Authors: Thalia Kalkipsakis
Silhouette
In memory of Nana Bergersen,
for passing down the writing gene.
CONTENTS
I sink to the floor and lean my head against the wall, assessing the damage. Stiff shoulders, grazed knee, stinging blister, but otherwise I’m in pretty good shape, considering, and only one more class to go.
Something soft flutters against my hand and I open my eyes to see a pair of fresh black tights in my lap. ‘Want them?’ asks Paige.
For a moment we both consider the hole in my own tights, as big as a fist and topping a series of ladders either side of my shin.
‘Thanks, but save them.’ I hold the tights up for Paige. ‘I’ll only bleed on them anyway.’
She smiles neatly, folding the tights in half and then half again before tucking them back in her bag.
‘Does anyone have heat rub?’ calls Izzy. She’s lying on her back, knees raised and rotating slowly. Someone throws her a tube and there’s laughter at her groan when it hits her in the stomach.
I hook a foot on my knee and gently pull a bandaid halfway off my toe. The blister underneath is red raw, with soggy white skin around it. Nice. It needs air. Not that the air in here is remotely fresh. It’s stuck in a tug-of-war between BO and musk deodorant. Unfortunately the BO is winning.
Paige has already zipped up her bag and is standing, her steady gaze on me. ‘Coming?’
‘Sure.’ I wrap my blister away to fester. It stings as I slip on my jazz shoe, then gradually fades as we walk into the studio.
Tadpole and Grant are there already, standing with legs apart and arms pressed across chests. They lift their eyebrows in hello and we smile on the way to the back of the room. At the barre Paige lifts her leg and reaches along it, cheek to thigh.
I face the barre next to her, swinging my leg in low kicks. I’m already warm from a morning of dancing, but I continue anyway. It’s a ritual of sorts, a signal to each muscle, each limb, that more work is coming.
‘All right, people!’ Jack walks in clapping. ‘Play time’s over! We’re warming up in the
centre
. Core strength today.’
I turn away from the barre.
‘Then we’re working on a new combination,’ calls Jack. He opens his arms like a graceful, muscular Jesus on the cross.
Around me everyone opens their arms, matching his pose.
‘Forwards, people! Come on, I won’t bite!’ says Jack.
Bodies shuffle, more sideways than forwards.
‘Scarlett, here!’ Jack points at the empty space in front of him. ‘Don’t be shy.’
The whole class turns to watch, and I feel their expectation closing around me, pushing me forward.
A snort comes from beside me and I turn to see Anka roll her eyes. ‘S
hy
?’ she scoffs.
It’s been this way since year seven, partly because of who my father was and partly because of what he’s given me: perfect turnout, narrow hips, a body that sparks envy in any aspiring dancer. Dark red hair doesn’t let me slip under the radar either.
With everyone watching, I flick hair off my shoulders and take my place: front and centre.
‘Scarlett? A word.’
At the end of class, Jack calls out to me and everyone glances my way. We all know I’m in trouble. Anka shoots me a satisfied smirk.
After a session like that they all know what’s coming. Half of them are hoping that I push Jack even further, and get kicked out. The other half expect me to, and hope that I don’t.
I look at Paige. ‘Meet you in the caf?’
‘Okay, good luck,’ she says, with her head tilted in warning.
Behave yourself
.
The rest of the class files out of the studio, and I’m left alone with Jack. He is standing beside the sound system as I approach. His hands on his hips. Eyes on me.
‘You think this class is a joke?’ he asks.
I clench my jaw in frustration. Even Jack doesn’t get it. This has nothing to do with his class. But I don’t want to piss him off. ‘No.’ I swallow.
‘Then you think the choreography is a joke?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Because
something
made you think it was fine to miss a kick on
purpose
.’
I cross my arms. ‘Actually, this choreography is the best we’ve had in ages,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even. ‘There was just one spot where I thought …’
‘
Yes
?’
‘I just thought …’
‘Yes, Scarlett, what did you think?’
I breathe in. ‘I thought that there was too much going on so I took out a kick.’
A new kind of quiet descends around us.
Jack stares at me. ‘You thought there was
too much going on
, so you
took out a kick
,’ he repeats.
I nod slightly, looking him in the eye.
‘All right.’ Jack’s voice is low. ‘I don’t know how many times we’ve been through this, and still …’ He sucks in air through his teeth. ‘
Still
you don’t seem to learn. So I’ll make it as simple as I can. You stay in this class and dance as I say, or you find something else to do.’
Jack doesn’t even care if my change was an improvement.
Beneath crossed arms, I clench my fists. Our eyes lock – Jack staring me down while I hold his gaze.
‘So,’ demands Jack. ‘What will it be?’
I look at the floor. ‘I want to stay in this class.’
‘Well!’ He throws up his hands, faking a smile. ‘Let’s see if you’re capable of following instructions from now on.’
‘Yeah, okay.’ I nod demurely. Give him what he wants. Only six months until graduation. Then I’m outta here.
He turns away and starts packing his things while I stand there, waiting for him to dismiss me. He slides notes into a manila folder next to the sound system.
‘Look, I get it,’ he says, his tone softening. ‘You’re a big fish in a small pond. But before you know it, you’ll graduate and then you’ll be out there. In a huge – a
massive
– pond. And stunts like today just won’t cut it.’
