Abigail: Through the Looking Glass (7 page)

‘Really?’ Miss Raine’s voice rings with sarcasm. ‘You were quite happy to show her up earlier.’

‘I didn’t–’

‘Don’t look so shocked,’ Miss Raine interrupts. ‘To be a professional, you have to be a competitor. I’m relieved you’ve finally figured that out.’ Tara looks at me.

‘If you object to my teaching you are free to leave,’ Miss Raine says.

Tara grabs her bag and leaves, looking guilty and ashamed. Miss Raine turns back to me.

‘Again, Abigail.’

Help sometimes comes from the most unexpected places.

I hate crying in public, I don’t
do
tears. But today has been horrible. I feel miserable about Miss Raine, and confused about my feelings for Sammy. One
minute I want to kiss him and the next minute I just want him to leave me alone.

‘Company?’ says a voice.

I wipe away the tears and look up to see Jai, the footballer I kissed. I glare at him, hoping he’ll take the hint, but he sits down.

‘That thing yesterday,’ I say. ‘Social experiment. Just so you know.’

‘And I picked out a ring and everything,’ he replies.

He almost makes me smile.
Almost.

‘Rough day?’ he asks.

‘You wouldn’t get it,’ I say.

‘Because I’m a meathead?’

‘Because you’re not a dancer,’ I tell him, trying to make him understand. ‘You don’t have physical limitations that can’t be overcome.’

But Jai nods as if he knows exactly what I mean.

‘Someone taller, faster,’ he says. ‘Jumps a bit higher, hits a bit harder …’

‘The naturals,’ I say, amazed that he really does get it. ‘What I want to know is how you compete with them.’

Jai shrugs. ‘I work harder, I train for longer and I don’t beat myself up when I can’t do what they do. That’s enough.’

I don’t know if that’s enough for me. Can I really stop comparing myself to Tara? I stare out at the harbour, thinking about Tara. She’s a natural dancer, but I didn’t think she was competitive. I was wrong. What I’m thinking is, maybe competition doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe we could actually enjoy it?

The footballers do incredibly well in their challenge, considering how little time they’ve had to practise. They get through the gypsy dance without one mistake. Sure, they have zero technique but they get all the steps right. It’s as much about the energy that they put into it as it is about how perfect the end result is. We clap and cheer them and I can see the ballet boys looking worried. Now it’s their turn to rise to a challenge.

The game isn’t going well. The dancers are nowhere near as cohesive as the footballers, and I keep thinking about teamwork. Some of the Academy boys are playing selfishly – even I can see that. The footballers help each other out – they use each others’ strengths and skills.

At first it looks as if the dancers are going to lose the challenge, but then they start playing like
a proper team. They make some careful passes and finally Ethan launches the ball and Christian runs for it, but Ollie and Jai are closing in.

Then, out of nowhere, Sammy makes a spectacular leap. We’re all shouting his name. He lands and crosses into touch for the try. They’ve won!

I’m cheering and clapping, and when Sammy sees me there’s a fire in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He’s walking straight towards me – purposeful, determined and passionate. Then he kisses me – right in front of everyone.

Everyone’s laughing and whooping, but in that split second, all the feelings I’ve had and all the things Jai said crystallise into a decision, and I know that I was wrong.

Sure, ballet is always going to come first. But there is life outside of ballet too, and right now, wrapped in Sammy’s arms, I feel happier than I ever have. So I kiss him right back, and the people around us disappear, because all I can think about is him.

Tara has dislocated her kneecap, and she’s using the time she can’t dance to organise a formal. Miss Raine is furious but I think it’s a good idea – I went half crazy those weeks when I wasn’t allowed to dance. Tara needs something to take her mind off it.

It’s not as if I’m usually good at empathising with people – or interested for that matter – but I can imagine how terrified she must be feeling. Her whole future depends on her body being in peak form. An injury like this could be a total disaster. You can lose all your dreams so fast. And if dreams are all you have, what’s left when they shatter?

I can’t believe that I was worried that being with Sammy might stop me focusing on ballet. Our relationship seems to make our dancing richer and
more lyrical than ever before. I feel a connection with him that I have never had with any other friend.

