Pirouette (4 page)

seven

After Hannah had left, Simone's mind was in a whirl. Had she really discovered an identical sister? Instinct told her she had, for a jolt of recognition had shot through her when she'd first glimpsed Hannah at the airport, and then again today.

But she had no memory at all of a sister, and a barrage of emotions overwhelmed her. On the one hand, discovering she had a twin was the most wonderful thing that could happen to her. But the reunion with Hannah had been so unexpected, so … surreal, it was hard to believe it had happened at all. And now that Hannah had gone off to class, it seemed like she might have been a kind of mirage—a trick of the mind.

Simone undressed and stood under the shower, silently rejoicing in the fact that she'd finished her classes for the rest of the day. How lucky that Hannah had offered to go in her place. Simone would never have had the temerity to suggest it herself, even if she'd thought of the idea. It took someone courageous to break the rules.

Maybe some of Hannah's courage would rub off on her if they spent enough time together … which made Simone wonder, why hadn't they? Why had she and Hannah been separated?

Could Harriet have known that Simone had a twin? Simone doubted it. Harriet had her faults, but she wasn't devious or secretive. Still, might she know more than she'd ever let on?

As she toweled herself dry, Simone realized she wouldn't get the rest she craved. Her head was too full of questions. With the towel wrapped firmly around her, she padded barefoot into the room where Hannah's open suitcase revealed a jumble of clothes.

Simone reached for her handbag, which lay at the back of the wardrobe, and rummaged about for her mobile phone. She was about to key in her mother's number when she changed her mind.

Harriet would want to know
why
Simone was asking—why now, after all these years?—and Simone didn't want to tell her. The discovery that she had an identical twin was still so new that she wanted to keep it to herself for a little while longer. She needed time to digest the relationship, and although—or perhaps because—they'd only just met, she felt possessive of Hannah and didn't want to share her. Oh, she'd tell her mother eventually—but not just yet.

She replaced the phone, then put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went outside, reveling in the unfamiliar feeling of independence and anonymity. And as she strolled along the tree-lined streets, all she could think of was Hannah.

Hannah sprinted across the lawn, and by the time she slipped into the studio, she was a little breathless. Most of Simone's class was already there, sitting on the floor in groups of two or three or lounging at the barre.

“Hey, Simone.” A tall girl with dark hair and a friendly smile was approaching her. She had smooth skin the color of honey and the kind of natural poise that Hannah envied. “Where were you?” she asked. “I was hoping we could have lunch together, but you disappeared.”

“Oh, I'm … uh … ”
Not Simone
, she'd been about to say, before remembering to keep that information to herself. “I'm sorry,” she said instead. “I had to call my mum. She kept me on the phone forever.”

Just then an older woman—mid-thirties, perhaps—entered the room. “Hello. I'm Stacy Greene, and I'll be your jazz teacher.”

The clusters of dancers dispersed as each student found a place in the center of the studio.

Stacy Greene held a folder and a pen. “I'll just tick off your names before we begin. It won't take long.”

The teacher clearly knew some of the dancers from previous years, for instead of pronouncing their names as an inquiry, she murmured things like, “Ah, there you are, Liam,” or “Sam, great to see you again.” Now she gave Hannah a warm smile of recognition. “Ah, the lovely Simone.”

Hannah took a deep breath and smiled back.

Thanks to her training at Armadale Dance and her natural talent, Hannah held her own in class. She'd been learning jazz since she was eight years old, and it was a style that came easily to her. It didn't require the restraint or strict discipline of classical ballet, and Hannah threw herself into it, confident that in this one style, at least, she was every bit as advanced as the others.

After the warm-up exercises, performed to an old Michael Jackson number, the dancers learned the steps that would form part of the routine for the Candance concert. Hannah picked up the choreography quickly and easily.

As she was leaving the studio, still buzzing from the fast routines, a boy with dark hair and an impish smile bumped into her. “Ah, the lovely Simone.”

Hannah laughed at his impersonation of the teacher. “And you are?”

“Tom. Two roll calls and you still don't know my name? I'm gutted.”

“He really is,” said the boy behind him. “You're all he's talked about the entire day.”

