Miss Raine sweeps into the studio and joins the other exam teachers sitting at the table. My stomach lurches.
‘We’re on a tight schedule because of the Prix so I assume you’re warm.’ She comes to a stop when she sees me at the barre. ‘Katrina.’
I plaster on a sunny, fake smile and turn. ‘It’s like a sauna in my leotard.’
Miss Raine hesitates and then almost whispers to me, ‘Your exams have been postponed until after the holidays.’
I wipe off the smile. I’m determined not to let her put me off. I couldn’t stand it. ‘I know. I want to take them now.’
‘We’re giving the second years special consideration. Why don’t you come back –’
‘I don’t want it hanging over my head again. Whether I’m coming back to the Academy or not.’ I swallow hard. ‘I couldn’t cope with that.’
‘If you sit them now, you’ll be marked on this performance,’ she warns me.
I suck in a breath and raise my voice. ‘Pass me if I’m good enough. Fail me if I’m crap.’
Miss Raine nods, and I can tell she is just a little bit impressed. She goes to the table and gestures for the music to begin. ‘Thank you, everyone.’ I move into my poses automatically at first and then I focus and settle. This needs one hundred per cent – all or nothing.
I get through Classical and Contemporary is next. My stomach is churning again and I pacify it with a huge bar of chocolate, munching as I pace up and down the corridor. I keep trying to tell myself that this is nothing – that Tara and Ben are competing in the Prix and that’s tons worse, but it’s not working.
Finally, the exam is over and I grab my stuff. Tara will be dancing at any moment and I’ve got to run as fast as I can.
I make it to the dressing room just as familiar music is playing over the internal PA. I rush in, still in my purple tutu, wearing trainers and a jumper.
‘I didn’t miss it?’ I can hardly breathe and the stitch in my side is crippling me. ‘Ran. Straight. From. Exam,’ I manage to get out.
Tara smiles. ‘How was pas de deux?’
My heart is bouncing around like a mad rubber ball. ‘If I make it into second year we’re working on my cardio.’ Abigail ignores me and keeps fiddling with Tara’s hair, but Tara hands me a water bottle. As I gulp it down, I work out that the music is for Grace and we all go up to watch. For once, she’s not pretending that she’s dancing hard, she really is putting everything into her performance and she’s spectacular. Awe-inspiring, even. I hope Tara doesn’t get dismayed by this, especially because they are dancing the same piece, that she realises she can do even better. I know she can.
‘Technically and artistically perfect,’ Tara says.
‘And yet …’ I’m more sceptical about it. There’s not much happening on Grace’s face.
Then Grace gets to the climax of the piece where she has to show great emotion, falling to the floor, and she does it in a way that you just know it’s all fake.
Abigail smiles. ‘Grace has never felt a genuine human emotion in her life.’ As Grace rises and curtseys gracefully to much applause, she adds, ‘And it shows.’
Grace runs into the wings, sweat gleaming on her skin, breathing hard.
‘That was beautiful,’ Tara says.
‘I think it was a nine. Nine point five.’ Grace’s smile is like ice as she looks at Tara. ‘How does it feel? To go out there knowing I’ve already taken away what you want most?’
I can’t believe my ears. The girl is poisonous! I want to scream at her, but the loudspeaker blares at us. ‘Representing Australia, Tara Webster.’
Abigail dismisses Grace in an instant and tells Tara, ‘Focus.’
Steven Heathcote announces to the world, ‘Also performing The Red Shoes.’
This is it. Tara doesn’t have time to worry about Grace. She has to go on stage and dance like she has never danced before. The music starts and she’s tentative at first, but then it’s like something changes, she changes before our eyes and becomes a whirlwind. She dances with such passion and energy and, yes, grief, that I cry with her. And at the end, when she collapses to the stage and the music stops, I’m not at all surprised to hear her sobbing. Even Abigail is crying.
When I’ve changed into my civvies, Abigail and I go to see Tara in the dressing room and find Ben there. ‘I need you out front,’ he says to Tara and then to us, ‘You, too,’ then rushes off. So we do as he asks and find seats in the audience. The other guys clap Tara and she smiles, but Christian seems distracted.
