Pirouette (8 page)

eighteen

When Hannah rang her parents later that evening, she handed her iPhone straight to Simone. “You might as well start getting to know them. At least get used to the way they sound.”

Simone stared at the phone as if unsure of what it was for.

“Speak,” said Hannah.

“Um, hello?”

“Hannah, my love! How wonderful to hear from you!” The voice on the other end of the line was loud and deep, and Simone instinctively held the phone away from her ear.

She found herself smiling. “Uh, thanks … Dad.”

Hannah gave her a thumbs-up in silent approval.

“How's life treating my darling daughter?”

“Great,” said Simone. “I'm having a fabulous time.”

“Making friends?”

“Yes,” she said, looking straight at Hannah as she spoke. “One very good one in particular.”

“Excellent,” said Manfred. “Well, we're thinking of you all the time. We're counting the days … I'm handing the phone to Mum now.”

And then Vanessa came on the line. “Everything all right? Enjoying Candance? I bumped into Dani earlier today.” Dani, Simone already knew, was Hannah's best friend. “She said she misses you—you're never on Facebook, and your phone is almost never switched on.”

“I've been busy,” said Simone.

“I know. That's what I told her.” Vanessa chatted on a little longer, mostly about people Simone had never heard of, and Simone said “Um” and “Yes” and “Uh-huh,” and then the phone call was over.

Then it was time for Simone to call home. Harriet asked about Simone's dance classes, and Hannah launched into a detailed account of what the classes were like, what the teachers were like, and what they were rehearsing for the Candance concert.

“Don't overdo it,” Simone warned, “or you won't sound like me.”

“Don't worry,” Hannah whispered, covering the mouthpiece. “People always believe you when you tell them what they want to hear.”

Simone spent the following morning making lists of everything Hannah would need to know. And she drew maps—of her house, of North Fitzroy, of the VSD and how to get there. By the time Hannah came back from class, she had pages and pages ready to give her.

“Let's eat first,” said Hannah, pulling off her leotard and shorts and dropping them straight on the floor. “What should I wear?” She yanked open the closet door, revealing the clothes she'd dumped inside. A couple of tops spilled off the shelf into an open drawer. “You choose,” she said to Simone, “while I have a shower.”

“It's a little hard to see,” said Simone, following Hannah into the bathroom. “You do know, don't you, that my mother's a neat freak?”

“Uh, so you said.”

“She'd have convulsions if she saw the state of your wardrobe.”

“What can I do? I'm naturally messy,” Hannah said. “She'll have to adjust.”

“No way,” said Simone. “But don't worry, I'll show you how to keep your closets tidy. I've got a foolproof system.”

“A system?”

“You need a system when my mum's around. See, she has a certain way of sorting clothes, and a certain way of folding them. And she gets really anxious if you fold something that should be hung, or hang something that should be folded.”

“Yikes! Scary!” Hannah drew the shower curtain behind her and turned on the taps. The rush of water put a temporary end to the conversation, but it continued two hours later over a Mexican dinner of enchiladas topped with cheese.

“Always remember to close the lid of the toilet seat,” Simone was saying. “She hates it left up.”

“You're joking, right?”

“Sadly, no.” Simone consulted the neatly written list she'd brought along. “Never leave anything out on the bathroom sink. Never leave lids off jars, and never squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube.”

“Where do I squeeze it from?” asked Hannah, puzzled.

“The bottom, of course, and work your way up.”

Hannah sighed. “So many rules!”

“You get used to it. Now tell me something
I
need to know.”

“Things are pretty laid-back at my house,” Hannah said.

“I thought Jews had rules about food?”

“They do, in theory,” Hannah said, “but we're not religious, so we don't keep kosher. Though we don't eat pig.”

“What if my mum makes pork for dinner?” asked Simone.

“Um … I'll tell her I've become vegetarian?”

Simone shook her head. “No, don't do that. She wouldn't cope. Just say you've gone off pig, and that you can't stand the smell of it cooking in the kitchen. And speaking of kitchens … ” Simone once again consulted her list. “Never leave dishes on the counter or in the sink. They have to go straight into the dishwasher. And if the dishwasher's full, make sure you empty it without being asked. Oh, and … why aren't you writing all of this down?”

Hannah shrugged. “You already have.”

