Abigail: Through the Looking Glass (3 page)

‘Miss Armstrong,’ she says, in a dangerous tone, ‘you are either ready to work or at the doctor. Which is it?’

I know she’s expecting me to take the crossover off, but I just can’t – not with everyone staring like this. I turn, leave the studio and head for the doctor’s office.

Doctor Wicks checks my glands, but of course everything’s fine. I’m about to jump down from the examination bed when she says, ‘Slip your crossover off and I’ll check your lungs.’

‘Is that necessary?’ I ask. ‘It’s more of a head cold.’

I force out a cough and hope it sounds convincing.

‘I need to check that your lungs are clear,’ she says.

‘Well can’t you do it on top? It’s freezing in here.’

Apparently not. Is she trying to be difficult? I wriggle out of the crossover, hating her – hating my body – hating Miss Raine – hating every second of this. I can see my reflection in the mirror. I look pale and miserable and … unsurprisingly … kind of cross.

Dr Wicks pulls down the back of my leotard and pauses.

‘That sports bra’s fairly tight,’ she says. ‘Maybe you should go up a size?’

Suddenly I know how a caged animal feels when it’s being poked with a stick.

‘Maybe I didn’t come here for fashion advice.’

I feel the cold stethoscope against my back. How dare she interfere in what I decide to wear?

‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ I carry on, fighting to control the anger in my voice, ‘but I’m the same size I’ve always been.’

‘Well, your lungs are clear.’

Why can’t she just do what I want?

‘But I still have a head cold, right?’ I say. ‘I don’t want to make it worse.’

She’s looking at me with pity. How dare she pity me.

‘Abigail, you do know that for your height and weight you’re in perfect proportion, don’t you?’ she says. ‘It’s normal to be developing. Most girls–’

I can’t listen to another word.

‘I’m not developing and I’m certainly not most girls,’ I state.

I arrive in class early and find Miss Raine alone. I’ve decided exactly what I’m going to say. I just hope it works.

‘The doctor said I’m well enough to dance,’ I tell Miss Raine, ‘but as a medical precaution I should keep my crossover on. Just in case I’m coming down with the flu.’

‘I’m intrigued to see the note,’ she replies.

‘She didn’t put that bit in writing but she asked me to tell you,’ I add quickly.

‘The note,’ says Miss Raine, holding out her hand.

I hand it to her. I can feel prickles down my back as she reads it.

‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Abigail,’ she says. ‘All that’s written here is that you present with symptoms not inconsistent with a slight cold. I suppose you can sit the class out.’

‘But she said I’m okay to dance …’ I say, trailing off when I see the look in her eyes.

‘Then you will abide by my uniform code.’

There are so many mirrors in this studio. Everywhere I look I can see my reflection. I just want to blot it out. I can’t let Miss Raine see what’s happening to my body.

I go and sit down in the corner as the other girls pile into class. They’re staring at me, but I don’t care. I’m not giving anyone the chance to laugh at me.

People who say that things seem better after you sleep on them are crazy. I hardly sleep a wink all night, and in the morning the whole situation seems more impossible than ever. If I can’t keep my body under control, I’m finished as a dancer. And ballet is my life, which basically means that my life is over.

As soon as Tara leaves the room, I go to the mirror, peel down the top half of my leotard, and face the truth. The tears just pour down my face – it’s like staring at failure.

The door opens and Kat strides in.

‘Tiara, mascara wand down,’ she says. ‘We’re gonna be late for breakfast.’

‘Get out!’ I yell at her, dragging up my leotard and dashing the tears from my cheeks.

‘Whoa, banshee!’ she says.

‘You have no right to barge into people’s rooms like that!’ I say, trying to get a hold on myself.

Kat shuts the door as I pull on my crossover.

‘Leave me alone, Kat,’ I say, feeling suddenly exhausted.

Kat grabs the tissue box and passes me one.

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘I’ve known you since we were five and you’ve never walked out of class.’

I blow my nose. ‘You are the last person who’d understand.’

‘Well then, for the sake of the exercise, pretend I’m someone else.’

‘You want to know what’s wrong?’ I say, letting the anger sweep over me. ‘Tell me what you see?’

I pull open my crossover and show her. Kat shrugs.

‘A really boring leotard?’ she says.

‘Like you haven’t noticed.’

‘Honestly, you look exactly the same,’ she insists.

Is she blind?

