Pirouette (6 page)

thirteen

“You don't remember him, do you?” Sam said to Hannah while they were eating lunch on the lawn the following day.

Hannah frowned and shook her head. Though Sam was interesting and friendly and great company, she had an annoying habit of referring to events that Hannah knew nothing about. Now, for instance, she was talking about some guy who'd been at Candance the year before. Hannah thought it best to simply admit she didn't remember. “What did you say he looked like again?”

“Tall, curly hair … you said he was cute.”

“Did I? Well, don't forget it's been a year.”

“Still … ” said Sam, her tone accusing, “I'd never forget a guy who liked me. I mean, not that many of them do,” she added, blushing.

“I'm sure loads of them do,” Hannah jumped in, grateful for the chance to steer the conversation away from herself. “You're smart and gorgeous, and tall … ”

“Too tall,” said Sam.

“And a wonderful dancer … ”

“Too tall for a partner … ”

“In a traditional ballet company, maybe. Still, don't you want to do more experimental stuf
f
?”

“Yeah, but it'd be nice to think I had a choice. What kind of dancing do you want to do?”

“Everything,” said Hannah. “I think I'd get bored with just one style. I want to audition for
So You Think You Can Dance
when I finish school.

“If it's still on,” said Sam. “I'm so over that show.” She unwrapped her sandwich and regarded it with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “You'd think they'd have the imagination to change the menu from time to time. It's been the same for years.”

Hannah was already chomping. “Mine's pretty good,” she said through a mouthful of sandwich.

“Messy, though,” said Sam. “You've got beetroot dribbling down your chin.”

“Have I?” Hannah laughed, then noticed Tom and Liam strolling toward them.

“Mind if we join you?” Liam plunked himself down on the grass, and Tom grinned at Hannah.

“Sam's right,” said Tom. “You do have beetroot on your chin.” He squatted beside her. “If you like, I could wipe it off.”

“No way.” Hannah punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Here.” Tom handed her the napkin from his own sandwich. “Feeling better?” he asked.

Hannah dabbed at her chin. “Better than what?”

“Sam said you weren't feeling well the last couple of nights; you weren't at the Caff. Eat with us tonight?”

“Can't,” said Hannah. “I'm on half-board this year. I have to eat out.”

Trusty sunhat and large glasses hiding most of her face, baggy pants and an oversized T-shirt concealing her body shape, Simone sat under a large maple, watching as dancers left the School of Dance and headed over to the Caff, soon to emerge again carrying sandwiches in paper bags.

Simone's tummy gave a little rumble. Right now, though, she didn't have time to eat—she had something more important on her mind. A note slipped under her door had informed her that a parcel was waiting for her in the office. Though she'd seen the note at ten in the morning, she couldn't show up at the office when class was in session; she'd had to wait until lunchtime.

In the distance, she could see Hannah and Sam sitting on the grass in the shade of an elm tree, with Tom and Liam strolling over to join them. A moment later, Tom was crouching next to Hannah, and then Hannah was punching him and they were both laughing. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy …

It was weird to think she was watching “herself,” watching the person the rest of the class was calling “Simone.” Weirder still to think the entire class believed that Hannah was her. Didn't they think it strange that a girl who was
normally shy and reserved had suddenly become outgoing and gregarious?

Then again, she'd only spent one morning with the other dancers, and even those who remembered her from last year probably wouldn't have thought too much about it. After all, a person could change a lot in a year …

Simone was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the sound of their laughter carried. She was suddenly aware of the contrast between the sense of togetherness the dancers radiated and her own aloneness.

Having been raised an only child, she was used to long stretches of time spent by herself, and generally enjoyed her own company. Now, though, an unexpected pang of loneliness overwhelmed her. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would have been like to have a sister. To have Hannah for company all the time.

She took one last, lingering look at the little group, then reminded herself that right now she was alone by choice, and that sometimes loneliness was the price of freedom. Besides, in just a few hours' time, she'd be with Hannah again …

She resumed her surveillance of the dance building, and when she was sure all the dancers had come out, she stood up and casually strolled across the lawn and up the stairs.

