Dance Academy Anywhere but Here (3 page)

The next day, shooting the video is an even bigger buzz than the rehearsals. We’re using decent choreography, there are no hotpants in sight and it’s because of me. My big mouth running off with itself has done some good for a change. Myles’s vid isn’t going to suck. It’ll stand out completely from every other R&B clip on TV.

This beats hovering around
en pointe
in a tutu any day. And then there’s Myles. The abs are on show again in this vid. That’s fine by me – if you got ‘em flaunt ‘em. I can’t help thinking about our kiss last night, how close we were, alone by the harbour. Myles Kelly, the idol of thousands of girls, kissed me. I’m in danger of doing a marshmallow – getting seriously gooey …

When we finish the last shot I go over to Tara. Wild horses wouldn’t have stopped her coming.

‘That was fun!’ I say, totally pumped.

Tara hands me a towel. ‘It was brilliant.’ She’s almost as excited as I am. Even Tristanne has put down her clipboard and is smiling.

Myles joins me with Tara. ‘She’s right,’ he says to me. ‘You’re brilliant.’ And then like it’s the most obvious thing in the world he adds, ‘You should come on tour.’

Tara’s jaw drops.

‘Yeah right,’ I say.

‘I’m serious. Make a surprise career move,’ Myles suggests.

‘Are you joking with me?’

‘You’re just as good as the other dancers,’ Myles continues. ‘I know it’s not your thing but you’d make it different. We’d be better with you.’

Entering a state of total stun-ment! He actually means it. He wants me on his tour.

We’re interrupted by Tristanne, who drags Myles away to get changed for some TV interview on set.

‘I’ll be back,’ he says as he heads off. ‘Think about it. Doesn’t have to be complicated.’

Tara’s giddy with excitement. ‘You’re going on tour with Myles Kelly!’ she squeals.

‘Am I?’

‘Yes! How often do you get a chance like this? You’re going on tour, Kat. You’ll be staying in hotels and travelling and celebrities and getting room service and … ’

‘… and following Myles Kelly around.’ The reality sets in.

‘Yeah!’ says Tara. She has no idea what it’s like to follow a star around. I do.

‘Myles, some tour manager and the rest of the entourage. Being a back-up dancer for a pop singer.’

It’s just not me. All my life Mum’s dragged me around, along with a horde of publicists, stylists and journos. And it’s been great, but it’s never been ‘my’ thing. It’s always about her.

When Myles comes back from getting changed he wants to talk, but he’s only got a moment before he has to do the interview. It’s a familiar feeling, having someone you want to be with dragged away from you all the time for their career. I totally understand. This tour will be all about Myles. It has to be. He’s the one everyone will want a piece of. And on the tour that will always come first. That’s just how it works.

‘I’m serious about what I said,’ he repeats the offer.

‘I know. And today, yesterday – it was amazing. But it’s your thing, not mine.’

I can see in his eyes he’s disappointed but I think he understands that I can’t be another backing dancer groupie.

Tristanne’s hovering with her phone, pushing for the interview. ‘Myles? Are we cool?’

‘Two more minutes,’ Myles says to her.

‘Better not keep ‘em waiting,’ I say.

‘Don’t worry about them.’ He takes my hands.

I wish we could just be spending time together. I wish we could be doing ‘our’ thing, but that’s not what the tour would be about. Life isn’t that simple. I can feel part of me being pulled towards him, but it’s not right for me.

‘I kinda have to go anyway. Do my own stuff.’

‘Is there anything I can say to change your mind?’

There isn’t. I pull away from his hands – his seriously sexy hands. I have to go.

A couple of days later we’re all watching TV in the living room at the boarding house. Myles’s interview
is on the TV. Even Ethan and Christian are drawn away from the pool table.

‘It’s the pizza guy,’ says Christian. ‘What’s he doing on TV?’ He must be the only person in the country who doesn’t know who Myles is.

The interviewer asks Myles if he had someone special in mind when he wrote the song.

‘No but I met someone recently and I guess it’s her song now.’

Then he introduces the video.

‘Okay, this is my new song,
Hey Girl,
and, Kat, if you’re watching, this one’s for you!’

Sammy and Tara are in total awe and I have to admit it’s pretty cool having a song dedicated to you on national TV.

Even Ethan, my ‘I’m going to be a serious choreographer’ big brother, reckons, ‘It’s quite cool’. That’s about as much praise as I’ll ever get from him.

