Sammy (6 page)

‘Yes, sir. The Board, in its wisdom, has decided to cut hip-hop and jazz. They're getting rid of pretty much anything other than classical.'

A few students in the audience boo the decision. Kat's mum, the legendary Natasha Willis, isn't impressed, but Kat's not out to impress her.

‘Some of the first years have worked hard on this piece and we'd like to show it to you anyway.'

She gives me the signal to start the music but I can't find the right button. My heart jumps. We're taking a massive risk here and I could ruin it all by not pressing play. As I fumble around, Kat's mother asks her to get down from the chair.

‘Not a chance.'

Finally the music kicks in. I join Kat and half our class on the stage. I can see Abigail in the audience. She's frozen, too focused on doing what the Board wants to move. She's not that bothered about hip-hop anyway. We perform our routine. The students in the audience are whooping. They're enjoying it, even if the Board members aren't.

When it comes to Kat's solo she just skips it. I don't know why. Suddenly she's nervous. I get the hand slap – she's handing over to me. This is my chance. There's no point in doing this and then limping through the performance. It's got to be all or nothing so I bust my moves as hard as I can. The students cheer. They're impressed. I think I can even see a couple of Board members smiling. We put on a good show.

Backstage we're feeling pumped. The other students are patting me on the back, congratulating me. Abigail's watching. She should have joined in.

Miss Raine sweeps into the backstage area with a controlled glower. ‘We're bringing the first-year ballet forward. We need to demonstrate a modicum of professionalism to the Board,' she announces.

‘But Tara's not here,' Abigail announces.

We've no idea where she is. Kat and I made her take the afternoon off as she had a serious case of ballet fever: obsessing so much she made Abigail look half-hearted. She took off on a ferry to the beach. It seemed like a good idea, but I can't believe Tara would forget to come back in time for the showcase.

‘You'll have to do it as a solo,' Miss Raine tells Abigail. ‘You're always asking me for one.'

‘It's better as a duet,' Abigail says. ‘Sammy knows it.'

‘Do you?' Miss Raine interrogates me for the truth.

I can't believe Abigail would do this for me. She lives for solo performances.

‘Sure. Understudy's duty.' I know I can do it. I've rehearsed it with Abigail enough.

‘You all have five minutes to get ready. Please don't disappoint me further.'

Everyone springs into action to get ready.

I look at Abigail. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better? Cos I don't need pity.'

‘By now you really should know I don't look after other people's feelings. Even if they are my boyfriend's.'

‘Then why are you doing this?'

‘Because you're good.'

I'm still reeling from the use of the B word. Now she's complimenting my dancing.

‘I wouldn't go out there with you if you weren't,' she adds.

We dance. We dance wonderfully. There's a connection that Abigail would never have had with Tara onstage. It's the same duet but we've transformed it into a love story. Even Miss Raine smiles, relieved that I haven't stuffed it up.

It's like we can do no wrong. Every move we make is right, whether we're dancing, walking down a corridor, sitting together at the café. If I put my hand out to hold hers without looking, she's done the same. In class Abigail and I bring out the best in each other. She's found emotion, tapped into some vulnerability that impresses Miss Raine. I'm almost the opposite. I'm less vulnerable. I feel like I can do anything, dance anything, and it shows. In class we're doing a scene from
Cinderella.

‘Remember this is the first time the prince has seen Cinderella. They can't take their eyes off each other,' says Miss Raine.

I hear her words, but I don't know if she's talking about the characters or Abigail and me, because we can't take our eyes off each other either.

Miss Raine is impressed. ‘Finally you're showing me some artistry.'

The only thing that interrupts our dancing is Tara's phone. She's sitting at the edge of the dance area with her crutches on the floor beside her. She missed the showcase because she dislocated her knee when she was running back from the ferry with Christian. As she can't dance, Tara's thrown herself into organising an end-of-year formal for us.

