Christian Read online

  I’m in no mood for games. I scowl.

  ‘Okay,’ Sammy says. ‘Sweet.’

  So we dance, but Sammy keeps pulling out of the lift. ‘I’m too heavy,’ he says. ‘You’re going to buckle.’

  ‘Trust me. Ready? One two three …’ I lift him easily into the air. He’s elated.

  After that we relax and even enjoy ourselves. I forget about Aaron and just muck around. I start to think maybe things can go back to how they were before. I mean nothing’s really changed has it? They just know the whole story. Maybe that will even make things easier.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Raine,’ Mr Kennedy’s voice rings out. ‘I’m after Christian Reed.’

  I turn around, along with everyone else in the class. There’s Mr Kennedy, and standing next to him, a fine upstanding officer of the law.

  Later, alone in the studio, I turn and turn and turn, but anger fills my head with white noise, and I can’t concentrate. I fall out of alignment and try again.

  Then I hear his cocky voice. ‘Looking good, Cheddar.’

  ‘The school knows you stayed last night. They’re not happy.’

  ‘I didn’t meant to cause you any grief. How’d they find out?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I told the cops you were here all night.’

  ‘Right. Thanks.’

  ‘So where were you?’

  ‘I got a call from the Longleys.’ There’s something in his voice when he says that. Not shame. Pride, that they picked him. ‘Just at the last minute. I didn’t even know I–’

  ‘So it was just luck that I was your alibi?’

  ‘I swear–’

  I interrupt. ‘It was great seeing you and all, but I shoulda known. There’s always an angle.’

  ‘Don’t be like that Cheds.’

  ‘The whole reason I’m even here is because of you. “Come and help me out on something. No one’ll get hurt. Easy money.” And now the cops are at my school.’

  ‘Hey. It’ll be sweet. A couple of months this will all be over.’

  ‘You don’t know that!’ I say. I’m sick of him treating this as if it’s not serious.

  ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Cause that’s really helped me in the past.’

  ‘So leave! Indonesia’s calling.’ He gazes at me. It’s a challenge.

  I hold his gaze. ‘I’m staying.’

  I walk back to the mirrors.

  He raises his voice. ‘You think they’ll ever let you be one of them? A ballet boy? You can’t change, mate. Nobody can. They won’t let you.’

  I turn and turn and turn. And his words turn too, whirling around the room, echoing through me. But I keep turning, and this time I have perfect control of the pirouette. And finally, when I stop, he’s gone.

  Kat finds her camera. She brings it over to my table at the café to show me, with two egg and bacon rolls on her tray.

  ‘Found it wedged in the couch this morning. I’m a bad person.’

  I manage a smile. ‘Yeah, that couch is like a black hole.’

  ‘So do you want to talk about petrol stations? Or Aaron?’

  The smile fades. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’ She takes her camera and turns away.

  ‘But I’ll have one of those rolls.’

  She grins.

  Sammy and Tara come over and sit at the table, making stupid jokes about Sammy’s pointe shoes. The bristling awkwardness is gone. And I realise, they all know why I’m here and they still want to be here, sitting at this table with me.

  CHAPTER 9

  The semester goes into hyperdrive. Exams come and go. Amid the tension, everyone goes kind of love-crazy. Ethan falls, big time, for Tara. And there’s something going on between Sammy and Abigail, or there is until Abigail faints during the pas de deux exam and after that disappears from school.

  Everybody’s parents turn up to watch the end of semester exhibitions and then take their kids home for the holidays. I drift to the sidelines. It doesn’t escape my notice that they all have problems. Tara’s parents seem pretty stressed out. Sammy’s dad doesn’t come to watch him dance. Kat’s mum lets her down again. But despite their flaws, at least Tara, Sammy and Kat have people who love them. So between dance classes, I go back to my old ways, keeping to myself.

  The ute is a thing of beauty. My brother Drew was always fixing up vintage Holdens that he’d pick up for nothing, and sometimes he let me watch, though never touch. He would have loved this one. I peer in the window, trying to see how many ks it’s clocked.

  ‘Oi! What do you think you’re doing?’ Sprung. I edge away. ‘I’m talking to you, son.’

