can call it Gaia’s Vengeance.’

  ‘That sounds like a really good idea,’ I blurt.

  ‘So, any fun activities?’ Tash asks, with interested-face, while Ethan makes sympathy-face. Ethan and I are recently as one in the disappointment stakes, ever since he gave up a place with the Company. Dad, who’s a choreographer, has given Ethan a job, but I’m not sure if Sebastian is trying to teach Ethan the trade, or just a lesson. In something. If there’s one thing we Karamakovs do well it’s ballet and family disharmony. Okay, that’s two things.

  ‘What, like finger-painting?’ I sigh. ‘The best part was probably drama. We’re doing a music and movement piece
.’

  ‘Oh, is that like dance?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘No. It’s almost entirely unlike dance.’

  I don’t know how much clearer I have to make it. I got kicked out of the National Academy of Dance. I’m not about to turn into a raging balletbot now.

  CHAPTER 4

  Elke counts us in. ‘Seven, eight … we are glaciers, shedding ice as we recede …’

  The choreography is amateurish, but it’s supposed to be, right? I mean it’s just high-school drama. I keep my movements to a minimum in case they notice that I am secretly good, but they are all so self-conscious that no one’s looking at me anyway.

  ‘Shake out your dandruff, girls,’ Trilby snarks.

  ‘Look,’ Elke says, despairing. ‘We only have to be better than Lexie and her plastics and they’re doing nothing. Gaia’s Vengeance is about making a difference.’

  What’s she doing here? I think as Geri Sherb walks through the school yard. Talk about worlds colliding. Lexie waves her over. ‘Geri, over here.’

  ‘Who is that?’ Elke asks.

  ‘Geri Sherb,’ I tell her. ‘She’s a commercial choreographer. She’s actually pretty good.’

  Suddenly I realise everyone is looking at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know her name and you know her specialty,’ Trilby says. ‘How come?’

  ‘I’m sort of … I’m kind of. Well, I used to be … My mum and dad …’

  ‘Yes?’ Trilby prods.

  I sigh. ‘My last school was the National Academy of Dance.’

  ‘You’re a dancer?’ Trilby gapes.

  ‘I heard you were kicked out of your last school,’ Elke says.

  She did? ‘Yeah. I was.’

  ‘I heard you had an affair with a teacher,’ one of the other girls adds.