Silhouette

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  Her eyebrows rise. ‘You’re kidding, right? I’ve got practice exams coming out of my ears, and the grad performance is only five weeks away. You realise that, don’t you? Only five weeks.’

  I lift a palm up hopefully. ‘All the more reason to let your hair down?’

  ‘Seriously, Scarlett, how do you cope with it all? Aren’t you stressed?’

  ‘Sure, I’m stressed.’

  Her eyes narrow before she turns away. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about, though, do you?’ she says softly.

  I just stare at her. Did she really say that?

  Paige frowns and I feel the squeeze of a hand on my arm. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ve got a lot on my plate.’

  Something in that squeeze makes me think about all the times we’ve shared. Dancing together, future plans, long phone chats. I used to be able to tell her anything.

  For a while we just look at each other.

  ‘I can’t do it, though, Scarlett. I’m barely ever home as it is,’ says Paige.

  ‘You could stay at my place,’ I try. ‘We’ll spend Sunday doing homework.’

  Already, Paige is shaking her head when a voice speaks up behind us.

  ‘I’ll come.’ It’s Grant, sitting straight and still as if he’s been listening. ‘If you want.’

  I wasn’t expecting that. Sort of like going dancing with my brother. But I’m relieved. At least I won’t look alone and desperate. ‘That would be great.’

  Grant meets me out the front of the Dixie Bar, hands deep in pockets and wearing a soft blue shirt.

  ‘You made it!’ I cry, arms in the air.

  His shoulders go up. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Ready?’ I’m not carrying a backpack tonight. I feel light as I walk up to the bouncer. It’s the same huge dude as before.

  ‘ID?’ he says.

  I resist the urge to wink. ‘My name’s on the list. Scarlett Stirling?’

  The bouncer lifts the rope and Grant follows me up the steps.

  Once we’re in the main room, I let the pulse of the music on the floor take hold. The dance area’s already pumping.

  I turn and yell, ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK?’

  ‘Wha–?’ asks Grant, overacting a hand behind his ear.

  I laugh. ‘How about a drink as thanks for coming with me? Vodka? Rum and Coke?’

  He frowns. ‘How about a Diet Coke?’

  It’s like a reminder, a bridge back to where we came from. Diets, discipline and dedication. Can’t wait to drag him onto the dance floor.

  I buy the drinks and we find a table with teetering stools. It’s in a corner, tucked far enough away to talk.

  ‘So who’s getting your invitation to the grad performance, O’Hara?’ asks Grant.

  I suck on my straw, and swallow. ‘The NBC. It’s a no-brainer as far as I’m concerned.’

  One eyebrow goes up. ‘Only the best, eh? Well, I hope they see what you’ve got to offer.’

  ‘What about you?’

  Already Grant’s shaking his head. ‘Not doing one. I’ve already talked to Mr Ingleby. I’m applying for a Bachelor of Education.’

  I let the straw fall. ‘What? Uni?’

  Grant flicks his fringe. ‘Yeah. I want to teach secondary students, but I’m going to specialise in dance.’

  It takes a while to sink in. ‘So you’re not –’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Scarlett!’ Grant’s face breaks into a grin. ‘It’s been a long time coming. This is what I want to do.’

  ‘But all that work …’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not going to waste. And besides, I wouldn’t change a minute.’

  A group of girls shuffle past, holding their drinks high to stop them spilling. The dance floor’s throbbing. I’d rather be doing it than talking about it.

  ‘Come on.’ I pull him towards the action.

  Grant falls into a beat with me. We’ve spent so much of the past six years working together, there’s no question that our steps blend naturally. I can feel a few people checking us out. We’re not taking up much space, or really performing, but still I can tell we’re being noticed.

  At one point I look over to see three tall figures making their way through the crowd. People stop moving and stare. The women are all tall, and when I see the last one I also stop.

  Kitty Hudson.

  I grab Grant’s arm. ‘Come and meet Moss.’

  He pulls it back, and keeps dancing. ‘No thanks.’

  Can’t help pleading with my eyes. People are still moving around us and one bumps Grant accidentally. He steps to the side and says something I can’t catch.

