Silhouette

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  In memory of Nana Bergersen,

  for passing down the writing gene.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  ONE

  I sink to the floor and lean my head against the wall, assessing the damage. Stiff shoulders, grazed knee, stinging blister, but otherwise I’m in pretty good shape, considering, and only one more class to go.

  Something soft flutters against my hand and I open my eyes to see a pair of fresh black tights in my lap. ‘Want them?’ asks Paige.

  For a moment we both consider the hole in my own tights, as big as a fist and topping a series of ladders either side of my shin.

  ‘Thanks, but save them.’ I hold the tights up for Paige. ‘I’ll only bleed on them anyway.’

  She smiles neatly, folding the tights in half and then half again before tucking them back in her bag.

  ‘Does anyone have heat rub?’ calls Izzy. She’s lying on her back, knees raised and rotating slowly. Someone throws her a tube and there’s laughter at her groan when it hits her in the stomach.

  I hook a foot on my knee and gently pull a bandaid halfway off my toe. The blister underneath is red raw, with soggy white skin around it. Nice. It needs air. Not that the air in here is remotely fresh. It’s stuck in a tug-of-war between BO and musk deodorant. Unfortunately the BO is winning.

  Paige has already zipped up her bag and is standing, her steady gaze on me. ‘Coming?’

  ‘Sure.’ I wrap my blister away to fester. It stings as I slip on my jazz shoe, then gradually fades as we walk into the studio.

  Tadpole and Grant are there already, standing with legs apart and arms pressed across chests. They lift their eyebrows in hello and we smile on the way to the back of the room. At the barre Paige lifts her leg and reaches along it, cheek to thigh.

  I face the barre next to her, swinging my leg in low kicks. I’m already warm from a morning of dancing, but I continue anyway. It’s a ritual of sorts, a signal to each muscle, each limb, that more work is coming.

  ‘All right, people!’ Jack walks in clapping. ‘Play time’s over! We’re warming up in the centre. Core strength today.’

  I turn away from the barre.

  ‘Then we’re working on a new combination,’ calls Jack. He opens his arms like a graceful, muscular Jesus on the cross.

  Around me everyone opens their arms, matching his pose.

  ‘Forwards, people! Come on, I won’t bite!’ says Jack.

  Bodies shuffle, more sideways than forwards.

  ‘Scarlett, here!’ Jack points at the empty space in front of him. ‘Don’t be shy.’

  The whole class turns to watch, and I feel their expectation closing around me, pushing me forward.

  A snort comes from beside me and I turn to see Anka roll her eyes. ‘Shy?’ she scoffs.

  It’s been this way since year seven, partly because of who my father was and partly because of what he’s given me: perfect turnout, narrow hips, a body that sparks envy in any aspiring dancer. Dark red hair doesn’t let me slip under the radar either.

  With everyone watching, I flick hair off my shoulders and take my place: front and centre.

  ‘Scarlett? A word.’

  At the end of class, Jack calls out to me and everyone glances my way. We all know I’m in trouble. Anka shoots me a satisfied smirk.

  After a session like that they all know what’s coming. Half of them are hoping that I push Jack even further, and get kicked out. The other half expect me to, and hope that I don’t.

  I look at Paige. ‘Meet you in the caf?’

  ‘Okay, good luck,’ she says, with her head tilted in warning. Behave yourself.

  The rest of the class files out of the studio, and I’m left alone with Jack. He is standing beside the sound system as I approach. His hands on his hips. Eyes on me.

  ‘You think this class is a joke?’ he asks.

  I clench my jaw in frustration. Even Jack doesn’t get it. This has nothing to do with his class. But I don’t want to piss him off. ‘No.’ I swallow.

  ‘Then you think the choreography is a joke?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Because something made you think it was fine to miss a kick on purpose.’

  I cross my arms. ‘Actually, this choreography is the best we’ve had in ages,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even. ‘There was just one spot where I thought …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I just thought …’

  ‘Yes, Scarlett, what did you think?’

