Sammy (2 page)

In the morning I've run out of plans. I have to go to Patrick's dance class. As the hands on the clock sprint round towards the time I should be going to synagogue my head starts swimming. The knot in my stomach throbs through my whole body. My breath's short, and not from hard work. My hands shake. I come out of a turn but my stomach carries on spinning. I lunge to the edge of class to try and stop the vomit, but I can't.

Patrick sends me off to the changing rooms with Tara after me. I feel dreadful, but this is my chance. I have twenty minutes to get to synagogue. I can make it, if I take a cab and it goes like the wind and gets green lights all the way.

‘Cover for me!' I plead with Tara as I change into my synagogue clothes.

‘This is crazy, Sammy,' says Tara, a look of horror on her face.

I've got no choice. ‘Please!'

‘Go!' she tells me, shaking her head.

I grab my
yarmulke
from my locker and run as fast as my clenching stomach will let me.

Twenty-five minutes later I'm there. Late, yes, but there. I'm in time for the reading. Father happy. Mother relieved. Son frazzled but alive.

As I make my way back to the Academy I feel great. I've got six blissful days before I have to go through this again. Or so I think. Tara's on the steps outside waiting for me. My plan had a fatal flaw – sweet, lovely, innocent Tara, the world's worst liar.

‘Patrick saw straight through me,' she confesses. ‘I had to tell him everything.'

On Monday morning I'm summoned to the principal's office. I'm expecting a telling-off for not going back to class. Tara reckons they can't stop me from attending synagogue on Saturday, but without Saturday class I'll fall even further behind the others. Eventually I'll get kicked out for ‘lacking focus'.

When I open the door, it's even worse than I thought. Dad's sitting there.

‘Close the door after you, Sammy,' Mr Kennedy says.

Everything comes out. All the lies, the faked illnesses, the excuses pile up on Mr Kennedy's desk until there's this huge stinking heap of deception that's all mine.

It was bad enough when Dad thought I was the best dancer. Now that he knows I'm the worst, I don't stand a chance.

It's over.

In my room I pack my things into a box. Christian's on his bed saying nothing. Tara's trying to persuade me to stay. She thinks I'm abandoning her at the bottom of the class, but I've got no choice. It's Dad who's pulling the plug.

‘Must be a big relief,' she says suddenly. ‘I just figured it out. You actually want to leave, so you won't ever have to face up to the question of whether you're good enough.'

I don't want to listen. I've had more than enough lectures from Dad and Mr Kennedy. I don't need one from Tara, too. I try to push past her. She stands firm.

‘You can just say, “Dad didn't let me.”'

‘It's not my choice,' I tell her.

She moves aside.

Outside the Academy there's a rubbish skip. I toss in my
pointe
shoes. I won't need them any more. As they land on the rest of the rubbish, I'm hoping for a sense of relief but instead I hear Miss Raine's voice: ‘a laughing stock with stronger ankles'.

I look back at the Academy. I feel like the reality show contestant who gets voted off in the first episode, a footnote in everyone else's big adventure. Still I can hear Miss Raine's voice harping on about my weak ankles.

There is one thing I am going to do before I leave and no one is going to stop me. I put my box down for a
pirouette a la seconde.
I've never done one right and I'm not leaving until I nail it – so I know I'm good enough, so I know I can. I try again and again. Sweat's pushing through my skin, but I don't care. And then finally I come out of a spin and I'm in position perfectly. I don't need a mirror, I don't need Patrick or Miss Raine to tell me – I know it's right. I freeze. This moment is going to have to last me a lifetime so I need to stretch it out.

I open my eyes and see Dad watching me from a distance. My heart leaps for a second, thinking he has to understand now. We stare at each other and then he just looks away. I pick my bag up and walk over to him.

Dad loves me. He wants what's best for me and he believes in his plan for me. I know that, but I can't do it. It's not my plan.

‘I'm sorry, Dad. I love you but I'm not giving up dance. This is what I want.'

‘Sammy, what future is there in dancing?' he asks, putting his hands on my shoulders. ‘You can be so much more.'

‘A doctor?'

