Abigail: Nice Girls Finish Last

by Bruno Bouchet

  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

  Read a sample from … Kat Second Chance

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  I can do nice. How hard can it be? Group therapy over the break, a hug from big sweaty Phil from the group and that’s it. Niceness done. I’ve got a certificate and graduation plant to prove it. I didn’t even flinch at Phil’s big sweaty armpits as he bore down on me. I felt the sweat and hugged him anyway.

  ‘My actions are mine and mine alone. I am powerful. I am worthy. I am loveable. I am free.’

  It’s a whole new, even more perfect, me.

  All I have to do is prove it to everyone else as we start at the Academy for our second year. First stop Tara. I see her talking to Christian and Sammy in the corridor of the Academy on our first day back. I give her a great big hug. Like Phil, only with dry armpits and a fresh aroma.

  ‘I’ve put us down for our old room. I hope that’s not overstepping?’ I say. Asking Tara to be my roomie again is the nice thing to do. Last year she was my biggest rival. I’d have done anything to beat her and when she got the lead role in The Nutcracker … Well I’m not going there, I’m a different person now. We can both strive for perfection without being nasty about it. Can’t we?

  She looks like I’ve weirded her out. Maybe it was Phil. Not the sweaty guy, my graduation plant. I named it after him. We’re supposed to nurture the plant as a symbol of our new loveable and free condition. His leaves may have brushed across Tara’s face when I hugged her.

  Okay, not caring about the strange looks from Christian and Sammy. It’s a beautiful day and we are all beautiful people.

  ‘Today we grow in strength with every forward step we take together,’ I say and introduce my green friend. ‘This is Phil.’

  As if life couldn’t get any better, in our first class, Miss Raine, confirms the rumour that’s been flying around the Academy.

  ‘For the first time in thirty years the world’s most prestigious ballet competition, the Prix de Fonteyn, will be held in Sydney,’ she announces. ‘Preliminaries are at the end of the semester, followed by the Nationals where it will be decided who goes on to represent Australia.’

  I grin at Tara and cross my fingers. Of course I’ll beat her, but why not wish her the luck? Technically I’m a better dancer, but everyone says she dances with such natural emotion and, yes, I can admit it, talent.

  Later, Miss Raine brings a new girl into our room at the boarding house. ‘This is my god-daughter, Grace. She’s visiting from London. I’d like one of you to show her around,’ she says. Grace is pretty with blonde hair and I can tell she’s got a dancer’s body.

  ‘I told her I was old enough to make my own playdates but Lucy keeps me on a short leash,’ says Grace.

  I look at Tara. It’s bizarre hearing someone call Miss Raine by a first name. And who knew it would be something as normal as Lucy? Miss Raine catches us and just smiles. Having her god-daughter here and being made Principal might be mellowing her. I’m not the only once making an effort to be nice.

  It turns out, Miss Raine is trying to convince Grace to get back into ballet. I knew she was a dancer. ‘Perhaps you two will have more luck,’ she says to us.

  ‘I’m Abigail, and this is Tara – she’s the most naturally talented dancer in our year,’ I introduce ourselves as Miss Raine drops Grace at our room.

  ‘Okay, stop,’ says Tara suddenly. ‘You have to explain whatever it is you’re up to.’

  She’s freaked out. Can’t she just accept I’m nice now? It would be so much easier for me to say You’ll see and head out the door, but nice doesn’t work like that. What was that line from therapy? Give of yourself to receive from others

  ‘My mum’s moved back to Brisbane. She and Dad are trying to work things out,’ I say.

  ‘That’s really great. I’m happy for you,’ she says.

  ‘It made me re-examine how important relationships are,’ I explain. ‘I put undue pressure on myself last year by alienating those around me.’

  ‘So you’ve decided to be … nice?’ says Tara.

  ‘Today I don’t have to be perfect, I just have to be me,’ I announce, moving over to look at Phil. He’s already losing some leaves.

  ‘If I get a choice of chaperone do you mind if I pick you?’ Grace says to Tara, sitting next her on her bed.

  That’s fine. I’m okay with that. I am powerful and I am worthy and I don’t need Grace’s validation. Tara will make a great chaperone.

  We’re straight into performing this semester. The Company and the Academy have been asked to be part of the launch of the Prix de Fonteyn at the Sydney Opera House. We’ve had barely any rehearsals but everyone is really excited – the thrill of performing combined with the buzz of competition, it’s what we live for. In the dressing room at the Opera House I’m getting ready, attaching my lashes. Phil’s here with me for good luck but I’m worried about him. He doesn’t seem as perky as he did a week ago.

  The atmosphere in the changing room would have anyone wilting. The first year students are leaning over buckets, emptying their stomachs. I’d like to think it was nerves, but it’s not. It’s Sammy. He’s been kissing all the first year girls and spreading some revolting virus around. He’s trying to make up for his wrong doing by emptying out their buckets. Typical Sammy can’t do anything right, but he does have his uses.

