Dance Academy Anywhere but Here (4 page)

Another night, another broken curfew, only this one is totally worth it: Harbour Day – more awesome bands than I thought could possibly fit into ten hours at one venue unless I hadn’t personally experienced it. And finally I get to witness the majesty of The Kiefers. They totally killed their set. Amazing.

Lucas walks me back to the boarding house. It’s way, way past curfew, but that’s what a ground-floor room and an easily opened window are for.

‘Genius! Pure, unadulterated, let me die now because I am never going to be this happy ever again, geniosity.’ I’m on a total high.

‘I saw them last year in the States, I think they played better then.’ Lucas attempts the downer, but I’m not having it.

‘That is so pretentious. You can’t tell me magic didn’t just happen here tonight.’

He shrugs. ‘They weren’t bad.’

What? Emotional blackmail is required to bend him to my point of view.

‘I’m not kissing you until you admit that was the most amazing music ever played on the entire planet.’

He gives in. ‘The entire universe.’

I smile and we start kissing. It’s the perfect end to a totally mind-blowing day. As we kiss everything else fades into the distance – the sound of cars passing, a car pulling up, doors being slammed, footsteps – they’re all a million miles away until there’s a flash of light. Someone’s taken a photo of us.

I open my eyes and it’s like I’ve woken up in an alternate reality. Miss Raine is standing there with a girl and a suitcase. The girl’s just taken a picture of us with her phone. Where did they come from? I am so busted.

‘Please don’t let us disturb you, Katrina,’ Miss Raine says.

Lucas is dismissed and Miss Raine marches me into the boarding house. The girl who took the photo is following, dragging her suitcase.

‘This is well outside curfew,’ Miss Raine gets into her lecture as she storms along towards my room. ‘And don’t think it didn’t escape my attention that you skipped afternoon classes today.’

‘It was just jazz. Thought you’d approve.’

‘The day is getting close when you’ll discover that the joke is increasingly on you, Katrina.’

Outside my room, Miss Raine looks at the other girl, wipes a bit of the thunder off her face and says, ‘This is Petra Hoffmann, on exchange from the Berlin Ballet School. She is your new roommate.’

Petra smiles weakly. I recognise that ‘just got off the plane’ jet-lag smile.

Miss Raine turns to Petra. ‘Ignore everything Katrina tells you. Welcome to the National Academy,’ she says and leaves us to get acquainted.

Petra and I stand looking at each other.

‘Standard issue. Teachers are the same in Germany,’ she says.

I’m liking the first impression, but she still needs to pass the challenge of the nest that is my room. I swing the door open. ‘Petra Hoffmann, welcome to Chateau Karamokov.’

I’m not the tidiest of people. I collect things, pictures, clothes, mess. Somewhere under a pile of clothes is Petra’s bed.

‘Just push those clothes off,’ I tell her.

She looks round the room and doesn’t run screaming back to the airport. That’s a good sign. After parking her suitcase, she notices my collection of feet photos and isn’t put off by the sight of all the dancers’ blisters and bunions. She even inspects the pictures more closely. I’m impressed.

‘You can tell everything about someone by their feet,’ she says. ‘How they stand in the world, how they dance, how grounded they are … I collect love.’

She collects love? Maybe I’m lost in translation on that one, but it sounds just a bit stalker-like. It could be that I’m exhausted. A mind-blowing day followed by a Miss Raine lecture is enough to send anyone into a coma.

Petra explains as she hands me her phone. ‘More like signs of love … Public Displays of Affection, couples … that sort of thing.’

The phone has a picture of Lucas and me kissing on the street.

‘Sweet. You’ll have to give me a copy, my boyfriend will love that.’

I lie on my bed, and as I’m looking at Petra’s photos my eyes close and my mind drifts off – from kissing Lucas to Harbour Day and The Kiefers’s awesome set, only I can see a swarm of
pointe
shoes
flying around like pink bats, dive-bombing people. I’m asleep.

In the morning it’s no surprise that the next Public Display of Affection Petra snaps is Ethan and Tara. Any random photograph around the Academy would probably feature my brother draped over my best friend. I manage to introduce Petra to the love birds just before Mr Kennedy storms past and demands the pleasure of my company in his office.