Abigail sits with Ethan, looking pleased with herself, and he teases her about how she’s been coaching Tara.
‘I bet they don’t dance like that in Barcelona,’ Abigail says.
‘They don’t dance like you either.’
I can’t quite pick up on what’s going on there, but before I can ask, they announce Ben.
‘In the Boys’ Contemporary section, Benjamin Tickle. Representing Australia.’
We clap madly as Ben walks onto the stage. For some reason he’s carrying a portable microphone. He taps the mike and says, ‘Hi.’ A pause. ‘My friend, Sammy Lieberman, was meant to be here and … he had some pretty unique ideas about what he wanted to do in this section. So I’m going to go with that.’
At the judge’s table, Steven interrupts. ‘I’m sorry Benjamin. But all choreography has to be approved in advance.’
‘I know,’ Ben says. ‘You’ll have to disqualify me then.’
We look at each other, stunned. He’s throwing it all away! Then Sammy’s voice comes over the speakers, and just the sound of it makes us smile.
‘Every dancer knows that being technically perfect is not enough. We need to know why we dance.’ Ben starts dancing, just as Sammy would’ve.
‘For me it’s to be connected. I’m inspired by my friends.’ Sammy’s voice rings out over the music, and then Ben comes to the front of the stage. ‘Guys? You’re leaving me on a limb here.’
What more do we need? We jump to our feet and join Ben, dancing for Sammy, celebrating him, remembering him, twirling and leaping, laughing. Even Miss Raine and Zach join us! The judges can only watch. Then Slade in the wings pushes a button and dozens of coloured balloons fall on us and the audience cheers and whistles. We kick balloons, hug each other and dance some more.
It doesn’t even matter when Grace wins the Prix. Tara seems to have found a prize more worth having, and her pride in herself and quiet happiness bonds us even closer. I want some of that, but I’m not sure how to find it.
When exam results are due to be posted, I go to the studio, fear eating away at my insides. What if I fail? What will I do? Ethan has gone back to Barcelona, taking Abigail (which doesn’t surprise me after all). But I want to face this alone. I need to. Even if I am scared to death.
The pages pinned to the wall blur in front of my eyes, but finally I blink hard and read.
There’s my name and there’s my mark … seventy per cent!
I read again, and smile. I do at last feel proud of myself. I did it!
I decide to spend Christmas on the farm with Tara, and I even braid my hair and wear overalls for it. She just looks at me after we’ve loaded the ute. ‘You know farm girls don’t actually dress like that?’
Surely she’s wrong? Okay, I wasn’t serious. ‘I’m getting into character,’ I tell her.
We hug and I get into the ute. The farm is going to be so cool, but next year will be even more cool – I’ll be in second year, and all that goes with it. More exams, performances, more classes. Kat Karamakov as a balletbot. I shiver, but it’s with excitement, not fear. I can’t wait.
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Read a sample from …
Tara
Everything To Lose
There’s a dream I’ve been having lately, where I’m all alone in the middle of a huge stage, wearing a floaty white dress and red pointe shoes.
As soon as I st
art dancing I know it’s one of those rare performances where everything is working perfectly. Every step, every turn, every arabesque is flawless.
As the music from the orchestra pit fills my ears I begin my series of fouettés, spinning effortlessly en pointe to the magical sound of applause from the audience.
This is it. This is what I’ve been striving for my whole life.
But then a knot grows in my stomach – a sense that I could either keep turning forever, or just as easily fall. And when I wake up, I can’t figure out if it’s a dream, or a premonition …
It’s just on dawn. I step out onto the veranda and breathe in the sweet early morning air. Beyond our garden, the wheat fields shimmer in the distance.
Christian is already up, sitting on the lawn cradling our latest rescue joey in his arms. He fumbles around with the feeding bottle, trying to get the joey to drink.
I smile at him. ‘You couldn’t sleep either?’
Christian tilts his head at the baby kangaroo. ‘He got me up,’ he explains.
