I stared into my pasta. I took a big breath.
‘I’d like to go on taking the classes,’ I said.
Dad took a drink of water. Mum stared at her dinner like there was something crawling around in it. Bridget looked at me. My face got all hot.
‘You know we can’t afford it,’ Mum said.
Another silence.
‘I’m happy that you love it so much, Ash. But with you already doing two classes a week, well, it’s just getting a little expensive.’
‘Maybe you can drop another class,’ said Bridget.
‘Could you do that, Ash?’ asked Dad.
‘Dad!’ I said. ‘You know I can’t! We have to take technical class if we want to be in competitions. And I can’t drop jazz! My friends are there! And I’m already in the dance for the eisteddfod. And it’s embarrassing!’
‘Well …’ said Dad. He took another drink of water.
‘I’m sorry, Ash,’ said Mum. ‘It’s just getting a bit pricey.’
I suppose I should tell you, but you’ve probably guessed. Our family doesn’t have a lot of money. That’s one of the reasons we moved to Bayside. And why I left Dance Art.
Mum and Dad had this gardening business – Dad built people’s backyards and Mum did all the office stuff for it. But it didn’t work out. We had to move house and Mum went to work at the country club. Dad is still trying to get any kind of house and garden job he can.
I guess he’s not getting much because we never seem to have any money. I don’t really care. Except, like now, when it means I can’t dance.
Mum and Dad have always been so busy working that sometimes I don’t think they notice how much I love dancing. Bridget always tells me, ‘They’re doing it for you, and us, Ash. You’re lucky to even go to Silver Shoes, as it is!’
That’s because, like I said, I was at Dance Art Academy. They are Silver Shoes’ biggest competition. There’s been a rivalry for ages.
A bit more about Dance Art: they’re a big razzly dazzly rich school a few suburbs away. I did jazz and a few other classes there. It’s expensive, though, especially around competition time, because the teachers like to go all out and have really fancy costumes.
Dance Art was cool, but I always felt like I was in the shadow of the other girls. The girls there were a bit snooty around me because they always had the latest and greatest clothes from Danceworks or Transitions Dancewear, while I just had some five-dollar tights. Whatever. It’s not like they make you dance better.
But at Silver Shoes I feel like I can do my own thing and have fun. Going to Silver Shoes has made me love dance, not just like it. All I need to do now is to stop being thought of as ‘the new girl from the enemy dance school’.
Anyway. Now you know the back story.
‘I really loved the class,’ I pleaded. ‘Please.’
Dad looked down at his plate. ‘Sorry, Ash,’ he said.
‘We just can’t afford it, babe,’ said Mum.
I felt my throat lump get bigger and bigger. I was crushed.
Bridget sighed. ‘I can help you out,’ she said.
Everyone looked up. Bridget rolled her eyes and waved her hand, as if to flip away all our attention.
‘No big deal,’ she said. ‘I can see how much Ash wants to do this hip hop stuff. We get discount class passes at the store, so you can use those.’
Bridget works at the Danceworks store in Somersby. She doesn’t really dance, but when she got fired from the bakery and needed some work, Brimax got her the job because he knows the manager.
‘Really, Bridge?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘Maybe you can help out around the store or even at Silver Shoes to cover the rest. Why don’t you ask Miss Caroline if there’s something you can do at the studios?’
‘I can do that,’ I said.
‘I hope this is all worth it,’ grumbled Dad.
‘Of course it is,’ said Bridget. ‘It means a lot to Ash.’ She gave me a smile. ‘Now finish your pasta, it’s getting cold.’
‘Yeah dig in, Ash,’ joked Dad. ‘Your mum didn’t even use a packet this time.’
‘Thank you so much,’ I said, grinning at Bridget.
Dad forked his pasta in and Mum stared down at her food like she’d lost her appetite.
But I cannot tell you how excited I was. I would have swept a hundred floors if it meant I could do hip hop.
I just hoped Miss Caroline would agree.
Chapter Five
Miss Caroline did agree!
