Step Up and Dance (5 page)

When Dad picked me up from dancing I was buzzing all over. The other dancers had all created amazing solos. It was awesome to watch them – I must have been born under a lucky star! Maybe, one day, I would be dancing full time for a living. No worries about school or home – just me and a life of beautiful moves.

‘That song,' said Dad as soon as I slipped into the car. ‘It's new?' He was frowning. ‘It sounds racy …'

He must have been sitting in the car with the window wound right down – checking up on me.

‘Yeah, we're all doing solos,' I said happily, moving straight into damage control. ‘Mine has a heap of ballet moves.'

‘Ballet …' repeated Dad, nodding as he pulled the car away from the curve.

Yeah, and Abe's solo makes Madonna look sweet and innocent, Gino's has taught me new and amazing things about the male body and Megan has a moment in her solo where every guy watching will wish he was lying on a specific section of the floor
. . .

‘So, Dad, how was work?' I asked. His work was much safer territory.

‘Busy,' answered Dad. ‘One of the boys crashed a truck.'

‘Yikes! Did he get hurt?'

‘No,' came the reply. But I could see stress lines on his face even in the dim car.

We were quiet, Dad driving, and me looking out at the streetlights flashing past. I let my body sink further into the car seat.

This was such a normal part of my life – the happiness in my body of dancing followed by the comfort of being picked up by Dad. But we were finishing later and later these days, and Dad's work seemed to be getting busier. Another family would have changed the system by now, organising lifts home with Megan, or letting me catch the bus – anything that would let Dad get more rest. But I knew he wasn't ready to let me go it alone – his little girl out in the big bad world. And I wasn't totally sure that I wanted him to. Especially not after the past few days.

I sighed and turned my face to look out of my side window, waiting. When I dance I always forget about everything else, but in the car on the way home, the rest of my life somehow creeps back into my mind. And here it came: my English essay, Damien Rowsthorn, the Valentine's letter. And Jay.

Why did Jay care what I thought of Damien Rowsthorn? What was he trying to prove?

As Dad steered the car into the driveway, I felt tiredness sink into my limbs. Home after such a long day. But I had also come to a decision: tomorrow I would confront Jay. I didn't know what his problem was or why he had tricked me, but I needed to find out.

On Tuesday Jay and I had English right after recess. I made sure I was early . . . well, at least on time. Miss Ingleby wasn't there yet. I sat at one of the side tables, books still stacked in a pile. Waiting.

The rest of the class wandered in. Then Miss Ingleby dashed in, looked at her desk, scratched her hair and rushed out again. Finally, Jay sneaked in and sat up the back.

I stood straight up and, cool as you please, moved to sit next to him. As I sat down, Jay's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't say anything.

Miss Ingleby rushed back in and began the class. But I had other things on my mind. Teachers weren't getting much out of me this week.

I pulled out a piece of folder paper, and wrote,
So, what EXACTLY is wrong with me thinking Damien is hot?

Jay leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and tried to ignore me. But I underlined ‘exactly', my hand clasping the pen in a fist. Jay was sitting next to a woman on a mission. I pointed at the note again.

Jay unfolded his arms and sat forward.

OK
, he wrote.
It's all about what he looks like, isn't it
?
Bet you haven't even spoken to D.R.

I snorted when I read that.

I have SO spoken to D.R.
, I wrote back
.
But I didn't add exactly what Damien had said – just ‘Can I help you,' and not much more.

For a moment, Jay looked at me, biting his lip. He didn't seem angry, just thoughtful. Then he flipped the page over, and started to write.

This is what's wrong with this world,
he wrote
. You just judge Damien by how he looks. And other people do the same to you. Do you know what some people say about you in the stands? They sit there judging YOU and they don't know you at all.

I wasn't sure what to say to that. What people in the stands? The group of uni guys who always sit in the front row were okay, but I wasn't too keen on just anyone talking about me like that, especially not the old man who wears a football scarf and a scraggy old duffel coat.

What DO they say in the stands
? I wrote back.

They say the girls are beautiful and the guys are hot
.
They have fantasies about you. But they don't even know how old you are
.

And that was the end of the note writing. What could I say to that?

‘Do you have the rose?' asked Summer. She jumped around me like a puppy ready to play.

It was Friday morning, ten minutes before assembly.

‘Yep.' I lifted a long paper bag from a side pocket of my school bag.

Summer grabbed it and peered inside. ‘Oooooo, pretty!' she laughed.

Inside was a single red rose, plastic, from an old ballet concert. Around it was a cone of thick clear plastic decorated with red and pink ribbons.

‘Here. Stick this on.' Summer held up a little teddy bear with a heart on its belly.

I scrunched up my nose. ‘That's a bit corny don't you think?'