“Thanks, Liam,” said Tom, elbowing the taller boy in the ribs. “So,” he said, turning to Hannah, “where are you from?”

eight

Simone returned to the dorm room happier and more relaxed. Hannah, now showered and dressed in a tank top and shorts, was pulling a wide-toothed comb through her long wet hair.

Simone flashed her a complicit smile. “I still can't believe you're really here. After you left for class, I kept thinking that maybe I'd imagined you. But then I'd see your suitcase, and your clothes, and—”

“Imagine how
I
felt,” Hannah said. “I mean, this morning I didn't even know you existed, and by this afternoon I was pretending to
be
you. And everyone just assumed I was you. It was really weird.”

“So, no one suspected?”

Hannah shook her head as she slipped her feet into a pair of thongs.

Simone perched on the end of her bed. “Were you tempted to tell?”

“Kind of, but unless you'd been standing right beside me, I'm not sure anyone would have believed it. Speaking of which, did you call home while I was gone? Did you tell your mum?”

Simone shook her head. “I was going to, but at the last minute I changed my mind. I guess I wanted to … keep it to myself for a while.”

Hannah grinned. “I know. Me too.” She flopped onto the bed beside Simone. “But there's a part of me that wants to tell everyone.”

“It's just so …
huge
,” said Simone. “This sudden discovery that I've got a sister. And I've got this silly, superstitious sort of feeling that if I tell anyone, it will turn out not to be real, and you'll suddenly vanish … ”

Hannah laughed. “Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere.”

Simone smiled. “So how was the class?”

“Fabulous. By the way, there's this guy who likes you.”

“Who?”

“Dark-haired guy. Kind of cute. His name is Tom. Hey, you're blushing.”

“He caught me staring at him,” said Simone.

“Do you like him, then?”

Simone gave a noncommittal shrug. “Do you?”

“Not my type,” said Hannah. “But go for it. Apparently he's had his eye on you all day … I bet he'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“God, don't mention tomorrow,” said Simone, her shoulders slumping. “It was so great not having to go to class this afternoon. I felt like I was really on holiday.”

A look—part sympathy, part confusion—crossed Hannah's
face. “You make it sound like such drudgery. Is that really how you think of dancing?”

“I wish I didn't, but … ” Simone trailed off. “Maybe it will be different with you here,” she continued. “Maybe I'll forget how tired I am of dancing. I wonder how everyone will react when they see us together,” she added, brightening.

“Oh, but I won't be in your class. I'm pretty sure I've been placed in the level below.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“Yeah, I know.” Hannah sat up and crossed her legs, her chin cupped in the palm of her hand. “Listen,” she said, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “Why don't I just email the office and say I've broken my leg and can't make it to summer school after all? Then I can go to all your classes, and you can have the rest you wanted.”

“You think we could get away with it for three whole weeks?” Simone asked, frowning.

“Oh, wouldn't it be great if we could!” Hannah jumped up and spun around the room, but her face fell as she came to a wobbly stop at the foot of the bed. “No, I guess you're right. It was one thing getting away with it in your jazz class—I've always been pretty good at jazz—but ballet? I'd give myself away within the first thirty seconds. I'm not nearly as well trained as you.”

“How long have you been learning?” asked Simone.

“Since I was five. And I'm probably the best dancer at my school. But the best dancer at Armadale Dance isn't as good as the worst dancer at the VSD.”

“How do you know?” said Simone.

“Everyone knows how hard it is to get into the VSD. And remember, I saw you in class before. Your
fouettés
were perfect. Mine are hopeless.”

“Show me,” said Simone.

Hannah jettisoned the thongs, then, barefoot, took a preparation in fourth position and began the turn. Unable to sustain it, she kept collapsing and starting again. “See? Hopeless!”

“You need a stronger center,” said Simone. “Just think
center
all the time. Focus on the rise, not the
plié
, so that instead of thinking
down
, and
down
, and
down
, you think
up
, and
up
, and
up
… that's it. Much better. Now, try it on pointe.”

“That'll be harder,” said Hannah.

“Nope. Easier, actually.” Simone smiled as Hannah ransacked her suitcase.

By the time Hannah found her scuffed and somewhat tatty pointe shoes, the floor was virtually hidden beneath a mess of clothes. “I should probably get new ones,” she said, winding the ribbon around one slender ankle, “but I thought these would do.” As she tied the ribbon on the other foot, it snapped off the shoe. “Rats! Have you got a needle and thread?”