  ‘You’ve got a leak,’ I offer.

  ‘Is that right?’ He looks at me, surprised. ‘Weren’t you just dancing with my daughter?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I didn’t think a ballet boy would be interested in cars.’

  ‘I didn’t think a ballet girl’s father would own something decent.’

  He grins. ‘Catch me later,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘We’ll see if we can do something about that leak.’

  After the solos, I retreat downstairs. It’s hard seeing kids dragging their parents around, even harder to hear them whinging about their folks behind their backs. Neil Webster, Tara’s dad, is outside, with the bonnet of the ute up. He sees me come out and calls me over.

  ‘All right, mate, let’s see what you know about cars.’

  ‘Ah, not much. Really.’

  ‘Come over here, city boy. You were the one who saw the leak. So what’s the first thing you check when you open the bonnet of the car?’

  ‘Ah … fluid levels?’

  ‘Not bad. What else?’

  I think back to Drew’s projects. ‘Belts?’

  He slaps my shoulder, ‘We’ll make a mechanic of you yet.’

  He starts quizzing me on where everything is, amusing himself greatly when I point to the carburettor instead of the alternator.

  ‘Tara Banana,’ he calls out as she walks out of the Academy. ‘Come help your old dad. The city boy doesn’t know how to find the alternator.’

  As her dad goes to get the tools out of the ute’s tray, she stammers to me, ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’ She’s gone before I can say anything, but I can see how upset she is.

  ‘Where’d she disappear to?’ Mr Webster asks, bemused.

  ‘I’ll go find her,’ I offer.

  I follow Tara down into the park by the pond. There are tears still wet on her cheeks.

  I offer her my hankie. She looks at it doubtfully. ‘It’s clean.’ I sit down next to her. I figure if she wants to tell me why she’s so upset she will. I say, ‘Your dad was telling me about your property. It sounds …’

  ‘It is.’ She looks down at the swans crowding around, hoping for picnic leftovers. ‘They’re actually ugly, aren’t they? All those ballets that go on about them being so beautiful. But up close …’

  I smile. ‘Weird necks.’

  It turns out that Tara has to drop out of the Academy. Her parents can no longer afford the tuition. Kat and Ethan are devastated. Sammy’s furious, thinks she’s giving up, that she should fight to be here. But when it’s just the two of us I tell her, ‘Hey, you did good.’

  She smiles sadly. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’d give up this place for your family any day.’

  And the sadness fades for a moment.

  Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because she gets a scholarship. And everyone jumps around and squeals and hugs that she’s coming back. And even I feel a strange, strong tug of something. I think they call it happiness.

  Soon enough though, the semester ends. The squealing and hugging and noise and energy fades away and all that’s left in this place is me.

  I practise in the studio. I shoot baskets. I skate. I read. I go quietly mad.

  In the studio Edgar, the cleaner, bails me up.

  ‘When I was your age, I was in trouble with the law, too,’ he tells me, jabbing a finger in my direction. ‘You’re luc
ky you got people who care for you. Don’t screw this up.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I tell him.

  ‘You listen to me. Or you’ll end up cleaning this floor like me, hey? Working with a harridan like her.’

  The harridan is Gloria.

  In the kitchen she says, ‘Such a good boy. Such a nice boy. Those policemen made a mistake about you.’

  ‘No mistake,’ I tell Gloria. ‘It was my own stupid fault.’

  She pats my cheeks. ‘You just tell them you’re sorry. You tell them it won’t happen again.’ She gives me a big slice of passionfruit sponge. ‘Here. Just like I make for my own children.’

  I think Gloria wants to adopt me.

  She covers the rest of the cake and hides it in a cupboard. ‘So that rat won’t find it.’ She means Edgar. ‘Anyway, Carrot Sticks won’t eat it.’

  She means Abigail. She’s been in and out over the break, seeing the counsellor. They won’t let her dance and it’s killing her. She’s meaner than ever. Sammy hangs around waiting for Abigail’s scraps. It’s painful to watch.

  So. Fun times. I’m elated to see Tara back early. She walks past the café.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Good holiday?’ she asks.