Miss Raine isn't impressed with that. ‘What is it now, Tara? A crisis over napkin colours?'

‘Sorry,' she mumbles.

As Abigail and I rehearse our
pas de deux
from
Cinderella
alone the next day, there's a delicious agony between us. Actually for one moment there's real agony when I touch Abigail's face and my watch snags in her hair.

As I gently move her hair free our faces are so close. It's not like they haven't been close before. We've been doing plenty of kissing but this is even closer.

This closeness is different. It makes me nervous in an exciting way. I think it's time.

‘You know …' I say, sounding unsure. ‘We've been doing this for a while now – it could be worth discussing … '

‘… the next level?' she says. She can read my mind. She must be thinking the same thing.

‘We're not ready,' she says.

She's
not
thinking the same thing.

‘Right, no.' I try to cover my tracks. ‘I didn't think so either.'

Back to rehearsing.

That night I feel bad. I've been a typical bloke. I start going out with a girl and then next thing I'm pressuring her for sex. I don't want to be that guy. It's not right. I totally respect Abigail. I lay in bed and part of me is actually relieved she said no. I just assumed because things were great it was the next step. It doesn't have to be.

In Miss Raine's class the next day I catch Abi looking at me. She's probably wondering why I've turned into one of those guys all of a sudden. I lean over to her.

‘About yesterday, I feel bad it might have seemed like I was pressuring you. I don't want you to think that, because I really respect you.'

‘Actually,' Abigail says, ‘I've changed my mind. I think we
are
ready.'

‘You do?' I can't believe it.

‘Next group,' Miss Raine calls.

It's our turn to perform our
pas de deux
but this is not a conversation Abi and I can hold off for later. We continue talking as we dance, hiding our words behind our arms or when we turn so Miss Raine can't see.

‘Sorry, stroked out there for a moment. Ready?'

‘Ready,' she repeats. ‘But if you don't agree we can wait.'

‘I'm a guy. I'm hard-wired to think I'm ready.'

Miss Raine sees my mouth moving.

‘It's ballet, Samuel. Communicate through action, not words.'

Miss Raine really wouldn't like it if I communicated what I was thinking right now through actions. I try to focus on the
pas de deux
instead.

‘Okay then,' Abigail continues as she turns her face away from Miss Raine. ‘Let's embrace the cliché of the formal. It'll be special.'

I'm all nerves. She may be speaking in her sarcastic voice but when a girl says she wants it to be special, it needs to be
Special.

My heart pounds and I almost miss my step. The pressure's on. How do I make something I've never done before
Special?
I can forget any thought of sleep between now and the formal.

The next day Christian and I are out running. We do a circuit around the harbour foreshore, past Circular Quay, up and down the Opera House steps and then back. Somehow he always manages to stay about three paces ahead of me. From the top of the steps I'm thinking about how I might raise the subject of ‘the next level'. He's a man of the world. He might be able to give me a few pointers.

By the time we're approaching the Harbour Bridge again, all I can think of is a casual roundabout approach.

‘So, um you and Tara. How's that going?'

Christian gives me a weird look. It's a lame attempt. I try again.

‘I mean you're close but you're not, you know, “close”.'

‘No. We're not.'

‘I assume …' I have to stop running. I can't have this talk and run at the same time. ‘I assume you've been, you know, close with someone in the past.'

‘Mate, I don't talk about that kind of stuff.'

I'm not getting very far. I try to sound casual and I'm almost convincing.

‘Off the record, would you have any, I don't know, words of wisdom if someone was thinking about getting close?'

‘Really, you and Abigail?'

‘She's requesting “special” and I don't know how to deliver.'

‘Okay. Advice? It's not special when it's rushed. Or if both of you aren't on the same page. If it feels wrong then it probably is.'

This isn't the sort of advice I was looking for.

‘I'm thinking more logistics – music, location. What are your thoughts on manscaping?'

