Step Up and Dance (17 page)

I opened my mouth:
What's going on?
But Dad just jerked his head at a chair for me to sit down. His eyes were warm, like dark chocolate.

Mum sat at a corner near me and started pouring red cordial into two of the glasses. Next went lemonade. And lastly – roll me over and call me a bimbo – big slurps of ouzo.

‘What!' I laughed when Mum placed a bubbling red glass in front of me.

Dad's glass had just ouzo and water, like always. ‘I remember
my
first taste of ouzo,' he said, smiling and sipping his drink.

Okay then, here we are, sitting on Mars.
I sipped at my drink, pretending this was my first drink of alcohol, even though it wasn't. It tasted sweet and tickly with the sharp bite of liquorice. (Try this kind of black jellybean, Summer!) It warmed my throat and trickled into my last empty spaces inside.

‘My parents were out. And Stavros was sick in bed,' said Dad.

Mum was leaning back in her chair, taking fast sips and licking her lips in between.

Dad smiled, staring into distant memories. ‘I decided if I just sneaked a taste of ouzo, then they wouldn't notice anything missing.'

I took another sip, and then another. Soon my feet were tingling and my head felt like a balloon.

‘But I couldn't stop!' Dad continued. He reached across to grab my hand, his eyes flashing bright. ‘When they came home,' he laughed, ‘I was passed out in the hall, clutching the half-empty bottle of ouzo.'

‘Dad!' I shook my head, eyes wide.
My father, the alcoholic.
‘How old were you?'

Mum leaned forward and started giggling.

Dad sighed, and took another sip. ‘I was nine years old.'

‘What?!' I let my mouth drop open and shook my head, giving Dad the full force of my disapproval. ‘That's way too young to start drinking, old man.'

After that we talked and laughed and ate the sushi rolls, which fell apart because they were so fresh. Dad always dips his in olive oil. (How weird can he get?) So I talked him into a deal:
I'll try an olive oil piece if you try one with soy sauce.
The olive oil roll wasn't too bad, even though I pretended to choke and almost fall off my chair.

Soon Mum and Dad were starting their second drinks and laughing about nothing, while I switched to straight lemonade. Mum spent fully half an hour gushing about her cheese-making class, then Dad told us why he doesn't want to fire the hippy driver who keeps having bingles with his truck. For some reason, the image of Dad frowning at new dents made me laugh so hard I had tears rolling down my cheeks.

Near the end of the evening, they both turned to me.
So what's been going on in your life, Saph?
I knew they wanted me to start talking about cheerleading. But when I opened my mouth, a whole heap of other stuff came out – about Summer and school and having trouble with my German essay.

‘German's a lot harder this year than I thought it would be,' I said, yawning and stretching back in my chair.

There was a pause as Dad reached across the table to hold Mum's hand. ‘Your mother and I have been talking,' he said. A look passed between them, then Dad smiled at me. ‘And we support your dancing, Saph. We don't want you to quit.'

‘You mean …' I looked from one to the other. ‘You don't mind …'

Dad smiled and shrugged.

‘Just because I dance like that, it's not like …' I sat straight in my chair. It was strange talking like this with my dad. But in some ways, not strange anymore. ‘I'm not like that, you know? It's just a dance.'

‘I know, Saph.' He glanced at Mum, then back at me and sighed. ‘You're growing up, koukla.'

That made me want to cry. I knew how hard it was for Dad to say that. ‘I'm probably kicked off the troupe, anyway …'

Dad reached out and brushed my cheek with rough fingers. ‘You know I think you look best without all that make-up,' he said. ‘But either way, you're a beautiful girl.'

I smiled, a tear in my eye. ‘Thanks, Dad.' I looked across at Mum. ‘Really, thanks.'

Then I went to bed and sank into it deeper than I have for a long time. I was myself again – not trying to be eighteen, or wishing I was eight again – happy being jellybean sixteen.

CHAPTER
11

‘Do you want me to call Lesley for you?' asked Mum in the kitchen the next morning. ‘I'm sure I can work it out.'

Hmmm.
It was tempting to hide while Mum faced the growling lion. I finished pouring milk on my rice bubbles and bit my lip. The bowl started crackling as I sat down.

But as much as I liked the idea, I knew I couldn't let Mum call Lesley for me. I was a professional dancer. (At least, I hoped I still was.) And that meant facing the great growling choreographer, even when she wanted to bite my head off.

‘Thanks, Mum, but I'll do it,' I said. Just one bowl of rice bubbles and a mug of Milo lay between me and the wrath of Lesley.

Ten minutes later, I dialled Lesley's number and waited. My breath came short and sharp into the receiver.

‘Hel . . .
uhm
. . . Hello?' Lesley's voice was croaky and thin. ‘Sorry, did I wake you up?' I blurted out.
Oops!
‘It's Saph.'

‘Saph.' Now Lesley's voice was clearer. ‘I'm glad you called.' I could hear a faint rustling as she climbed out of bed. ‘I wanted to thank you, Saph.' Lesley cleared her throat. ‘From what Abe tells me, you saved the opener when her costume didn't arrive.'

My breathing halted for a moment. Lesley was
thanking
me. ‘Oh . . . um . . .' I wasn't sure what to say. All through breakfast I'd been going over this call in my head, but
Just one more chance, Lesley
suddenly didn't seem to fit.

‘Anyway, I've learnt a few lessons from that night. That new formation for eight? I like it. It rotates well on the court. Think we could do lots with it.'