Simone shook her head. “No, but you can try my shoes.” A moment later she was handing Hannah the pink satin shoes she'd been wearing earlier. They looked much newer than Hannah's.

Hannah slipped her bare feet into Simone's pointe shoes. They were a perfect fit.

“Keep them,” said Simone.

“But they're in such good condition. They'll be completely worn out by the end of summer.”

“They'd be just as worn out if I used them myself.”

“I guess … ” Hannah tied the ribbons firmly and carefully. “Awesome,” she said. “Maybe while I'm wearing them, some of your skill will rub off on me.”

Simone smiled. “You've got enough of your own. Come on, show me some
fouettés
on pointe.”

Hannah started to limber up, pointing and flexing one foot at a time. Then she stood up and started the difficult turn.

“Great,” said Simone. “You're wrong if you think you don't have skill. Look how quickly you've improved.”

“Still, I'm nowhere near as good as you.”

“Maybe not,” said Simone, “but you're better than some of the girls who've been placed in my class.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Admin never gets all the placements exactly right. They place you according to what you tell them when you fill in the form.”

“Still,” said Hannah, “if I go into class pretending to be you, won't your teacher expect me to be as good as you?”

Simone shrugged. “It's not like she knows me that well. She's new this year. She only met me this morning. And dancers are never that consistent. They have good days and bad days.”

Hannah spun into a series of
chaînés
, and Simone wat-ched, impressed. “You're better than you think,” she said. “You
should
be in the highest level.”

As if to prove her wrong, Hannah came crashing into Simone, and together they fell onto Simone's bed, laughing. “The highest level, huh?” said Hannah. “You really think so?”

nine

It took Hannah less than two minutes to set up a new hotmail account in her mother's name. As she sat at the desk, typing on her laptop, Simone pulled up the other chair and sat beside her.

Hannah began:

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]

Dear Ms. Jones,

Unfortunately, my daughter Hannah has broken her leg and will be unable to attend the Candance summer school after all.

“Now what?” asked Hannah.

“I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause,” Simone dictated.

“Oh, that's good,” said Hannah.

“ … and hope she will be able to join you next year.”

Hannah typed as Simone dictated, then added another sentence of her own.

The fees have already been paid in full, but it would be great if you could refund at least some of the money …

“Hmm! Try: I will understand if you are unable to provide any refunds at this late stage,” Simone suggested.

“Right,” said Hannah. She deleted the last line and began again.

The fees have already been paid in full, but I will understand if you are unable to provide any refunds at this late stage.

“However,” Simone continued, “if you were able to return at least some of the money, I would be extremely grateful.”

“Okay, but remember we have to get the money put into my account, not sent as a check to my home address.”

“Right,” said Simone. “How about, ‘If it is possible to provide a partial refund, the best way to do so would be via direct deposit'?”

“That's perfect.”

Hannah typed in the sentence, then added:

My account details are as follows:

“Wait, I'll have to check.” She stood up, unearthed her purse from beneath a pile of clothes, and brought it over to the desk.

Bank: Westpac
BSB: 033 059
Account number: 647280
Account name: Segal

“Just Segal?” said Simone. “No first name? Won't that look suspicious?”

“Maybe, but there's no way I can tell her the account is in my name. That
would
look suspicious.” Hannah paused. “Sincerely, Best Wishes, or Kind Regards?”

“Kind regards,” said Simone. “But you forgot the part about not phoning.”

“Oh, right.”

The best way to contact me is through this email address, as my phone is currently out of order.

“Anything else?” asked Hannah.

“Thank you for your understanding,” said Simone.

Thank you for your understanding.
Kind regards,
Vanessa Segal

Hannah stopped typing and looked at Simone. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

Simone nodded. “Absolutely.”

Hannah pressed
send
, then turned to her newfound sister and grinned. “You do realize, don't you, that if we get busted, we're done for?”

Simone turned pale.

“Don't worry, Simone. We'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen.”

“We must be insane,” said Simone as she watched Hannah pick up a bundle of clothes and shove them haphazardly into the wardrobe.

“It'll be fine,” said Hannah, “as long as no one realizes.” She tipped the remaining contents of her suitcase onto her bed.

“So we can't tell
anyone,
” said Simone. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Hannah. She gave the suitcase a final shake and a bottle of shampoo rolled onto the floor.