  ‘Did you know that Gloria in the kitchen hasn’t spoken to Edgar the cleaner since the passionfruit sponge incident of 2002?’

  ‘So climbing the walls then?’

  ‘Little bit.’

  She laughs. It’s really, really nice to hear her laugh.

  Later in the practice room, Miss Raine tells us, ‘Tara’s balance will change in pas de deux now she’s en pointe. I suggest you spend the rest of your holidays practising.’

  So we meet up in the mornings to practise. I find myself looking forward to it.

  ‘Frisson,’ Sammy says to me one day at breakfast, sitting himself down at my table. Abigail must have a counsellor’s appointment.

  I look at my muffin. ‘No. Blueberry.’

  ‘Frisson,’ he warns me again. ‘It’s French. The thrill of being close to your partner, the intimacy of the dance. Like me and Abigail.’

  ‘Believe me. I am nothing like you. And Tara is nothing like Abigail.’

  ‘No,’ Sammy agrees, gazing into the distance.

  ‘Anyway, she’s got a boyfriend.’

  Sammy shrugs. ‘So did I when I met Abigail. Have a girlfriend, I mean.’

  ‘Let’s drop it. There’s no thrill.’

  ‘Admit it. You like her.’

  I shrug. ‘Sure I do,’ I answer. ‘As a friend.’

  Sammy stares at me way too long, like a police interrogator in a lame cop show.

  ‘Why are we even having this conversation?’ I demand. ‘Did she say something to you?’

  ‘Trust me. There’s something there. Frisson. Anyone watching you two dance can see it.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Ethan’s my mate. And Tara’s just a friend. That’s all.’

  That night I get a phone call from Ethan. He sounds panicked and the line is all crackly, but he seems to think Tara’s in some kind of danger, stranded outside an all ages club in a dark alley somewhere, with hoodlums circling. He’s still away on break and asks me to check on her.

  It’s not too hard to track her down. There she is, sitting on the step with the bouncer, chatting. She looks all right to me.

  ‘Ethan seemed to think you were in some kind of danger.’

  ‘Christian!’ she squeals. She runs down the stairs and throws her arms around me. I half hug her in return, feeling slightly awkward.

  It’s a clear crisp night. We walk back towards the Academy.

  Tara checks her watch. ‘Twenty minutes till curfew. Let’s walk really slow.’

  I walk slow-motion.

  Tara laughs. ‘Okay changed my mind. Giant steps.’

  We walk like space men, huge steps.

  ‘Stop right there,’ I say. She freezes midstep. ‘Race you to the end of the park?’

  ‘Okay.’ She crouches down. ‘Ready, set –’ she springs off at a sprint.

  ‘Cheat!’ I chase her.

  I catch up to her on the grass. We start to dance, the slow elegance of the pas de deux. And I kind of get ballet, all of a sudden, down here, under the bridge. I get that the slow, strong grace of it is beautiful and sexy, compared to the sharp pronounced movements of hiphop. I feel this frisson that Sammy was talking about, an electricity that travels to the ends of my fingers and toes, that buzzes when we touch. I think about that weight in my belly that I had at the beginning of the first semester whenever I danced, that sick feeling. And I realise it’s, well, not completely gone, but not the same. Replaced by a fizz, that is almost sickening except it’s so blissful. I dance now not because I am required to by the courts and not because of any obligation to my mother. I dance for Tara.

  We fall, slowly to the grass, and lie there, looking up at the bridge and the sky.

  And we just talk, spinning our stories, about other nights, other moments, other dreams we’ve spun.

  Finally I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at her. ‘Why are you going out with Ethan?’ I ask her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m just asking.’

  ‘Because … he’s perfect. In every way.’

  Something about her voice is unconvincing, but I really don’t want to hear anymore. ‘Okay.’

  ‘You may not see it but I feel it, and I really …’

  ‘I said, okay.’

  She looks up at me. ‘The train’s coming,’ she says.

  I lean down towards her and for a moment she’s right there, the roundness of her perfect bottom lip is irresistible. The moment before I kiss her, she pulls away. ‘We should get going,’ she says, abruptly. ‘We’ll miss curfew.’

