Step Up and Dance (11 page)

Poor old Dad. I leaned over and patted his knee. ‘Don't stress, okay? You worry too much.'

A long sigh, a slight nod, before Dad said goodbye. But I wasn't going to let a dad from the 1950s drag me down. Tonight I was pumped. It was a big game, and the Charms might be on TV. But even with that extra pressure I couldn't help remembering that Jay would be in the crowd. It would be the perfect chance for me to get him back for signing me up for school basketball.

Problem was, I couldn't think of what to do. I could tell Lesley that I'd found a gay guy who wanted to join the troupe. Or introduce him to one of the players as my friend who has brain damage. But it all seemed a bit lame.

As I headed into the main stadium, an image flashed into my mind of holding Jay down and waxing his legs.
See? Beauty takes balls
. . .
rrrrip!

Ah, the look of agony on his face would be pure bliss.

Forty-five minutes later, my brain was numb with effort and all thoughts of revenge were in the dark depths of my sorry mind. Our newest time-out had eight turning kicks, then the same again on the other side. Super-easy to remember, but torture to do well.

One – kick out to the side, swivel and flick the same leg behind.

Two – kick, swivel, flick. Pompoms out to the side.

Three, four, five –
pant, strain, ouch.

Six, seven, eight – leg down at last. March to face the other way. Pompoms count the beat. Then begin again from the top. Kick, swivel, flick . . .

The muscles in my supporting leg were screaming:
We can't keep doing this Saph! We can't hold you up!
But, dear muscles, you must.

Finally we reached eight again. Then –
bam pow
– the end of our newest time-out routine.

Behind me and to the side, bodies dropped like dying flies. Two lay sprawled on the floor. Others leaned forward, gripping their knees for support.

I stretched out my back, feeling a last moaning cry from my spine. Then I dropped forwards on all fours to see a bead of sweat splatter on the court.

It was only rehearsal, lots to do before the game, but already the troupe was wrecked.

‘That was
ab
solute CRAP!' Lesley was the only one with enough energy to talk, and jeez was she using a lot of it. ‘Bec, that face! Is that what you look like when you're on the toilet?'

Like a General walking among her wounded troops, Lesley moved to each of us, showering us with praise and encouragement . . . No wait, I was just delirious with the pain.

‘Megan! You're our cornerstone . . . NEVER fall out of formation!'

When it was my turn, Lesley stopped and peered down at me as if I were a dog. ‘Saph!'

Here it comes
. . . For once I was glad to have had such solid ballet training – the tightness of my stomach was the only thing holding me up.

‘Saph, don't …' Lesley waved her arms about as if she was lost for words. ‘Don't flirt with the crowd!' she growled.

Wow, thanks Lesley.

To one side, I could see Bec was flushed in the cheeks, like she always is when she's holding back tears.

I shook my head at Lesley as she thundered across to Andrew. Then, without thinking, I scrunched up my face like a grumpy kid and poked out my tongue. A tad immature, I know, but jeez it felt good.

I turned to the others, expecting rolling eyes and shaking heads, ready to poke out my tongue at them too.
Baby of the troupe, eh? Care factor: zero.

But no one was rolling their eyes. Bec had stopped looking teary and was smiling. Abe was stretching forward, head turned to grin at me, her shoulders shaking in a giggle. Then Megan – gorgeous professional cornerstone Megan – lifted both hands like puppets and mouthed
blah blah blah
behind Lesley's back. She winked and we shared a quiet chuckle.

‘Take five,' called Lesley, after she had finished blasting the rest of the troupe. ‘Then I want to see it again.
No
excuses this time.' She grabbed her laptop and lumbered up the stairs to the camera area.

Oww
. . .
back pain.
I dropped backwards to lie on the floor, staring at the steel beams in the distant ceiling.

‘You know what I think?' said Abe from somewhere nearby. ‘If she starts screaming again, we should ask her to show us how it's done. “If you're so perfect, Les, then you do the damn time-out.” '

‘Ha.' I let out a single tired laugh at the image of Lesley trying to lift and flick her leg.

‘Well, you know what they say,' said Gino from the front. ‘Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.'

I hitched myself up onto my elbows and looked up the empty rows of chairs, to where Lesley was talking to a cameraman.

‘I think I know why she's being a dragon,' I said. ‘She's trying to get a time-out televised.'

Everyone stirred and slowly sat up. We were used to the TV going to an ad during time-outs. Sometimes we were on a promo, just a second or two. But a full time-out on TV? That would be huge.

‘Are you sure?' asked Megan.

Everyone watched as Lesley raced back down to us. ‘All right people! We're doing the new time-out again. And I want to see
perrr
fection!'

I stood with the rest of the troupe, all of us moving with the same calm confidence. No more tongue poking, no more bitching. We had a job to do.

Then Lesley hit play and nine legs shot out to the side, high and strong.

Care factor: one hundred per cent.

An hour later I was made-up, shining like a charm and sitting in position behind the basket. Along with us cheerleaders, the stadium had been transformed – it was writhing with movement and noise.

