Kat: Breaking Pointe (6 page)

I oversleep. Ethan drives me in but the city traffic creeps along and I am jiggling in the seat, willing the car to go faster. Finally we arrive. I race inside. The other dancers have already warmed up, but it doesn't seem like I've missed anything important. Still, April looks pretty unimpressed.

‘Kat,' she greets me. ‘I think you're going to have to spend your first pay cheque on a watch.'

‘I know. Sorry.'

I dump my stuff in the wings. Jade rushes over. ‘Your skirt's on backwards,' she hisses. She helps me pull it around the right way.

‘How are you so perky?'

‘Practice. And caffeine.'

‘Are we keeping you ladies?' April calls.

I rush to take my place. The music starts and the cancan begins. I pull a hair elastic off my wrist and try to dance and put my hair up at the same time, desperately playing catch up, trying to ignore that worried look on April's face.

After a gruelling hour, in which I suck slightly less than yesterday, April calls a break. ‘Kat, can I see you for a second?'

I join April down in the stalls.

‘Feeling pretty good for a second rehearsal,' I say. ‘And check this out:
S'il vous plaît, ne pas uriner dans la rue
.'

‘Please, do not urinate on the street?'

I nod, pleased with myself.

‘Essential.' She gestures. ‘Take a seat.' I sit. I feel a creeping dread come over me.

‘I know you're young but there are standards of professionalism we expect from all our dancers.'

‘I promise I won't be late again. Scout's honour.'

‘You also brought your boyfriends to your first rehearsal. And partied last night after my specific request.'

I grimace. ‘I think I've been over-excited.'

April pauses and then says gently, ‘Unfortunately, we can't take you to Paris this time.'

‘Why? Where am I going?'

‘I'm letting you go. You were a borderline choice but I hoped you might show enough maturity.'

The air goes out of me. I sit and listen to everything she says, but every word is metallic, striking my skull.

‘Kat, you're talented. But you're not ready for this contract. In a few years, with some more training and experience … who knows? We should stay in touch.'

I nod, gutted.

I change out of my costume. I stand for a moment in my street clothes and look at myself in the mirror. Jade comes up behind me, feathers and sequins adorning her. ‘Lots of people try out three or four times for the Moulin Rouge before they get accepted. You're in good company.'

I nod. I wonder how many of them get offered a position and then have it taken away again. How many throw it away.

‘I hope you try out again,' Jade says, hugging me goodbye. ‘There's no shame in coming back for a second go, you know. It's part of life as a dancer.'

 

I walk along the wharf to the Academy. I really need a friend right now. Christian and Ben are trying out their hip-hop moves. They smile at me.

‘Hey. I've been workshopping how to fit into a suitcase so I can stowaway to Paris. Look.' Ben shows me his best squished up moves, resembling a pretzel.

‘Looks cramped,' I say weakly.

‘Works better with an actual suitcase.' He rushes off, presumably to find a suitcase, leaving Christian and I alone.

Christian looks at me. ‘Lot of people are going to miss you.'

‘Doubtful,' I say. I take a breath. ‘I was a tiny bit late and April told me I'm not professional enough to keep my contract.'

Christian is instantly on my side. ‘Nah, that's crap. You don't want to work for someone like that.'

‘No, she's actually really great. And she knows what she's talking about.' I know I'm contradicting myself. Suddenly I'm furious, but not with April. With myself. ‘How did I do this? I had an amazing opportunity, and KAPOW. The Kat effect strikes again.'

I tear up, laughing and crying at the same time. Christian steps forward and takes me in his arms. I cling to him, feeling the strength and solidity of him.

‘I just … I'm so sick of screwing everything up.'

He holds me. This is nothing to do with the kiss. This is something else, something deeper than a crush. This is what lies at the heart of us.

‘You can change April's mind,' he tells me. ‘If you want to go to Paris …' I look at him through tears.

‘You know when you replay things in your head. Try to work out where you went wrong?' I say.

Christian nods.

‘I find myself wishing I could go back to last year. Do it all over again.'