She said I could do the hip hop classes with the discount passes. To make up the rest, she said I could clean, tidy and organise the costume and props rooms for half an hour before or after my three classes a week.
‘They are such a mess, I’ve been meaning to get them sorted for ages,’ she said. ‘After you’ve done those we can look at something else for you to do. Although going by the state of the rooms, that will probably take you until you’re old and grey.’
‘You’re the best!’ I said.
Miss Caroline winked at me. ‘What’s say we keep our little arrangement just between you and me,’ she said. ‘For now.’
That suited me just fine, I didn’t really want Jasmine and Tove on my back about being the hired help at Silver Shoes. I didn’t even care about sorting out the dusty costume and props rooms. It actually sounded fun!
‘Hi Tove,’ I sang as I walked past her in the change room.
Tove shot me a glare that could rival the wicked witch. Whoa. I suddenly saw why Ellie sometimes compared her to a meerkat. ‘Do not tell anyone I was at hip hop,’ she said.
‘What?’ I said. ‘Oh. Okay. Why? You looked like you were really having fun.’
‘Be quiet, Ashley,’ said Tove. ‘Just please don’t say anything.’
‘If you’re going to keep doing the class, people will find out soon enough,’ I said.
Jasmine walked up then and hooked her arm through Tove’s. Her pointy, pretty face looked extra haughty today. I think her eyebrows had been raised by two centimetres. ‘Hey Tovey,’ she said. ‘Nice tights,’ she added to me.
Typical Jasmine-ism. She said that because it’s painfully obvious my tights are not nice. They’re the wrong colour and have a big rip up the side, which Bridget mended. The only reason I have them at all is because they were in the discount basket at Danceworks and Bridget nicked them for me because they’re purple, and that’s my favourite colour.
‘Nice wig,’ I said back to her. ‘Oh, sorry, that’s your hair.’
Then I walked away. That’s a really good trick. Always leave before they have a chance to say something back. That way, you’ll always win.
‘Hey Ash,’ said Riley. She was already in class, sprawled out on the floor, one long leg propped up against the other. Her tight black curls were scraped into a sideways braid and she’d threaded a red ribbon through them.
‘Heya Riley Cyrus,’ I said. ‘What happened?’ There was a bandage around her middle finger and gauze wrapped around her hand.
‘Hurt it at basketball,’ she said. ‘No big deal.’
‘Should you be dancing?’ I asked.
‘Probably not.’ She shrugged. ‘Who cares? It’s fine.’ Her eyes took on the ‘Riley’ look, where they kind of slide over you and fix blankly on the first available sight. It’s her way of saying ‘the conversation is closed’.
Ellie flounced over then, and dropped down next to us, singing some musical theatre song. Musical theatre is her new style. She’s obsessed. Her voice broke on the last note.
‘That was nice,’ said Riley. The corner of her mouth twitched up as she bit back her laugh.
‘I haven’t warmed up,’ said Ellie. She was wearing a bright pink leotard with shiny silver stars. Anyone else would get in trouble because in technique class you’re meant to wear a plain neutral leotard. But Ellie gets away with stuff like that.
‘How was the hip hop class?’ asked Riley.
‘What hip h
op class?’ Ellie’s head snapped up.
‘I took a trial hip hop class the other day,’ I said.
Ellie’s face went a little dark. Her big green eyes stared me down and I could see the cogs working in her brain. Will this hip hop class make her a better dancer than me? Will it give her an edge?
Ellie and I are friends, but sometimes she can still be a bit iffy around me – like any moment I’ll reveal I actually am a Dance Art spy. I guess it’s New Girl syndrome.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Cool. Anyone we know in it?’
‘Serah,’ I said. I looked over at Tove. ‘I think that’s it.’
‘Was it fun?’ Riley asked.
‘Amazing,’ I said. ‘I’m going to start taking the classes!’
‘No way!’ Ellie sat back. ‘Really?’
‘Yep,’ I said.
‘Are you going to start wearing high tops and backwards baseball caps too?’ joked Riley.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘And jeans belted below my bum.’