‘I know.’ I risk a small smile. ‘So I won’t be doing stuff like that, will I?’
‘Wish it were that easy.’ He sighs. ‘This audition, for example,’ he says, indicating the manila folder. ‘They need
four
dancers for a music video, and do you know how many will turn up? A hundred, maybe two. All good dancers.’
‘Wow, whose music video?’
‘None of your business.’ Jack shakes his head, but his lips quiver against a smile. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
I shoot him a winning grin.
‘Seriously, Scarlett. What are you aiming for? Out of all the audition talk around here, you’re the only one who never says anything. You know, you have a real chance at the National Ballet Company. Have you considered that?’
More than anything. But there’s a reason I don’t talk about it. ‘Yeah,’ I say vaguely. ‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’
Don’t want to do this now. My eyes lower. ‘It’s just … Mum.’ My toes crunch as I push forwards against the floor, working on my point. ‘She can’t handle anything that reminds her of, you know …’ I sigh. ‘Dad.’
‘I see.’ For a moment, Jack’s quiet as he considers me. ‘He was amazing on stage,’ he says after a moment.
I look up, breathing in. ‘Did you know him?’
‘How old do you think I am? That was years ago.’
Thirteen years ago, in fact. I was in kindergarten.
Jack shakes his head. ‘No, I … I never met him.’
Pity. I breathe out.
‘Your mum doesn’t talk about him?’ Jack asks.
‘No,’ I say, trying not to sound bitter. ‘She hates me asking.’
‘It must be hard.’ Jack swallows. ‘But you should try to talk to her about this.’
Jack’s watching me closely. This is weird. I don’t need his sympathy. And anyway, I already know what Mum’ll say.
I shrug. ‘Sure, I’ll speak to her.’
‘All right, go have some lunch,’ he says. ‘And consider this a warning, okay?’
I’m nodding when Jack’s mobile starts. He looks at the screen, frowning. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ He steps towards the window. ‘Kell! Yeah, thought you’d be interested.’
I’m about to leave when my eyes slide to the manila folder. It’s lying open.
I bite my lip. Jack’s talking about an audition. A
real audition
.
‘It’s for Moss Young,’ he says, before a pause. ‘Yeah … testing the market, I think … new solo launch.’
He thinks I’ve gone and I know I should but my body doesn’t move. Each time he speaks, that folder pulls me closer. It’s not as if I’m free to aim for the NBC anyway. Not without breaking Mum’s heart. So what have I got to lose? I look over again at Jack. He still has his back to me, facing the window. Don’t think he can see a reflection.
Slowly I reach over and flick up the top form. There’s another form underneath, and another. A whole pile. Jack wouldn’t miss one or two …
‘It’s at the MPG studios, in building six. Ten o’clock. Sunday. Tough gig, but worth it.’
Before I can change my mind I slip two sheets from the top of the pile and tiptoe out of the studio.
‘Still alive?’ asks Paige as I sit next to her in the cafeteria. She’s been playing with her rice, but she puts the fork down to focus on me.
I don’t say anything, just pass the registration form over her bowl. A couple of music students shuffle past our chairs, lifting their guitars upright as they do.
‘What’s this?’ Paige’s eyes narrow as she skims the form.
I wait as she reads. ‘Registration form. For an audition.’ I don’t bother to hide the smugness in my voice.
Paige splutters. ‘Jack’s putting you in an
audition
?’
‘Not exactly.’ This is fun. I flick a grain of rice onto the floor then lean towards her, holding her attention in the pause. ‘It’s a music video for Moss Young’s new single.’
For a moment Paige just looks at me. Then her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open. ‘Moss Young! Who was kicked out of Excalibur?’
‘Shhh.’ I glance over at Izzy and the others who are too busy stressing about French homework to worry about us. I look back and smile. ‘Cool, hey?’
She nods as her eyes travel down the page. ‘Definitely cool.’
For a while we’re quiet and I begin to imagine what an audition would be like. Dancing beside professionals, the slick choreography of a music video, people
seeing
what we can do. Not being told to shut up and dance.
‘Want to gatecrash?’ I whisper.
‘Gatecrash?’
‘Yeah, you know … pretend we’re auditioning. Check out how it all works. We’ll have to make out we’re eighteen, of course.’
A kind of stillness comes over Paige. Then she leans so close that I feel the brush of her thin arm against mine. ‘Like … pretend we’re real dancers?’ she says slowly.
‘We
are
real dancers.’
Her laugh sounds light and airy. ‘You know what I mean! We don’t have an agent. We’re not meant do anything outside the Academy.’ She shakes her head. ‘I mean, we’re not even meant to take a
class
outside of the Academy without permission.’
I cock an eyebrow. ‘What do you think?’
I can tell that she’s considering it. Everything about Paige is neat – her tight bun, her sleek leggings, even the ways she licks her lips – but her eyes give her away.
‘So, what? We just do our solos?’ Paige asks after a while.
‘Why not? They have to be ready when we audition for the grad performance anyway,’ I say. ‘Think of it as a really intense practice.’
‘But this isn’t just some assignment,’ Paige says. ‘It’s the real world out there.’
‘Yep,’ I say, because to me all her reasons why we shouldn’t do this sound like reasons why we should.
I flip open the lid of my lunch container and stab a piece of cold chicken from the corner.
Paige leans close again. ‘What if we get caught?’ But she’s smiling and I know we’re going to do it.