Silhouette

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  ‘It was fine,’ says Izzy firmly.

  But Paige’s focus stays on me. ‘And the pas de deux with Tadpole? I’m sure you have heaps to say about that.’

  She’s acting as if I’m the one who betrayed her. Suddenly I can’t hold back. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? The whole show was amazing.’ My throat is tight with anger. ‘You should be happy! You got what you wanted …’

  There’s a moment of icy quiet before I see another flicker of the dancer who just stole the show.

  ‘Yes,’ Paige says, pushing her chin forward. ‘You’re right. I wanted the lead. There. I’ve said it. As soon as they started asking questions, I knew. I just had to tell the truth and all I’d ever hoped …’ Paige’s voice goes faint. ‘I saw the chance and I took it, just like you would have. Why should you get all the breaks?’

  ‘I auditioned, fair and square,’ I say thinly. ‘Just like you.’ But now it’s too much, and I realise I’m crying. Hot tears.

  ‘Yes, and then you treated your role like crap. Don’t try to blame me, Scarlett!’ Paige’s lips quiver. ‘You did this to yourself. All I did was tell the truth.’

  ‘The truth? Really?’ Tears are sliding down my cheeks. Angry tears. But hurt ones too. Paige has been closest to me all these years. She’s the one who’s meant to understand.

  ‘You knew … exactly what was going on, did you?’ I gulp.

  As we glare at each other, mascara streaks down Paige’s face.

  It takes me back to the first time I saw her at the audition for the Academy. She was small then, scrawny. So much determination in those eyes. How far have we come these past six years?

  What has it done to us?

  ‘I just wanted my chance,’ Paige whispers at the floor. ‘But once it was out … It all happened so fast and I … I couldn’t take it back.’

  ‘Over there,’ says a voice from the middle of the room. We turn to see Anka pointing our way, Jack by her side.

  He comes forward, eyes on Paige. ‘Go and get changed. The Artistic Director of the NBC is in the foyer, waiting to meet you.’

  ‘Now?’ Paige shrinks back. ‘I can’t.’ She turns to me, a kind of pleading in her eyes.

  But I can’t even look at her.

  ‘Did you hear what I just said?’ pushes Jack.

  ‘No, not now,’ she says again, and sniffs.

  Izzy grabs her by the shoulders. ‘You have to go out there.’ Paige catches Izzy’s nod and starts into her own. ‘Go and get changed.’

  ‘Come on.’ Anka grabs her by the hand and they disappear into the change rooms.

  Jack looks at me, then his eyes lower and he walks away.

  I turn to Izzy. ‘You should get ready for the meet and greet too.’

  ‘In a minute,’ she says.

  There’s something about the way she’s looking at me. ‘If you’ve got something to say, say it,’ I snap.

  Her forehead creases. ‘You think I’m angry?’

  I shrug. ‘Look, I know it’s a shock … the reason I was suspended. But I sorted that out on my own, before all this. You don’t need to keep looking at me like –’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I can’t finish. Like I betrayed you.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Izzy says, her voice urging me to look up, but I stay busy examining scuff marks on the floorboards. ‘I’ve spent the past six years comparing myself to you, looking up to you,’ she says quietly. ‘All of us have. You’re the one who’s meant to make it.’

  ‘So, now the roles are reversed,’ I mumble.

  ‘No, it doesn’t work that way,’ Izzy says impatiently. ‘Just because you messed up doesn’t mean that any of us will make it in your place! You had a chance, Scarlett, and you threw it away.’

  ‘Well …’ The anger, the hurt, the frustration all flare and burn, a swirling, churning desperation within me that has nowhere to go. I have no-one to blame except myself. I spin around. ‘I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was.’

  I’m almost out of the warm-up area when I hear Izzy say softly, ‘So am I.’

  NINETEEN

  Izzy’s words echo in my mind. I sprint up the steps and out into the night once more. This time I turn the other way, along the academic wing to the studios at the back. Tears trail down my cheeks.

  Leaves crunch on the garden bed as I reach up to the glass and peer into an empty studio. I’ll never dance in there again. Classical on Monday was my last class, but I didn’t realise at the time.

