Step Up and Dance (2 page)

My eyes flew open.
Omigod, the next time I saw him we'd actually speak to each other!

Yes, Damien of my dreams, I do notice you. Every game, you're all that I see – you and your gorgeous legs.

‘See you at ten-thirty,' said Dad, after I had kissed him on the cheek and winced at his gross spiky beard.

He was gripping the steering wheel with both hands even though we were safely parked in the loading bay of the basketball stadium. Drop-off time is always a nervous moment for Dad. When I had first asked if I could join the Magic Charms cheer squad, Dad stared at me as if I'd asked to become a stripper. (
Jeez, thanks, Dad.
)

Then the lecturing had begun.
No daughter of mine
. . .
You're too good for that, Saph
. . . and a heap of other phrases that made me think he had time-travelled from the 1950s with the sole purpose of torturing me.

Of course, I hadn't given up that easily. It had taken three weeks of
Basketball's a family game
. . . and
This is a dream chance for any dancer
. . . from me and Mum before we wore him down to a growling
Okay then
. But somehow I still felt like I was letting him down each time I went to a game.

‘Actually, we'll be finished half an hour later tonight,' I said, smiling as if it was no big deal. Before he had time to stop me, I slid out of the front seat, grabbing my pompoms, costume and make-up bag. (It takes a lot of stuff to look like a Charm.)

‘Wait, Saph! Why?' Dad's voice had a deep growl to it – calm, but not for long.

With arms full, I leaned back into the car. ‘There's this . . . ah . . . peewee basketball demonstration before the main game. You know, the little kids?' I said with my eyebrows raised. ‘They're really cute, on the big basketball court and all.' I shrugged. ‘Anyway, that's going to push the main game back half an hour. Maybe more!'

To be honest, I had never lied to Dad before. I mean, I'd stretched the truth about Summer's birthday party last year, and forgotten to mention the flasher at the Harrison St bus stop, but I'd never told a bold bad lie like this one. There was a good chance he would see straight through me. After all, he was
my dad
– my stubborn, overprotective, devoted Greek dad. Maybe he had already spotted the pile of nonsense as it came out of my mouth.

I held my breath, trying to look like a little girl begging for a new doll, but feeling more like I was auditioning for the role of Izzy from
Neighbours
, or as some other TV bad girl.

Dad's face was in shadow so I couldn't see his expression. But finally he just sighed and shrugged at the steering wheel.

I started breathing again. He'd bought it!

‘Do you want me to catch a lift back with Megan?' I asked, not wanting to keep him out of bed any longer than I had to. ‘She keeps offering.'

‘No, Saph. I'll pick you up.' Then Dad actually took one hand off the steering wheel and blew me a clumsy kiss.

I wanted to crawl back into the car and throw my arms around his neck, like I used to when I was little.
Daddy I love you
. . .
I love you
. . .
I love you
. . . But this was just a normal goodbye, like any other. Or at least, that's how it had to
seem
. So I only let my voice soften a bit. ‘Thanks, Dad.'

After one last glance at the station wagon as it drove away, I pushed open the heavy delivery door, ran down the corridor and banged up the stairs. I stopped off in the changerooms just long enough to drop my stuff and change into dancing shoes. It was bright in there, warm and messy with eight other sets of pompom bags and performance stuff. I was clearly the last of the troupe to arrive.

More heavy doors, another wide corridor, and then I burst into the massive, empty heart of the building, the main basketball stadium.

Dotted along one long side of the court were eight bodies stretching like cats in the afternoon sun. As always, Gino and Andrew were laughing together about something. Megan was my only real friend in the troupe, but I knew the bodies of the other dancers like I know my own. We had spent so much time together – pushing and pulling, matching position, puffing and sweating.

I didn't know what most of them did during the day (only that Megan worked in a bank), but I knew the shape of each thigh, the strength of each set of stomach muscles and the extension of each leg. They were my dancing comrades, my body brothers and sisters.

‘How's the ankle?' I asked Megan as I slid onto the floor next to her and started reaching to the side. It felt good to stretch out the past few days, and wake my muscles for work.

‘Ankle's okay, but my calves are killing.' She made a crazy face that didn't match her perfect make-up. Then she reached over her leg, revealing the lovely curve down her side. Megan is gorgeous.

‘Tell me about it.' I pulled my feet back, feeling the pang of week-old pain. ‘That new half-time routine –'

‘Speaking of which,' Megan butted in. She nodded towards the rustling and bluster coming from behind me.

I didn't have to turn around to know what was coming. Lesley was here. My peaceful warm-up was over.

‘Right, people! Hope you're all warm and toasty,' Lesley called. Her CD player and a collection of bags landed by the side of the court with a dull thump. Then she straightened up, holding her back as if she were pregnant. ‘We're starting right into the half-time number, then I want to run through the time-outs in order. No time for chatting, people. Up, up, up!'