‘Are you saying what I think you're saying?' Christian asks me. He pushes the hair out of my face. ‘You miss it, don't you? You're always here. You never really left.'

‘I hate this place,' I say.

‘Me, too,' says Christian. ‘But it's where we belong.'

‘How can I – ?'

‘Don't ask me. You know who you have to see.'

 

I stand in front of Miss Raine changed, but I don't know if she will see that. I'm smaller, humbled, even a little broken. But I'm bigger, too. Big enough to admit the truth. I've grown this year, grown into myself, grown into ballet. I know enough to know that I don't know anything. All the things I thought I wanted – freedom, normality – haven't turned out like I thought. There was always something missing. And I think I've finally worked out what that is.

‘What did you say?'

‘I want to … I want to come back to the Academy.'

Miss Raine stares at me.

‘I know I made mistakes last year.'

‘I'm not arguing.'

‘The thing is, if you give me another chance I promise I'll be worth it.'

‘This is the top dance school in the country. To get in once is a chance of a lifetime. It doesn't happen twice.'

‘I know. And I absolutely hear what you're saying. But I am going to be the exception.'

 

So begins my war of attrition. I know Miss Raine won't cave easily, but I need her to see that I'm
not going to give up. I know her well enough to know that she will have a moment of weakness eventually, I just have to be there when it happens. So I camp outside her office. I sleep there overnight. Well, sleep is an exaggeration. Occasionally I slip into a hallucinogenic coma in which I hear ghosts of Academy students past prowling the corridors.

I am brushing my teeth when Ethan happens past. ‘Excellent. Sit here for a minute? I haven't been to the toilet since – well, that ain't apple juice.' I indicate a bottle of yellow coloured juice behind me (which actually is apple juice, but Ethan doesn't need to know that).

‘You know you're not camping out for tickets?'

I look around. ‘This isn't the line to see Gaga?'

‘Miss Raine won't respond to a stunt. She needs to know you're serious this time.'

He disappears down the corridor. I am tired and cranky and I really am busting. I don't appreciate the brotherly lecture.

‘Fine, walk away. But my bladder infection is on your conscience!'

But I agree that it might be time to take another approach.

 

I enlist Sammy. We charge into Miss Raine's office. Sammy hands over a petition, while I state my case to be allowed to audition – dancing
Odette
from Swan Lake while I do so for good measure.

‘Reason number one: the applicant feels deep, demonstrable regret over her previous lackadaisical attitude.'

‘Yes, of course Lady Charlton. You have my undivided attention,' Miss Raine says into the phone, then covers the mouthpiece and hisses, ‘Get out. Now.' I dance on, desperate to get my point across.

‘Reason number two: the applicant has now clocked hours of professional dance employment.'

‘And only been fired once,' Sammy adds helpfully.

‘Twice,' I interject, remembering the chicken costume.

‘References.' Sammy produces several sheets of paper and hands them to Miss Raine.

‘This is ridiculous,' snaps Miss Raine. And then, into the phone, she says, ‘No, not you Lady Charlton. I was talking to a … a bird that's flown into my office.' She looks meaningfully at me. ‘Yes, it's a rather large bird. Thank you.'

She ends the call and glares at me.

I stop dancing. ‘Reason number three: the applicant is desperate.'

‘Evidently.' But my instinct was right. I can feel her will to repel me diminishing.

She sighs. ‘There are auditions next week for the Junior School. You can come in then. As a favour to your parents.'

Sammy grins at me. Miss Raine looks me up and down.

‘Although judging from that display of technique, I wouldn't get your hopes up.'

 

I stand in the middle of the dark studio, looking up at the ceiling. Tara's busy rehearsing her piece for the Prix, Sammy is practising for his exams. So I'm here alone, and I'm supposed to be preparing. But suddenly I feel overwhelmed.

‘I'm not sure standing still qualifies as training.'

I turn around. Christian, in stealth mode, takes me by surprise.

‘I was visualising.'