  The faint rumble of car engines drifts across the night air, but no-one’s nearby. My eyes slide to the end window that’s been left open.

  I tuck my fingertips underneath, and tug until it gives. Pull, then lift and push.

  I hitch myself up with my arms until I’m inside the studio from the waist up. I lift my leg and hook it over the windowsill, pulling myself through and flopping silently down to the floor.

  Brushing off my palms, I take in the space that so often has been my refuge. A streetlight from outside is enough to see by, but not so much that I feel exposed. I peel off my skirt and jacket so I’m in leggings and a top.

  At first I just stride the length of the room, accepting that this will be my last time here. But soon I can’t help it. I launch into a turning jump, feeling the familiar quickening of my pulse. I spin in the air before landing on the pads of my feet. My muscles tingle.

  More.

  I move into a series of turning leaps, an explosion of all that’s in me.

  You did this to yourself.

  My next kick hits so hard that it pushes air from me. A thud against my chest, forcing out a grunt.

  Painkillers, sleeping tablets, alcohol.

  Turning again, I tuck into a jump. There’s no structure. No beginning and no end. Each breath I take holds a sob not far away.

  I don’t want to stop. I have no idea what’s waiting on the other side of tonight. My movements keep building, gaining in intensity until, with a slap of bare foot on the floor, I stop. Breathing hard, I lift my eyes and see a figure in the mirror.

  She looks back, chest rising and falling. I see the sharp outline of my head. Eyes. Hips. Each line of muscle is sinewy and strong. It’s a body that’s been trained for years. Even just standing here, I can see the potential movement waiting within.

  For long seconds I just stand there, breathing hard. I’m still here. Smaller somehow. But still dancing.

  Again I begin to move. This time I’m kinder to the steps, allowing them to breathe and even coaxing them to speak. Sequences come to me easily. I take them in, adjusting and blending.

  The sense of focus builds and I play around with the steps even more. There’s nothing to prepare for. No reason to perform. I can’t remember the last time I did this, just enjoying the sensation of dancing. So many things that can’t be put into words find their way out through the steps, and I feel the bittersweet release of all that I’ve been holding inside.

  I don’t worry about being caught. If anyone happened to pass by they’d just see a shadow, spinning and dipping against the glow of a streetlight.

  I sleep late the next morning, a note left on the kitchen table to tell Mum that I’m home.

  Even when I wake, there’s no need to hurry. No reason to move. I lie under the covers, curled on one side. At least the anger’s gone. All I feel is numb. Acceptance, I guess.

  I think about Moss. Does he miss me? Probably not. At least knowing the truth makes it easier to let go.

  My mind moves to exams. There’s still time for study. Beyond that, my plans grow hazy. Auditions, perhaps. A million different possibilities stretch out before me. Travel, one day. A stint on a cruise ship, maybe. Finding a place in a company. The right one.

  It’s with surprise that I realise I’m not obsessing about the NBC anymore. It was my only goal for so long, but that dream now seems stale somehow, like it belonged to someone else.

  A smile comes to me as I think about dancing alon
e last night. The freedom. The sense of release. That’s what I’m searching for now.

  All day I stay quiet, reading and going for walks. Paige calls around lunchtime, but I don’t answer. There’s nothing left to say. I’ve accepted what’s happened, but closing night still looms. Today, I know I need to tread gently.

  Izzy and Grant each send texts, checking how I am and asking if I’m coming in. I’ll reply some other time. I’m listening to music when Paige calls again. Still, I ignore it. The phone rings out, goes quiet, and then Paige rings a third time.

  Annoyed, I hit answer. ‘Hello?’

  A moment of silence. ‘Hey. It’s me.’

  Picturing where she is and what she’s doing stabs an open wound.

  ‘Where are you?’ she says.

  I think about asking what happened when she met the Artistic Director of the NBC last night. But all I say is, ‘At home.’

  ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking … I can’t take it back, and I know you might never forgive me. But hear me out. I have a plan.’ Her voice drops. ‘Tonight, you have to dance. We’ll just swap everything back.’

  ‘Yeah, right. How’s that going to work?’