‘You shouldn’t make fun of your own dance style,’ said Ellie. ‘If it is going to be your new style.’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘I really love it.’
Ellie picked at the shiny silver stars on her leotard. ‘Well, I’m going to try out for that Danceworks competition to be the face of the new hip hop dancewear range.’
‘But you don’t take hip hop,’ Riley said. ‘That shouldn’t matter,’ said Ellie. ‘The poster for it said they want real dancers. I’m a real dancer.’
‘It also said, “Do you hip hop? Are you ready to bring out your best moves?”’
‘Well, Riley,’ said Ellie, hands on her hips, ‘it also said, “Do you want to represent your dance school by being the face of Freestyle?” And I’ve been at Silver Shoes longer than anyone, and I’m one of the best dancers, so really I think I have more right to try out than, say, some new girl who’s come from another school and done one hip hop class.’
Gee, I wonder who she could have meant?
Riley gave me a sideways glance.
There was silence.
Luckily Paige tiptoed daintily into class at that moment. She looked embarrassed and out of breath. ‘Hi,’ she whispered to all of us, pushing wisps of hair off her face. ‘Whoops. Just made it.’
For the next hour we learnt various ways to point our feet and stretch our bodies into positions that would rival a rubber man. Then we were shown how to jump, leap, transition, travel, run, turn and hold our backs correctly. Then we worked on tricks.
All the while I was thinking about the Danceworks competition.
I realised I really wanted to enter.
But the question was, should I tell Ellie or not?
Chapter Six
Sweetheart camisoles, halter leotards, character skirts, wrap skirts, racer back crop tops, ribbed singlets, booties, striped capris, knitted shrugs, dance sneakers, dance boots, feet gumbies, dance paws …
Going into a dance store is like entering heaven. The best ones smell like backstage – new tights, hairspray, make-up and fresh cotton. This one did. There were so many colours and styles of dance clothes, and then shelves of dance bags, shoes and drink bottles. And that wasn’t counting the accessory displays – hairnets, ribbons, tape, make-up and ten styles of bobby pins.
I was at the Danceworks store, waiting for Bridget to finish her shift. I’d walked all the way from school. It was stinking hot, and my squished toes were losing the battle with my hand-me-down shoes. My backpack felt like a tonne of bricks on my sweaty back.
‘Bridge won’t be long, babe,’ called out Stacey, who works at the front desk. She has the sharpest nails and the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. ‘She’s just finishing off the labels on the new stock.’ Stacey was lounging on the front counter, so I didn’t see why she couldn’t pop into the back room and help Bridget out.
‘That’s cool,’ I said, hoisting my backpack up.
‘Hey, you want a drink bottle or something?’ Stacey swung around and heaved a cardboard box up onto the shelf. ‘We’ve got all these drink bottles to give away. You want one? There’s pink, or purple, or you like blue? We got blue. Yeah? You want one?’
‘Sure,’ I said. The pink one was an Ellie shade of pink. I chose purple.
‘Just be careful when you drink, cool? Sometimes the water leaks out when you tip it up. I think that’s why we’re giving them away for free. Hi there, how you going?’
I opened my mouth to reply, when I realised the store door had just opened and Stacey wasn’t talking to me.
She was talking to two girls.
Two girls and one of their mums.
The last three people on earth I wanted to see.
I turned away and pretended to be really interested in the rows of bobby pins near the front counter. For the record, bobby pins aren’t interesting. And they have a habit of getting lost after you wear them once.
But the two girls were Indianna and Daisy – two girls from my old school, Dance Art. Two girls who’d once put fish heads in my dance bag while I was in class.
Yeah, I guess you could say we’d never been friends.
‘You need help with anything?’ Stacey trilled.
‘Tights!’ Indianna’s mum declared. ‘Tights, tights, tights!’
Stacey went to show them the tights and I snuck back out into the hot afternoon sun. I found my water bottle and had a drink, but there was only a trickle left. Just when I was debating whether to go find a tap to fill up my new purple bottle, I heard the door swing open behind me.
Then came the witches’ cackle.