‘You are such a pushover,’ I laugh. ‘Come on.’
Christian gently puts the joey down and follows me through the yard. We grab a couple of quad bikes from the shed and ride into the paddock, dodging sheep as we head up the hill. I spot Dad bent over a fence, wire cutters in his hand. He turns at the sound of our bikes.
‘Where are you two off to?’ he calls. ‘I thought City Boy was going to help me with this fence?’
I slow my speed and pull a face. ‘It’s our last day, Dad.’
Dad shrugs and grins, then goes back to his fence. I rev my bike and we zoom past him up the dusty track, heading for the very top of the hill.
We cut our engines and climb off our bikes. Below us, the golden fields seem to stretch on forever. There’s not a house or any other sign of humanity in sight. I love this place.
I turn to Christian to see if he feels the same way. ‘It’s like the whole world could have disappeared and we’re the only ones left,’ I tell him.
But Christian’s not looking at the view. He’s looking at me.
‘All right, Webster,’ he says, his voice serious. ‘You realise at some point this year we’re going to want to kill each other.’
I stare at him, my heart racing. What does he mean?
He breaks into a grin. ‘Let’s make a deal, okay? Nothing’s getting between us.’
I slowly exhale, relief flooding through me. He reaches for my hand and I shake it formally, sealing the deal. We sit on the side of the hill for a while, watching as the rest of the world slowly wakes up. Then we dance, performing dreamy pirouettes and lifts and arabesques, our feet as light as air in our chunky leather work boots.
Finally we stop, exhausted, deliriously happy. Christian pulls me close and kisses me gently on the cheek.
I think I’m going to enjoy this year.
A few days later we’re back in Sydney.
‘Can you believe this harbour?’ I say to Christian as we stroll hand-in-hand along the pier towards the ballet school. Ferry boats and yachts jostle for space on the sparkling water.
‘Tara!’ Kat shrieks, pulling me into a hug. Then it’s Sammy’s turn.
I hug them both back. Trust Kat and Sammy to be the first people we run into outside the Academy.
Kat shoots us a sly smile. ‘So how long exactly did the “just friends” rule last?’ she jokes, looking at our linked hands.
‘Yeah,’ says Sammy. ‘Who caved first?’
Christian and I point at each other.
‘He did.’
‘She did.’
I grin. We’ve become so close we even echo each other’s words. I stare up at the ballet school building, my skin tingling with anticipation.
‘Second year. Wow.’
Sammy nods. ‘Did anyone ever think we’d make it this far?’
Too late, he remembers one of us didn’t.
‘Oops. Sorry, Kat,’ he says, blushing.
Kat’s all smiles. ‘Hey, my new holding cell’s just around the corner. It’ll be like old times.’
But something in her eyes makes it hard for me to think she really believes that.
We wave Kat off to her new school and push our way in through the main doors. Inside, the corridors hum with people rushing about trying to find classrooms or hugging each other in greeting. I step back as a girl I’ve never seen before throws her arms around Sammy, pulling him into a kiss. Weird.
‘Check it out,’ Christian says, his finger pointing to the wall beyond them.
I look up to see my photo staring back at me. It’s an image from my performance as Clara in The Nutcracker last year.
‘You’re going to be the poster girl of second year,’ Christian tells me.
I shake my head. ‘Mmm. Somehow I can’t see Abigail letting that happen.’
‘Tara!’
Speak of the devil. Abigail launches herself at me, thrusting a giant leafy pot plant in my face as she envelops me in a giant hug.
‘Er, hi,’ I splutter, removing a leaf from my mouth.
‘I’ve put us down for our old room,’ Abigail chirps, then pauses, her face suddenly clouded with doubt. ‘I hope that’s not overstepping?’
I stare at her, wondering who replaced sly, grumpy Abigail with this new caring sharing model. Even Christian and Sammy have picked up that something here is very, very weird.
Abigail beams at them. ‘Christian! Sammy! Wow. Today we grow in strength with every forward step. This is Phil.’ She waggles the pot plant in their faces, then scampers off into the studio.