“Simone?” called a voice from outside the room. A loud knocking followed. “Simone, are you there?”

“It's Sam,” Simone mouthed to Hannah.

“Let her in,” whispered Hannah. “I'll wait in the bathroom.” Hannah withdrew into the steamy bathroom and Simone went to open the door.

Sam entered, still dressed in her jazz shorts, long hair piled carelessly on top of her head. “Who were you talking to?” she asked.

“Uh … no one.”

“Oh, I thought I heard voices.” She stepped around the open suitcase and flung herself down on Hannah's bed. “God, it's a mess in here. How come you haven't finished unpacking? I thought you were a stickler for neatness.”

“I was,” said Simone. “I mean, I used to be,” she added quickly, trying not to let her gaze slide toward the bathroom door. Where would Hannah hide, she wondered, if Sam wanted to use the—

“So I'll save you a spot in the dining room,” Sam was saying.

“Sorry, what?” Simone realized she hadn't been listening.

“I said I'll save you a spot for dinner.”

“Uh, I … ” Dinner with Sam was out of the question—Simone had been counting on spending the evening with Hannah. “Sorry, but I seem to have developed this hideous stomach bug. I really don't think I'll be able to eat.”

Sam tried to mask her disappointment. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Ah, sure … lunch tomorrow. I'll see you in class in the morning.”

“Okay, then.” Sam gave Simone a little wave goodbye. “Feel better,” she added, shooting Simone a look of sympa
thy as she shut the door.

“Phew!” said Hannah, emerging from the bathroom. “It's like a sauna in there.”

After Sam left, the girls drew up a list of rules:

• •
  Wait until the other dancers have gone to dinner before leaving the room.
  
• •
  Never leave the room together. Always leave a minimum ten-minute interval.
  
• •
  Try to look as unalike as possible.
  
• •
  Never be seen on campus together.
  
• •
  Never be seen within a two-kilometer radius
  of Candance together.
  
• •
  Arrive at restaurants separately.
  
• •
  Take the table furthest from the window.
  
• •
  Take the table in the darkest corner.
  
• •
  Tell no one. Tell no one. TELL NO ONE.
  

Hannah gave Simone a quick hug and left the room. Simone watched her go, thinking how good she looked in her denim shorts and sleeveless top, long hair bouncing around her shoulders. Then she changed into a knee-length dress, tied her hair in a ponytail, put on a pair of large, dark sunglasses, and completed the transformation with a floppy sunhat. Checking that a full ten minutes had passed since Hannah left, Simone stepped out into the corridor and shut the door.

Outside the dorm, the sun was just beginning to set. Simone picked up her pace, eager to reach the restaurant quickly. For one thing, she'd eaten so little all day that her stomach was rumbling. For another, she was missing Hannah already. It was hard to believe she could miss someone she'd only met that day, but maybe that's the way it was with twins. There was a special bond …

With Simone's instructions to guide her, Hannah had no trouble finding the Italian bistro. Romeo's was about a hundred meters from the main road and suitably inconspicuous, tucked away behind a tall hedge of native pines.

Sitting alone, at one of the small tables that was covered in a red-and-white checked cloth, Hannah thought about all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. This time yesterday she was still in Melbourne, distraught at having had her flight to Canberra cancelled, and today she was waiting for a sister she'd never even known she had. The last few hours had gone by so quickly that she'd barely had a chance to take it all in.

A middle-aged waiter brought her a glass of water and placed it on the table with a flourish. Hannah smiled and thanked him, then pulled out her phone and checked the new account she'd just set up in Vanessa's name. Sure enough, there was a new message in the inbox.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]

Dear Ms. Segal,

I'm so sorry that Hannah can't join us this summer at Candance, and I wish her a speedy recovery.

Unfortunately, we are unable to refund the cost of accommodation, but we will refund the remaining fee
for full-board catering.

Under the circumstances, we can also provide a
full refund for the three weeks of full-time dance tuition, minus the $60 nonrefundable enrollment fee and the initial $100 deposit. Your refund will therefore be
$900 for the dance tuition. You will also receive a catering refund of $560, for a total sum of $1,460.

Please allow five working days for the funds to
be deposited into your chosen account.

Best Wishes,
Jocelyn Jones