And to top it all off, there was the fact that Kyle was unequivocally, indisputably, really fucking good at ballet.
‘Look at Kyle’s épaulement, everyone,’ Miss Izzy would say. Or, ‘Watch Kyle’s feet in his cabriole, Andy.’
His elevation was better than mine. He had better extension, better feet. He could do more pirouettes than I could. His package even looked bigger in his tights than mine did.
If dirty looks could kill, I would have slain Kyle Shepherd a hundred times over.
I’m dancing better than I ever have in the studio—I even add an extra pirouette at one point without trying. Everything is easy. Everything is perfect. And then his face materialises in the glare of the lights.
‘Aren’t you sick of it?’ he says. ‘Aren’t you exhausted?’
I hesitate for a moment—a fraction of a second—and I’m suddenly behind the music. I am no longer focused, no longer in the zone.
‘That’s why you hate me so much.’ His voice is booming in my ears. ‘You’re—’
I fumble a step and pause, right on centre stage. I’m completely lost. Panic floods my mind, drenching me in doubt.
What comes next? What’s the next step?
The music continues to play, leaving me for dead.
Think, Andy! Come on. Think. Get it together!
But my mind is empty. I have no fucking clue what comes next…
‘There’s one more dancer, and then you’ll be up, honey,’ the bushy-haired stage manager said, giving me a motherly pat on the back.
I was in the green room, surrounded by girls in tutus. The Ballarat Eisteddfod was one of the biggest ballet competitions of the year for Victorian dancers. And for me, the two-hour trip to and from Ballarat every day for a week was totally worth it for the prize money and exposure. I’d competed both years since I started ballet—and won every section I entered—but I’d never competed in the Open Classical Championship. And I’d never competed against Kyle Shepherd.
‘Thanks,’ I said to the stage manager, just as Kyle burst into the green room from the stage, drenched with sweat.
‘And that,’ he said, strutting through the sea of tulle, ‘is how you nail a variation.’
A girl in an outrageously pink tutu galloped over to him in a fit of squeals, prompting Kyle to squeal too. I rolled my eyes and turned to face the wall, pressing against it to stretch out my calves.
From the moment we’d walked through the stage door that morning, I’d wanted to knock Kyle out. If I thought I’d seen him at his most flamboyant, I’d never seen him at a ballet comp.
‘How you feeling?’ someone asked from behind me, panting.
‘Fine,’ I said, refusing to turn around. I knew it was Kyle, and I couldn’t bear to look at his smug face.
‘The stage is a bit slippery in a couple of spots down the front, you might want to—’
‘Got it,’ I said to the wall, gritting my teeth.
‘Andy, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Then, why won’t you look at me?’
I whipped around to face him. ‘Look, do you mind? I’m trying to warm up, okay?’
‘Okay,’ he said, frowning. ‘Well…’ And then he leaned in, hugged me around the shoulders and kissed me on the cheek.
‘What the f—’ I pushed him away.
‘Whoa, Andy,’ he replied, grinning awkwardly. ‘I was just going to say good luck.’
‘Well, just don’t, all right?’ I said, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed him hugging me.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he said, his eyes narrowed.
‘I’m fine.’ But I couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘And I don’t need you to wish me luck.’
‘It’s okay to be nervous,’ Kyle said. ‘It’s a big competition.’
‘I’m not nervous.’
‘Then why are you being so weird? Is there something you want to talk about?’
He really didn’t know when to shut up. This time, I ignored him. I walked over to the costume rack and grabbed my jacket.
‘Look,’ he said, tailing me, ‘it’s not good to dance if you’ve got something on your mind.’
I slipped the brocaded jacket on over my unitard and zipped it up at the front.
‘Andy?’
‘What?’ I snapped, turning to face him. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to help.’
‘We’re not friends, Kyle,’ I said, drenching my voice in as much contempt as I could manage. ‘And I don’t need your help.’
Kyle folded his arms across his chest. ‘Why do you have to be like this? What the hell did I ever do to you?’
