Soon my glass is empty and my stomach is fuller than it has been for days. Already feeling guilty.
‘Can I tempt you ladies with dessert?’ asks the waiter, offering menus.
Mum takes the menu before looking at me. ‘What do you think?’ I’m shaking my head. ‘Would you like to try the ginger crème brûlée?’
I push air into my cheeks and let go. ‘I couldn’t. Really.’
‘All right then,’ she says. ‘Just the bill, please.’
‘It’s been great, Mum, though. Thanks.’
She smiles softly, eyes relaxed. ‘You know, work like this music video … maybe it’s something worth aiming for. You could work as a dancer and have time to study as well.’ She shrugs hopefully. ‘Or travel. You’d be keeping your options open.’
‘Maybe.’ I look at my hands. ‘You know, I found out the choreographer for the music video partnered Dad once. I think you knew her. Natasha Stojmenov?’
There’s no reaction about her other than stillness. It’s as if her breathing has stopped. ‘I thought she was still at the NBC,’ Mum says, her lips barely moving.
‘She is. The “Everywhere” video must have been on contract.’ I’m watching her closely now, intrigued.
Mum’s looking down at the tablecloth. When she lifts her gaze, there’s pain in her eyes. ‘You spoke about Ashton?’ she asks.
‘A bit. She said I’m like him.’
The bill arrives, slipped onto the edge of the table, but Mum barely notices. She’s searching my face for … what?
I pull the business card out of my wallet. ‘Natasha wants to speak to you about me applying for the NBC.’
‘Really,’ Mum says, her voice dangerous.
I place it beside her hand. ‘Will you talk to her? For me? She thinks I have a chance.’
‘No,’ Mum says simply. She reaches for her purse as if that’s the end of the conversation. She slides a credit card on top of the bill, not checking the amount.
I can’t let it go. ‘I know it hurts, Mum. But nothing’s going to bring Dad back. Whether I’m at the NBC, or another company, it won’t make a difference. But this is my life. My chance …’
Mum’s face is hard. All she does is shake her head.
Disappointment morphs into anger. ‘Dad would have helped me, if he were here.’
She shakes her head. ‘But he’s not. And I am.’
At the end of the next day, I find Paige in the senior hallway.
Anger’s carried me through each class after the fight with Mum. But I’ve used it as a source of energy, making sure that I’m the one who stands out. Won’t let her get me down.
‘Geez, you can’t half tell auditions for the grad performance are this week,’ I mumble, and stab a toe into the base of someone’s locker.
‘How come?’ Paige’s head pokes around her door, then disappears again.
‘The studios are all booked out.’ It comes between gritted teeth. ‘Everyone nabbed them while I was away last week.’ Anton and a couple of his mates wander past so I force a smile. ‘I was lucky to get half an hour on Thursday night,’ I finish dryly. Not that it will be enough. I’ll have to find space at home to work.
‘Oh, poor baby.’ Paige smiles happily, head tilted.
‘Yeah, yeah …’ I’m not expecting sympathy from Paige but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop complaining.
She closes her door, pushing the lock between palm and fingers, then turns to me. ‘I can’t believe it’s our turn this year, doing the graduation performance.’
‘Yeah, I know. After watching it for so many years, this time it’s going to be one of us in the lead.’
‘Probably you,’ mutters Paige.
The tone of her voice makes me frown, annoyed. ‘We’ll all be trying for it.’
Paige hooks her backpack over her shoulder and we start walking up the hall. At the T-intersection she comes to a stop, tilting her head and shuffling a foot.
‘Actually, about the studios,’ she says to the floor. ‘I have one now. Booked it last week.’
‘Yeah?’ Something gives me the feeling that she didn’t want to tell me.
Paige glances down the hall. ‘I want to work on a few things, make some changes. I’m not taking any chances, you know?’ She glances again at me. ‘But you could come with me. We could … take turns.’
We’ve done it before, performing for each other. But tonight, for some reason, it wouldn’t feel right. ‘Nah, but thanks.’
She looks relieved.
