Sammy (3 page)

‘I said like a gazelle, not an elephant,' Miss Raine comments.

Abigail is furious. It doesn't help that Tara and Christian get positive comments.

‘Go to the back. I'm sick of the sight of you,' Miss Raine tells us.

Abigail scowls at me. She doesn't like being less than perfect.

As much as Tara and Kat want me to be punished for my ‘betrayal', they don't like to see me suffer. They reckon I've only got myself to blame for this painful affliction but I didn't deliberately expose myself to the terrible Abigail virus. It just took hold. Abigail herself is applying the only known cure, a daily dose of cold shoulder, but so far it's not working. That's the part Kat and Tara don't like. It's times like this when you learn what real friends are like – they support you no matter what disease has taken hold of your heart.

Friends like Tara and Kat are the major bonuses of being at the Academy. They're brilliant. And I think my roommate, Christian, is slowly becoming a friend, too. At first he was seriously hard work. If I managed to squeeze a word out of him instead of a grunt it was usually to complain about the mess I was making in our room.

Now I'm learning that he might not talk much, doesn't like to hang out, but he is a decent bloke. He even stood up for me once when Sean gave me this killer wedgie. Christian hates bullying of any kind.

He's quiet, that's all. Or so I think until his best friend, Aaron, arrives. He and Christian go back years. Aaron's Mr Cool, always trying to impress the girls, and I can tell straightaway he's out for what he can get. Still it's fun hearing about Christian's past. When he was ten he was obsessed with some girl that looks like Tara and was going to marry her. Suddenly we discover that Christian is a real person who smiles, talks and apparently even cracks jokes.

‘Funniest guy I know,' Aaron tells us. He, Tara, Kat and I are in our room while Christian's out getting some bedding for Aaron.

‘Christian?' says Kat. ‘He doesn't speak.'

‘I've seen him smile about twice,' adds Tara.

‘And one of those was a grimace,' I add.

Then Aaron tells us a bizarre story.

‘We get pulled over by this cop who asks, “Why were you speeding?” and Christian says, “Sorry mate, but the servo we're about to rob closes in five minutes.” The cop just laughs and lets us off.'

‘No way,' says Kat.

‘Funny thing, same cop, half an hour later picks us up for robbing the servo.' Aaron cracks up as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

Tara and I are stunned. We can't believe it.

‘Guys, come on,' Kat says. ‘It's obviously a joke. Right?'

Aaron's getting a bit too much of a kick out of our faces. It's like we're these naive little kids and he's this big bad wolf that's come to shock us.

There's an awkward silence and then Aaron kicks in again. ‘Why do you think he's here in ballet school? He's got no choice.' Just then, Christian walks back in the room.

That night I go to bed in shock. I'm spending the night with two criminals who got caught robbing a service station. Aaron even had a knife with him. Their court case is coming up later in the year and part of Christian's bail conditions is that he has to attend the Academy.

To be honest I can believe it of someone like Aaron but as I lie there, drifting off to sleep, it's hard to believe Christian did something like that.

In the morning Abigail is torturing me, playing the DVD of our
pas de deux
incident over and over again. I count twenty-three times.

‘Sorry to disturb your morning, Sammy, but I'm not too keen on splitting my head open because you lack upper body strength. Which means one of us has to deconstruct
pas de deux
and since I'll be wasting my lunch hour with Tara, this just has to happen now.'

That's me told. Apparently she was so upset after the
pas de deux
she went and kicked the mirror in her room. It was actually Tara's grandmother's and they're going to buy a replacement at lunchtime.

Abigail is so serious about dance that it's scary.

My dream of a beautiful partnership is in the same state as that mirror. Broken beyond repair. I'm now dreading this afternoon's class, terrified that I'm not going to be able to lift her.

When I turn up to class, she's not there. She and Tara haven't returned from their shopping trip. Instead of being angry with them, Miss Raine decides to take it out on their partners – Christian and me. She pairs us together.

‘Who's going to be the girl?' I ask Christian. The look on his face makes it clear.