I know he feels the same way, and things are so intimate between us that I’m not surprised when he asks me if I’ve thought about taking things to the next level. Part of me wants to say yes. It feels so right that Sammy would be the one who … But the whole thought scares me.

‘We’re not ready,’ I say, as softly as I can.

‘Right,’ says Sammy at once. ‘No. I didn’t think so either.’

But the next day, as I watch him practising a
port de bras,
I start to wonder if I made the right decision. He is just right for me. We are a perfect couple. Are we really not ready? In lots of ways I feel ready. And for it to happen with Sammy, my best friend – there’s something wonderful about that.

This relationship is outside ballet – it doesn’t depend on me doing well at the Academy. It’s about us being friends and caring about each other. It’s something that I can have whether I’m a dancer or not. I want it to get better and better – stronger and stronger.

‘What?’ he asks, catching me staring at him.

‘Nothing.’

He leans towards me.

‘About yesterday,’ he says, sounding awkward. ‘I feel bad it might’ve seemed like I was … you know … like I was pressuring you. And I don’t want you to think that because I respect the fact that you’re not–’

‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind,’ I say. My palms are sweating, but I keep my voice cool. ‘I think we’re ready.’

‘You do?’ Sammy says with a little gasp.

We head to the centre to perform our
pas de deux
again.

‘Sorry, stroked out there for a moment,’ Sammy says in a whisper. ‘Ready as in …?’

‘Ready,’ I say, feeling more confident now. ‘But if you don’t agree, we can wait …’

‘No, I’m a guy,’ he says. ‘I’m hard-wired to think I’m ready.’

Miss Raine’s getting annoyed with us – ballet dancers should only speak with their bodies.

‘Okay then,’ I reply softly. ‘Let’s embrace the cliché at the formal. It’ll be … special.’

The formal is a huge success. Fairylights twinkle everywhere you look, and the walls are dusted with
silver snowflakes. It’s like being in a Hollywood movie. But all I can think about is what’s about to happen. Sammy opens the door to his room and walks in. I follow him, tingling all over – is he feeling the same?

I’ve never seen his room so clean. There’s a bunch of flowers in a vase and Sammy’s lighting some candles. He fumbles with the matches.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I got fixated on music and then went down this creepy rose-petal path before I realised – trying too hard.’

He burns his finger trying to light the last candle and looks crestfallen.

‘It’s probably not what you meant by special,’ he mumbles. ‘We should raincheck.’

‘No,’ I say, wanting him to relax. ‘It’s perfect.’

He walks slowly towards me, still looking a bit ill at ease. I feel a rush of affection for him. He’s tried so hard to make his ordinary little room special.

‘What made you change your mind?’ he asks.

‘I get these glimpses where I want to be about more than just dancing,’ I say. ‘Why did you?’

Sammy stares at me for a long, long time. Then he kisses me. I close my eyes and feel his hand brush my arm. We sit on the bed, drawing closer. I feel
dizzy and excited and scared all at the same time. I can’t believe we’re actually going to do this.

But Sammy pulls away, breaking the spell.

‘Can we just stop for a second?’ he says.

His voice sounds different – cold. I look at him, and there’s doubt in his eyes. A glimpse flashes in my brain – for a moment it’s as if I can read his thoughts. He doesn’t want me.

Does he find me repulsive? Aren’t I pretty enough? Did I do something wrong? A wave of shame rolls over me like water – I want to run – I want to be anywhere except here. I’ve never felt so embarrassed and awkward.

‘It doesn’t feel right,’ he says. ‘And it should. You deserve that.’

His voice is distant, and my ears are buzzing. I can hardly hear myself speak.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It’s … good decision.’

I have to get out of here as fast as I can.

The thought of Sammy makes me feel frozen inside. And that hurts. Being with Sammy used to be something happy – something that made me feel good. Now I just feel … stupid. And he’s obviously avoiding me. I don’t get it, and I don’t even have anyone to ask about it, because Sammy’s my only friend.

I guess I should just talk to him about it. There has to be a reason. It would help if I could just understand. I ask Sammy to meet me for a picnic. I just want to clear the air and get our relationship back on track.

And then he forgets about the picnic. He
forgets.

I’ve been sitting on his bed all afternoon, waiting for him to come back, and now he’s here, I’m not even angry. It just hurts. I don’t understand what I did wrong. Sammy’s suddenly a stranger to me, and I don’t even know why.