‘Give it a rest.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Ever since I moved here you’ve been a total asshole to me, no matter how hard I tried to be nice to you.’ He swept his wet fringe back from his face. ‘What did I ever do to you? Is it because I’m a better dancer than you? Is that it?’
I scoffed. ‘Fuck off, Kyle, don’t try and throw me off my game.’
‘If that’s all it is, then that is so incredibly childish. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am today, and—’
‘It’s not that,’ I snapped back at him in a harsh whisper. ‘It’s because you came in here today, mincing around like you own the joint, and then you go and kiss me in front of everyone.’
Kyle looked baffled. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘They’re all gonna think I’m gay, that’s what.’
He snorted. ‘Wow, Andy. I knew you were an asshole, but I didn’t think you were a homophobic asshole.’
‘I’m not—’ I reduced my voice to a whisper ‘—homophobic, and can you just keep your bloody voice down? I’m not. I just don’t want everyone to think I’m—’
‘Gay? Because you hugged another boy?’ Kyle groaned. ‘Jesus Christ. I fucking hate country people. You’re all the same.’
‘I’m entitled to my opinion.’ Sometimes I sounded so much like my dad.
‘No,’ he said flatly, ‘you’re not. Not on my life and how I want to live it.’ He turned away and then whipped back around towards me, his cheeks flushed with anger. ‘You know what? I’ve wanted to say this for a really long time, but I always bit my tongue because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But do you know what I think, Andy? I think you’re gay. And that’s why you hate me so much. Because I represent everything you hate about yourself.’
‘Fuck you, Kyle.’
‘Ugh, you’re always acting so damn macho,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Aren’t you sick of it? Aren’t you exhausted?’
‘I’m not acting anything.’
‘Whatever,’ he replied. ‘Just do me a favour and stop taking your shit out on me. I can’t help it that I’m out and proud and fucking fabulous, and you’re just another sad-old, country-boy closet case.’
And with that, Kyle turned on his heel and bounded off down the stairs to the dressing rooms.
I just stood there, gaping after him, until someone tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Andrew?’ the stage manager said, her clipboard poised at the ready. ‘You’re up, honey.’
I stand there for an eternity, praying that on the outside I still look calm, poised, strong. Because on the inside, I am dying.
I manage to fudge my way through a set of basic chassé turns to give my brain time to shake free of the panic. The turns aren’t impressive, but they’re better than just standing there on the spot like a complete fuckwit. As I turn, I hear the violins on my track move through a dramatic crescendo and, as if a fuse has suddenly been switched back on in my brain, I remember which part of the choreography I’m up to.
I breathe in the sweet, intoxicating scent of relief. My brain-freeze will have cost me a bunch of points, but I can still do this, I can still win…
I nail my next set of jumps, move faultlessly through an intricate chain of footwork—my ‘lightning-feet’ section, as Miss Izzy calls it—and find myself centre s
tage again, ready for the final challenge.
I prepare for my pirouettes à la seconde, my feet planted firmly on the stage, my eyes drilling holes into the haze of light before me. And just as I start to turn, Kyle’s voice infiltrates my mind once more.
‘I’m a better dancer than you.’
Fuck off, Kyle. Not now.
‘You’re always acting so damn macho.’
I turn and turn and turn, willing myself to stay focused.
‘You’re just another sad-old, country-boy closet case.’
I’m a spinning top. Perfectly balanced.
‘You’re gay.’
In my mind, I laugh. It’s completely ridiculous. Kyle Shepherd doesn’t even know me. The fact that he thinks I could… that I’d ever want to… I mean, the idea of even kissing a guy like Kyle is… it’s just… it’s insane, is what it is. I mean, I used to see guys naked at footy all the time and, yeah, I looked occasionally, but if I was gay, I would have, you know… when I looked at them, wouldn’t I?