I head off after him. Not hard to figure out what this will be about.

‘You’re late most days, your teachers tell me you’re working nowhere near your potential and now you decide that Friday afternoons are optional?’ he begins.

‘I was looking for inspiration. I’m planning a contemporary piece about young people and their religious attachment to music festivals. It’s very raw.’ All I’ve done is go to a concert, no one’s died, no one’s injured, no countries have been bombed.

‘You think this is a joke?’ he glowers. ‘You’re on shaky ground here, Katrina. If I hadn’t known you so long …’

‘Don’t treat me any differently because of who my family are,’ I shoot back. I really don’t want the Karamokov dynasty thrown on the table. It’s getting harder and harder to play my role in the legend that is our family. I’m looking at him. I know he ‘has my best interests at heart’ but it’s like I just can’t sit still in his office, in the Academy, or even in my own life. ‘What am I doing here?’ I want to scream but I keep quiet while Mr Kennedy continues.

‘I was going to say I know you well enough to realise that detention won’t change your behaviour.’

He’s right about that.

‘One of our ex-students, Gus Walker, graduated from the Academy a few years ago, and has been doing some interesting community work.’

‘You must be very proud,’ I comment before I can stop myself.

Mr Kennedy ignores the dig. ‘You’ll be spending this afternoon, and the next four Saturday afternoons, helping him out.’

He hands me the address. I’d rather clean out the shoe lockers than spend the afternoon with rowdy kids. I guess Mr Kennedy does know me well when it comes to effective punishments.

My ‘community service’ doesn’t get off to a great start when I turn up and some brat grabs my vintage sunnies off my head and starts evaluating how much she’d get for them at the pawn shop. Eventually Gus, the graduate doing ‘interesting’ community work, appears and gets her to give them back.

The kids perform a bit of hip-hop for me. It’s raw but kind of fun. I show them a few moves and the brat who took my sunnies shows herself to be a pretty good mimic. She’s called Scout and she’s a keen dancer. We do a few routines and they even ask me to teach them some ballet steps. This is easier than I thought. At least these kids just enjoy their dance and don’t live, breathe, eat and fart it.

‘Not bad,’ I say. ‘Couple more lessons and we’ll make ballet bots out of the lot of you.’

‘Is that what you are?’ Scout asks.

‘Hardly.’

‘So what are you?’

‘Good question,’ I say and head off to grab my bag before I have to think of an answer.

‘Bet you’re not as good as the guys on
Dance Explosion
,’ Scout challenges me.

‘That lame TV show?’

‘As if. They’re amazing.’ Scout’s clearly impressed by the dancing ponies on TV.

‘They’re not bad,’ I say. ‘You want to see for yourself? I could make a call …’ Being part of the Karamokov family does have some advantages. I know practically everyone involved in dance in Australia. The producer’s an old family friend. Suddenly I am Ms Popular with the kids.

As I’m getting my phone out Gus pulls me aside and tells me not to get their hopes up.

‘A lot of these kids do it tough,’ he says.

‘It’s fine, really,’ I tell him and call Liz at
Dance Explosion
on the spot. They’ve got room in the audience for tomorrow’s taping.

‘How does ten o’clock tomorrow sound?’ I ask.

The kids go off.

‘No way!’ Scout beams. ‘I’m getting TJ’s autograph. She’s the best.’

Gus says he’ll organise a bus for the morning. All I have to do is turn up to take them there.

It looks like this punishment is going to be a breeze, until a new resident arrives at the boarding house. While I’ve been doing community work, Petra’s been out adopting a lost dog. She calls it Ziggy and we all
get dragged into looking after him and putting up posters to say he’s been found.

In the morning I get a call from Ziggy’s real owners. He is a she and she’s called Lady Curlington. Who calls a dog Lady Curlington?

Naturally Ziggy, or Lady Curlington, decides to run off just as we’re about to return her to the owners so I have to help Petra look for her. While we’re running around the park I get a call from Gus. It’s ten o’clock. I’m supposed to be meeting him with the kids. I realise I better abandon the search and get over to the community centre fast.