I'm suddenly filled with a newfound respect for female dancers. It's nerve-racking standing in front of someone hoping they'll lift you properly. It doesn't make it any easier that Sean's watching with a grin on his face.

‘You're going to buckle – I'm too heavy,' I tell Christian.

Christian reckons not and counts me in. He grabs my waist and lifts me perfectly. We did it. He gives me a grin and we start enjoying the class. We muck around but he holds his lifts in a way that I've never managed with Abigail.

Just when we're thinking we might ask Miss Raine if we can be partners in the next class too, Mr Kennedy comes in with a police officer. They ask for Christian. They've got some questions about Aaron's whereabouts last night. The smile vanishes from Christian's face and he shrinks back into his quiet shell.

I realise that I don't really care what he did or didn't do before he came to the Academy. I know he's a good guy, even if his mate isn't.

I have a funeral to attend. I never thought this day would come, but here it is. Tara and Kat are supporting me as I say farewell to my
pointe
shoes. Finally! We perform a touching ceremony, down on the wharf. Kat has made a paper boat for each of them and Tara brings some flowers to decorate them. I climb down the ladder at the end of the wharf and push them out into the water.

Abigail and her younger sister, Paige, are there. Abigail thinks the whole thing is ridiculous but Paige shows due respect, performing a gymnastic ribbon dance in honour of my shoes.

Abigail's sister is really sweet. The next day we all take her across the harbour to Luna Park and I have to admit, she is totally besotted with me. Can't leave me alone. Unfortunately she's only eleven years old, but at least I know someone with the same genes as Abigail thinks I'm wonderful. That means there must be hope.

It's the end of first semester so I've gotten rid of the
pointe
shoes just in time. I was having nightmares about having to perform my first exams in them. Not any more. I have officially strong ankles.

Unfortunately strong ankles aren't enough. I need to be able to dance with them, too. Before our first contemporary dance exam I'm nervous, but so is everyone else. Tara talks even more than normal. Kat eats even more than normal, if that's physically possible. And I fart. It happens when I'm nervous. And Abigail?

I ask her outside the exam what happens to her when she gets nervous.

‘I don't get nervous,' she answers.

I don't think she's ever farted in her life.

The exam goes … I've no idea how it goes. It was a blur of sweat, nerves and, for me, wind.

But the pressure doesn't stop there. It's like we have a full school curriculum and dance on top of that. I've resorted to listening to revision notes on my MP3 player, reading a textbook and practising my
port de bras
all at the same time. Who said guys can't multi-task?

Kat tries to interrupt, taking my headphones off. She wants help with anatomy, but I can't.

‘I'm taking advanced physiology. Do you know how difficult that is?' I tell her.

The exams do have a plus side, as I discover in the boys' toilets of all places. I'm in a cubicle quietly doing what people do in a cubicle when I hear a voice on the other side of the door.

‘For some unknown reason – maybe I killed someone in another life – you're my partner in the
pas de deux
exam.'

‘Abigail, is that you?'

I emerge from the cubicle. ‘Was there something you wanted? Specifically?' I ask.

‘We clearly have a lot of work to do.' She points to the sink, like some school matron, for me to wash my hands. I'm powerless to resist and do as I'm told. She continues. ‘And by “we”, I mean “you”.'

I spin around. ‘One-on-one? With you? Awesome. I have physiology on Wednesday but after that I'm all yours.'

‘I've booked the studio every night this week.'

Not so awesome. ‘Right, so I'll just study instead of sleeping.'

Abigail is indifferent to my physiology. ‘Tonight, eight-thirty,' she says and sweeps to the door.

‘It's a date.'

‘It really isn't.'

The second she leaves I go straight back to the cubicle to deal with the extra nervous stress she's just added.

Night after night Abigail and I are alone in the studio. I should be in heaven. The two of us together – me taking her dancing to new heights, tapping new emotions in her …

That's what should be happening, but it isn't. I'm not taking her to any heights – I can't get our lifts right. It's all about unison. She has to jump and I have to lift at exactly the same second to take advantage of the momentum. Unison we simply don't have.