Sam had scored four free tickets for a matinee performance of Bangarra Dance Theatre, and on Sunday morning she came to Simone's room with Tom and Liam and knocked on the door.

“Simone, are you ready?”

Hannah pushed Simone toward the door and hid in the bathroom while Simone opened the door a crack and poked her head out. “I'm really sorry, but I've got a headache. You guys will have to go without me.”

“Poor Simone,” said Sam. “Will you be okay?”

Simone faked a tired but courageous smile. “Yeah, it's just that Bangarra dances to loud drumming and I don't think I can face that sort of noise right now.”

“Fair enough,” said Sam.

Sam and Liam headed off, but Tom lingered. “I could stay and keep you company? Massage your head?” He took a step closer and once again Simone had that tingly feeling even though they weren't actually touching. He'd just had a shower, and he smelled of soap and shampoo. Now she really was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“Th … thanks,” she stammered, feeling her face flush red, “but I have to lie down.”

He chuckled softly. “Is that supposed to put me of
f
?” He brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead and Simone shivered. “You know, you really are different when you're on your own.”

Simone swallowed and didn't answer.

“So, can I stay?”

“Sorry,” she murmured, with an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Disappointment flickered in his eyes before he lowered them and backed away.

“Wait!” she said.

He looked up, his expression carefully guarded.

“Could you wait just a second?” Simone dashed into the room and came back with a pen. “Can I borrow your arm?”

He held out his arm, which was smooth and finely muscled and golden tan.

From his elbow to his wrist, she scrawled her mobile number in large, wobbly digits, hoping he wouldn't notice that her hand was shaking.

“What's this?” he asked.

“My phone number. In case you want to call me when we're back in Melbourne.”

He flashed her a grin. “I will,” he said.

“You'd better hurry before the others leave without you. Enjoy Bangarra.”

“I'd enjoy it more if you were coming. Take care of that head.”

“That was dumb,” Simone said to Hannah after he'd gone. “I gave him my phone number.”

“Why was that dumb?”

“Because if we're swapping lives, we'll have to swap phones.”

Hannah continued brushing her hair. “Don't worry. I like arranging dates on your behalf. I'll let you know when he calls.” She twisted her hair into a knot at the top of her head. “You know, you should have gone with them, or spent the day with Tom.”

“You know I couldn't. We have to get our hair trimmed today, and I promised I'd go with you when you got your ears pierced.”

“Why? Will it hurt?”

“A bit,” said Simone, “but not for long.”

T
wo hours later, they came out of the salon and made their way to the pharmacy—their shiny-clean, newly cut hair falling in identical waves to just below their shoulders. They grinned at their reflections in the pharmacy's windows.

“I can't remember now,” said Hannah, “if I'm me or you.”

“Now
that's
scary,” said Simone, pushing Hannah inside.

Hannah clutched her sister's arm as soon as the stud gun came into view.

“Relax,” said the pharmacist, swiping her earlobe with alcohol. “It's not like I haven't done this before.”

Simone looked on sympathetically and Hannah gritted her teeth.

“I'll count to three,” said the pharmacist. “One. Two—”

“
Eiooooww
!
” Hannah's shriek pierced the air. “Bloody hell, Sim, that was torture.”

“If it's any consolation, I'm pretty sure you've bruised my arm.”

Out in the street again, Hannah was swearing and Simone was rubbing her arm.

Simone laughed. “I bet you burst that poor man's eardrum.”

“Thanks for the sympathy. My ears are throbbing.”

“They'll be fine. Clean them daily, give the studs a twist every now and then, and wear nothing but gold for at least two months.”

“Yes, Mum,” said Hannah.

The two girls giggled at the word “Mum,” then gazed into each other's eyes.

“I wonder what she was like,” said Hannah after a while.

“She was probably a cross between you and me. I wish I'd known her. And our dad.”

“Me too,” said Hannah, “but at least we're getting to know each other.”

“Yeah, which reminds me, you'd better tell me more about your friends at Carmel College. And all your teachers … ”

“Right,” said Hannah. “And you'll need to know who everyone is at Armadale Dance.”

“So I'll still be doing dance classes?” Simone asked.

“I think you'd better. My parents would get really suspicious if you suddenly wanted to give up dancing. But it'll only be three times a week—it won't be like dancing at the VSD.”

nineteen

The last day of Candance had arrived, and though classes weren't normally held on a Sunday, today was an exception, since the concert was scheduled for two o'clock. Morning class and rehearsal were over, and the dancers had been sent to their rooms to rest. Hannah, too excited to do anything as mundane as lie in bed, had not stopped talking.