‘Is that so bad? You'd make a better doctor than you are a dancer.'

‘Didn't you see?' I shrug his hands off. I've never been angry with him before. ‘I nailed that
pirouette.
I can do it and do it well. I could be great.'

He just shakes his head.

‘Let me prove it,' I say. ‘To you, to Mum, to everyone. I'll keep up my studies. I'll work harder than ever. No, I'm not the best, but I'll be the best I can.'

‘Sammy, nothing can come from this.'

‘I can come from this. What I want me to be, not what you want me to be. I don't belong to you.'

‘You belong to your family, your faith,' Dad says quietly.

‘I belong here, too.' I turn away from him and head back to the Academy. ‘I'm staying.'

I'm going to show him. Some day he'll come and see me dance and his heart will jump with pride. Then he'll thank me. I'm going to have to work so hard, harder than I ever thought I could, and I'll do my regular studies and I will show him.

But before all that, there's something else I need to do – one more Sammy Lieberman humiliation – climb into the skip and fish out my
pointe
shoes.

Today the teasing will stop. Today all the smart comments about imaginary girlfriends will cease, because today Mia, my very real, absolutely perfect girlfriend, is coming to the Academy to see me. I haven't seen her in weeks. She's been on a kibbutz in Israel, doing things that make my obsession with dancing seem pretty small. She's that kind of person. Mia is smart, beautiful, funny, gentle, caring, Jewish – all things that can be summed up as the perfect girlfriend for me. Just when I need her to appear and prove she really exists, that's exactly what she does. Who could ask for more?

Kat gets an instant girl crush on her. Tara is also impressed but she's got an even greater female love happening. She's just discovered that her inspiration, the legendary Natasha Willis, is Kat's mother. Natasha's in town performing
Swan Lake
at the Opera House. Tara is completely star-struck.

Everyone wants to know who Mia is. Even Abigail is curious. Abigail is our resident version of perfection. She's a brilliant dancer, technically perfect, but she can be cold. Correction, she is permafrost, as I experienced when Patrick had us tied together on either end of a cord as a ‘trust' exercise. I misread the assignment and thought we had to be together for 24 hours, not 2–4 hours. She still hasn't forgiven me – especially as she had to go into the boys' toilets and stand outside a cubicle while I watered the garden. It wasn't easy to do with the impossible princess on the other side of the door.

She's a different kind of perfect to Mia. The kind that's irritating, annoying, frequently insulting and … and I realise I've been looking at her for far too long as she walks into the common room while Mia and I are sharing a pizza.

‘Would you like a slice?' Mia offers.

Abigail flicks me a condescending smile. ‘I really wouldn't.'

‘She doesn't do carbs after three,' I say without thinking, remembering the time we were tied together. Oops. Both perfections look at me. ‘Apparently,' I add quickly.

I beat a hasty retreat to the pool table where Christian is sinking shots with his usual brilliance.

‘Can I?' I ask, picking up a cue.

Christian shrugs. ‘If you want to talk?' he says after a moment.

‘Really?' I can't believe he's being friendly. ‘No,' he says, turning his back and walking to the end of the table.

Sucked in, Sammy.

At breakfast the next day, I'm with Kat and her Mia crush.

‘She's smart, funny, way too hot for you.'

‘Perfect.' I nod and sigh.

Kat was at the ballet last night watching her mother. Mia and I didn't go because she was jet-lagged after the flight from Israel.

When Mia joins us, Kat has a surprise – matinee tickets for the ballet.

‘A present to the reunited lovebirds.'

Mia beams. ‘Thanks Kat, that's so sweet.'

I know I should be excited too, but something tells me I'm not. I really shouldn't listen to that something.

Later I'm sitting on the outside stairs at the Academy when Abigail comes by. I'm feeling dreadful because I've just ignored a call from Mia. I move out of the way.

‘I was looking for you,' Abigail announces.

Then she starts talking, to me. She knows I've got tickets for the matinee of
Swan Lake,
thinks she really ought to see it and …

‘Yes,' I blurt. ‘We can absolutely go to the ballet together.'

Abigail snatches at the offer before I can change my mind. ‘Great. I'll meet you in the common room at three.'

