One Perfect Pirouette (2 page)

The leader was a blonde girl called Stephanie; she was tall and slim, with light blue eyes that looked like stainless steel buttons in the light. She wore stud earrings that I was sure were real diamonds and she didn't talk much, but when she did, the others shut up, listened and nodded.

The girl who stuck closest to Stephanie was Ellie; the one with feet like boats, and I felt a bit sorry for her. She was short and stocky, not terribly graceful, but precise. She spent a lot of time whispering to Stephanie behind her hand, but she was also really good at doing it only when Ms Ellergren was focused on someone else.

The other two were Danielle and Penny – Penny was so skinny that her collarbones and shoulderblades stuck out with little points on the end. Danielle was like a dark version of Stephanie, tall and slim with not a hair out of place.

The four of them glaring at me together was a pretty scary sight.

At the end of the class, we curtsied to Ms Ellergren and were allowed to go. As I walked towards the changing room, my knees quivered – from exhaustion, relief or both. But I'd survived my first class without making a complete idiot of myself. I sank down onto the bench with my bag on my lap and closed my eyes.

Pain jabbed through my right ankle. ‘Ow!' I opened my eyes.

Stephanie was already past me. She half-turned and sneered, ‘That's what you get for sticking your legs out like that, stupid.'

Neither of my legs was in her way, but answering her back would have been a waste of breath. I clamped my mouth shut and rubbed my ankle, wondering how big the bruise would be and whether I could get ice onto it in time. Probably not. I took my ballet shoes off and tucked the ribbons carefully inside. Mum had said it would be a month or more before she could afford new shoes, so these would have to last me.

I sighed, stood up and pulled my jeans and T-shirt on over my ballet gear.

‘How do you like Ms Ellergren's style of teaching?' Lucy asked, pausing next to me. She untied her bun and her brown hair spilt out in long curls.

‘She's tough,' I said. ‘I'm going to have to work double time just to keep up.'

‘You'll be fine,' she said. ‘But I can tell you – it's practice at home that makes the difference.'

‘I'm used to that.' It was how I'd done so well in Mrs Calzotti's class. One lesson a week wasn't enough, she said, so she'd given me lots of stuff to do at home and sometimes I'd had a class with her on my own.

Lucy pulled on her bright pink jacket. ‘My dad laid a floor down in our garage just for me. I'm going to get into the special audition training class if it kills me.'

My head jerked up. ‘What's that?' I'd read all the information about Ms Ellergren's school, but there'd been nothing about a special class.

‘It's the six-week intensive that starts next week. It's for students auditioning for the National Ballet School, but she's only letting a few of us into it.' She glanced at me. ‘You're pretty new, so I guess you're not up to that yet.'

‘Mmm.' My brain whirled. Why hadn't Mum told me about this? The NBS audition was my whole reason for being here. How could I not be in the class? Did it mean I wouldn't be able to audition this year? Ms Ellergren hadn't seemed too keen on the idea. My skin felt cold and clammy. ‘So, what do you have to do?'

She shrugged. ‘Dancing and stuff. See you next Saturday.' She gave me a little wave and left.

The room was nearly empty, but I sat, thinking, folding my ribbons over and over. A special class like that would make a huge difference to my chances, but Mum hadn't said a word.

What was going on?

chapter 2

When I went outside to wait for Mum, the last of the mothers weren't bothering to park, just picking up their kids and taking off. Everyone seemed in such a hurry.

A few minutes later, our car chugged down the street and Mum pulled over, tooting the horn. I cringed, jumping into the car and slamming the door behind me. ‘I was standing right there! Did you have to let the whole world know?'

‘You looked like you needed cheering up.' The car lurched as she took off, gunning it to the corner and out onto the main road. I grabbed at my seatbelt.

‘Was your class really awful?'

‘No! Well, it was hard. But that's good. I've got a lot of catching up to do, that's all.'

‘I thought Mrs Calzotti was a good teacher.'

‘She was. But Ms Ellergren is the best. And she expects the best,' I said. ‘Did you know there's going to be a special class to train for the NBS audition?'

Mum said nothing and I glanced at her. Her face was pink. ‘You did know!'

‘Yes, I think it was mentioned in the information.'

Which meant she knew everything and hadn't told me. ‘I need that class! Why didn't you tell me?'

‘It's a bit soon, Brynnie. It's probably not necessary.'

Suddenly, I could see the dollar signs flashing above her head. ‘You mean we can't afford another class.'

‘No.' Her hands gripped the steering wheel harder. ‘I' m sorry.'

‘I'll get a job, then. Delivering newspapers or something.'

‘You're too young.'

‘I'm not,' I said, folding my arms. ‘There're lots of jobs I could do. I just have to look around.'