  I lean close. ‘What?’

  ‘You could do better than him, you know,’ says Grant.

  ‘Better than Moss Young?’ I scoff.

  ‘People like that, they get a warped sense of reality. They don’t lead normal lives.’

  Who wants to be normal? I make a face, annoyed. ‘Are you coming or not?’

  Again he pauses, so I just head towards the stage. I’ve only gone a few steps when I turn back to see Grant behind me, frowning slightly but still following.

  TWELVE

  I’m not even sure how to get backstage. Last time I was on such a high that I don’t remember where we went. After a dead end, I find a black door. This is it. I push on the handle and slip through.

  It’s crowded in here, smoky and hot. Kitty and her friends have made it back here too. I recognise a couple of others. Bryn’s on the couch, strumming his guitar and talking to Rachel beside him. She lifts her head and nods.

  I can’t see Moss, but Bruno’s up the other end of the room, talking to Kitty. When he sees me walking over he pauses before his jaw muscles clench, then he turns slowly to Kitty.

  I act as if this isn’t weird. ‘Hey! I’ve brought a friend to catch the show. Grant, this is Bruno.’

  Bruno nods and holds out his hand to shake. ‘You, ah … know Kitty Hudson?’

  At the mention of her name, Kitty takes her time holding our attention as she pulls her straight blonde hair into a ponytail, twisting it before letting it fall around her bare shoulders again. ‘You’re one of the dancers,’ she says finally.

  At least she’s heard of me. ‘Scarlett. And this is Grant.’

  Bruno produces four beers from somewhere and hands one to Grant. He takes it awkwardly.

  ‘Oh, no,’ says Kitty and tuts as Bruno offers her a bottle. ‘Calories, darling.’ She tilts her head and pouts. ‘You know what I need.’

  Bruno holds up a finger to say wait here and disappears into another room.

  ‘I thought about being a dancer,’ says Kitty coolly. ‘Decided against it.’

  Grant stiffens, but that’s nothing compared to what’s going on inside my head.

  ‘No, well … modelling suits you,’ says Grant.

  Kitty just raises an eyebrow, accepting it as a compliment. I’d be cracking up if I didn’t hate this woman so much.

  ‘Heeey!’ Moss appears, slings one arm over Kitty’s shoulder, and sends a wink my way. I can’t help noticing that Kitty’s taller than him. Too tall, I decide.

  ‘And who are you?’ asks Moss.

  ‘This is Grant. He’s a dancer too,’ I say.

  ‘Male dancer, eh?’ says Moss. For a moment his eyes travel down Grant’s torso, then back up. ‘Come on. The more the merrier.’

  We follow Moss into another room. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here, but if she gets to spend time with him, then I do too.

  Bruno has his back to us, leaning over a table. When we come in, he turns and frowns. Kitty walks straight over to the table and bends over two lines of white powder.

  I turn towards Grant. His jaw clenches, a dark glare just for me. He places the beer on a nearby coffee table and crosses his arms. I turn back as Kitty stands away from the table, rubbing her nose.

  ‘Hey, Scarlett,’ calls Moss and holds out some kind of small straw.

  Bruno mutters, ‘Nah, mate, don�
��t.’

  For a moment I hesitate, then step forwards and put a hand on Moss’s shoulder. ‘Yeah?’ She did it. So I can too.

  ‘Have you done this before?’ asks Moss.

  ‘Mate, no,’ says Bruno again.

  What is his problem? I glare at Bruno, ready to tell him to mind his own business but he’s too busy looking at Moss.

  Moss reconsiders. ‘Why don’t you two have an E?’ He pulls a tiny snap-lock bag out of his pocket.

  ‘Thanks.’ I raise my eyebrows defiantly at Bruno as I take the bag. Inside are two tablets – pink, like musk lollies. ‘How much?’

  ‘Nothing for you, babe,’ says Moss.

  He gets busy with the band while I find Grant leaning against the wall. Already I can taste energy rising in the room. Not long until the band is on.

  I hold up the bag and tilt my head.

  ‘Why don’t you just have a drink?’ asks Grant dryly.