At first she heaps abuse on me, but then it gets worse. She doesn't even bother. She simply turns round and we try it again … and again … Night after night, we're in the studio.

After my physiology exam I need a night off from rehearsals. It's just too much. The
pas de deux
exam is tomorrow and there is such a thing as over-practising. I'd never thought I'd be avoiding Abigail but here I am creeping around trying not to bump into her. I think it would do us both good to have the night off.

She catches me as I'm running down the steps to the wharf. ‘I've been looking for you.'

Words I once longed to hear. Not today.

‘I hope you've been working on your lift?' She fixes her eyes on me.

‘I have. Feel this bicep, I'm a lift machine.' My humour doesn't work. ‘Perhaps you should take the night off. You're looking kind of tense.'

‘You're telling me I'm tense,' she glowers.

‘Tense and beautiful. Realistically there's only so much work you can do.'

‘If they gave me a real partner I wouldn't have to work so hard,' she snaps and walks away.

‘You know misplaced anger is often a by-product of low blood sugar,' I call after her. ‘When was the last time you ate?'

‘My blood sugar is fine. My only problem is you.'

There's no avoiding it. At eight-thirty I turn up to the rehearsal studio. Abigail's already hard at work. She sees me in the mirror.

‘You came.'

I'm wondering if there's a flicker of emotion. She might actually be pleased.

‘Let's start. No marking.'

Pleasantries over and down to work, she hits play on the CD and we begin.

The rehearsal is going okay. Something seems to have clicked. I don't suck, but I know the really hard part is coming, the lift where I crumple every single time. She
pirouettes
perfectly, ending straight in front of me. I put my hands on her waist, we bend our knees, she jumps and I lift, raising her up to my shoulder in one fluid movement.

‘Yes! We did it!' I grin. ‘We rock!'

She smiles as I twirl her around. Actually smiles.

‘We should run it again, straightaway,' she says. ‘Make sure it sticks.'

She takes her first position again but she's wobbling. Abigail never wobbles.

‘What's wrong?'

‘I'm fine.'

‘You're not fine.'

‘Just a bit dizzy. It passes.'

‘What do you mean, “it passes”? Does this happen often?'

‘Can you stop procrastinating and let's …'

Suddenly I realise what's been going on. She's been pushing herself way too hard without getting proper nutrition.

I hold her arms down and get serious. ‘When was the last time you ate something?'

‘I eat, okay,' she says.

‘Not this week.' I haven't seen her eat a single thing, not at breakfast or lunch, and certainly not after 3 pm. ‘I haven't even seen you drink water.'

‘I'm not interested in being bloated.'

‘Your body needs fuel,' I tell her. It's hardly advanced physiology. ‘We need to go see Dr Wicks.'

For the first time ever, Abigail actually looks frightened. ‘No, what we need is to get through tomorrow's exam. After that I'll rest all holidays.'

I don't think it's right.

‘You have to promise me you won't tell anyone, Sammy!'

She's almost crying. I've never seen her so desperate. I give in, but in my bag I've got the only thing that can help at this stage – homemade pastries.

‘On one condition,' I say. ‘Mum sent me these, for good luck. You look like you could use them.' She smiles. ‘I thought you said I looked beautiful?'

The next day at the exam Abigail's looking terrible. I reckon she hasn't even touched Mum's pastries.

‘This isn't right,' I say to her. ‘We should tell someone.'

‘No, you promised, remember?'

It's too late. It's our turn to dance in front of the judges. We begin our routine, but it's nothing like last night. When it comes to the shoulder lift, I know I can do it. I did it last night. Something tells me I'll be fine. I'm in exactly the right spot. Abigail positions herself perfectly but there's no energy in her jump. I can barely lift her. Her pathetic face looks at me and she whispers ‘sorry'.

I try to cover it but Miss Raine doesn't miss a trick. She stops the music and makes us do it again. ‘And this time, for your sake, put some life into it.'