‘What about
these
?’ I point to my chest.

‘That’s what you’re stressing about?’ she asks, sounding astonished. ‘Abigail, they don’t look any different.’

I don’t believe her.

‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘I have “these”. I have bigger “these”. Thankfully.’

‘But I’m going to be a principal dancer and principals don’t,’ I explain. ‘They just don’t. They’re ethereal. They’re like … ’

I can’t bring myself to say it.

‘Who?’ asks Kat. ‘Tara?’

I can’t reply, but she knows she’s guessed right. I feel so stupid.

‘They don’t all have flat chests. Take my mum, for example.’

‘Natasha is a genetic freak; she’s one in a million,’ I snap.

For once, she doesn’t bite back.

‘Abi, you have spent years stepping over everyone to get this far,’ she says. ‘Are you really gonna let a little bit of “this” stop you?’

‘You all want me to fail,’ I say. ‘This must be the funniest thing that’s happened in years.’

‘Firstly – no matter what you do, Abigail, you are never going to be funny,’ she says in a brisk tone. ‘And secondly – that crossover? You don’t need it.’

Before I can answer her, she’s gone. Is she right? I look at myself in the mirror again. You can’t trust Kat to tell the truth, and yet there was something in the way she looked at me that made me remember what it was like when we were friends. Suddenly I miss having someone to talk to about things. I look at Tara’s empty bed. Maybe I’m just wired differently than other people. Maybe I’m not cut out to have close friends.

Kat’s right about one thing. I am not going to let anything or anyone stop me from making my dreams come true. I just never thought that my enemy would turn out to be the person in the mirror.

Sammy and I are not working together as dancers. I am trying
so hard,
I’m focusing all my energy and strength on getting it right, but Sammy still can’t get me airborne.

‘I said like a gazelle, not an elephant,’ Miss Raine snaps at me.

I stumble to the ground. I can’t believe she’s blaming me.

‘Go to the back,’ she says. ‘I’m sick of the sight of you.’

If Sammy can’t raise his game, why should I have to put up with him holding me back? I follow Miss Raine out of class and fall into step beside her.

‘I just wanted to say that I see your point entirely,’ I say. ‘It’s clear that I need a new partner.’

‘Is it?’

‘I’ve taught Sammy all I can,’ I say. ‘I need someone who’s at my level.’

‘Abigail, the problem isn’t just Sammy,’ says Miss Raine.

I don’t like the way this conversation is going.

‘He had to do all the work in the lift because you were a sack of potatoes,’ Miss Raine states.

Potatoes!
Me?

‘A dancer who blames her partner isn’t popular in a Company,’ she says. ‘I suggest you assess your own shortcomings.’

I feel shivery inside. What is she talking about? I work harder than anyone else here. I do everything I can to be the best. What more does she expect of me? I haven’t got anything else to give.

Back in my room, I stare at my reflection. What if I get chubby like Paige used to be? Maybe she was programmed to be fat as a kid and thin as an adult, and I’m the opposite. Mum was once as slim as me, and look at the size of her now. Miss Raine’s right. My body is a mess. Anger flashes through me like electricity and I kick out at the mirror. There’s a loud crack.

Suddenly I really, really want my dad. He knows nothing about ballet, and yet he can be so comforting. Mum would be telling me to
train harder, do better.
But Dad would just give me a huge cuddle. For the first time ever, I wish I was at home with him instead of here at the Academy. And just the fact that I wish that makes me feel sad.

Paige is coming to visit for the whole weekend. I’ve spent the week thinking up ballet stuff we can do, and now she’s here. I wave to Mum’s car as it disappears and then turn to Paige. She makes our old quotation marks sign.

‘Virtual hug,’ she says.

‘Back at you,’ I reply.

It’s great to have her here – I’m looking forward to spending time with someone who really knows me. As we walk towards the Academy entrance, I feel light on my feet and I can’t stop smiling.

Paige is looking great. She’s come a long way from the days when we all called her Podgy Paige. In those days, I was the slim one and she was the one who was going to take after Mum. An image of my reflection in the mirror flashes into my mind, and I block it out.

‘Hey there’s this really good pilates class on tomorrow morning,’ I tell her. ‘It’s at seven. Do you want to come?’

‘Do I have to?’ she asks.

I laugh as we walk on.

‘So I booked the studio for us,’ I tell her. ‘It’ll be good for you to practise for your audition.’

