Pirouette (20 page)

forty-five

Hannah watched Harriet apply a second coat of lipstick and smooth down her hair.

“How do I look?” Harriet asked as she pulled on her jacket.

“Fine,” said Hannah. “It's just a boring parent-teacher interview—it's not like you're going to the Oscars.” Strange how Harriet was behaving as if she were the one who had to make a good impression.

In the car, while Harriet hummed along to the radio, Hannah sat quietly with her fingers crossed, hoping the evening would be uneventful. It was lucky that both Miss Sabto and Mr. Collins were such good sports and had agreed to keep her secret just a little longer. Even so, it would be all too easy for them to inadvertently give the game away.

Simone had warned Hannah that Harriet took the parent-
teacher interviews
very
seriously. Still, Miss Sabto had promised to be diplomatic. Hannah would just have to trust her.

The car ride was over quickly. Harriet maneuvered the car into a tiny spot and turned to Hannah. “Right,” she said. “Let's see what your teachers have to say.”

The interviews were spread over five different classrooms, with three or four teachers assigned to each, their names on the door. With Hannah in tow, Harriet made a beeline for the classroom furthest from the main entrance, where she knew Miss Sabto would be waiting.

The teacher was deep in discussion with Julie and her parents, and two other students were already waiting.

“We could come back later,” Hannah suggested. “Go see one of the other teachers in the meantime?”

“And miss our turn? No,” said Harriet. “We'll see Miss Sabto first. Who's that girl talking to her? Is she in your class?

Hannah nodded. “She's new this year.”

“Is she any good?”

Hannah groaned. “Of course she is. That's why she got in.”

“Don't make that face. I was only asking.” Harriet tapped her foot as she waited first for Julie and then for the other two students to finish their consultation.

At last Miss Sabto called them over. She smiled at Harriet. “Ms. Stark,” she said, “good to see you again.”

Harriet gave a tight smile in return. “So,” she asked, in a down-to-business tone of voice, “how is she doing?”

Miss Sabto glanced down at her notes, then up at Harriet. “How do
you
think she's doing?”

Harriet frowned. “I'm not the one who sees her in class. Why? Is something wrong?”

Miss Sabto quickly shook her head. “Simone is, as you know, a wonderful dancer … ”

“But?”

“As talented as your daughter is,” the teacher said, “I think I should warn you that dancing as a career is not for everyone. It's tough, emotionally and physically exhausting, and highly competitive.”

“And you don't think she can handle it?”

“That's not what I said.” Miss Sabto paused, choosing her words with care. “This school exists for two reasons,” she continued. “One is to nurture talent. The other is to give our students options. All our students have potential, but only about one-third of them go on to become professional dancers, and we really don't mind, just as long as they're all happy and fulfilled.” The teacher's tone was sympathetic but firm. “The goal of this school is not to produce dancers at any cost, but to empower our students.”

“I'm not sure I understand you,” Harriet said. “Are you saying that Simone lacks the drive to become a professional?”

“No, I'm saying she may not choose to make that commitment.
And that's okay
.”

“
Okay?
After all these years of training?”

“Yes,” said Miss Sabto. “Education is never a waste. Ms. Stark, don't count on your daughter becoming a dancer—not because it isn't possible, but because it may not happen. We say this to all our students' parents. Your job, like ours, is to support them in their choices.”

Harriet looked peeved and did not reply.

“Are you coming to next week's concert?” the teacher continued.

“Of course,” said Harriet.

“Prepare yourself,” said Miss Sabto, smiling. “You may be in for a surprise.”

It was dark by the time they left the school, and a tense silence filled the car.

“What an annoying parent-teacher interview,” Harriet began. “Miss Sabto didn't say anything informative about your dancing, and I didn't like the implications of what she did say.”

Hannah sat still in the passenger seat and didn't reply.

“There was something … not quite right about her,” Harriet continued. “She was almost deliberately cagey.” She braked sharply as the light turned red. “And what did she mean when she said I might be in for a surprise?”

Hannah said nothing.

“Simone? What surprise was she referring to?”

Harriet had turned to face her. Hannah looked her in the eye and aimed for a lightness of tone she hoped would mask her apprehension. “It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?”