I have a moment’s regret about not going on tour with Myles. I know it wasn’t right for me but I had a peek at a life that wasn’t ballet, wasn’t the Academy and wasn’t what everyone’s assumed I’m going to do. For a second the thought that I don’t have to be a ballet dancer flashes
through my mind but it’s so bizarre, I can’t hold onto it.

Some day, I don’t know when, something will come along and I’ll know it’s my thing. And I’ll drop everything and run towards it. Until then, I’m no one’s backing dancer, not even Myles’s.

I try to remember what Myles told me, that relationships don’t need to be complicated, but that’s not easy when you’re the great Natasha Willis’s daughter. It’s the end of our first semester and that means demonstration classes when proud parents come to the Academy and beam about how far their talented little darlings have come.

Tara, Sammy and I are waiting outside the Academy for our parents to arrive. Tara is hopping from one foot to the other, desperate to see her parents who have driven all night to come and see her. Sammy’s face lights up as his mother arrives, rushes out of her car and gives him a big hug. I get a peck on the cheek and a disapproving, ‘Is that chocolate?’ when Natasha steps gracefully out of her car.

It’s not the warmest of greetings but that’s my mum. She is actually present, which is pretty good by her standards. As we walk into the building she acknowledges that we haven’t spent much time together lately and makes an offer.

‘It’s time you and I had a holiday together,’ she announces.

‘Can I choose where we go?’ I ask, knowing her choice would probably be two weeks at the Met in New York.

‘You choose, but there is a condition,’ she smiles.

‘What?’

‘You have to get good marks in your dance exams,’ she says.

‘There’s no way I can be top of the class,’ I warn her.

‘All I ask is you try your hardest.’

‘And I get a holiday of
my
choosing. Deal,’ I agree.

‘Marvellous!’ Natasha beams and strides into the Academy like she’s just aced a parenting skills exam.

It’s a fair exchange and I’m going to keep up my end of the bargain. It doesn’t go unnoticed. In our demonstration class Miss Raine is almost impressed.

‘Katrina, interesting what happens when you try,’ she says.

Tara’s dad stands up in the middle of the class and shouts, ‘Gooo Tara Banana!’ It’s funny, but he’s so proud of her he can’t help himself. It’s a natural, uncontrolled, happy pride. Can’t see Natasha ever doing anything like that.

After the demonstration class, Mum bestows some feedback on me.

‘Miss Raine tells me you are good when you put the effort in. That’s marvellous.’

But as always the praise is followed by a request.

‘Teensy favour for your mother, Kat darling. Those awful publicists won’t leave me alone and have begged me to do an interview and a photo shoot for
Woman
magazine while I’m here.’

‘Not caring about having a glamour moment, Mum.’

‘Well you should care. It’s for the good of the Company. Ballet needs all the promotion it can get and they want you to be involved, too.’

‘Please, no.’ I can sense the horror already.

‘It’ll be fun. A mother-daughter bonding moment for us. And the shoot is just on the roof terrace here tomorrow so it won’t take long. And I have promised you a holiday.’

She knows the holiday is her trump card. I can’t counter it, but I am going to do some research and find the place in Australia that is geographically furthest away from a dance stage.

The photo shoot is so creepy. The ‘stylist’ should be taken out and shot. She’s got us in matching dresses: black with pink, yellow and white spots. We look like an accident in a liquorice allsorts factory.

We have to walk up and down the roof terrace of the Academy being photographed while the interviewer gushes at my mother.

‘We look like sisters,’ I say, trying to emphasise how stupid it is but Pip, the interviewer, thinks I’m complimenting Mum.

‘I know. When I saw you dance Aurora, I couldn’t believe you had a fifteen-year-old at home,’ she coos.

‘It’s just make-up and lighting,’ says Natasha in a delightfully youthful way.

‘If only that was all I needed,’ says Pip with a laugh as genuine as my mother’s. ‘Did you watch your mum in that role, Kat?’

‘I always watch her. I can’t get enough of watching her,’ I say, managing to get the required words out, focusing on the holiday to keep me from screaming. It’s not like I haven’t danced the loving daughter role before.

‘It just amazes me, Natasha, how you juggle everything. Lars Pedersen told me you’re booked for the European Gala?’ Pip asks and then makes us ‘reset’ – go back to the far end of the terrace and then walk forward again as the photographer takes pictures. We’ve already reset twice. How many more photos of these hideous dresses do they need?