  I breathe in. ‘I thought that there was too much going on so I took out a kick.’

  A new kind of quiet descends around us.

  Jack stares at me. ‘You thought there was too much going on, so you took out a kick,’ he repeats.

  I nod slightly, looking him in the eye.

  ‘All right.’ Jack’s voice is low. ‘I don’t know how many times we’ve been through this, and still …’ He sucks in air through his teeth. ‘Still you don’t seem to learn. So I’ll make it as simple as I can. You stay in this class and dance as I say, or you find something else to do.’

  Jack doesn’t even care if my change was an improvement.

  Beneath crossed arms, I clench my fists. Our eyes lock – Jack staring me down while I hold his gaze.

  ‘So,’ demands Jack. ‘What will it be?’

  I look at the floor. ‘I want to stay in this class.’

  ‘Well!’ He throws up his hands, faking a smile. ‘Let’s see if you’re capable of following instructions from now on.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ I nod demurely. Give him what he wants. Only six months until graduation. Then I’m outta here.

  He turns away and starts packing his things while I stand there, waiting for him to dismiss me. He slides notes into a manila folder next to the sound system.

  ‘Look, I get it,’ he says, his tone softening. ‘You’re a big fish in a small pond. But before you know it, you’ll graduate and then you’ll be out there. In a huge – a massive – pond. And stunts like today just won’t cut it.’

  ‘I know.’ I risk a small smile. ‘So I won’t be doing stuff like that, will I?’

  ‘Wish it were that easy.’ He sighs. ‘This audition, for example,’ he says, indicating the manila folder. ‘They need four dancers for a music video, and do you know how many will turn up? A hundred, maybe two. All good dancers.’

  ‘Wow, whose music video?’

  ‘None of your business.’ Jack shakes his head, but his lips quiver against a smile. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  I shoot him a winning grin.

  ‘Seriously, Scarlett. What are you aiming for? Out of all the audition talk around here, you’re the only one who never says anything. You know, you have a real chance at the National Ballet Company. Have you considered that?’

  More than anything. But there’s a reason I don’t talk about it. ‘Yeah,’ I say vaguely. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe?’

  Don’t want to do this now. My eyes lower. ‘It’s just … Mum.’ My toes crunch as I push forwards against the floor, working on my point. ‘She can’t handle anything that reminds her of, you know …’ I sigh. ‘Dad.’

  ‘I see.’ For a moment, Jack’s quiet as he considers me. ‘He was amazing on stage,’ he says afte
r a moment.

  I look up, breathing in. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘How old do you think I am? That was years ago.’

  Thirteen years ago, in fact. I was in kindergarten.

  Jack shakes his head. ‘No, I … I never met him.’

  Pity. I breathe out.

  ‘Your mum doesn’t talk about him?’ Jack asks.

  ‘No,’ I say, trying not to sound bitter. ‘She hates me asking.’

  ‘It must be hard.’ Jack swallows. ‘But you should try to talk to her about this.’

  Jack’s watching me closely. This is weird. I don’t need his sympathy. And anyway, I already know what Mum’ll say.

  I shrug. ‘Sure, I’ll speak to her.’

  ‘All right, go have some lunch,’ he says. ‘And consider this a warning, okay?’

  I’m nodding when Jack’s mobile starts. He looks at the screen, frowning. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ He steps towards the window. ‘Kell! Yeah, thought you’d be interested.’

  I’m about to leave when my eyes slide to the manila folder. It’s lying open.

  I bite my lip. Jack’s talking about an audition. A real audition.

  ‘It’s for Moss Young,’ he says, before a pause. ‘Yeah … testing the market, I think … new solo launch.’

  He thinks I’ve gone and I know I should but my body doesn’t move. Each time he speaks, that folder pulls me closer. It’s not as if I’m free to aim for the NBC anyway. Not without breaking Mum’s heart. So what have I got to lose? I look over again at Jack. He still has his back to me, facing the window. Don’t think he can see a reflection.