The light turned green. Their car picked up speed as it crossed the intersection.

“There's something you're not telling me,” Harriet said. “Something important, to do with school.”

Hannah sighed. “Please, Mum, can we talk about it after the concert, over the holidays? It's only a week till the end of term.”

forty-six

As it turned out, Adam had been right to worry about the parent-teacher interviews. He'd been misbehaving in most of his classes, and while Simone sat reading in her room, the argument downstairs was becoming louder. The words “consequences” and “withdrawal of privileges” floated up the stairwell as Manfred and Vanessa remonstrated with their only son.

Later that evening, the defeated sound of his footsteps was followed by the creak of the door as he entered his bedroom. Would he let her console him? Having lived in fear of disappointing her mother, Simone knew how awful he must feel. And though he mightn't want her sympathy, she should at least offer some support.

The occasion seemed to call for silence, and she tiptoed quietly through the open door of Adam's room.

He didn't hear her as she came up behind him; he was too busy texting into his phone:

Wtch out! Ur secret ISNT safe with me!

Simone froze, disbelieving, as he pressed
send
.

In the next room, Hannah's phone beeped a moment later.

“Adam!”

He swung around, his face flushed with guilt.

“
You!
”
she shouted, her face red with anger.

“What?” said Adam, his expression defiant.

She pulled him into Hannah's room, grabbed the phone, and showed him the message:

Wtch out! Ur secret ISNT safe with me!

“You did this,” Simone said, her voice shaking. “You sent this text. You sent
all
those texts.”

“What if I did?”

“I should throttle you,” she yelled. “Do you know how much they freaked me out?”

Adam shrugged. “I wouldn't have even sent them if you'd just told me yourself. You never used to keep secrets from me.”

“Get a life,” she shouted. “And don't you dare—”

Tell anyone
, she was about to say, when Adam interrupted with, “Relax, will you? I just wanted you to know I know.”

Suddenly, it was as if he'd flicked a switch, and voice in her head said,
Hang on a minute—
what
does he know?

Keeping her voice light, Simone asked calmly, “What is it that you think you know?”

“That you've got a boyfriend.” Adam spoke in a childish, singsong tone.

Simone exhaled, only vaguely aware she'd been holding her breath. “What makes you think that?”

Adam paused before admitting, “I followed you … twice to Luna Park and the beach, and once to the botanical gardens.”

“You
followed
me?”

“I was mad at you.” Once again, a flash of guilt crossed his features.

“Mad at me,
why
?”

Adam shuffled his feet, avoiding her gaze. “You've been different ever since you got back from that summer dance course,” he said at last.

Simone gulped air. “Different how?”

Now it was Adam's voice that shook. “You hardly ever share your music with me anymore, or grab the ball when I'm shooting goals. You never come bike riding with me, or hang out in my room. You … you've been ignoring me,” he said. “It's like you don't care.”

By the time he'd finished speaking, Simone's anger had subsided. A flush of shame crept over her cheeks.

“And I'm not the only one who's noticed,” Adam continued. “I heard Mum and Dad talking about how you've changed.”

Simone stiffened. “What did they say?”

Adam sniffed, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They think you're quieter and more withdrawn. But they're glad you're reading more and taking your schoolwork more seriously.”

“They said that?”

“Yeah.”

“In front of you?”

“Not exactly.”

“So, you were eavesdropping?”

“No, I was standing outside their bedroom door.”

The corners of Simone's mouth curled up in amusement.

“What's so funny?” Adam said.

“Never mind. Look, I'm sorry I haven't hung out with you more. It's just that I've had a lot on my mind. But still,” she said, her voice severe, “you had no right to spy on me.”

“Sorry,” said Adam, looking sheepish.

“And about that boyfriend you're so sure I have? He's not my boyfriend anymore. I haven't heard from him in weeks. Anyway, what makes you think I was keeping him secret?”

“He never hangs out with you and your friends.”

“So?” Simone asked, folding her arms. “Why would I keep a boyfriend secret?”

“If he wasn't a secret, then why were you so freaked out when I threatened to tell?”

Simone narrowed her eyes. “I wasn't,” she said, beginning to seethe.

“You just said you were.”