A formation for eight? ‘You mean . . .' I didn't want to say it.

Lesley laughed – booming like loud music. ‘Don't worry, Saph, I'm just adding in some slack. We need some routines that suit eight dancers and a rotating understudy. That way if anyone's sick or busy, then they get some time off. Remember last year when Bec had to dance with the flu?'

Sure I did. Lesley had dosed her up on tablets and sent Bec out with a glassy look in her eyes. She danced as if in a dream and then fell asleep on her pompom bags at half time.

I laughed. And I wasn't just laughing about Bec. A wave of relief washed through me, soothing me like the ouzo had.

‘Anyway, no class tonight. Did you get that message?'

‘Yeah. Thanks.' There was a pause – space to come out and say it. I gulped. ‘I'm sorry I wobbled, Lesley.'

‘Ah that.' Lesley's voice was flat, but not angry. ‘Well, Sportscraft are still willing to negotiate. So it's not the end of the world. And we won't let it happen again because we're changing the end of your solo.'

I sighed, half-laughing at the same time. ‘Yeah. Good plan.' If only we'd done that to start with.

When I hung up the phone, I stared at it for a while.

Mum's hand felt firm on my shoulder. Her voice was quiet in my ear. ‘How'd it go?' she asked.

I turned, nodding with my lips squished together, a jumble of hopes and fears inside. ‘It's all fine. I mean . . . I'm not kicked off. And she's changing things, to make sure it doesn't happen again.'

Mum hugged me around the neck and then pulled away, smiling. ‘I knew it, Saph.'

I nodded, letting a smile break out across my face. This was great news. Not just about having a place on the troupe. But also about dancing – messing up so bad and finding that I still had a second chance. I'd just lived through my worst nightmare, and woken to find the sun was shining.

I didn't let myself worry about the Jay-shaped cloud on the horizon.

‘
Wunderbar
, Annette! And which case is that?'

The next day, Mr Kissinger had left his funky self at home and morphed into a normal German teacher. Colour me pink, we were working on grammar! Maybe after having a drink with my parents, I really had landed on Mars.

Across from me, Jay had his long legs folded under the table; his eyes looked vaguely up at the screen. His cheeks were pale. No longer the calm, controlled sporty guy that I now knew so well.

‘
Das Buch steht auf
. . . anyone?' Mr Kissinger raised his eyebrows at the class hopefully. ‘
Den Tisch
?
Dem Tisch
?
Der
?'

Seeing Jay didn't make me feel empty anymore. In fact, I felt full up. Jumbled thoughts raced through my mind and crashed into each other: disappointment, sadness, anger, the heat of guilt. I shook them away and glanced down at my desk. There was nothing I could do about it now.

For the rest of the class, I kept my eyes away from Jay. He could have jumped on the desk and pulled all his clothes off for all the difference it would have made. Nothing could have made me look at him. Not that he was doing anything to get my attention, anyway. In fact, he didn't so much as glance my way all lesson. Did he know what Summer and I had done?

When the bell rang, Mr Kissinger clicked his fingers like a cool cat. ‘All right class! Essays to me on your way out.' He did a weird kind of jig and clicked his fingers again. ‘Bet you're all glad you've discovered the true meaning of happiness!'

Someone snorted, but in a joking kind of way.

Jay was at Mr Kissinger's desk, holding his paper with both hands as if he didn't want to crinkle it. He'd get a good mark for that one – I let my eyes skim over the other people handing in papers – maybe top.

It's like I go into a zone. With sport, you can't talk, so you can't lie
. . .

The weird thing was, I felt the same about dancing as Jay felt about sport. That was what got me so mad with him. He didn't see that dancing was about much more than looking good and acting a role. It was about feelings. Expressing how I felt in my body was so much more powerful than words. Happiness is a dance from the heart, each move showing the world how I feel.

I looked down at my essay and sighed.
Hot chocolate
and
Making people's eyes pop
. Suddenly I didn't want to hand it in.

‘Lucky last, Saph!' said Mr Kissinger once everyone was gone. He sat down on his desk. ‘How did it go?'

‘Not too bad,' I frowned at the pages in my hand. ‘But not so good either.' I bit my lip, frowning. ‘Can I have a few more days, Mr K? There's been some stuff going on . . . and I think I can make it better.'

Mr Kissinger smiled and nodded – cool cat, no problems. ‘Of course, Saph. See me when you're ready and I'll help with the translation.'

‘Thanks, Sir.' It felt good to care about German again.

Happiness is having my parents on my side. Making a big mistake, and finding that the sun still shines.

Mr Kissinger stood up and hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘You know, Saph? Sometimes the things that are the hardest are the things that teach you the most.'

I giggled. ‘That's a bit deep, Mr K.' We started walking towards the door.

‘Just you wait till uni! It gets so deep that you'll need an air tank.'

I shrugged and smiled up at him. ‘Uni? I'm not so sure . . .' ‘Hey, Saph,' Mr Kissinger stopped at the door, and winked. ‘Keep your options open, kid. I think you might love uni.'

I nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe.' Then I walked down the hall, smiling to myself.

Happiness is having a teacher like Mr K.

I was still smiling as I headed out of the senior school building, and started down the steps.

Then I stopped dead. No more smiling, not even moving.

At the bottom of the steps, two clear eyes peered out from a pale face. Jay.

For a moment, I thought about spinning fast and escaping back inside.