No, I am not gay. I’m not. He’s just fucking with me. There is no way in hell that I’m—
Pain suddenly shoots through my right knee and the lights scorch my eyes. A gasp rushes around the auditorium. Something hard and cold is pressing against my body, and it takes me a few seconds to realise it’s the stage.
I’m on the ground.
I fell.
But how? My turns were perfect. I was perfect. I was—
Whispers hiss through the theatre like hungry snakes, ready to feast on my humiliation. My heart crumbles to dust inside my chest. The music continues to play as I push myself up and dart off the stage into the shadows.
This was my moment.
And now it’s gone.
‘Why the fuck did you say that to me?’ I say as I slam the door to the male dressing room open.
Being the only two Under 16 male competitors, Kyle and I have the dressing room to ourselves. He is sitting on the floor, stretching, his legs spread wide on the carpet. He’s still wearing his tights, but he’s replaced his bejewelled jacket with a grey t-shirt. He pulls his headphones out of his ears and looks up, scowling.
‘Sorry?’ he asks.
‘Why did you say that to me?’ I repeat, louder.
‘I take it you didn’t go so well?’
My laugh is almost hysterical. ‘“Didn’t go so well”? I completely fucked it, Kyle.’
He stands up. ‘What do you mean? What happened?’
‘I fell out of my turns at the end. Because of you.’
His eyes widen. ‘Me?’
‘No, the other dickhead in here with us,’ I say. ‘Yes, you. Because of that shit you said to me right before I went on stage.’
Kyle sidles past me and shuts the door gently. I move across to the other side of the dressing room, not wanting to be near him.
‘Look, I’m—’
‘You did that on purpose,’ I spit. ‘Didn’t you? You just wanted to psych me out so you could win.’
Kyle just stands there, gaping at me.
‘It’s pathetic,’ I continue. ‘Just because you’re so insecure about your own talent, you thought you’d try and get inside my head and throw me off.’
‘Andy, that’s not why I said it,’ he replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘Don’t you bloody laugh at me!’
‘I’m not,’ he says, holding his hands up in an apology. ‘I’m not laughing. I just can’t believe you think I’d need to throw you off to win the Championship.’
‘What?’
‘I’m a better dancer than you,’ he says, not unkindly, but as though it’s not up for discussion. ‘You know that. You’re awesome, but you’re… not quite there yet.’
‘What the hell do you know?’
Kyle takes a step towards me and places his hands on his hips. ‘Well… for one thing, I know that I got accepted into the Australian Ballet School for next year.’
It’s like a punch in the gut, like a footy tackle that’s come out of nowhere.
‘I only found out a few days ago,’ he says. ‘Miss Izzy said not to tell you until after the eisteddfod. She didn’t want to upset you.’
‘What, like I’m some kind of fragile little tiny tot?’
Kyle chuckles.
‘Stop fucking laughing at me!’
He holds a finger up to his mouth. ‘Shhh, will you? You’re going to get us in trouble.’
I can’t think straight. Not only did Kyle ruin my chances of winning today, now I find out he’s going to ABS next year. So even if I’m lucky enough to get accepted for the year after, I’ll have to deal with him being there.
‘And, look,’ Kyle begins, ‘about before. I’m sorry if I upset you. It was not my intention to throw you off your game. I was just… I was angry. I’m sorry you messed up, but—’
‘You messed me up,’ I snap. ‘I was killing it. Until…’
‘Until what?’ Kyle isn’t laughing now. ‘You realised I was right?’
I clench my jaw, my face burning. ‘You were wrong,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘I am not… like you.’
‘Then why did it affect you so much?’ he asks, his voice measured and mild. ‘Tell me, Andy, if you’re not gay, why are you so mad at me right now?’
‘I am not gay!’ I storm across the dressing room and grab Kyle by the front of his t-shirt. He doesn’t even flinch. As usual, nothing gets to Kyle Shepherd.
‘I see the way you look at me,’ he says, simply. ‘At the studio, in class, when we’re getting changed. You’ve always looked at me.’
‘What?’ I scrunch up my nose, disgusted by what he’s implying.