When I finally get there the kids are all doing floor exercises with Gus.

‘Guys, you’re here, great. We’d better get going.’

Nobody looks at me, except for Scout who’s seriously scowling. This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

‘It’s too late,’ says Gus. ‘I’ve sent the bus away.’

‘Can’t we get it back? I’m so sorry, there was this dog … and she went missing, we went looking for her … total chaos … ‘ I realise how pathetic it sounds. I stood the kids up for a dog. I shouldn’t have even mentioned Ziggy, or Lady Curlington, or whatever the dog’s stupid name is.

‘You promised,’ Scout says and goes back to her exercise. I look at her and remember all the times I said those words. I’ve pulled a Natasha.

Gus looks at me like I’m some spoilt brat who doesn’t care about anyone other than herself. ‘I’ll call the Academy,’ he says. ‘I can’t risk the kids with someone they can’t trust. They can find you another punishment.’

For my sixteenth birthday there are only two things I want: a face full of cream cakes and for Natasha to be forced to cook a meal for me.

When the glorious day comes I demand the cake treatment in the morning. We’re outside the café on the wharf. Sammy is armed with a cream cake. I close my eyes waiting for the splat. Instead I hear a plop on the ground behind me. He’s missed completely.

‘I know,’ he concedes. ‘I throw like a girl.’

Ethan’s turn. He picks up a cake. ‘Okay – to my sister. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.’

While Sammy and Christian snort at that fib, he throws and misses, too.

‘What is wrong with you people? I specifically asked you to fulfil my one birthday wish – not for
presents but for a world seen through cream and sugar and all things …’

Splat! Petra hits me square in the face. Cream covers me. I love it.

‘Petra, I’m so glad I met you.’

While I’m enjoying the cow-fat facial Tara finally turns up. She’s probably been busy doing a few minutes extra
barre
work.

‘What did I miss?’ she asks. I’m kind of waiting for the screams of happy birthday, hugs, and another cream cake in the face. Instead I get the terrible truth: she’s forgotten.

‘Oh my gosh. Your birthday. I’m so sorry, I just totally … ’

‘… spaced? It happens.’ She didn’t space out, she
pliéed
out. Tara has been in total bunhead mode this semester, making Abigail look half-hearted. But it’s my birthday and nothing is going to spoil it.

‘So what’s the plan? Are we doing anything tonight?’ Tara asks.

‘No. The parentals get back tomorrow. I’ve made Natasha promise to cook us something edible.’

‘The woman can do sixty-four
fouettes
but give her an oven and it’s a disaster,’ Ethan says just as my phone rings. It’s the masterchef herself.

‘Hello, we were just talking about you. I hope you’re studying your recipes,’ I say.

‘Darling. Happy birthday, but I’ve got some bad news. I feel terrible but …’

I really don’t need to hear the rest but she piles on the excuses. I can see Ethan looking at me. He knows exactly what she’s saying.

After the call I report back, ‘So Ma and Pa have extended the tour. Estonia needs them, apparently.’

Everyone looks glum on my behalf, but I’m not having that. Pity is one birthday gift I did not request.

‘Why the sad faces? They put money in my account and said I can buy anything I want. Thing is I don’t want anything and the house is empty, which means party at our house. Tell your friends. All of them.’

Later as I’m handing out invitations Ethan gives me the big-brother talk about not going overboard but I soon persuade him that if a party’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘But you’re doing all the work. I’m hanging out with Tara.’

‘Good luck with that. She hasn’t had time for a lot of people lately.’

‘Does she seem all right to you?’ he asks. ‘She hasn’t said anything about me?’

Weird alternative reality moment – Ethan asking me about his girlfriend. Normally it’s the girlfriend who’s grilling me.

‘Yes. We discussed you in detail, because the world revolves around you.’ I give him a sarcastic grin and take another phone call. It’s the Diplobrat. If anyone can get a decent crowd together at short notice it’s him. I tell him to promise his friends wall-to-wall ballerinas.