I've just given the ice queen Mia's ticket to the ballet. I know it's completely wrong but I want to go with Abigail, not Mia. I call Mia and make a pathetic excuse about the tickets falling through.

I lie to Mia, lovely perfect Mia, so I can sit next to an ice block all afternoon.

Four hours on, Kat watches me as I get ready, deciding whether to wear a jacket or not. I want to look my best.

‘Awww, you and Mia still get nervous around each other.'

I try to cover my guilt with a smile. ‘Yeah.'

I decide on a jacket. It's almost three so I pop a breath mint and rush to the common room to meet Abigail. When she turns up, she's looking stunning in pink. She's got really great … I shouldn't be noticing them.

‘Where's Mia?' she asks.

I don't have an answer.

‘Your girlfriend?'

‘Right, no it's just us today. I think she's coming down with something.'

The shock of what I'm doing makes me choke on my breath mint.

As I'm choking, Mia bounds in.

‘Sammy! You're seriously going to love me.'

She's managed to secure some tickets for the ballet and is thrilled that I won't miss out.

‘You look nice, Abigail,' she says, then looks at me in my jacket and realises what's going on.

I want to die. I want Christian to fire a ball from the pool table right into the back of my head and kill me instantly.

‘Silly me,' Mia says quietly, gives me her tickets and runs out.

‘Mia …'

I stand there in full knowledge that I've been a total tool to the loveliest girl on the planet.

Not one to let someone's broken heart get in the way of a good time, Abigail asks for the tickets. She can have them. I couldn't possibly go now. I have to go after Mia.

I find her outside, sitting on a bench looking out at the Opera House. It's cloudy and the wind's making Sydney Harbour grey and choppy.

‘What's worse than dog poo?' I ask.

She doesn't turn around.

She finally speaks. ‘Maggots in the dog poo.'

‘So they're squelched between my toes …'

‘Burrowing into your skin … Which causes some parasitic disease that makes you vomit incessantly.'

Ouch.

‘That's what I am.'

‘Worse,' she adds.

We sit together staring at the steel-grey water.

Mia looks down at her fingers. ‘You know before I went away everyone said we were …'

‘… perfect together.' I finish for her.

She gives a half smile. ‘So is Abigail more perfect for you than me now?'

‘No, she's kind of the opposite.'

‘But.'

‘But.'

How can two kinds of perfect be completely opposite and why do I have to be obsessed with the kind of perfect that's rude, cold and can't stand me?

Kat is devastated when I tell her the news later in the day.

‘How could you do that? You should know I'm going with Mia in the divorce.'

If she thinks the break-up is bad, wait till she finds out it's because of Abigail.

‘You can't be serious.'

‘No!'

‘Traitor!'

‘I didn't mean for it to happen,' is my only defence.

Tara and Kat are stunned but it's their fault. They were the ones obsessed with finding out who I had a crush on. At first they both assumed it was them and gave me the ‘thanks but we'll always just be friends' talk. Then if they hadn't been torturing me to tell them I wouldn't have ended up confessing.

Now they won't touch me. I am a fly-infested, diseased rat carcass.

‘I'm sorry. What can I do? She drives me crazy. The heart goes where it goes.'

Tara of all people should understand. Her obsession with Ethan knows no bounds and she's getting about as far with her crush as I am with mine. The nearest I get to speaking to Abigail is whenever she catches me goofing around with Tara and Kat and she calls us lame.

Then Abigail and I are paired together in Miss Raine's
pas de deux
class for the rest of the semester. It should be my big chance, but I can tell by the way Abigail rolls her eyes that she's not impressed with me as a partner.

I'm determined to make it work. I can see a lifelong dancing partnership as we take the world by storm. I'll be Nureyev to her Fonteyn, bringing new emotion and life to her dancing.

The chemistry is not immediately obvious. In our next class together, I'm doing okay, though I'm a bit nervous. She's not helping by trying to ignore me. As we move towards the lift, I put my arms around her waist and try to raise her. She's heavier than I think. I've been working on my strength but I just can't lift her properly. We tumble to the floor.