‘Corny? Of course it's corny! This whole thing is corny.' Summer started sticking the teddy to the bottom of the cone. ‘We're aiming for maximum embarrassment, remember?'

‘All right.' I smiled through my grimace.

All week we had been planning this, our cunning and sweet revenge. Something to make Jay stop and think about what he had done to me.

‘Ready!' Summer held up the rose.

‘I can't believe we're really doing this,' I said.

‘You better believe it, baby!'

Seconds later we were knocking on the staffroom door. ‘Is Mr Kissinger in?'

He appeared straightaway, rubbing his hands together. Then he looked around like a spy. ‘Operation Red Rose all set?'

I giggled and handed him the paper bag. ‘Thanks, Mr K.'

Mr Kissinger peered inside like a kid looking in a lolly bag. ‘Reminds me of my uni days in Munich.' Then he winked and was gone.

Summer and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Normally the longest part of assembly is waiting for everyone to sit down, but today they were announcing members of the interschool swim team – lots of names and lots of time to settle in for a snooze.

Except that Summer and I were on the edge of our seats, leaning forward biting our lips and giggling. We had chosen seats behind and to the side of Jay and his pals. I could see the side of his face – no baseball cap today – but I didn't think he could see us. Judging from how he had acted around me all week, he probably didn't plan to ever look my way again.

Finally all the swimmers had been announced, and the principal was starting to wrap up. That's when Mr Kissinger appeared.

‘Just one more thing, Mrs Hahn, if you please.' He strolled to the front, holding the paper bag.

Mrs Hahn went to say something, then sighed and moved to the side.

‘We've just had a special delivery!' Gently Mr Kissinger pulled out the rose and held it up.

For a moment, there was silence in the auditorium. Everyone stared. Then whispering and giggles spread like wildfire.

‘Jay Wilson, you sly dog,' called Mr Kissinger. ‘This is from your sweetheart!'

Jay didn't move.

I could hear snorts and laughing around me. Summer clutched my hand and squeezed.

‘Come on Jay, it's not every day you get treated as good as this,' persisted Mr Kissinger, eyes twinkling. ‘Come and accept this token of
loooooove
.'

Jay still didn't move.

‘Come on, mate, down you come,' Mr Kissinger tried again.

Jay's mates were whispering to him and laughing, while everyone watched. He would have to do something soon. But he sat, stiff and still.

Then, just slightly, he shook his head at Mr Kissinger.

‘Don't want to make the other girls jealous, eh?' Mr Kissinger bounded up the steps. He leaned past two of Jay's mates and held out the rose.

Slowly, as if forcing his arm to move, Jay took the rose.

I squeezed Summer's hand, squealing on the inside. Victory! The auditorium erupted into hoots and clapping.

‘This is yours, isn't it?' Jay said later that day, holding out the rose. It was more a statement than a question.

I kept pulling books out of my locker, not sure what to say. I didn't want to lie about it, but there was no way I was going to admit to the rose trick. Not if I could help it.

I looked around to Summer, for help. But she had her head stuck in her locker at the other end of the corridor.

Jay leaned against the locker next to mine. ‘If you don't want it, then I'm putting it in the rubbish.' His voice was calm, almost smiling.

I glanced at the rose in his hand. It had been part of my favourite ballet solo, my first one dancing on pointe. I hadn't thought about it until now, but the rose did mean something to me. Normally it hung above my mirror with my first-ever pointe shoes. I
did
want it back. And there was no way out now, anyway. I was going to have to own up.

‘Fine.' I grabbed the rose and threw it into my locker. The little teddy bear dangled by a single piece of sticky tape. I slammed the door. Then I turned to Jay, forcing myself to meet his cool gaze. He was quite a bit taller than me, so I had to look up.
Don't flinch, Saph. Don't look away.

‘I knew it,' Jay said, raising his eyebrows.

‘Well . . . feels crap, doesn't it?' I hugged my books to my chest. ‘Being tricked is embarrassing, isn't it?' My voice sounded whiney and high-pitched, more like a toddler than a woman standing up for her rights.

Jay shook his head and turned without a word.

My shoulders tightened. He was walking away, leaving me with all the blame. I wasn't going to let him get away with that.

‘Well, you deserved it, Jay Wilson!' I called so everyone around us could hear. ‘You're a forger and a FAKE.'

Jay stopped, and turned.

As he walked back I had to will myself not to run away.

‘
I'm
a fake?' said Jay when he was close to me. His voice was quiet. ‘You dress like a model, pretend you're eighteen, and cheer for a basketball team that you care
nothing
about.' He said the last part slowly, as if I had committed a terrible sin.

‘What!' I snorted to show that he was talking rubbish. ‘Of course I care! I'm in love with their star player, you idiot!'

Jay just rolled his eyes. Then he turned and walked away. This time, I didn't try to stop him.