On Saturday morning I’m way too excited to take Miss Raine’s class seriously. She makes us swap partners to experience dancing with different people. I get Christian, who seems to be in as silly a mood as I am. Everything sets us off. Miss Raine shoots death stares at us and even Tara goes priggish and tells us to stop being silly.

Eventually we do a complete disaster of a lift and end up rolling around on the floor. Miss Raine storms over to us. ‘I can’t imagine why you think I want my time wasted on a Saturday.’

‘What about our time?’ says Christian under his breath and I start laughing again.

‘Miss Raine, we were …’ I try to explain but fail miserably.

‘Out,’ she commands. ‘You can injure yourselves somewhere else.’

We seize the opportunity and run for it.

When classes have finished, Petra volunteers to come over early with me and set up. You’d think that’s what friends would do for your sixteenth birthday but Tara has other priorities, like yet another private session with Miss Raine. She claims she’s had a ‘full-on week’. I’m not impressed with the funectomy that appears to have been performed on her.

‘It’s been a full-on week for me, too,’ I say. ‘Small issues like my parents ignoring my birthday.’

‘We should talk tonight,’ Tara says, realising she’s being weak on the friend supporting.

‘Tonight I’ll be pretty busy,’ I say.

‘Yeah of course. I’ll just … ’

I cut her off. If she hasn’t got time for me, then I don’t have time for her.

‘I’ll just see you there.’

The party goes from ‘oh my God nobody’s going to come’ to ‘wow who are all these people?’ in the space of about four jelly shots. It may be five but it’s my birthday so who’s counting. The parentals are bestowing their artistry on Estonia, my best friend’s
fouetting
until smoke comes off her
pointe
shoes, Abigail’s turned up with a bouquet of barbed comments, but nothing and nobody is going to spoil my night, especially not when there’s another tray of jelly shots to bring out of the fridge.

I see Christian standing on his own looking moody. That is simply not allowed.

‘Hey loner, having fun?’ I ask him.

‘Not really in a festive mood. You?’

‘Definitely. Massive improvement on dinner with the parents.’

We’re interrupted by someone very good-looking. ‘So I was told the birthday girl cut the cake without me.’ It’s Lucas. He drags me outside to join his friends.

I ask Christian to come along but he wants to stay on his own. He gives me a ‘concerned’ look, like I need looking out for.

Lucas is in the mood to party and he’s brought the drinks to prove it, if the cupful of neat vodka he gives me is anything to go by.

‘Ethan would burst a blood vessel if he knew you brought that in here,’ I say, but that’s all the more reason to have another drink.

While Lucas talks to some of his friends I look out at the harbour. The lights are really bright tonight and I am having a good time. I am.

There are two older girls to my left being snooty.

‘Do you know whose party this is?’ one says.

‘Some ballerina chick wanting a rent-a-crowd,’ the other replies.

I’m about to tell them it’s not some ballerina chick, it’s THE ballerina chick but I decide to let it go. They’re not worth it. I have another drink instead.

Time for cake I decide. I push my way to the kitchen and collect the pink mountain of sugar and fat. I need to take it back to Lucas. He wants to see me cut it. As I pick up the cake, the trip back to the terrace suddenly feels like an epic journey – out of the kitchen, past Sammy, who’s held in a bewitched trance by the evil Abigail creature. She fires jets of ice at me from her deadly eyes. I push through the scary forest of seriously unco dancers in the living room, and slide past the swamp of Christian who’s staring, trying to lure me into his bog of misery. Then
I have to pass between the terrifying posts of the rent-a-crowd cows who don’t know whose party it is before I finally reach the haven of Lucas’s knee.

Cake safely delivered.

‘I’ve come to cut the cake. I like cake.’

‘Lovely,’ says Lucas, ‘but you might want to clean up first.’

I look down and discover the cake wasn’t so safely delivered. Half of it is on my chest.

Oops.

I need to tidy myself so Lucas makes me put the cake aside, stands up and guides me up to my bedroom. It feels like years since I lived here but there’s one old friend I recognise as I collapse onto my bed.