  ‘No, I mean it,’ Paige’s voice grows louder. ‘We’ll sneak you on stage. They won’t know until it’s too late.’

  ‘I’ve been suspended, Paige! Don’t you get that?’ It’s not like she can just change what happened. ‘You’re dancing tonight, okay? You need to get ready.’

  There’s another pause, and I’m glad she leaves it there. ‘But you’re coming in?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Mum has a ticket, but after last night …

  ‘Listen, Scarlett. You have to be here. I’ll come and get you myself if I have to,’ says Paige. ‘I mean, how many hours have we spent dreaming about the grad performance?’

  She doesn’t need to say more. ‘All right, I’ll come in.’

  After tonight, it will all be over.

  No-one’s in the change rooms when I arrive. Warm-up notes filter down from above. I hang out there for a while, delicately fingering the beading on costumes, breathing in hairspray and deodorant.

  Footsteps grow louder, then stop outside the door. ‘O’Hara?’

  I poke my head out from behind a rack. Grant. ‘Shouldn’t you be warming up?’

  He shrugs. ‘Yep.’ Pushing his hands into deep pockets, he strolls into the room. ‘You know, it didn’t feel right up there last night. Not because of Paige, but because one of us was missing.’

  I smile. ‘Thanks, Grant. I’m sorry about … the other day.’

  ‘Nah, don’t worry.’ He lifts a backpack from an armchair and dumps it on the floor. ‘If I thought that blowing the whistle would help, then I probably would have.’

  ‘But I didn’t need whistles,’ I say. ‘I handled it on my own.’

  ‘Except you weren’t,’ says Grant.

  ‘Weren’t what?’

  ‘On your own.’

  I take my time shifting make-up to a clear space in front of the mirrors, and pull myself up to sit. A rim of lights warms my back.

  Grant jerks his chin towards my shaved head. ‘So what’s the story?’

  I run my fingertips over my head. ‘It’s … something I had to do.’ I try to look confident. ‘It’s just hair, you know.’

  Grant nods.

  Soon more footsteps come close and Izzy bursts into the room, eyes scanning the space until they fall on me. She rushes forward as I jump off the bench.

  ‘You’re here!’ She reaches out and pats my head. I laugh and pull away. Izzy turns to Grant in the chair. ‘Lost the guys’ dressing room?’

  ‘Nope.’ Grant responds with a massive grin. ‘Quite happy here, thank you very much.’

  Izzy turns to me and her expression changes. ‘Listen.’ Her voice drops. ‘I feel really bad about what I said yesterday.’

  ‘It’s okay –’

  Already Izzy is shaking her head. ‘No, but I didn’t mean it. It’s just … I wanted you to be perfect, everything I’m not. And it turns out –’

  ‘Turns out I’m a complete stuff-up?’

  Her lips curl up at the corner, and she looks up at my head. ‘No, it turns out you’re just like the rest of us.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I smile.

  We’re quiet after that, warm-up piano notes still drifting down from above. Grant stands and lifts one leg in a stretch, using the chair’s backrest as support. I stay cross-legged on the bench. Even though I won’t be dancing, I’m glad to be backstage. I’m still part of it in a small way.

  Soundlessly, Paige appears in the doorway.

  ‘Hey,’ she says, stepping into the room. The others nod and smile in greeting while Paige folds a warm-up shrug in half and half again before tucking it into her bag. She straightens slowly and looks hopefully at me. Are we okay?

  There’s no more yelling in me, but I don’t see how we can ever go back to how we were. Still, I look back at Paige. I have to ask.

  ‘So … what happened last night in the foyer?’

  A pause. Paige stands away from her gear. She gives the smallest of nods. ‘Auditioning in three weeks.’

  There’s hollowness inside me, but not because of the NBC. I clear my throat. ‘Congratulations.’

  Paige’s expression barely changes as she clasps her hands behind her back, and I realise what she’s doing. She’s keeping it all contained. Holding back the excitement because it’s hers and no-one else’s.

  ‘I mean, I still have to get through the whole audition process and it’s just for the corps,’ she says. ‘But I’m through first base.’