We all ran to the side, in perfect order and position for the start of the half-time routine. I managed to fit in some extra stretches and warm-up moves, the bare minimum to get through. But I didn't have time for much else. No more talking, no more thinking, just the routine.

As I leapt and kicked, taking care to be perfectly in line, I felt a quickening in my chest, a secret dance in my heart. I just had to get through rehearsal and the game itself, then I would finally get to talk to Damien.

‘Oooooh yeeeeeeah!' The cry echoed through the packed stadium.

A three pointer from Damien! I jumped up, kicking and shaking my pompoms with the girls, while Gino and Andrew did back flips. We were minutes away from a win.

I kept my eyes on Damien as I kicked and jumped, hoping for a secret look between us. Had he guessed that I planned to find him after the game?
Would he try to find me?
But he was busy doing high-fives with his team-mates and shaking a victory fist at the crowd, so he didn't look my way.

Soon the cheers calmed and I sat cross-legged again, feeling the faint vibrations in the floorboards as the players ran back to their starting positions. Being a shortie, like Megan, I'm in the front, which can have its advantages. Trust me. Who wants luscious long legs like the other dancers when they get stuck up the back, leaving us shorties with the best view?

And what a view it was.

By now, the players were sweating.
Oh Damien
. . . I sighed and smiled, feeling closer to him than ever before. Back came the ball to our end and my eyes wandered up the length of Damien's legs.

But I had to be careful not to let myself stare at him too much. When you're sitting in front of a packed house, you never know who might be watching. Besides, I had to keep my mind on the job. A time-out could be called any minute.

Like right now! In a flash the music started and the troupe sprang into life. The nine of us fanned out and took control of the basketball court. In this dance we were a line leaping forward up the court, folding in on itself in swirls and patterns.

It felt awesome, like being a petal in a moving, growing flower.

As the final siren blared, I jumped and screamed with the crowd.

‘Magic! Magic! Magic!'

My heart was racing and my throat was strained, but I wasn't just cheering for the win. After two days of planning, I was
heart-stoppingly
close to speaking to the man of my dreams.

Back in the changerooms, I slipped into my clothes – black pants and a wraparound top, plus black high heels.

‘Want a lift?' asked Megan, just like always.

And, just like always, I shook my head and shrugged. ‘No thanks, Megan. Dad keeps saying no.'

Megan blew me a kiss as she walked out.

After she had gone, I walked out the delivery entrance and hid my bags behind a skip. I pulled a piece of paper and pen from the side pocket of my make-up bag, then I dashed back inside.

Now for the tricky part. I knew that the players often had drinks in the bar after the game. But would Damien be there tonight? For all I knew, he might be wandering around the stadium corridors, trying to find me!
Ah Damien
. . . But the bar was the smartest place to start. I sneaked through a back corridor, not wanting to bump into anyone on the way.

At the bottom of the steps leading up to the bar, I stopped and clutched the cold rail. My throat was suddenly tight. My heart pounded in my chest. I had planned this moment so carefully – but now I was terrified.

I took a big breath. Then another. And started up the stairs.

‘Saph? What are you doing here!'

I froze. Then forced myself to breathe. ‘Oh. Hi, Lesley,' I said, as if this was a normal place for me to be.

Lesley glanced at my high heels and frowned. ‘What are you
doing
here?' she said again, serious this time.

I held up the piece of paper and pen. ‘An autograph,' I said quickly. ‘My friend wants an autograph.'

Lesley tilted her head to one side, studying my face. She was wearing a flowing black dress that seemed to float about her and make her look bigger than she really was.

I smiled and raised my eyebrows hopefully.

Then Lesley nodded. ‘Okay, but don't you DARE tell your father I let you come into the bar!'

‘Thanks, Lesley!' I gave her a quick hug and bounded up the stairs. I could hear her thumping up behind me. Was she going to keep an
eye on me
?

As soon I pushed through the bar door, the hot smell of alcohol hit me. For a moment I just stood there, surprised at the sights and sounds of this strange world. Then Lesley came up behind me.

‘Whose autograph do you want?' she asked, slinging her arm over my shoulders.

‘Um, Damien Rowsthorn?' I answered, strangely glad to have Lesley with me.

For a moment she scanned the room, then pointed. ‘There.'

And there he was. So tall. So beautiful. So close to being mine.

With Lesley close behind me, I made my way across the crowded room. Everyone in here was tall – adult-sized and more. Sometimes it was difficult just pushing past them, as if they were too big to even see me.

Then, at last, I was standing in front of the man of my dreams. He was drinking a beer and chatting to a tall woman in a long, backless dress. I glanced back at Lesley, who had stopped to talk to someone. Somehow she already had a glass of wine in her hand. She smiled and winked.