  We walk back to the school, suddenly apart. The thing is, she felt it, too. I’m sure she did. The next day Ethan comes back.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘Not practising today?’ Sammy asks. He’s moved back into our room after the holidays.

  ‘Ethan’s back.’

  He turns to face me, contact lens halfway to his eye. ‘Sometimes you have to fight for the things you want.’ Sammy looks at me. ‘I should know about that.’ Poor Sammy. His dad gave him a hard time all break, about getting serious, losing the ballet and focusing his energy on academia.

  It’s impossible to avoid Tara in this place. She’s everywhere; at the café, down by the harbour, in class, in the common room. Wherever I go, there she is. Now when I am close to her she goes stiff and cold, she speaks in syllables, not words, as if that night never happened. Or as if it was horrible for her, as if she can’t bear to be around me.

  Ethan asks us both to dance his choreography for a showreel he’s putting together. At first I think he must suspect something and that this is a test, then I realise that he really doesn’t. Besides, what’s to suspect? I know how I feel, but does Tara like me, or is she angry with me? I’m not sure anymore.

  Tara dances like I’m poison. Every time I touch her she flinches or pulls away. When I try to lift her she goes leaden and we fall. So much for frisson.

  ‘Careful!’ she screeches.

  ‘You were fine.’

  ‘I was about to fall flat on my face,’ she accuses me.

  ‘When have I ever dropped you?’

  ‘I thought you two were supposed to be getting along better now,’ Ethan says.

  Tara mumbles something. Fed up, Ethan kicks us out. Tara stalks off in the opposite direction to me.

  Later I find her sitting by the side of the harbour with the dog that made a cameo appearance in Miss Raine’s class, which–the rumour mill being the efficient machine it is–I know was found by Petra, the new German exchange student.

  Tara ignores my attempts at conversation.

  I can’t help it. ‘I thought we were supposed to be getting along better now.’

  Tara throws me a dirty look.

  Kat skips over waving a phone. ‘Not a psycho after all but rather the
legitimate owners of “Lady Curlington”, they’re coming for her right away. Who’d call a dog that anyway?’ Kat looks around. ‘Where is she?’

  Tara and I glance around guiltily. Apparently the dog going missing is my fault as well. Tara storms off to find it, apologising profusely to Petra and Kat and scowling viciously at me.

  ‘I’ll help too,’ I offer to Petra, and run off after Tara.

  To punish me as we search, Tara lists all the things she hates about me. It’s a fun list–my smirk, my mole, my answer for everything, my smirk again.

  Finally we spot the dog down on the sand. We try to corner her, clambering over rocks to a small private cove. We both dive for Lady Curlington at the same time, and end up literally flat on our faces, but dogless.

  Tara’s so right there, her face close to mine. And then she leans in and kisses me, and from the moment her lips touch mine, I feel electricity charge through me. And then suddenly she jerks back and stares at me. She leaps to her feet and runs away, back towards the school, away from me.

  I’m left reeling.

  ‘You look different,’ Edgar says to me in the hallway, as he sweeps the day’s debris. He frowns. ‘You been up to no good?’

  ‘Nah, mate,’ I say. But a flush creeps across my face.

  In the common room, I approach Tara but before I can say anything, Ethan bursts in, laptop in hand. ‘Hey, you guys should watch the video from this afternoon. It actually turned out surprisingly well.’

  As we move towards the couch, Tara leans towards me and whispers, ‘It never happened.’

  I stare straight ahead. I say nothing.

  Tara wants to keep it a secret and I don’t tell anyone either, though if anyone knows there’s no way of keeping a secret in this place, it’s me. The tension between us is palpable. Pas de deux is a nightmare. Miss Raine tells us to sort ourselves out. But how can we?

  Tara drags me into the changing room. She tells me she doesn’t have feelings for me.

  I tell her she’s not my type.

  In the kitchen, Gloria slips me an extra chocolate chip biscuit.

  In the next pas de deux class, Miss Raine swaps us around, and pairs me with Kat. And it’s actually fun. Fun not to have to deal with Tara and all her big feelings, her high expectations, her stresses about being the perfect ballerina. Fun to play and muck around. Tara scowls in our direction as Miss Raine kicks us out. But it was worth it to enjoy myself for once.