On Thursday morning, people begin to disappear. One every half-hour, in alphabetical order by surname. I can sense their energy when they return. My stomach tightens into a ball of hope and nerves. Tomorrow, Scarlett. Tomorrow’s your day.
Anka is the first of the girls to go in. She strides back into French later, when we’re meant to be translating a poem. The whispers begin even before she sits down. ‘How did you go?’
It’s as if she hasn’t even heard us, blowing on her fingernails before polishing them on her chest, eyes on the ceiling. After a dramatic pause, Anka looks down and smirks. ‘Well, I absolutely blitzed it. Blew them all away.’
There’s a moment of silence, nervous minds processing, before we launch into ten minutes of discussion and banter until our French teacher, Christof, gives us The Lecture. Auditions are a normal part of every dancer’s life. We can’t put everything on hold every time we have to audition. This week is as much about maintaining a professional approach to the other parts of your life … and all the rest.
In the end he gives up and tells us to finish translating the poem as homework.
Grant disappears during lunch and comes back halfway through acrobatics. Mats are spread across the floor. Knee and elbow pads are the look of the moment. As he does a circuit of the room – curtseying here and there, camping it up for the crowd – I try to catch his eye, ready to offer a wink or encouraging nod. But as he finishes the circuit and sits himself in a corner, I can see his grin disappear. It’s like he switched it off.
I make my way over. ‘So, how did it go really?’
His eyes travel up to mine, a slow sigh. ‘I don’t know, O’Hara. We’ll see, hey?’
I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to say more, but Grant just winks and we head over to the handspring mat.
Paige’s audition is at the end of the day. She’s been even quieter than normal and we’ve all given her space. I’m itching to get into a studio after school, but I hang back, waiting to see how she is when she comes out of the main theatre.
The door slides open and a tall figure emerges. Our eyes meet.
‘Well?’ I ask.
She presses her lips together. Hiding a smile or something else? I make my way towards her and she slips me into a hug.
‘Good?’ I say as a waft of hairspray fills my nose.
‘Yeah.’ Paige pulls back and her whole face breaks open with relief. ‘Better than I was expecting. I hardly slept last night.’ She lets out a laugh, before covering it with a hand. ‘But I did … okay. I think … I might even have a chance.’
Her confidence takes my breath away. My stomach turns over.
‘Do you want to grab something at the Complex?’ Paige asks before her forehead creases. ‘No, you’ve booked a studio, haven’t you? So what are you doing wasting time here?’ she says, mock stern, the Paige I know well. ‘Get to it.’
‘How about tomorrow after assembly?’ I say. ‘Tell the others. Audition debrief.’
‘Good.’ A single nod. ‘I’ll spread the word.’
My mood shifts as we say goodbye and Paige’s relief becomes my nerves. I head to the studio. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I find my sense of purpose. There’s only so much I can do in the lounge room at home. This time has to count. It’s not enough anymore just to be good. After my stunt with the music video, I have to step up and stand out.
With the music, my solo comes back to me, familiar and fresh at the
same time.
I smooth over a step near the start but other than that I don’t do much. It’s too late for changes now. I make sure the triple turn is solid, inevitable. Then I go back to the beginning again. Breaking it down and refining it, just like Natasha did for the shoot. As I work I imagine what she would say to me, improvements she might suggest. When my time is up, I’m satisfied. As much as I’ll ever be. I have to hold on to what I just did, and make sure I carry it with me overnight, ready to tap into tomorrow at eleven.
As soon as Izzy heads off for her audition, I’m on edge.
She’s only been gone twenty minutes when I see a tail of brown hair flick past in the hallway. It’s moving too fast to be good news. Paige sees it too and raises her eyebrows my way.
We check Mrs Wearne up the front, squinting at her laptop. We’re meant to be working on a practice essay. Meant to be. Paige nods before heading up. She’s the best at this kind of thing, pointing out to the hall and saying that Izzy’s upset.
Mrs Wearne isn’t happy, but after a bit of discussion she nods once, making us promise to be fast.