Simone shook her head. “It wasn't the thought of people knowing I had a boyfriend that freaked me out—it was the idea of some psycho-stranger knowing something about me.” She prodded his arm, none too gently. “There's such a thing as privacy, Adam. What you did was stalker-like and creepy. It was a really crappy thing to do.”

“Sorry,” said Adam, but Simone knew he wasn't entirely to blame. He'd wanted her company and she'd denied him. She'd been too self-absorbed to give him time, or find out what he was really like. She could only hope her oversight wouldn't effect his relationship with Hannah in the future.

“Apology accepted,” said Simone, “as long as you never, ever do that again.”

forty-seven

The end-of-term concert at the VSD was underway. The Year Sevens, Eights, and Nines had already performed, and as the Year Nine dancers completed their final movements, the lights in the theater came on and Mr. Dixon walked onto the stage.

He coughed into the microphone and began: “Tonight, we're thrilled to bring you a very special performance.” He was modulating his voice like a professional host, with just the right amount of tension and excitement. “Those of you who have been to our previous productions will no doubt remember the very accomplished Simone Stark, who has been with us since Year Seven.”

An expectant hush came over the audience. Many leaned forward in their seats as Mr. Dixon continued: “Now, for the very first time … ” The suspense in the theater was almost palpable—not a breath could be heard. “For the very first time, the lovely and very talented Simone will be dancing a duo with her equally lovely and talented”—here he paused for full effect—“
twin sister
, Hannah Segal.”

While Mr. Dixon was speaking, Hannah and Simone stood in the darkened wings, watching their parents. Harriet's hand flew to her mouth, while beside her an astonished Manfred turned to Vanessa, whose dropped-jaw expression revealed her shock. Adam was perched on the edge of his seat, open-mouthed.

In the row behind them, eyes wide with disbelief, sat Sam, Liam, and—yes—even Tom, as well as Dani and some other girls from Carmel College.

“I've never been this nervous,” Hannah said, clasping her sister's hand. “How about you, Sim? Are you okay?”

Simone took a deep and calming breath. “Yes,” she said, and oddly, she was. This was the last time she'd ever have to dance onstage, and the knowledge freed her; her old anxiety just fell away. She would give it her all, because she didn't have to prove anything to anyone. Not anymore. “It's my final gift,” she murmured softly.

“To who?” asked Hannah.

Simone glanced at her sister. “To myself, to you, and to my mother.”

“Which mother?” Hannah whispered.

“All three of them,” Simone said with a smile.

Onstage, Mr. Dixon was just completing his introduction. “Together, these two remarkable dancers will perform
Mirror Pirouette,
a unique and original work of art.” As he spoke, the lights in the theater gradually dimmed. “And now, please welcome: Hannah and Simone.”

There was a burst of applause, followed by a collective gasp from the audience as the two identical girls stepped onto the stage.

Then the music began, the song chosen a rare version of “Man in the Mirror” sung by a female singer who belted out the lyrics and changed the word “man” to “gal.”

The dance itself was a powerful mix of neoclassical and contemporary. The twins wore identical skin-colored bodysuits and, surprisingly, each girl wore only a single pointe shoe. Together the pointe shoes formed a pair, and when the two dancers stood in certain positions and at particular angles, they appeared to be one.

After building in intensity, the dance culminated in a series of
pirouettes
—Simone balancing on her right foot, Hannah on her left. At times the girls seemed to replace each other, define each other, become each other …

Their dancing was exactly matched, for Hannah's technique had improved beyond measure and Simone's dancing had lost some of its tension. With their pure energy and focus, they were simply mesmerizing, and as they lost themselves inside the dance, the audience too was lost, absorbed in the unfolding story.

As they spun, leapt, and flew across the stage, Simone's love of dance came flooding back, and she remembered what it was that had drawn her to it in the first place. She was grateful that her final performance was one of joy instead of heartache.

As for Hannah, she hoped her parents would see that this was just the beginning.

And now the dance was over and they were facing the audience, hand in hand, taking their bows. The audience was on its feet, whooping, whistling, demanding more. Simone and Hannah threw their arms around each other, then once again bowed to the audience, and the clapping and cheering continued even after they'd left the stage. Never before had either girl experienced such wild applause.