  Slowly I reach over and flick up the top form. There’s another form underneath, and another. A whole pile. Jack wouldn’t miss one or two …

  ‘It’s at the MPG studios, in building six. Ten o’clock. Sunday. Tough gig, but worth it.’

  Before I can change my mind I slip two sheets from the top of the pile and tiptoe out of the studio.

  ‘Still alive?’ asks Paige as I sit next to her in the cafeteria. She’s been playing with her rice, but she puts the fork down to focus on me.

  I don’t say anything, just pass the registration form over her bowl. A couple of music students shuffle past our chairs, lifting their guitars upright as they do.

  ‘What’s this?’ Paige’s eyes narrow as she skims the form.

  I wait as she reads. ‘Registration form. For an audition.’ I don’t bother to hide the smugness in my voice.

  Paige splutters. ‘Jack’s putting you in an audition?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ This is fun. I flick a grain of rice onto the floor then lean towards her, holding her attention in the pause. ‘It’s a music video for Moss Young’s new single.’

  For a moment Paige just looks at me. Then her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open. ‘Moss Young! Who was kicked out of Excalibur?’

  ‘Shhh.’ I glance over at Izzy and the others who are too busy stressing about French homework to worry about us. I look back and smile. ‘Cool, hey?’

  She nods as her eyes travel down the page. ‘Definitely cool.’

  For a while we’re quiet and I begin to imagine what an audition would be like. Dancing beside professionals, the slick choreography of a music video, people seeing what we can do. Not being told to shut up and dance.

  ‘Want to gatecrash?’ I whisper.

  ‘Gatecrash?’

  ‘Yeah, you know … pretend we’re auditioning. Check out how it all works. We’ll have to make out we’re eighteen, of course.’

  A kind of stillness comes over Paige. Then she leans so close that I feel the brush of her thin arm against mine. ‘Like … pretend we’re real dancers?’ she says slowly.

  ‘We are real dancers.’

  Her laugh sounds light and airy. ‘You know what I mean! We don’t have an agent. We’re not meant do anything outside the Academy.’ She shakes her head. ‘I mean, we’re not even meant to take a class outside of the Academy without permission.’

  I cock an eyebrow. ‘What do you think?’

  I can tell that she’s considering it. Everything about Paige is neat – her tight bun, her sleek leggings, even the ways she licks her lips – but her eyes give her away.

  ‘So, what? We just do our solos?’ Paige asks after a while.

  ‘Why not? They have to be ready when we audition for the grad performance anyway,’ I say. ‘Think of it as a really intense practice.’

  ‘But this isn’t just some assignment,’ Paige says. ‘It’s the real world out there.’

  ‘Yep,’ I say, because to me all her reasons why we shouldn’t do this sound like reasons why we should.

  I flip open the lid of my lunch container and stab a piece of cold chicken from the corner.

  Paige leans close again. ‘What if we get caught?’ But she’s smiling and I know we’re going to do it.

  I smile back. ‘We’ll just have to make sure we don’t.’

  TWO

  My backpack always feels heavy at the end of a Friday. I shift the strap and lean on a locker door.

  ‘I’ve booked a studio,’ I say to the back of Paige’s head. ‘Want to stay back?’

  ‘Again?’ She turns to me, pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. ‘Aren’t you wrecked?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Hey, ladies!’ calls Grant from the other end of the hall. He makes his way towards us, beaming like a male lead that just stepped onstage. ‘We’re going to catch a movie tomorrow night. Want to come? Last chance to, you know …’ He flicks a hand dramatically. ‘Live a little before rehearsal season.’

  I can’t resist a dig at Paige. ‘I don’t know. We’re really wrecked.’

  She glares at me before turning to Grant. ‘Is Tadpole going?’

  I bump her with my hip and receive another glare.

  ‘Hey, Tadpole!’ Grant calls down the hall. ‘Coming to the movies?’