Together, Paige and I head into the corridor. It’s empty except for a pixie of a year-seven kid carrying a cello as big as she is.
Inside the shower block only one door is shut. Paige leans against it, tapping a nail on the wood.
‘Izzy? What happened? Open the door.’
Anyone else we’d leave in peace until she was ready to come out, but after six years together we know not to do that with Izzy. I mouth, What happened? at Paige who makes a face. No idea.
‘Izzy? It’s us. We’re not going anywhere …’
Still no answer. A sniff maybe? Too quiet to be sure.
I’m considering how to get up over the door when it swings open. Izzy is sitting on the bench, head in hands. ‘I messed up. Omigosh, I can’t believe I did that.’ She raises her eyes and moans at the ceiling. ‘Mum’s going to kill me.’
Paige is already beside her, hand on her back. ‘It can’t have been that bad, surely –’
‘No! It was that bad. Even worse than you think.’ Izzy’s face is full of desperation. ‘I froze. Completely. And then tried to cover by picking up again where I thought I should be. Except … it was the wrong place in the music and it finished, the music finished while I was in the middle of a step!’
In the pause that follows it’s as if Izzy only now accepts what happened. Saying it out loud makes the nightmare become a reality, and she sobs.
‘It’s just the one audition, Izzy.’ I kneel in front of her, ignoring wet tiles against my shins. ‘It happens to everyone.’
Tears fall freely now, shoulders shaking. ‘The audition for the grad performance? Of all the times to mess up.’
I glance at Paige. Her look of helplessness says it all. She’s searching for words that will make it better.
‘Oh, Izzy.’ Paige shuff les closer in the seat, one hand on Izzy’s knee.
‘It’s okay. I know there’s nothing you can say.’ Izzy sniffs before wiping a cheek with her palm. ‘It’s my own stupid fault.’ There’s a wet gasp as Izzy looks at me. ‘What time is it?’
My audition.
Paige is the only one with a watch. She grabs my shoulders, spinning me around and pushing me out of the cubicle. ‘It’s five past eleven! You have to go!’
I only just managed to stay upright through all that. I look back at Izzy. ‘Sorry, I have to …’
‘Go!’ they both scream.
The bond is released and I bolt out of the shower block, catapulted down the corridor. Five minutes late, and I still have to change. I’m not even thinking clearly now, sprinting down the hall with only the theatre in mind, then skidding to a stop, spinning around and bolting down a side corridor to grab my gear from my locker.
Doors slam in the theatre change rooms. Don’t care if they can hear me. My tights are wet but I keep them on, praying that wet black won’t stand out next to dry. It’s only luck that makes my leotard go on the right way. Jazz shoes laced in record time.
It feels like only a few minutes have passed since I was in the shower block but I have no way of knowing the exact time. I pause for a moment outside the main theatre door, sucking in air and letting it escape while I try to reconnect with my headspace after rehearsing last night.
Now, it’s my turn.
EIGHT
The stage is lit and empty, somehow lost without its performer. Halfway up the centre tier of seats, two reading lamps have been tilted with faces down so that they illuminate four sitting figures. Their heads are beyond the circles of light but I know already who I’ve left to wait. Mr Winchester, Miss Penelope, Jack, and the only one who I haven’t annoyed at one point or another, Mr Ingleby. Don’t have much to do with the careers counsellor.
Quickly I move to centre stage, making sure I remain composed. From now on, my body has to say more than my words. I turn to the front and there’s a silence as I wait for them to acknowledge me. I know they can see me.
I clear my throat. ‘Sorry I’m late. My friend was upset and I lost track of time.’
More seconds pass and I fight against a need to fidget.
‘I thought that you of all people, Scarlett, would have made a point of being on time.’ It’s Mr Winchester. The tone of his voice is like a warning, and the words he last spoke to me come back: Best behaviour from now on.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ But that sounds weak. I clear my throat again. ‘I just want to explain. If I’d been on time, it would have meant leaving my friend upset.’
There’s still no response, just a cluck from the seats as someone knocks a lamp and readjusts.
‘And which role will you be auditioning for today?’ It’s Mr Winchester again.