‘None of the other guys at school look at me. They tease me, they throw shit at me, they hide my stuff sometimes, but they never look at me like you do.’
‘I don’t look at you,’ I reply, hearing the petulance in my own voice.
‘Sure,’ Kyle says. ‘If you don’t want to accept it now, that’s fine. Maybe you’ll come to terms with it in a few years. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll end up as one of those creepy old gay men who has a wife and children and a boyfriend on the si—’
I push Kyle up against the painted brick wall and he grunts in pain.
‘What the—let go of me, Andrew.’
‘Take it back,’ I say, my face only an inch from his.
He stares back at me, his frosty blue eyes locked on mine.
‘Take it back,’ I repeat, tears starting to prick my eyes.
But Kyle doesn’t reply. He just looks at me. And I look at him. At the ocean of calm in his eyes. At the symmetry of his nose. At the fullness of his lips. For a long moment, we just stand there in silence, our chests rising and falling in unison, breathing in each other’s air.
And then I kiss him.
Even though I hate him. Even though he’s a guy. Or, I dunno, maybe because I hate him, and because he’s a guy. But, in that moment, I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that our lips stay connected.
At first, Kyle is stunned by my sudden advance, his lips parted but not moving. But then he kisses me back, and something explodes inside my chest. Electricity darts from my lips to my brain to my fingertips to my crotch. The room starts spinning and my feet leave the ground and then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over.
Kyle pulls away and says, ‘You’re kind of hurting my back.’
I realise I’m still pressing him against the wall and let go of his t-shirt.
‘Sorry,’ I say, looking at our feet.
‘That was… unexpected,’ he says eventually.
‘Sorry,’ I say again. I can’t bear to look at him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him—at anyone—ever again.
‘No, no,’ he says, ‘don’t be sorry. It was—’
I turn away and walk over to the costume rack, feeling sick to my stomach. ‘It was stupid. I don’t know what—I didn’t mean—’
‘Andy, I said—’
‘No,’ I cut in, ‘please don’t say anything. I don’t know what I was thinking. It doesn’t mean anything, I just—’
‘Andy,’ Kyle presses, from beside me now. ‘I’m trying to say that I liked it.’
He takes my hand, gently, as if it’s made of glass, and I look up. He smiles. And he kisses me.
This time, it’s soft. Tender. He places his hand on the side of my neck and a tingle spreads through my entire body, making the air inside my lungs feel suddenly lighter.
There is a sharp knock on the door and a man barges in. I let go of Kyle’s hand and turn away from the door, clearing my throat.
‘Oh, sorry,’ the man says. ‘I…’
‘It’s okay, Dad,’ Kyle says. ‘We were just… debriefing.’
‘I can see that,’ Kyle’s dad says, obviously not fooled, but definitely not offended. ‘Your mum wanted me to come and see if you wanted to watch the last few girls dance from the front.’
‘Sure, yeah,’ Kyle replies. ‘Andy, do you want to—’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I say, in a weak voice that doesn’t even feel like it belongs to me. ‘I’m gonna stay here.’
Kyle grabs a pair of trackies from the rack beside me and slides them on over his tights. ‘You sure?’
‘Yep.’ I sit on the floor and grab my foam roller, unable to look directly at Kyle.
‘Okay, see you after?’
‘Yep, cool.’ I keep my eyes on the carpet.
When Kyle walks out of the dressing room, his dad says, ‘You danced really well, mate. Shame about that fall,’ before following his son down the corridor.
I jump up, shut the door and press my back into it, my eyes closed. When I open them again, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I walk over to it, lean down on the bench and gaze into my own eyes.
And I start to cry.
I have no idea how long I’m standing there, staring at my own reflection, but every time I wipe away my tears, fresh ones replace them.
I study my face in the mirror, expecting to see someone else staring back at me. A completely different boy. One who kisses other boys. But it’s just me. Red-faced and tear-soaked, but still me. Nothing has changed.
But at the same time… everything is different.
Underdog Page 11