Inside, it was quiet, the studios empty. Simone's footsteps echoed as she walked down the hall to the office. She took off her sunhat and glasses and knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Jocelyn Jones looked up and smiled. “Hello, Simone. Did you get my note about your package?”

Simone nodded.

“Your mum must really miss you if she's already sending you goodies from home.”

“I guess so,” said Simone, thankful that she'd asked for the DNA kit to be sent in an unmarked envelope with no visible return address.

Back in her room, the entire dorm silent and empty, Simone opened the package with trembling fingers. She read the instructions on the enclosed leaflet. Twice through, just to be sure.

The swab was to be taken on an ordinary cotton bud. All she had to do was wipe the tip of the bud against the inside of her cheek, then place it inside a sterile tube. It seemed almost too easy …

“Here goes.” Simone watched anxiously as Hannah gave the little white stick a final twirl.

“Done,” said Hannah. Carefully, she inserted the cotton bud into the clear plastic tube and grinned at her sister. “But I hope it's worth spending three hundred and sixty dollars to find out something we already know.”

Simone said nothing, because on some level Hannah was right; they
did
know they were identical twins. They'd conducted their own experiment, consisting primarily of a list of questions to which both had contributed. They'd asked, and answered, separately and in writing so that there could be no cheating, questions like
What is your favorite toothpaste/shampoo/chocolate bar?
(They'd both listed MacLean's, Pantene, and Coconut Rough.)
What is your lucky number?
(They'd both chosen six.)
Favorite colors?
(Simone had written pink and purple, while Hannah had written purple and pink.)

Yet even though they looked identical and had so much in common, Simone still found it hard to grasp the idea that two genetically identical individuals could be so different.

“If we
are
identical,” she said to Hannah, “and our personality differences are caused by our environment, not our genes, then do you think I'd be you if I'd grown up in your family, and you'd be me if you'd grown up in mine?”

Hannah laughed. “I don't think it works that way,” she said as she slipped her tube into the padded envelope alongside Simone's. “The changes start within the womb, don't they? Which means by the time we were born, we were already different.”

fourteen

Life at Candance soon slid into an easy routine. Dancing from nine in the morning till four in the afternoon was what Hannah had always longed to do, and she was in her element. If Miss Roth had at first seemed puzzled by the regression in “Simone's” technique, she made up for it by complimenting her on her passion, drive, and artistry. And Hannah was doing just as well in the other classes. Jazz and hip-hop were great fun, classical repertoire was tough but rewarding, and in contemporary dance, she had the chance to create and improvise
—something she'd always loved.

Hannah, Sam, Tom, and Liam had become a foursome, and though they took their dancing seriously, they laughed their way through lunchtimes as they listened to anecdotes about each other's lives. Not wanting to contradict anything Simone might have told them, Hannah said nothing about her life back home. But she was so quick to comment on the others' stories, no one seemed to notice that she told none of her own.

The week was drawing to a close. As the four were heading back to class one day, Tom said, “Why don't we ever see you in the evenings, Simone?”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Where do you disappear to?”

“I have a secret life,” said Hannah. Sam rolled her eyes and Hannah continued, “It sounds better than saying I promised my mum I'd have early nights.”

“You're right, it does,” said Liam. “You sad, sad person. That's really lame.”

Tom put a hand on Hannah's arm and waited till Sam and Liam had gone on ahead. “You know,” he said, leaning toward her, “there's a reason I asked. I'd really like to get to know you.”

“You are getting to know me,” Hannah said.

Tom shook his head. “Don't think I haven't noticed that you never talk about yourself.”

“Maybe I'm not all that interesting,” Hannah said.

“No, that's not it.” He paused, then added, “Come on, Simone. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” said Hannah.

“Prove it, then. Let's go out tonight, and you can tell me everything I want to know.”

You've got the wrong sister
, Hannah thought.

But it was the perfect opportunity to set him up with Simone.