Now she was preparing for the performance. She slid a final hairpin into her bun and slipped a hairnet on top. Then she grabbed a bottle of hair spray, closed her eyes, and pressed the trigger. “Wish me luck,” she said to Simone.

“You don't need it. You'll be brilliant.” Simone tossed her the pointe shoes. “Hey, don't forget these.”

“Your lucky pointe shoes,” Hannah said.

“
Our
lucky pointe shoes,” Simone corrected. “I wish I could come and watch you dancing.”

“So do I.” Hannah blew Simone a kiss and shut the door.

When the sound of her footsteps had receded, it seemed to Simone that all the courage she'd gained from her spirited twin had departed with her. Alone in the room, she thought about the plans they'd made. In just a few hours she'd be on her way to Melbourne, and to Hannah's life, and the truth was she had no idea just what that life was really like.

Swapping lives with Hannah might be a good idea in theory, but with the reality imminent, it seemed like a drastic solution to their problems. The fact was, she would be living in a house full of strangers, and Hannah wouldn't be there to shore her up when the going got tough and make her laugh when she slipped up.

Simone wondered how she'd ever let Hannah talk her into it.

She was still brooding two hours later when Hannah came bouncing into the room, her face flushed with happiness.

“How did it go?”

“It was fabulous, Sim. God, I love performing. I can't wait to start dancing at the VSD.”

“Aren't you even a
tiny
bit worried you might miss your old life?”

“Worried? No.”

“You're
really
sure you want to do this?”

“Of course,” said Hannah. “Why, aren't you?”

Simone didn't answer at first. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her lips twisting as she tried to formulate her thoughts. “Not as sure as you,” she said at last.

“Just remember our pact,” said Hannah firmly. “As soon as one of us wants to swap back, the other agrees. No arguments. No discussion.”

“Right,” said Simone. “And we'll ring each other.”

“Absolutely. Every night when we're in bed.”

Simone nodded. “Okay then. Come on, we'd better pack.”
She opened the wardrobe and pulled out her dull, mustard-colored suitcase.

“You've got a vomit-colored suitcase,” Hannah said.

Simone laughed. “My mum bought it the year I first came to Candance.”

“Hmm!” Hannah retrieved her own bright red suitcase from beneath the bed. “We'd better swap,” she said, pushing the case with the shiny plastic shell toward Simone. “I'll pack your suitcase; you pack mine.”

Simone shook her head. “We have to go home with the same clothes we left with, so we should pack our own and swap when we've finished.” She was already transferring neat piles of shorts and T-shirts into her suitcase, which now lay open on her bed.

Hannah tossed her own clothes onto the bed opposite, then made a half-hearted attempt to fold them.

Simone frowned. “I thought I showed you how to fold clothes.”

“Don't worry, Sim. This suitcase is going back to my place, remember? I don't need to be tidy till I get to your house. Hey, listen … ”

Ripples of laughter and bursts of conversation echoed through the hallway. Above the din in the corridor, the voices of Liam, Sam, and Tom could be heard.

“They're high on adrenaline, like me,” said Hannah. “Post-
performance euphoria.”

“You know what that is, don't you?” said Simone. “Relief that you made it through alive.”

“Could be,” said Hannah, grinning. “Shhh … ” she cautioned. The voices out in the corridor grew louder and nearer. Then came a drumbeat on the door.

“I'll nick into the bathroom,” Simone whispered, “while you say goodbye.”

“Shouldn't you be the one to say goodbye? Don't you want to see Tom?”

Simone quickly shook her head. “I don't have your performance afterglow, or any leftover makeup … ”

“You're right,” said Hannah. She stepped out into the corridor to say farewell to her friends.

Sam draped an arm across her shoulder. “I'll miss you, Simone. Liam and I have decided to visit Melbourne over the Easter holidays.”

“Really? That'll be great.”

Now Liam stepped in for a hug. “It was a fantastic summer.”

“My turn,” said Tom, pulling Hannah tight against him. “I wish we had time for a proper goodbye.”

Liam groaned. “Cut the drama. You'll see each other. You both live in Melbourne. Come on, mate. You've got a plane to catch.”