  A hand shoots up above the heads, thumb extended.

  ‘I’d say that’s a yes.’ Grant winks at Paige.

  It would be comical if it wasn’t so sweet, seeing someone as tall as Paige trying to shrink herself away.

  ‘Cool,’ I say.

  ‘Great! Six o’clock at the Complex. We’ll grab a bite first.’ Grant does a flourish with one hand and leads into a graceful curtsey.

  I can’t help laughing, straight into a deep bow.

  When he’s gone, Paige sighs. ‘Well, I’m going home. Some of us humans need to rest.’

  For a moment we look at each other, and I smile. Paige slips an arm around me and squeezes. Then she heads off towards the bus stop. I wander through the noise of the hall to the studios at the back, feeling adrenaline spike over the tiredness.

  The noise outside disappears with the click of the studio door. Quiet settles around me. I drop my bags and slip off my shoes. Twirl an ankle, crunch my toes, preparing. Love the way that feels.

  At the sound system, I press through a sequence of buttons that I’ve used a million times before. I run to position at the side of the studio, shoulders square and head high, opening myself to the phantom audience. Quiet is replaced by the energy of electric violins, and I begin.

  The steps come easily, soft in places, strong in others, smooth and seamless in between. I don’t need the mirror to know which parts are working. These days it’s all in the feel.

  The ending comes quickly – a leap into a kneeling hold. Quiet returns to the studio. For a while I stand, hands on hips, thinking my way back through the piece.

  For a solo assignment it’s fine, but for an audition piece it needs work. The opening is okay but the second half seems flat. Repetitive. Or is that because I’ve gone through it so many times?

  No, there’s more to it than that. I move to the centre of the floor and pick up from the middle of the piece, adding an extra head flick, and swapping a simple kick for a harder combination. It works. Should I try a triple turn instead of a double near the end? It would be risky. But I’ll just practise
until it isn’t a risk anymore.

  When I am satisfied with the changes, I press play on the sound system and begin again. I’m sweating when I finish. For a third time I hit play and make changes. Only two this time. Each takes me closer to where I want the piece to be.

  I’ve just finished yet another run-through when stars creep in from the edges of my sightline, and I know I’ve had enough. I move to the barre and lean my forearms on it, waiting for the tingling blackness to recede.

  Outside the streetlights are on and rain is falling in car headlights. Didn’t realise it was so late.

  I turn away from the window and check my phone. Damn. Two messages from Mum. I call her back and she answers in one ring. ‘Scarlett. Where are you?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m still at school. Lost track of time.’

  ‘Do you want me to pick you up?’

  ‘Just meet me at the bus stop?’ I ask.

  ‘Okay.’

  Rain comes in with me when I slide into the front seat. It’s a relief to shut the door. I drop my gear at my feet and zhoosh up my hair, wondering if I’m getting any water on Mum. Whether she’ll get annoyed.

  ‘Tights again?’ she says, looking at my outfit. ‘You think they’re appropriate for the bus?’

  It’s not a question I can answer without starting a fight, so I just shrug. I like looking like a dancer. ‘At least I’m wearing street shoes,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood. She doesn’t react.

  Mum checks the mirror before pulling away from the curb. ‘How’d it go today?’

  I shift in my seat. ‘Good.’ There’s no way I’m telling her about the audition. ‘Wish they’d let us use the studios on the weekend.’

  I feel her look at me then back at the road.

  ‘You already work too hard.’

  ‘Says who?’ She’s not a dancer so I don’t expect her to understand.

  After a while Mum sighs and glances at me again. ‘Just try to keep it in perspective. That’s all I’m saying.’

  So I say, ‘Okay,’ because everything is in perspective. Dancing’s not just something I do, it’s who I am.

  I should wait until we’re home, I know, but I pull the seatbelt away from my neck so that I can look at Mum properly. ‘So, today? Jack said that I should totally audition for the NBC.’