‘The gala’s like performing to royalty,’ Pip continues. ‘You can’t tell me you can come home after that and clean the bathrooms?’

‘No, that’s not confirmed yet,’ Natasha says.

I’ve vagued out but the hesitation in my mother’s voice gets my attention. Suddenly I realise what the real story here is. It’s the same old one.

‘Sorry, silly me. When is the gala again?’ I ask Pip.

‘It’s in the next few weeks, isn’t it? Will you be going Kat?’

Now I know exactly what’s going on. It doesn’t matter how brilliant my marks were, Natasha never
intended taking me on ‘my’ holiday. European Galas don’t come up at the last moment. She lied to make me behave and do this interview.

I stare at her. She’s done it again and I’ve fallen for it again. Stupid daughter, standing in a heinous spotty dress! I actually believed that if I tried hard in dancing then I would get what I wanted. That’s it. If
Woman
magazine want a mother-daughter story I’ll give them one.

‘Yeah,’ I say with a sweet smile. ‘Luckily it’s right at the same time as my school holidays. Mum always makes sure I have the best holidays. I remember in Singapore once, when I was ten, she was so caught up doing the tour that she flew out of the country, completely forgetting I was back in the hotel room.’

Natasha tries to scowl at me without losing her composed smile. The photographer leans forward to catch this ‘unexpectedly intimate’ moment and Pip starts scribbling furiously on her notepad.

Silly me. There was I thinking Uluru or the Great Barrier Reef and some mother-daughter bonding time, but no, the holiday was always going to be trailing around the world after Natasha Willis, prima ballerina. I’ll be watching from the wings for the thousandth time as she pretends yet again to be
a sweet sixteen-year-old girl being woken from a hundred years’ sleep.

‘Let’s reset,’ I say and go back to the start.

Natasha’s European tour wasn’t a complete disaster. She was a triumph of course but I did manage to keep the loving daughter duties down to a minimum and escape from time to time. Okay, probably more than from time to time. I think I know ‘you’re grounded’ in six different languages. And I brought a souvenir back with me. Some people bring back mini Eiffel Towers from France, or chocolates from Belgium, I’ve brought back a boyfriend.

Lucas is the reason the hotel rooms of Europe were bearable. His parents are diplomats so he’s probably the only person who has travelled around more than me, though he’s eighteen so he does have two years head start.

He is amazing. There isn’t a city in the world where he doesn’t know where there’s a great party, a
brilliant bar or an awesome band playing. His life is pure party and I think he’s probably an even bigger rule breaker than me. Best of all, my mother took an instant dislike to him. That makes him just about perfect in my book. He’s my very own Diplobrat.

When I get to the Academy boarding house with Lucas in tow, I discover he’s not my only good news for the start of the new semester. Rumi, the roommate of the foul smells and peculiar habits, didn’t make the cut at the end of semester one. There’s now an empty bed in my room and it’s got Tara’s name on it.

I drag Lucas down to the Academy to find Tara and share glad tidings. She’s already on her toes in one of the practice rooms doing
barre
work. If I didn’t know her better, I’d call in Bunheads Anonymous for an intervention. Semester hasn’t even officially started and she’s already practising.

‘Hi honey, I’m home!’ I shout out as I enter. Tara waddles over to me flatfooted and almost goes
derriere
over
pointe
shoe. Her questions fly out. ‘When did you get back? Was Europe amazing? Did Natasha really ground you in the hotel?’

I tell her about Rumi and introduce Diplobrat just before Miss Raine sweeps in and ‘hopes’ we’ve all been practising during the holidays. Then she announces Tara has a ‘private session’. It’s all way too serious so
Lucas and I make a quick getaway. I can see that this semester I’ll have my work cut out for me bringing some light to the heavy dance atmosphere.

I don’t realise quite how serious things have gotten at the Academy until later when Tara and I are packing her stuff up to move into my room. I’m telling her about Diplobrat.

‘His mother’s an
attaché
case or something. Natasha loathes him. It drove her crazy when he kept turning up.’

Tara’s acting weird. I’m expecting excited girl talk but I’m not feeling the love from her.

‘What? Don’t you like him?’ I ask.

‘It’s not that. Miss Raine just gave me the third degree. According to her I can’t hang out with you and be serious about dancing,’ Tara tells me.

‘She can’t tell you who to be friends with. What is this – primary school?’