It’s going to be an interesting year all right.
I’m standing in the studio with the first and second year students, warmed up and ready to go. A hush falls over the room as Miss Raine walks to the front.
She clears her throat. ‘You’ve all heard the rumours so I’m going to get through this quickly.’
Christian and I trade looks. We’re pretty sure we know what’s coming next.
‘For the first time in thirty years,’ Miss Raine continues, ‘the world’s most prestigious ballet competition, the Prix de Fonteyn, will be held in Sydney.’
There’s a collective gasp from the first years behind us.
‘Preliminaries will be held at the end of the semester, followed by the Nationals, where it will be decided who goes on to represent Australia.’
I glance across to Abigail, certain that she’ll be wanting this just as desperately as I do. The Prix de Fonteyn is the Olympics of dance! But instead of sending me a snooty look, she smiles at me. Abigail? Smiling about something as competitive as the Prix de Fonteyn? Weirder and weirder.
Christian elbows me. Miss Raine is still speaking.
‘The Academy and the Company have been asked to be part of the launch tomorrow.’ She smiles at the man standing behind her. ‘Sebastian is choreographing.’
Sebastian Karamakov. Kat and Ethan’s dad. But I don’t want to think about Ethan right now …
Sebastian moves forward, arms folded casually, in control. ‘The international judges will be in the audience. I can’t stress enough that our school will be representing the entire dance community. This is your chance to make a lasting impression.’
I turn to Christian again, my face glowing. Is it just my imagination, or was Sebastian looking directly at me when he said those last words?
Don’t worry, I think, I intend to.
I’m standing behind the barre with Christian and Sammy, watching some of the first years rehearse their piece for tomorrow’s performance, when Sebastian lopes over.
‘Tara? I’d like you to do the solo.’
Me? The solo? You bet.
Christian grins. ‘Told you.’
‘Thank you so much,’ I gush to Sebastian. ‘I won’t let you down, I promise.’
Sebastian tilts his head. ‘Ethan will run through it with you.’
Ethan is here? I’d been so excited by Sebastian’s news I hadn’t noticed him come into the studio
. But now he’s standing right in front of me, and there’s nowhere else I can look.
‘Hi,’ I manage, feeling lame. The next thing I know Sebastian’s called Christian away, leaving the two of us totally alone. ‘Um, how are you?’
‘Never better,’ Ethan says flatly, his eyes cold. ‘Can you meet back here at two?’
I shrug. ‘Sure. That should give me enough time to have lunch and unpack and …’ I stop, realising he’s not really interested in my schedule.
‘See you then,’ Ethan says, walking off dismissively.
Abigail’s already in our room when I finally arrive. She’s being weird Abigail again, burbling on happily about beds and sides of the room and morning sun. I’m not sure I can handle all this sweetness and light.
There’s a knock on the door and Miss Raine appears in the doorway, her arm around a slim blonde girl the same age as us.
‘Good, you’re both here,’ Miss Raine announces efficiently. She pushes the girl forwards. ‘This is my goddaughter, Grace, who’s visiting from London. I’d like one of you to show her around.’
Grace leans forward, her eyes flashing impishly. ‘I told her I was old enough to make my own play dates but Lucy keeps me on a short leash.’
Miss Raine’s name is Lucy? Who knew? I can’t wait to tell Kat.
Miss Raine smiles fondly at her goddaughter. ‘I’ve been trying to convince Grace to get back into ballet but perhaps you two will have more luck.’
As soon as she leaves Grace flops down on the bed beside me. ‘Yay. New people. I’ve been under house arrest the last month.’
‘What did you do?’ Abigail asks her, clipping some leaves from her plant.
Grace yawns. ‘My dad’s getting remarried and I upset the stepmothers. And I grew up here, so …’
Abigail puts down her clippers. ‘Well, I’m Abigail, and this is Tara,’ she adds, giving me a rapturous smile. ‘She’s the most naturally talented dancer in our year.’
That’s it. I can’t take it any more.
Dance Academy: Second Chance Page 7