  ‘Calories, darling.’ But even I don’t laugh. I’m annoyed with Bruno, and somehow annoyed with Grant. ‘Look, if you want to go home –’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  I look at the bag in my hand. Nothing bad happened when I smoked that joint. The world didn’t explode. And even though I know I should say no, I can’t help wondering what it’s like to say yes. When I look up again, Grant’s still frowning at me. ‘Aren’t you curious?’ I ask.

  ‘Maybe. But I don’t want to try it here. And I don’t think you should either.’

  That sounds like a dare. I toss my hair, eyes on Grant. Then I tap a single tablet out of the bag and place it on my tongue. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.

  A cheer springs up in the main room as the band walks onstage. I turn back to Grant, and taste the tablet on my tongue. I was expecting sweetness, sherbet fizz, but there’s no denying this is a chemical. It’s so bitter. I swallow and make a face.

  ‘Do you want yours?’ I ask Grant, but he spins away from me and strides back into the main room. I follow. When we get to the dance floor, I begin to move. With him or without him, I’m here to have fun.

  I keep dancing. Arms up, swaying to the beat, eyes closed. Every now and then I sneak a glance at Grant, standing a little way off. He’s watching me, arms crossed. I decide to ignore him.

  As the band moves into their next song, something changes in the air. It’s like a sudden, harsh zoom. The building. The room. The space within me. The rush of my blood.

  The air is soft against my skin as I move. I’m flushed, switched to high.

  It’s not so much the goodness of this as the absence of bad. The sharp edges of my life have been removed. Dancing. Mum. My dad. Homework and next year. They don’t touch me like they normally do. I’m still myself, but without the raw spots. For once, nothing weighs me down.

  Moss’s voice reaches inside and I imagine my blood pulsing in time. When I turn to the stage the band seems to shimmer, standing behind a membrane of sound. I could touch it, I’m sure.

  There’s a change of song, then another. I find myself staring at a line of dust floating in laser lights. Why move when you can just feel?

  Grant touches my arm. I feel tingles and warmth from his hand. He’s holding out a glass, but I don’t want it. I feel utterly perfect, no need to change a thing. Grant doesn’t take no for an answer and I’m too happy to resist. So I accept the glass and drink. It’s like a mountain stream. How did he know?

  I smile and plant a kiss on his cheek, then bump him with my hip. Come on, don’t be like that …

  Grant takes back the glass and disappears while I keep floating, swaying. Another song stops and a new one begins. I’ve been floating for days when Grant reappears beside me. Maybe it’s just minutes.

  ‘How about we make this the last song?’ Grant yells above the music.

  I shake my head. ‘No way! This is amazing.’

  ‘Come on, Scarlett. We’ve been going since eight this morning. I’m tired.’

  This time I do stop. ‘All right, well … thanks for coming.’ I reach up and touch his cheek. ‘I’m going to stay.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you here on your own.’

  ‘Don’t worry! I’ll be fine.’

  Grant places a hand on my shoulder.

  I pull away. ‘Look, I’m fine, okay?’ I hear Moss signing off and realise I must have missed something. Where was I when he sang ‘Everywhere’?

  ‘Scarlett, listen to me,’ says Grant, but I push past him to see the band moving offstage. Confusion hits me, a memory of some other time. I’m not meant to be on the dance floor anymore. I’m one of them.

  ‘Scarlett …’ someone says.

  I push through the door backstage, desperate to find Moss. Nothing else matters. Wherever he is, I have to be.

  The back room is emptier now, but still charged with electricity. I move past people. Not you. Not you. Not …

  In the next room, I find him. He has his back to me, torso pressed so close to someone else that I can hardly see who she is. Just a thin arm around the back of his neck as they kiss. Kitty.

  For a moment, I stare.

  Something in me breaks.

  I thought I was okay with this. I thought I was fine.

  Turns out, I’m not.

  The Academy feels small on Monday, simple somehow. Not the real world. I go where I’m expected, do what I’m told, feeling like it’s all just a dream. People move past me, stressed and busy. I keep moving too, carried along by routine. I’m more tired than I’ve ever been.