  ‘Just the corps for the Nation Ballet Company,’ drawls Izzy at the mirror.

  Paige places her cool hands on my shoulders. ‘Have you thought about my idea?’

  I pull away, glancing at Izzy. ‘Don’t start, Paige. It’s completely crazy.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Izzy looks up, still holding her eyeliner pencil. From behind the armchair, Grant pauses, one leg in the air.

  Paige seems to grow taller. ‘I have a plan … a way to get Scarlett on stage tonight. We just have to sneak her on.’

  They’re all quiet, three faces staring at me. They’re really considering this. I turn it into a joke. ‘Imagine the scene if I place even my pinkie toe on stage.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have the guts to pull you off in the middle of a number,’ says Izzy slowly. ‘They’d wait until the end …’

  Paige steps closer. ‘At least dance the opening … and then I’ll take over.’ She looks down, biting her lip. ‘Or the finale? You can take that!’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ I know why she’s doing this, but still …

  More footsteps bring noise and laughter with Anka and the others. Talk of which company directors are in the foyer, discussion about an agent and whether he’s dodgy as they gather around the mirrors at the other side of the room.

  In among the voices, our group is quiet. Thoughtful.

  ‘What about Paige’s old solo?’ asks Grant.

  ‘But it was cut …’

  ‘ … at the last minute,’ say Paige and Izzy over each other.

  ‘So, we’ll bring it back.’ Grant nods at me. ‘And Scarlett can dance. Just one solo.’

  Three faces turn my way and I’m not sure what to think. I imagine dancing in Paige’s place. It’s always been one of my favourite moments in the show. A lone dancer, unaware that she’s being watched.

  ‘Do you want to dance tonight?’ asks Izzy.

  My lips part. ‘Of course, but … how can I? I don’t have a costume. I’d need help in the sound booth.’

  ‘We’ll help,’ says Izzy. ‘And Anton is in the booth – he’ll look after the music.’

  She makes it sound so easy. Still, I’m not sure. ‘But why? I mean … you guys are all dancing. Think of what you have to lose … Why would you help me?’

  ‘Because you’re one of us,’ says Grant simply.

  ‘How many ye
ars have we been dancing together … dreaming about this?’ says Izzy. ‘It’s the biggest night of our school lives.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I get it. More than I’m letting on. But it’s not as simple as that. ‘What if it backfires?’ I ask.

  ‘We’ll take the risk,’ nods Paige.

  I turn from one to the other, finding nods and hopeful smiles. It’s almost too much. I’m not sure how to stand. It’s the strangest feeling, as if I’ve been searching for something … a sense of family. A place to belong. And here they are, around me. They’ve been with me all along.

  TWENTY

  In hushed voices, we form a plan. We decide that I should dance the solo I’ve been working on. Paige is already using hers for the lead, so a straight swap makes sense. We don’t want to risk sneaking a costume, so Izzy scouts around and comes back with a backless leo, black tights, a hint of a skirt and foot paws for smooth turning on stage. It’s the simplest outfit of all time.

  There’s no time to rehearse, just enough time to call Mum.

  When I tell her what’s going on, there’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘I’m only telling you in case you want to come,’ I say. For once, she really could stop me.

  But Mum’s voice comes clear and warm. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’

  Anka catches me as I slip through the backstage door in full make-up. She laughs at my gasp of panic. ‘Don’t worry. We all know what’s going on.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell?’

  ‘Why would I?’ she says. ‘You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, Scarlett. But anyone can look good in a music video. If you want to go out there tonight, only half-rehearsed and looking like some kind of bald freak in front of the director of the National Ballet Company, be my guest.’

  I turn away so she doesn’t see she’s hit a raw nerve. I’m less prepared for this performance than ever. There’ll be no hair stylist tonight. No production crew. Just my dancing.

  Soon I’m in costume and smuggled behind a tea chest in the back corner of the wings, the place that was voted as the safest for me to hide.

  Keeping warm is my only problem, but adrenaline helps, and most of the time it’s only our class back here. At one point Miss Penelope appears to check one of the sets, but Tadpole steps calmly in front of my hiding place while others keep her busy.