I could feel a rhythmic thudding in the floor beneath me as Grant Cunningham dribbled and then passed –
whack
– to Damien. A dodge. Another dribble, and Damien shot at goal. For a moment, time seemed to pause, all hearts flying with the ball, then it began again with a collective gasp. The ball bounced on the edge of the basket and fell down into the broad hands of the opposition.

Usually I would have thought it was a valiant effort, but today the words ‘rushed and selfish' came into my head.

Damien.
His legs were looking better than ever tonight. (What I wouldn't give for legs like that!) He was still gorgeous, just like the poster on the back of my door. But the more I watched him the more he reminded me of Brooke – a razzle-dazzle player who took risks the team didn't need.

Damn
. . . With all the Magic fans I groaned as the opposition sunk a three-pointer.

‘God, this is nerve-racking,' said Megan beside me.

A Magic player threw the ball back onto the court and players thudded back towards our end.

‘It's okay, Meegs,' I said, my eyes still on the boys. ‘They're in the quarterfinals even if they lose this one.'

‘What?' Megan frowned at me as if I'd gone crazy. ‘Not the game, I mean the next time-out! In case it's televised.'

‘Oh.' I sneaked a quick sideways glance at Megan. She was sitting tall, facing the court, but her eyes weren't even on the players.

Up, across and bounce bounce bounce went the ball. But Megan's gaze hadn't followed it. They could have been playing hockey for all she knew.

Grant Cunningham had the ball now, pointing at one of his team-mates and dribbling up the sidelines. I could see why Jay had mentioned him in German last week.

Jay . . . He was in the crowd tonight. Somewhere.

Thud
went the ball into strong broad hands, then through our basket.

‘Yay!' Up shot both my pompoms, cheering for the score and urging the team for more.

I brought down my arms and sneaked a peek at the rest of the gang behind me – vacant stares, eyes looking anywhere except the ball, even the guys looked bored. Abe was inspecting her nail polish for chips.

I hoped Jay wasn't watching the spectacular display of disinterest. Where had he said his season tickets were? The park side . . .

My eyes began to wander. Away from our boys and the ball, away from Damien's legs. I scanned the rows on the park side stands. No uni guys to worry about on that side. No sleazy duffel coat man. Just rows and rows of faces.

Face after face, head after head . . .

Then my eyes stopped. It wasn't Jay I saw first, but one of his friends, shaking a poster in the air. Sitting next to him, quietly, not moving, was Jay.

I had located the enemy.

‘
Yaaaay!
' A three-pointer for Magic and I was jumping and kicking, then back into formation.

At last I knew where Jay sat. They were halfway up the stands so it wasn't easy to see expressions. He had two friends on one side, and that must be his dad on the other, and his mum further down. Was that his sister next to his mum?
Hmmm
. . .
useful.

A time-out! Suddenly I was standing with the rest of the troupe, running onto the court, even though I'd missed the ‘T' hand-signal from a coach.

For a second, my heart sped into panic mode. Which dance were we up to? Then the music began, my heart sighed with relief, and everything fell into place. We were doing our newest time-out.

One. Out to the side shot my leg, then swivel and flick. My muscles woke and cried out as I pushed them through this again. But they held strong – staying with me and helping me to dance like a charm.

Around me, I could feel the rest of the troupe dancing bold and holding strong. It must have looked pretty cool – the flush of colour and movement from the seven sets of pompoms, nine legs rising together, then a twirl of nine heads. All of our bodies flicking in time.

Now we reached eight and turned to face the other way. Park side now.

Holding my head high, I began the kicks again, aware of Jay sitting halfway up the stands.

Don't flirt with the crowd, Saph.

This was different from the last game. I stayed safe inside my glass cocoon, clear in my mind. I held only the moves in my mind, talking to my muscles as they pushed and strained.
Stay focussed, Saph. Stay true.
But I could still see Jay in the distance, sitting among strange faces. Watching me.

Kick swivel flick
. . .

Was I dreaming? As I danced with my head high, the other faces of the crowd seemed to melt away. The troupe faded behind me, until I could sense only two things. My body. And Jay.

Number five now. Out kicked my leg and around for a flick.

I have watched you dancing for a year.

Words seemed to float through me . . . words that I had read somewhere before. Over and over like a recurring dream.

You dance like a goddess.

We ended with a bang, and the entire stadium exploded in clapping and whooping cries. For once they really had watched.

I ran back to my place with the rest of the troupe, heart pounding with pride, my cheeks flushed from the dream.

‘Did you see the red light?' gushed Abe from behind me as the game began again. ‘The camera light. It was on the whole second half!' Her voice bubbled with pride.

‘That was so awesome!'

‘It felt good, didn't it?'

Around me the troupe laughed and compared notes about the time-out.

Sitting at the front, I stayed quiet, watching the play. Every now and then I glanced up to the park side. I could see him, sitting up up and away. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was Jay's head turned slightly? Was he watching me? A tunnel, between us – connecting us through the writhing crowd.

‘Oooooh Maaaaaagic!'

The stadium exploded again with a three-pointer from our boys. The Charms jumped up, kicking and cheering.

And suddenly I snapped out of my dream. What was I thinking? I was dancing for the enemy. Summer would say I still owed Jay a trick.

Then I smiled. My plan wasn't very complicated, or even very sophisticated, but I got all beetrooty just imagining someone doing it to me.