I totally get that Tara won the scholarship last semester and so needs to ‘focus’ but this is ridiculous.

Still, I’ve got a horrid feeling that Tara is thinking about taking Miss Raine seriously. On the following day I catch her doing crunches in our room. It’s Sunday, it’s meant to be a day of rest. Clearly it’s time for a fun intervention.

‘Cease to crunch, little one. We are going out,’ I tell her.

‘Only three sets to go,’ she pants, but I have better things for her to get out of breath over.

‘The Kiefers are playing a warm-up gig.’

Tara stops crunching. I have her attention. The Kiefers are the best band ever.

‘The Kiefers!’ she says.

‘At a private warehouse, all ages. Our names are on the door.’ I fill in the essential details.

Tara sags. ‘It’s the first day of term tomorrow, we’ve got Miss Raine classical at 9 am.’

She’s being way too responsible. I’m not taking it.

‘It starts at six. We’ll be back before curfew.’

‘We’ll be wrecked,’ she moans. ‘Besides, you’re going with Diplobrat. Why do you need me?’

‘You don’t like him,’ I say, wondering if my boyfriend has ruffled her tutu.

‘I barely know him,’ she answers carefully.

‘Then make an effort.’

Finally she gives in and I reassure her, ‘When we’re old, we will look back on this as the defining moment of our friendship.’

When we reach the club, the bouncer is a complete control freak with the door list.

‘It says Lucas plus one,’ he says and refuses to let Tara in. I suggest that Tara and I wait while Lucas speaks to his mate Kassim, the manager, but the bouncer says it’s now or never for the plus one.

‘We’ll take five minutes. You’re okay with that, aren’t you?’ Lucas says to Tara.

‘By myself?’ she asks.

‘We’ll sort it,’ I tell her. ‘Five minutes?’

‘Okay. I’ll be fine. Alone,’ she says. It’s only five minutes so I don’t know what she’s moaning about.

Inside the club is heaving and it seems like everyone there knows Lucas. For someone who spends half his time overseas, he’s got a major group of friends in Sydney. We look for Kassim to get Tara in the door but every other step we take we get stopped with a, ‘Hi Lucas, you’re back!’

The five minutes stretches out to ten then twenty and even longer. Lucas is so busy with all his friends that I think he’s forgotten about Tara.

‘We have to go back for Tara!’ I remind Lucas.

He pulls a face.

‘Not leaving the friend alone outside!’ I say and drag him back to the door.

When we get there Tara’s already gone. The bouncer says that her boyfriend collected her, which is bizarre because Ethan’s away on tour. Someone else must have come to pick her up. I feel bad that we left her there, but I did try.

Lucas drags me back into the club and his hordes of friends.

We stay out way too late and it’s all for nothing. The Kiefers don’t even show up. I miss curfew and have to climb in our bedroom window. Tara’s bed is right by the window so I carefully try to avoid landing on her and waking her up. Just when I think I’ve got through without disturbing her, my foot catches on the window sill, I squeal and roll right onto her bed. I brace for the scream but nothing comes. Her bed’s empty and hasn’t been slept in.

Now I panic. Who collected her? What if she was dragged away by a guy the bouncer thought was Tara’s boyfriend but was really some weirdo? I should never have left her.

Before I call the police and report her missing I realise I should check the rest of the boarding house. Tara must be pretty annoyed with me and might be
taking it out on me by sleeping somewhere else. Where would be the one place she could sleep that would get back at me? The one place where she knows there’s an empty bed? It’s not that hard to guess.

I creep up the stairs to Abigail’s room and find my guess was right. Tara’s asleep in her old bed. She’s sleeping with the enemy, but I can’t really blame her. I did drag her out to a club and then dumped her outside.

When I see her on the way to class in the morning it’s grovel time. Tara doesn’t say who the mystery boyfriend that collected her was, but I’m in total apology mode so I don’t ask.

‘I am sooo sorry. If it makes it better, standing in the queue with you was the most fun I had all night.’

‘The Kiefers?’ she asks. I’m relieved. At least she’s still talking to me.

‘Never showed. And Diplobrat’s friends are hard work.’

‘I think I’m moving back in with Abigail. I feel too bad leaving her alone,’ Tara says.

‘Our friendship probably wasn’t gonna survive living together anyway. I belong in small doses.’

It’s supposed to be a joke to make her feel better but I’ve got a horrible feeling Tara agrees.