He raises an eyebrow. ‘How'd that go?'

‘Made me hungry.'

‘Come on,' he says. ‘Let's get you warmed up.'

‘You don't have to – '

‘I know,' he says simply.

I steady myself at the
barre
, and start practising my
battement fondus
. Christian stands in front of me, watching every move.

‘I'm sure you've got better things to do.'

‘Remember the elastic band,' Christian instructs gently. ‘Both legs need to reach maximum stretch at the same time.'

‘You're good at this. Teaching.'

‘Don't try to distract me. You're sickling. Here.' Christian adjusts my foot. I pretend he has no effect on me, though my heart races at his proximity. I continue the exercises and turn to face the
barre
. Christian puts his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs pressing my shoulder blades. ‘Really separate them out.' I try to keep dancing but I can't ignore the buzzing in my head. I'm sure he's aware of it, too, this electricity passing between us.

I stop.

‘Kat,' he says, his voice charged with feeling.

I hesitate and I know I have to vacate this moment. ‘I have to …' I pull myself away, ready to flee.

‘We said it doesn't have to get weird between us. It was just one moment.'

‘Yeah,' I say, and laugh. ‘Except it's like a hundred different moments. Do you remember this?' I step into his space and put my hand on his cheek.

‘People phobic,' he says.

I smile, despite everything, I'm glad he remembers that day last year, when he'd just started at the Academy and hated everyone and everything, reacting badly to being touched in class when his technique was corrected. I staged my own intervention, touch therapy I'd called it. And look how far he'd come over the last year. It was my turn to grow now. And touch therapy was the last thing I needed.

I take a deep breath and – helter-skelter – decide to come clean. ‘So, in a disastrous manoeuvre I've kind of had feelings for you since the start of last year.'

Christian is stunned by my admission.

‘And you're pretending not to be but you're in love with my best friend.'

‘So everyone keeps telling me.'

‘Which I absolutely support. It's just tough for me sometimes and you're making it worse.'

‘What
should
I be doing?'

‘I don't know, staying away?' I meet his eyes. ‘If I'm coming back to the Academy then there needs
to be a buffer. I can't train with you. I can't even be friends with you.'

Christian shakes his head. ‘That's crap. We've always been friends.'

‘You have. I've sort of been pretending.'

And I get out of there, fast, before the hurt in his eyes can undo me.

 

I beg Ethan to help me train but he refuses.

‘This is your dream scenario,' I insist. ‘You live to tell me what to do.'

‘And you never listen. Which is why you obviously need a trainer who's going to inspire discipline.' At that moment, Abigail enters the studio. ‘Perfect timing.'

‘For what?' Abigail asks, suspiciously.

‘My sister needs someone who'll push her to breaking point.'

‘I'd prefer to take my chances,' I say, as Abigail protests.

‘It'll be mutually beneficial. You need to stop obsessing,' he says to Abigail. To me: ‘And you need to obsess more. I expect nothing less than magic.'

He glides off, leaving Abigail and me glaring at each other.

 

Abigail walks slowly around me as I stare in the mirror. Finally she stops and smiles. ‘It's gratifying how for years you've made fun of my choices, my dedication, and now you want my guidance.'

I grit my teeth. My brother might be cruel and unusual, but he's right, if anyone can get me up to scratch, it's Abigail.

‘You'll do what I say, when I say?' she demands.

‘You say jump, I say where's the nearest cliff.'

She hands me a skipping rope. ‘Give me a hundred.'

‘I was speaking metaphorically. I have six days to get ballet friendly. Can't you give me a class?'

‘Cardio first. Class comes later.'

If my life were a movie, this is where the montage would kick in, to a pumping soundtrack. Skipping, sit-ups, running up flights of steps. Abigail confiscating my burger and donut and replacing it with a piled up plate of salad. Unfortunately montages don't happen in real life. In real life it's
just gruelling hour after hour of cardio and strength training. I stick to her diet and follow her insane schedule. I ask when I'm going to work on technique but she keeps saying I need to get my core strength up first.