‘The lead,’ I say clearly. Of course. Everyone is.
‘If we decide to consider you for the lead, Scarlett, what confidence can we have that you will arrive at rehearsals on time? Take direction? Do as you’re told?’
‘I understand your concerns, Mr Winchester. But everything I do, everything, is about becoming a dancer. I’m impatient, I know, but you really don’t need to worry that you’ll get anything but total dedication from me.’ Again, silence. I’ve almost had enough of this. ‘Please, just watch me dance. Judge my performance. None of the other things should matter.’
The hiss of whispering comes through the speakers, muffled as if the microphone has been covered by a hand. I hear another clunk and Jack’s voice: ‘Okay, Scarlett. Thank you. Take your position please.’
At last, a friendly voice. Friendly-ish. I run to position, flushed, but confident. Now is the time to show them what I can do.
Electronic violins fill the air and I start into my piece. As I work my way deeper into the performance I focus on finishing each step exactly, reaching each extension at just the right time.
When the music ends I’m breathing hard. There’s a silence but it’s a good silence, and I know I’ve done well. I’ve taken them somewhere. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
I curtsey. Then wait.
‘Okay, Scarlett.’ Again, it’s Mr Winchester. ‘We’ll let everyone know at assembly.’ Do I detect a note of disappointment?
I count that as a good sign.
As soon as Mr Winchester announces my name, all faces turn my way. I can feel their emotions bursting like bubbles around me – envy, disappointment, even resentment and anger. Tadpole’s is the only face not showing any tension. He beams up at me, both arms in the air, celebrating his role as the male lead. How does he get away with that? If I let myself look that pleased, they’d all hate me.
I smile and flick my hair back in response but that clearly isn’t enough for Tadpole. He does a standing leap over a chair and begins to climb the rows, feet on backrests.
His stunt takes the focus for a while and the reality of what just happened sinks in. I did it. Female lead. All I can feel is relief.
After a rocking big hug from Tadpole, Izzy is next in line. I pu
ll away from her squeeze, tilting my head apologetically in an attempt to hide any sense of joy that’s beginning to creep in.
‘No! Be happy, Scarlett!’ She grabs my cheeks with both hands and squeezes until I laugh. ‘Really, we knew you’d get it.’
‘Thanks, Izz.’ But I can’t shake the sense that I need to hold something back, especially when my success means the opposite for her.
Paige is next. Normally we would have been sitting next to each other for an announcement like this, and I can’t help wondering if she found a seat away from me on purpose. Maybe.
‘You okay?’ I ask once I’ve shimmied past bodies and hurdled more than a few seats. She’s landed a solo, a good part, but not as good as the lead.
For a moment she just considers me, bites a lip. Then her expression relaxes into a small smile. ‘Sure, I’m okay. Plus, I’m your understudy …’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Nuh-uh.’ Paige shrugs slightly. ‘Guess I can handle being next in line.’
Most people in our year level wander away in various states of celebration and commiseration, and our group is free to debrief. It’s only now that I see Grant, standing to one side in the aisle, hands sunk in pockets.
He flicks his fringe when I look over. ‘Hey, well done, O’Hara.’
‘Thanks.’ I reach up for a hug, more for him than me. He’s only dancing in the chorus. ‘You okay?’
‘Sure, yeah. No surprises, if you ask me.’
‘Coming to the Complex?’
A shrug. ‘Of course.’
There’s caution in the air as we collect our gear, quieter voices and more pauses than normal. Then we head into the wind outside and walk the three blocks to the Complex, Paige and Tadpole walking ahead. He has a hand resting on her shoulder. Both heads are tilted together as they talk.
‘Cute, hey?’ says Izzy and jerks her chin.
‘Definitely,’ agrees Grant.
I clear my throat against the noise of the wind. ‘So what do you guys have planned for the weekend?’
‘What?’ asks Izzy. ‘As if we actually have lives from now on. First rehearsal is tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ I haven’t forgotten about rehearsal. But I haven’t forgotten about Moss playing at the Dixie Bar either.
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