‘I don’t want to be a dancer any more,’ Paige states.

I stare at her.

‘What? You’ve always wanted to be a dancer.’

‘I want to be a rhythmic gymnast instead,’ she says.

Suddenly her face lights up and she rushes towards the end of the wharf. Kat, Sammy and Tara are standing there, and Sammy and Tara are each holding a paper boat. The boats are decorated with flowers and incense sticks, and each contains one of Sammy’s
pointe
shoes.

Paige is hugging Kat. A real hug, not a virtual one.

‘Little sister, Abigail?’ Sammy asks, looking at me.

‘Younger
sister,’ says Paige before I can reply.

‘Well,’ says Kat, ‘you have just made it in time for the cremation of Samuel Lieberman’s hated
pointe
shoes.’

I don’t want to share Paige with them – she’s only just arrived. I just want my sister to myself for a while.

‘Actually we were just about to go to the studio,’ I say.

But Paige is glaring at me.

‘Abigail, it’s a funeral!’

It’s her first day here and I don’t want us to fight, so we stay. Sammy says a few words and then sends his
pointe
shoes bobbing out towards the harbour. Everyone looks sad. It’s kind of sweet, in a weird sort of way.

‘You gotta hope they don’t choke a pelican,’ says Kat, and the mood is broken.

I wake up feeling happy. I’ve planned so many amazing things for Paige, and I feel as if I’m holding armfuls of presents to give to her. I can’t wait to see her reaction when I tell her what I’ve lined up.

‘I’ve organised for us to watch the Company take class,’ I tell her, ‘and then a tour of the Opera House.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ says Paige.

She doesn’t seem as enthusiastic as I’d expected.

‘Want to come to the studio now and stretch with me?’ I ask her.

‘I’m hungry,’ Paige says.

‘You’ll never be a gymnast if you don’t stretch,’ I warn her, trying to keep the mood light.

Paige flops back down onto her bed.

‘Did I say gymnast?’ she says. ‘I meant journalist. They don’t stretch.’

When I arrive at the cafeteria, Paige is with Kat and Sammy.

‘We’re going to Luna Park,’ she says at once.

My heart sinks. Doesn’t Paige
want
to hang out with me?

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ asks Kat. ‘Paige was crying child abuse that she’s never been.’

I find my voice and try to hold it steady, which is really hard. I can feel tears pricking the insides of my eyes.

‘Actually, I’ve put a lot of work into planning this weekend and Luna Park wasn’t–’

Paige isn’t even listening.

‘I can Paige-sit if you want to stay here,’ Kat says to me.

‘That’s not what I said,’ I reply quickly.

It feels as if she’s trying to steal my sister. She gets to hang out with her brother whenever she likes, but it’s
ages since I’ve seen Paige. All I want is to spend time with my sister – why can’t they understand that?

Luna Park is way more fun than I expected. I win a huge toy dog at a sideshow and give it to Paige.

‘Virtual hug,’ I say, making the quotation mark sign.

‘Back at you,’ says Paige.

As we head off to the next ride, I feel more relaxed than I have for ages. Paige links her arm through Sammy’s. She’s already one of the gang, but for once, so am I. They have no idea how new this feels.

Sammy finds a funny mirror that extends him lengthways. Paige is looking at a mirror made of ripples. She leans in and puckers her lips.

‘Hey Sammy,’ she calls.

Is she
flirting?

On the ferry back, the feeling of being part of something has died. Paige is trying to force Sammy to try some of her fairy floss.

‘No thanks,’ he says.

‘Go on,’ she insists.

‘He doesn’t want any, Paige,’ I tell her, trying to bring her to her senses. ‘It’s full of processed sugar and if you don’t want to go back to being Podge you shouldn’t have any either.’

Her jaw tightens in that stubborn way she’s had since she was a little girl. Can’t she see that I’m just trying to help her?

‘Abigail, it’s fine,’ says Sammy.

‘Don’t be polite,’ I say. ‘She’s been acting inappropriately all day.’

I remember her puckering up her lips in the mirror and looking at Sammy. Paige has gone red.

‘Oooh big word,’ she says in her mocking little voice. ‘You know, Dad used to call Abigail “Night Light” … because she’s not too bright.’

She seems determined to humiliate me. I’ve just got to let it wash over me – like Dad always says. But it’s hard when I’ve been planning this for ages and now she’s the one unravelling it.