  When I was ill last year, it was Sammy that pulled me through. He wore down my icy exterior by sheer persistence and we began going out. He was obsessed with me, wanting constant affection in public. I fell for it, for him. I was even ready to have sex for the first time in my life. And then … he broke up with me. I never understood why and we’ve never really been able to speak properly since. It was probably my fault. The old Abigail – closed off and uptight. I think I know what this first year kissing is all about. It’s for my benefit. It’s quite sweet, in his unique bumbling way. I go over to help him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I do. You wanted me to be jealous. It all got so complicated between us at the end but I’ve been doing some work on myself over the holidays and I know it was my fault we ended.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ he says, looking awkward.

  ‘I was closed off to love but today I release fear and open my heart. I’d kiss you if you weren’t contagious,’ I say with a smile. He doesn’t know how to take the new Abigail, the emotional risk taker.

  ‘I’d kiss you anyway,’ I say and lean in. So what if he’s passing on diseases? This is a moment. I’m seizing a moment, but Sammy doesn’t want to be seized.

  ‘Abigail, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ he says.

  ‘I must have. I always do.’

  He stops and looks at me.

  ‘The reason we broke up was because I got feelings for someone else.’

  I was not expecting that. It’s time for the performance to start so we have to make our way to the stage, but I need to find out who he had feelings for. I grab Phil as we head out of the changing room, I need all the support I can get.

  ‘Feelings for someone else?’ I ask, following Sammy down the corridor. He’s trying to get away from me, but there’s no way I’m letting him go.

  ‘Who?’ I ask.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who,’ he says.

  ‘It does
to me. Who?’

  He stops, turns and says the last name I’m expecting. ‘Christian.’

  Now it’s my turn to stop. ‘Christian? That would be mean …’

  Serious processing required – moments before we’re due on stage. I catch up to Sammy in the wings.

  ‘Just to clarify, you broke up with me because you liked Christian. And now you’re hooking up with every girl in the school, except me – because you care about me and not them?’

  ‘Right,’ he says.

  ‘Essentially I turned you gay and he turned you straight.’

  ‘It sounds worse than it is,’ he says.

  This is where being in touch with your emotions gets you. I hugged a gross, stinking, fat man in therapy just so I could open up to Sammy kicking me in the teeth all over again. ‘You people with your feelings are messed up.’ I shove the stupid plant in Sammy’s arms.

  The day’s humiliations don’t end there though. Later I’m standing with Tara in the wings watching Grace. The new girl, who apparently still needs ‘persuading’ to come back to ballet, just happens to be performing a solo in front of a house full of company sponsors, company directors and Prix de Fonteyn judges and she’s … incredible. The only consolation is that she’s not just way better than me, she’s way better than Tara too.

  ‘So when she danced in London,’ Tara says, ‘it was …’

  ‘The Royal Ballet School,’ I tell her as Grace begins to fouetté so often it seems like time’s standing still.

  ‘I’m glad she’s not staying. Does that make me a bad person?’ Tara says.

  Nice is overrated.

  CHAPTER 2

  Normal transmission has been resumed at the Academy. I’m done embracing emotions, Tara is caught up in her never-ending soap opera of a love life, Kat is eating her way through the Academy café despite not being a student here any more and Sammy is a clumsy oaf. Unfortunately not everything is quite the same. Grace has ‘miraculously’ been persuaded to stay. She claims she doesn’t care about ballet but you don’t get to be that good without caring. No one has that much natural talent. And now we’re no longer the new kids – there’s a whole bank of first years to bug me as much as the second years.

  I’m at my locker in the corridor when two of them suddenly appear, all starry eyed. ‘Do I know you?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m Lulu and this is Lily. We’ve been dying to meet you all week,’ says one of them and then recaps the history of my first year at the Academy – sabotaging Tara’s costume, emailing Tara’s pros and cons list to the whole school, dumping Sammy (not strictly true, but I’ve no time to split hairs).

  ‘We decided that you’re the only second year with any clue. Eye on the Company prize at all times,’ says Lulu.

  The truth can be flattering, but these girls have crossed from starry-eyed to starey-eyed. Creepy. And worse, a waste of my time.

  ‘If there’s a point, could you make it?’ I prompt.

  ‘We want to watch you and learn,’ says Lulu.

  I appreciate their taste, but I’ve no time for minions, so I leave them. I’ve got bigger problems to concentrate on, like Grace. She’s watched the sycophants and tries to use it to make nice.

  ‘Good move. You train them up and then they get power hungry. Always ends in some sort of coup,’ she says. Coups? I’m sure she’s executed a few in her time. I’m not falling for it. Her first at the Academy has already taken place. The first week’s placements are up on the noticeboard. Grace has topped everything. Every single class. Overall Tara’s second and I’ve been pushed down to third.

  ‘You can’t pretend that doesn’t bother you,’ I say to Tara.

  ‘Yeah, she’s really good,’ Tara says like she’s not that interested. She’s more concerned with her latest love entanglement. Christian … again.

  It’s going to be down to me to restore the natural order of things in our year. Perhaps the two fawning first years could be useful after all. I need dirt on Grace, but I need every moment of my own time for practice.

  ‘You’re looking for leadership?’ I say to them, the next time their eyes start gazing at me in the corridor.

  ‘We’ll do anything. Sew your pointe shoes, break them in …’ Lily says. Still creepy. But now useful.