‘Nice drink bottle,’ said Indianna. ‘That’s about the only thing you’ll ever get from Danceworks. I thought you did all your shopping at Savers.’
‘Only my earplugs,’ I said. ‘And you’re right; they don’t work well, because I can still hear you.’
‘Real funny,’ said Daisy.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘So we heard you were at Silver Shoes now,’ said Indianna.
‘Poor you,’ said Daisy.
‘Well, you didn’t hear it,’ I said. ‘You saw me at the Jazz Groove competition a few weeks ago. That’s okay, not all of us know the difference between eyes and ears. Oh yeah, that was the competition you swore you’d never go to. And let me just think about this … that’s right, Silver Shoes won. My new studio.’
Daisy and Indianna both huffed and rolled their eyes. Indianna tossed her glossy brown curls and, on cue, Daisy tossed her two long shiny black pigtails. Both their faces went into identical sniffy expressions. I swear they’d practised in the mirror.
‘Whatever,’ said Daisy. ‘That comp is so dumb we weren’t even trying.’
‘Why bother turning up at all?’ I said.
‘For a laugh,’ said Indianna.
‘You don’t need to go to a comp to have people laugh at you,’ I said. ‘They’ll do it for free.’
‘Tove told us you were doing hip hop now,’ sniffed Daisy. ‘At least that’s more in line with the kind of clothes you wear.’
‘Money doesn’t buy taste,’ I said, but I could feel the throat bubble again. I was hungry and hot, my backpack was heavy, and the only reason Daisy and Indianna had come out of the shop at all was because there were two of them.
I was sick of being teased about money and my clothes and being the girl who left Dance Art to be the new girl at Silver Shoes. None of that meant I couldn’t dance well, or I didn’t have a right to do what all the other girls did.
I swallowed the bubble. I held up my head. I marched over to the tap and I turned it on as much as it would go. The water hit the hot cement and splashed onto Indianna and Daisy.
‘Gross!’ they shrieked, leaping away.
‘Whoops,’ I said.
While I was filling up my bottle someone jogged up behind me. ‘Hey Ash,’ Brimax said, ruffling my hair. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just came out here for the entertainment,’ I said, looking over at Daisy and Indianna, wh
o were dancing around trying to flick the water off.
‘Slow day then,’ said Brimax, with his crooked smirk. ‘Hi girls.’
‘Hi,’ they mumbled.
‘Looking nice and cool,’ Brimax said cheerfully. He had all his muscles on display in his low-cut singlet and there was some new symbol shaved into the side of his cropped hair. Brimax thinks he’s tough, but he’s really a total goofball.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘Picking up Bridget,’ he said. ‘She about finished?’
‘I think so. Just doing labels or something.’
‘Sick,’ said Brimax. He picked me up and tucked me under his arm. ‘Let’s go rescue her. I’m hungry and we three have a pizza date. See you later, girls.’
Yeah, see you later, I thought. See you when I’m the new face of the Danceworks hip hop range.
Because now I was even more determined than ever.
Chapter Seven
Aaaaa-chooooo!
It sure was dusty in the Silver Shoes costume room.
When I first walked in, I saw the costumes from the latest performance all hanging up neatly on the racks. And a desk with the bibs and bobs you need to put the finishing touches on any costume – needles, cotton, sequins, safety pins, velcro straps.
But beyond that.
Wow.
I’m talking chests and cartons overflowing with material, piles of mismatched shoes, unfinished versions of costumes and bundles of hats, gloves, skirts and headpieces.
There was some great stuff there. If I ever needed to go to a costume party, I was in the right place.
I decided it was best to just jump right in with my first attempt at tidying and sorting out this Silver Shoes mess.
I moved the neat racks into the props room, and then shoved everything as best as I could onto one side of the floor. Then I dashed off to the storage room to find some tubs to begin my sorting.
Each tub had a label: Junk – throw out, Hats, Accessories, Full sets, Could be used again, Material scraps. But as I began my sorting I realised I was making another little pile next to me: the Ashley pile.
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