  At various points through English, I notice Grant watching me. He found me backstage at the Dixie Bar, messed up and crying. I don’t remember much after that.

  We’re not in French together, but by psych Grant’s back, glaring at me.

  By lunchtime I’ve had enough. I fall in beside him as soon as he leaves his locker. ‘You wanted to come, okay? No-one forced you.’

  ‘I wanted to see what was going on,’ says Grant, eyes straight ahead. Then he turns to me and slows his pace. ‘And it’s even worse than I thought.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that.’ I turn away.

  For once I can’t even face a studio after school. When I get home, I pull out my laptop and start working. Not because I’m desperate to get my homework done, really, but because it’s better than thinking about Moss … remembering.

  Mum’s not home and I’m glad. I make a salad for dinner, then get back to work.

  I’ve nearly finished my French exercises when an image comes back to me of the way his head moved as he kissed her. The sense of seeing something I shouldn’t. It makes me want to throw up. I swivel away from my desk and take long gulps of water. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.

  When I finish drinking I feel better, clearer. Inside my wallet is the tiny snap-lock bag and a single tablet still inside. I pull it out and examine it. The edge has been chipped and powder has collected in the corner of the bag. I lie on my bed, knees to chest, and just look at the tablet.

  How strange that by simply swallowing a pill, my whole world can shift. I know now what it’s like. For just a few hours I wouldn’t have to be here. I wouldn’t have to carry this weight.

  I’m woken by my mobile. Slowly, I open my eyes. I’m on top of my doona, still in my clothes.

  I must have fallen asleep. The snap-lock bag is still in my hand, the tablet still inside. Luckily Mum didn’t check on me and find it.

  I hide the bag between the pages of a Dancer magazine and reach for my phone. Electricity floods through me as I see the name flash on the screen. Moss. It’s followed by a faint urge to throw up.

  For some reason my hands shake as I take the call.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Babe, where are you? Can you come over?’

  I check the clock. 12.17 a.m. Suddenly I’m wide awake. ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s this Manchester Nights song. I wan’ you to hear it.’ There’s a slur in his words. What has he been doing in the two days since I was at the club?

/>   The last time I saw him …

  ‘What does Kitty think of it?’ I keep my voice even. Innocent question.

  There’s a long pause and I think he’s about to hang up. ‘I’m not calling Kitty. I’m calling you.’

  Yes. He’s calling me. I should be glad but somehow it makes me annoyed. ‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’

  ‘Jesus, Scarlett! I haven’t slept in days. I need you to come over.’

  They’re not the right words exactly, but they’re close. ‘I don’t know. There won’t be any buses running this late. I have stuff on tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll send the car round.’

  I don’t say anything for a while. Then, ‘Okay.’ Because he called me.

  I’m used to packing my backpack by now.

  Mum’s not going to like finding the note when she gets up. And even though it’s a whole new way to punish her, I have a moment wondering whether this is too much. What will she think when she reads the scribbled words saying I’ve gone out?

  But what can she do to stop me?

  I pull open the front door, thinking she might hear the creak and come down. Then the door clicks shut and night is all around me, as if it’s been waiting.

  It’s cold out here, still and quiet. Air cools my nose, my throat. I stand on the curb, backpack on my shoulder.

  The houses are dark and cars line the street. Everyone’s asleep. In a few hours they’ll be awake. Everyday people leading everyday lives. Not like me.

  It’s the strangest thing when the car pulls up, like something from a dream. I wave hello and the driver nods. Did he have to wake up for this?

  The back seat is warm, deep leather. I settle in and yawn as we pull away from the sleeping street.

  Lights shine from every window at Moss’s place. The whole house is switched to ‘on’. He opens the door soon after I push the buzzer, and takes my hand in both of his. ‘Baaaabe.’ He kisses my hand before looking up. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  I blink against the brightness. Moss really does seem glad to see me. And in the time it takes to follow him through the house and into the studio at the back, I realise that I don’t hate him for what he did. He never lied about how it was going to be. He was honest when so many other guys would have told me exactly what I wanted to hear, and then done whatever they wanted behind my back. Surely that is worse.