I've pushed it too far.

‘If you borrow my razor you're a dead man,' he says and breaks back into the run. I follow, trying to catch up as usual.

On the night of the formal Christian and I wait at the bottom of the stairs of the boarding house for our dates. I'm regretting the manscaping. I had no idea it would make me so itchy. Then Abigail and Tara appear at the top of the stairs and I forget my tender skin. Tara looks lovely but Abigail is stunning in a soft grey strapless dress with her hair combed over to one side.

The formal up on the roof of the building is great. All Tara's work has paid off. The lights look beautiful against the night sky – and who could ask for a better backdrop than Sydney Harbour. We dance and even in a crowd of Australia's top dancers, it feels like we are the chosen couple, the pair everyone is admiring. I don't want it to end but the moment comes for the two of us to leave.

I've filled my room with tea lights, stealing virtually every glass in the building to hold them. My hands are shaking as I fumble with matches lighting them. Suddenly it all seems pathetic. I glance round and it just looks like my normal room with a few candles.

I was obsessing so much about the music and then I went down this creepy rose petal path before I realised I was trying too hard. Now I feel like I didn't try hard enough.

I give her an out. ‘It's probably not what you meant by special. We should raincheck.'

She doesn't take it. ‘It's perfect.'

‘What made you change your mind?' I ask suddenly. I don't know why I'm talking. This isn't meant to be a moment for talk.

‘I get these glimpses where I want to be about more than just dancing.' She leans in to kiss me.

She's so far from Abigail the ice queen that I first met, who didn't dream of anything but dancing. I think of what she put herself through, the not eating, the hard driving determination, and feel like I've broken all that. She's sitting there all beautiful, all vulnerable – waiting.

‘What made you change your mind?' she asks me.

I don't have an answer so I kiss her instead. She responds. I can tell she's ready. As we kiss on my bed I can tell this is what she wants but I hear a voice in my head. It's Christian's. The words I wasn't interested in hearing before repeat softly in my mind. They become louder and louder until I can't ignore them any more.

If it feels wrong then it probably is. If it feels wrong then it probably is.

It does feel wrong. I pull away.

‘Can we stop for a second? It doesn't feel right. And it should. You deserve that.'

Abigail blinks, stunned. ‘No … good decision,' she says, covering her disappointment.

I look away. I can't bear the confusion in her face. I'm supposed to be hard-wired for this. I'm supposed to live for this moment.

But no, not me, not Sammy Lieberman. I don't do
anything
normal.

‘I thought we could do something special this afternoon. Maybe a picnic?' Abigail asks me.

It's a couple of weeks after the formal and we're about to go into class. Right now a picnic is the last thing on my mind, especially one that involves the ‘special' word. After the no-go on our ‘special' night I hate it.

Everything is going off. The night of the formal was an even bigger disaster for Christian than for me. He and Tara broke up. He's gone missing and didn't even sleep in his bed last night. I've left a hundred texts and voicemails for him with no reply and now Patrick is onto me saying I should be looking out for him. Patrick's right.

Now Kat's rebelling against the cancelling of hiphop classes by starting her own classes – ‘Defence of the Hip-Hop Arts'. She thinks we're going to take on the evil old wizards of the Board and I've agreed to help.

Abigail isn't impressed that I have bigger priorities than her picnic. ‘So Kat snaps her fingers and you come running?'

‘They need me,' I say and leave it at that.

I really don't have time to indulge her. If Christian misses too many classes they'll kick him out. I have to find him. When class ends I call him again. The phone answers but it's a female voice.

‘Who's that?' I ask.

She asks me the same.

‘Sammy,' I say. ‘Is Christian there?'

The girl doesn't answer.

‘Listen, whoever you are, I need to speak to him. It's urgent, he's in trouble.'

Still silence on the end of the phone.

‘If you have his phone you're either a friend or a thief. If you're a friend you'll tell me where I can find him.'