Engrossed in the story she was reading, Simone hardly noticed the sounds of splashing and laughter. For the first time in her life, she was having the kind of holiday she'd always wanted, spending hours at the local pool, sprawled on a deck chair in the shade of an elm tree with Hannah's Kindle in one hand and a glass of fizzy water in the other. When she wasn't reading, she gazed dreamily over the shining surface of the water or jumped in the pool.

It was wonderful having no Harriet to report to at the end of each day, no one deciding what she ate and watching every mouthful, and, best of all, no one telling her to push her body harder and harder. For the first time in ages, Simone's muscles didn't ache from the minute she got up in the morning till the minute she went to bed at night. Her body felt loose and free.

Finishing the chapter, she set the Kindle aside and re-read the DNA test results that had arrived that morning. She wondered when and how she and Hannah would tell their parents about each other's existence, and imagined a thousand different scenarios. In most of these, the adults were thrilled by the news—after getting over their initial shock.

Still, despite now having proof, Simone couldn't be sure quite how their parents would feel. Would they truly be pleased? Or would they rather not know? When she grew tired of thinking about it, Simone closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander. It wandered to Tom Delaney and those deep, dark eyes. A tiny half-smile played on her lips as she pictured him. The fact that she didn't know him, and never would, somehow made him more desirable. Thinking about him was definitely preferable to being near him; it was far less threatening—not to mention less embarrassing. And as long as she didn't actually know the guy, nothing could spoil her fantasy of him.

Even so, a part of her wished she could get to know him …

Simone snapped out of her reverie and jumped into the pool. She swam two laps, then climbed out and stood dripping onto the grass, allowing the sun to dry her. It was too hot to stay outside all day, so she headed back to the Candance campus.

Lunchtime was over and the dancers were making their way back to class when Simone arrived. She ducked behind a tree and watched as they entered the building. Among the last to go inside were a couple deep in conversation—Hannah and Tom.

Their heads were close together, as if they'd discovered a world of their own. Once again, Simone felt a stab of envy …

Hannah didn't come back to the room for another two hours, leaving Simone free to contemplate what she'd seen. Hannah had said she wasn't interested in Tom, and Simone believed her … but somehow, it hadn't looked that way. So she couldn't help mentioning it the moment Hannah arrived back from class.

“I saw you with Tom. Is something going on between you?”

Hannah swiftly shook her head. “We hang out at lunchtime—Tom and Liam, Sam and I. But I told you before, he's not my type.”

“He's mine,” said Simone. Her voice was dreamy.

“
Yours
, is he?” Hannah teased.

Simone threw a pillow at her head. “My
type
, you idiot.”

“I know that,” said Hannah. “That's why I set you up with him. Tonight you're going on a date.”

“No way!”

“Yes way. You're meeting him at Koko Black at nine o'
clock.”

Simone tried to ignore the flutter in her chest. “Don't be stupid! You can't go setting me up on dates.”

“Why not?” said Hannah, smiling sweetly. “I'm sure you'd do the same for me.”

“What's the point?” said Simone. “I'll never see him again anyway once Candance is over. He probably lives in Queensland or Perth or—”

“Melbourne,” said Hannah.

fifteen

A little after nine that evening, Simone and Tom were sitting at a table for two in Koko Black.

Chin propped in one hand, Tom was looking at Simone as if she were the most fascinating person he'd ever met. He kept up a steady stream of questions and Simone fumbled for intelligent answers under his gaze.

“What do you think of the hip-hop routine?”

A difficult question, considering she'd never seen it. Simone shrugged and didn't answer.

“Do you think the contemporary will come together in time for the concert?”

Once again, she gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe,” she said, certain he'd think her an idiot incapable of forming a single opinion.

Tom was watching her mouth as she spoke, and her lip trembled. Did she have a chocolate moustache? Simone wiped her lip with the back of her hand.

Tom lifted his cup of Chili Hot Chocolate. “Try this.”

Simone took a sip. That way, she could pretend her cheeks were flushed from the chili, not from the way he made her feel. She passed him her own, milder drink. “Here. Try mine.”

Tom tasted Simone's Italian Hot Chocolate. “It has no kick.”

“It isn't meant to.”

Tom began absentmindedly tearing a napkin. “You know,” he said, “you're different tonight.”