‘Tell me one thing,’ I say. ‘At any point today did you remember that you were supposed to be with me?’

He doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks volumes.

‘Sammy, this isn’t working, and I don’t know how to fix it.’

‘I know,’ he replies. ‘Me either.’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this?’ I say.

I want him to plead and beg with me – I want him to say he’ll do anything to fix it. But he just looks at me with sad eyes.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t,’ he says in a soft voice. ‘I mean, if that’s what you want.’

It’s clearly what
he
wants.

‘Yeah, it’s what I want,’ I tell him. ‘You can keep the picnic.’

I close the door behind me as I leave.

True friendships last forever, don’t they?

Sammy and I were best friends. We shared everything. And now it’s as if all those times we had, all the secrets we shared and all the silly, funny little things we did were nothing more than a fantasy. Our private world was a place where I felt safe and
loved and happy – and it was a lie. Every time I see Sammy I feel my insides crunching up in pain, and yet he’s just the same – laughing and joking with Tara and Kat and Christian.

I have no idea if it was something I did or said, or if he’s interested in someone else, or if he’s changed for some unknown reason. I remember that day in the common room last semester, when Mia saw Sammy and I together, and realised that he had lied to her. A shiver runs down my back. How could I have forgotten about that? It’s frightening to think that the boy I thought he was is just a figment of my imagination.

‘I don’t care about school politics, or what year you’re in, or how good your attendance is,’ Sebastian is saying. ‘I’m a choreographer looking for dancers. All that matters is how well you perform. How focused you are, how–’

Tara hurtles through the door, late and flustered.

‘So … incredibly … sorry,’ she wheezes, gasping for breath.

‘–professional you prove to be,’ Sebastian finishes.

It’s the auditions for the end-of-year show, and I am throwing myself into them as hard as I can. The harder I work, the less time there will be to think about Sammy.

We’re doing
The Nutcracker
and Kat’s dad Sebastian is directing it, with Ethan as assistant. Sebastian’s an incredible choreographer, and I
ache
for a solo role in the show. First years usually fill the
corps de ballet,
but occasionally one is given a solo role. This year, it’ll be me.

‘Let’s get started,’ says Sebastian.

I walk into the audition room, pushing all thoughts of real life out of my mind. I cradle
The Nutcracker
doll and begin the variation we’ve learned. I’m focused. I’m thinking about my goal. I’m not going to care about Sammy, or teamwork, or any of the things I’ve been wasting my time with these past few weeks. I am going back to the real Abigail – the girl in the mirror – the girl I know. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that my performance is faultless.

The cast has been decided, and I got the snowflake solo. I knew they would have to give me a part after
my audition, but there’s even better news to come. Sebastian beckons me towards him.

‘You’ll be understudying Clara,’ he says, smiling at me.

A huge swell of happiness rises up inside me. I feel like flinging my arms around him.

‘Thank you,’ I say, as soon as I’ve found my voice again.

‘You should be proud of that audition,’ he says. ‘It was technically very competent.’

He turns aside and I look around at the others. Tara is here and I ask her who she’s understudying.

‘No one,’ she says.

She’s wearing a strange expression. I suppose she’s upset, and I know I’m not very good at sympathy, but I try.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I assumed they must have given you something.’

She doesn’t say a word, and at that moment Sebastian starts to speak.

‘Starting with the Act Two snowflakes,’ he says. ‘Clara, can you come into the centre?’

My brain sort of refuses to process the information for a few seconds, and then I realise that people are murmuring Tara’s name, and that she is walking towards the centre of the room.

Tara got Clara.

Tara, who turned up late for auditions.

And I’m her understudy.

This is complete favouritism. Ethan must have manoeuvred her into the role. I have no idea how he got it past Sebastian, but seriously, a first-year taking the lead? They have got to be kidding. Tara is in way over her head.

After what feels like weeks of working in the studio, we start rehearsing in the Opera House today. I think that Sebastian is seriously regretting giving Tara the lead. There isn’t a single rehearsal where she doesn’t make dozens of mistakes. She loses concentration, she misses her cues and she’s putting the whole show in danger. Everyone’s thinking the same thing – she’s simply not good enough.