  ‘Grace Whitney. I want to know who she is. I want to know how she thinks. What she wants. Any weaknesses.’

  ‘Know your enemy. Know how to defeat them.’ Lulu gets the idea. They’ve got their mission but they both just stand there. Staring.

  ‘Anytime now,’ I bark and they run off.

  Idiot minions. They went straight to Grace and asked her questions. When they report back, it’s obvious their information is hopelessly compromised.

  ‘When I asked you to dig around Grace’s background I meant without her knowing.’ More supervision and advanced technology are required. I ask them to send friend requests out to everyone at the Royal Ballet School. Lulu is about to do it from her own profile.

  ‘Are you moronic?’ I say. ‘Cover your tracks. Do it through a fake profile. I want dirt on her family. Why did they leave Australia? Why did they send her back here? I need to get into the school records. Who knows anything about hacking?’

  ‘My brother’s studying IT,’ says Lily.

  ‘Use him. If she’s hiding something we’re going to find it.’

  By the following evening I’ve got what I need. I knew all that niceness was an act. It always is. All I need is the right mood and location to spring my trap. I wait for her in the common room of the boarding house. It’s empty, dark … intimidating. Grace comes in.

  ‘I know what happened in London,’ I say and turn on a light. Grace laughs, she has to be nervous.

  ‘You’re seriously sitting in the dark,’ she says.

  ‘And I’m guessing Miss Raine doesn’t know, otherwise she never would have let you into the Academy. You’re a safety hazard Grace. So why don’t you just book a taxi and I’ll leave your reputation intact.’

  ‘“Miss Raine” is my godmother and the Principal. Of course she knows,’ she says.

  She could be bluffing.

  ‘So give me the summary,’ she says. ‘I got expelled for giving a girl a nervous breakdown?’

  She doesn’t even care that I know her dirty secret. I’ve played some tricks to get ahead, but driving someone off a mental cliff, that’s bad.

  ‘Tell who you like,’ she says, ‘I don’t need to feel popular.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Hence the minions?’ she fires back. ‘Look, I’m stuck here but I don’t care about being the best.’

  ‘Everyone cares about being the best.’

  ‘I’m not everyone,’ she says. ‘You know, I thought you were interesting but all this – not so much.’ With that she shrugs and leaves.

  This is going to be harder than I thought. One thing’s for certain – the minions were a mistake. Trusting others always is.

  It should be all out war with Grace, but she seems to be making a bid for peace. While we’re watching Tara blunder her way through Madame Tikkinova’s Classical class, Grace offers to ‘even the odds’ in my competition with Tara. Probably another trick. I ignore her.

  In our Pas de Deux class, Sammy is as useless a partner as ever. ‘Push me off balance like yesterday and I will punch you in the brain,’ I tell him. Grace floats by. Serenity personified.

  ‘The fairy godmother has spoken,’ she says, ‘my child you shall go to the ball.’

  Right on cue, Miss Raine enters to announce some changes. I have a new partner, Christian. Tara has to make do with Ben, recently promoted from first year and yet to discover the joys of deodorant. And Grace has lumbered herself with the deadweight, Sammy. Maybe she really doesn’t care about competing. No dancer who does would choose him as a partner.

  ‘You owe me,’ she says.

  ‘Celebration in my room. Seven o’clock,’ I tell her.

  What could be better for celebrating than The Golden Shoes
movies? A freshly painted wall drying slowly, if Grace’s face during the first two films is anything to go by. I get that she’s not into being the best dancer, but you cannot put on a pointe shoe and not love The Golden Shoes. Classics pure and simple. I offer to get more carrot sticks to liven things up for her before Golden Shoes III, but the pain’s written all over her face. I’m not sitting round to have her tut and sigh her way through one of my favourite films.

  ‘Actually, I’m pretty tired,’ I make an excuse.

  ‘Hey. I wasn’t criticising. Let’s bring this trilogy home,’ she offers. Right. And let her make jokes about my obsessive nature to everyone tomorrow? I don’t think so.

  ‘I forgot we have Character at eight.’ She gets the hint and leaves.

  The following day Grace stops me in the corridor and throws me a lame excuse about her being claustrophobic and that’s why she wasn’t enjoying the films.

  ‘How sad for you,’ I say, trying to move on. But she takes my arm and offers to show me ‘her version of fun’. Does it involve provoking another nervous breakdown? As I wonder whether it’s worth my while giving Grace another chance Kat passes us, all excitement and giggles at seeing her gang. They should put security on the door to keep ex-students out. But perhaps she’s not the only one that can have friends and do fun things. Maybe Grace could be useful.

  Turns out her idea of fun is way better than anything Kat or Tara could come up with.

  ‘There’s only one rule,’ she says as we hit the street down by the harbour. ‘We get everything for free.’

  Before I can even question if she’s going to rob the nearest convenience store, she’s shouting for help. ‘My friend’s collapsing … Please, anyone, this is an emergency.’

  I go with the improv, drop to the ground and simulate a low-blood-sugar attack. Within moments, Grace has persuaded some man to buy chocolate for me. Ridiculous and embarrassing, but effective.