Simone almost choked on the spicy drink. “Different how?” She pushed Tom's cup and saucer toward him.

Tom studied her face and she blushed even harder. “You're kind of … self-conscious. You remind me of the first time I saw you. You were sort of shy that morning. But by the afternoon you were already … I don't know, much more outgoing and confident.”

Simone covered her face with her hands and peeped through her fingers. “Do you think we can change the subject now?”

Tom laughed. “Yeah, sorry. So,” he said, “how do you like the VSD?”

Simone found herself shrugging yet again. She really didn't want to talk about school.

“It's supposed to be one of the best dance schools in the country,” Tom continued. “I guess that means you've got it made.”

“Does it?” she asked.

“Well, yeah. I mean, once you've had that sort of training, you'll definitely make it as a dancer.”

Simone lifted her own cup and gently blew on the steaming
liquid. “First of all, that isn't true. Dance is an oversupplied industry”—she was quoting Mr. Dixon from school—“and there just aren't that many jobs around. Second of all, I don't actually want to be a professional dancer.”

“Seriously? The way you were in jazz today … I've never seen anyone dance with so much passion.”

That was Hannah
, she wanted to say.

“How about you?” she said instead. “Are you planning to be a professional dancer?”

Surprisingly, Tom shook his head. “Dance is what I do for fun. I wouldn't want to see it as something I
had
to do. Actually, Candance is kind of my last fling, dance-wise, I mean. I'll probably give up dancing this fall because I'm starting Year Twelve. Have to really hit the books.”

“What do you want to do when you finish school?”

Tom shrugged. “Don't really know. My parents want me to study law. I guess I just want to do well enough to keep my options open. You?”

“Not sure,” Simone said. “Maybe work with languages. Or edit books,” she added, suddenly thinking of Seagull Press.

“What kind of books? Textbooks, or—”

“Novels,” she said without hesitation.

Tom's face lit up. “I like novels too.”

Simone gave him a timid smile.

“I like this side of you,” he said.

“Which side?” she asked him.

“The shy, serious side. Don't you think it's fascinating how people can be different at different times?”

Simone wiped her mouth carefully on a napkin, avoiding his eyes.

“I'll take these back for a refill,” said Tom, reaching for her empty cup. His hand brushed hers and a ping shot through her at the contact.

From the way he was staring at her, she knew that he'd felt it too.

When he came back, they talked about their favorite books. Then somehow his chair had moved closer to hers, and she was too aware of his proximity and the sound of his voice to concentrate on what he was saying.

Later, he reached for her hand as they walked back to the dorm. Unlike the hot, sweaty hands of the boys at school, Tom's hand was warm and dry, and as they strolled down the leafy streets, the air scented with the perfume of jasmine and frangipani, she wished the night would last forever.

Outside the dorm, it was dark and quiet. In the shadow of the darkened building, Tom leaned toward her as if he might kiss her. Time slowed, and for a second she was breathless.

Tom hesitated, brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, and then stepped away. “Good night, Simone. See you tomorrow.”

“So,” said Hannah. “Are you glad you went?”

“Yes. No. There were moments when we … but I really don't think I can see him again.”

“Why not?” Hannah asked.

It was after midnight and the two girls were lying in their beds, facing each other even though it was too dark to see each other's features.

Simone let out a frustrated sigh. “Because in the end I'd give it away. I mean, how many questions will I have to field before he realizes that I'm not you?”

“What did he ask you?”

“What I thought about the hip-hop dance we did in class and whether I think the contemporary number will come together in time for the concert.”

“And what did you say?”

“Not much. God, I felt dumb!”

Hannah chuckled softly. “Don't worry, Sim. That doesn't sound too terrible. And just in case he asks again, the hip-hop dance is wild and the contemporary's a mess.” She yawned loudly. “So, did he kiss you?”

“No, he … I thought he might. But he changed his mind.”

Hannah propped herself up on her elbow and tried to see her sister's face. “Did you want him to?” she asked.

Simone turned onto her back and hugged her pillow. “Yes,” she whispered.