‘Daisy the rabbit. I haven’t seen you in ages.’

Suddenly the bed feels snugly warm and the only thing in the world that isn’t spinning around.

‘Don’t pass out on me yet, birthday girl,’ says Lucas. ‘We have to get you out of these cakey things.’

He sits on the bed and tries kissing me.

‘No I’m shy!’ I say.

He doesn’t believe me and starts kissing me again. ‘Come on, you’ve got to work with me.’

My head’s spinning but I can tell he’s really going for it. ‘Can’t we just talk?’ I ask.

He laughs. ‘We’ve been talking for weeks. And we both know that is not why you brought me up to your bedroom.’

Everything’s a blur but I know I shouldn’t be here. ‘I should go back to the party. I’m not being a good hostess.’

‘Everyone’s fine. It’s your birthday. They want you to enjoy it.’

I try standing up but Lucas pulls me back onto the bed. For a moment I let him kiss me but then I feel his hands lifting up my dress. I may be drunk, but I know this isn’t right. I can hear the music of the party thudding through the walls. I focus on that, trying to think beyond my spinning head.

‘No, I want to go back downstairs,’ I say.

I try to pull away but he won’t let me and starts kissing my neck. Suddenly I’m scared. This should not be happening, not here, not with me like this. He’s moving way too fast but I can’t stop him.

‘I mean it, Lucas. I don’t want to do this.’

He still won’t stop.

‘Are you listening? Get off me!’ I push him, just as Christian walks into the room. He grabs Lucas, shoves him against the wall.

‘What is your problem?’ Lucas scowls and I get a flash of all the times he’s turned his nose up
at people before. I see the faces of all my friends as they’ve politely avoided saying they don’t like him. And I was wondering why they didn’t give him a chance. Now I know. He’s called
Diplobrat
for a reason.

‘My friend wants you to leave,’ says Christian.

All I can do is nod. I want him out of here and out of my home. He pushes past Christian and out of the room.

Christian drags me out to the garden to get some fresh air. It’s where I used to play on the swings we had when I was a little girl. I remember swinging backwards and forwards, making myself go higher and higher till the frame started rocking on the grass. I’d keep going, shifting the whole frame, until someone made me stop.

I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid, but in case I don’t realise it, Christian reminds me. ‘You’re stupid, Kat,’ he says.

‘You’re stupid,’ I say back.

‘What are you doing drinking like that? Do you think it makes you cool?’

‘No,’ I say.

Christian seems really angry. ‘Cause it doesn’t. It wrecks things. And that guy – did you like him?’

I start to say yes and then I realise that’s not true. ‘Not really. I just wanted someone to like me for once.’ And then I burst into tears again. It must be the alcohol. I don’t do tears normally.

Christian passes me a bottle of water and makes me drink. ‘I’ll get Ethan,’ he says.

‘No, he’d freak. Anyway, he’ll be with Tara … because she’s perfect and he’s perfect and perfect people attract each other. I’m seriously not perfect.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not perfect either.’ Christian smiles at me.

‘Nope. I’ve always thought that you and I are the same.’

He looks at me, in a way that Lucas never did, like he sees me, not just the good time.

‘Seriously un-perfect,’ I say, and it’s the greatest compliment I can pay. He’s a real person with faults and moods and problems. Right now, real is what I need more than anything. I kiss him, a very real kiss.

It’s a total moment of un-perfection that blocks out Lucas, the party, my head, my pink cakey skin, everything. Until Christian pulls away from the kiss. In the distance I see Tara’s finally arrived at the party. She’s standing with Ethan but then she runs off when she sees Christian and me. Christian goes
after her. By the time I get to Ethan, Christian and Tara have both vanished. Could my party get any more surreal?

‘Did I miss something? What just happened?’ I ask Ethan. He has no idea. He’s as confused as I am.

‘I’ll call her,’ I say. When I look at my phone there’s a message. It’s been beeping at me for a while but I’ve ignored it. When I open it there’s a picture attached which explains why they’ve both disappeared. Someone’s sent me a photo of Christian and Tara on the beach, kissing.