‘You don't need that class!' she snapped. ‘All you need is the determination and the passion. You know you've got the talent. Mrs Calzotti told you that before we came down here.'

She hit the brakes hard at the corner of our street and muttered under her breath. Mum didn't often get mad with me, but she was now and I wasn't sure why. She was always quoting those two words at me – ‘determination' and ‘passion' – like they were a magic spell. If they were, how come they'd never worked for her? Dad told me once that she'd nearly made it into the women's basketball team for the 1988 Olympics. Nearly. I often wondered what had happened.

As we pulled into our driveway, there was a loud bang and a grinding noise. ‘Oh god, what was that?' Mum backed up, wrenched her door open and leapt out. ‘Tam!' she bellowed. ‘Get out here now!' That was her five-seconds-or-else voice.

Tam came running. ‘Mum! Look what you've done!'

Tam's bike lay in front of the car, its wheel bent upwards and the seat half off. Mum's face turned a darker shade of red. ‘How many times have I told you to put your bike in the garage? It serves you right.'

‘How am I going to get to school without it? We'll have to get it fixed,' he whined.

‘You'll
have to get it fixed,' Mum said. ‘I've got no money to pay for it, and it was your own fault.'

Tam glared at me. ‘We've only got no money because of
her'.

‘That's enough,' Mum snapped. ‘Even if I could afford it, I'd still make you pay for it.'

‘Where am I supposed to get the money from?' he said.

‘Get a job!' Mum stalked inside and he yanked his bike up.

‘It's all your fault,' he said to me. ‘There's not even anywhere decent to ride my bike around this dump.' He threw the bike into the back of the garage and stormed inside. I went to check out the bike and the wheel was totally mangled – he'd have to buy a new one. I ran my fingers over the huge scratches in the paint. Tam loved this bike. I used to spend hours watching him and his mates doing jumping stunts at the park. Every time one of them fell off, they'd all laugh like maniacs and get straight back on again. He had no one to ride with here, and now he didn't have a bike either. I sighed, and went into the house.

Lunch was sandwiches and everyone else had already eaten. I munched my peanut-butter-on-wholegrain at the table and drew on my notepad while I thought. How come Tam was told to get a job, but I wasn't allowed? Just because he was older, it didn't mean he'd have a better chance than me. Things were different here in the city. There were tons of jobs I could do – dog walking, babysitting, delivering stuff – I'd find something first and then I'd tell Mum.

In the meantime, I had to find out more about the intensive class and I had a million hours of practice to do if I was going to have any chance of being picked for it.

I needed to work out a training routine. Since we'd moved from Mackles Creek, north of Bendigo, a week ago, I'd had no chance to practise at all – what with packing, unpacking and helping Mum. Back home, I'd been able to sneak into the local scout hall through a back window and dance all I wanted. There was even a rail under the flags I could use as a barre.

But here in Melbourne, my family barely squeezed into this tiny house, and Tam and Orrin having to share a room had caused major explosions. I tried to point out that I was squashed into the sunroom at the back, which would be sauna-hot in the summer, but Orrin didn't care. He'd had his own room at home since he was twelve, and having to share with Tam again when he was sixteen sucked.

I would have offered Orrin the sunroom, but Tam was the stinkiest boy I'd ever met. His socks would drive a hibernating grizzly bear out of its cave, let alone a smaller sister. How was it possible for a fifteen year-old to smell so bad?

I listed the main barre and centre exercises from the morning class and added others from Mrs Calzotti's routines. The list kept growing, but all the exercises were essential. Where could I practise? Our rickety garage had a concrete floor and every room in the house was carpeted. Maybe if I searched around the neighbourhood, I might find something like the old scout hall.

‘Mum, I'm going for a walk.'

‘No, you're not.' She emerged from the poky laundry off the kitchen. ‘You can help me hang out this washing, then tidy up the lounge room.'

‘But –'

‘No “but”s. We can't move in this house as it is. If I let things build up anywhere, we won't be able to get in the front door.'

She gave me her look that said,
We're doing this for you, so you'd better do your share and more to make it easier.

When I'd finished doing jobs for Mum, I escaped and walked slowly around the block, checking out the suburb. The houses were a mix of old and new, but the one we were renting was ancient. It stank of about a hundred years of boiled cabbage and old lady's talcum powder. Some houses were being renovated and one had been pulled down. All that was left of it was a long stretch of dirt with a small pile of rocks to one side.

I turned the corner and there was my new school. I stood by the high wire fence, wondering what it was going to be like. There were only a few weeks left of this term, and that was bad enough, but also I'd be at a new school with kids who had been friends since Prep. My fingers curled around the wire and I bit my lip. I'd never been in a new school with no friends.

It looked like any school, with long, low classroom buildings, a sports field and a hall. On one side was an adventure playground for the little kids, with sails over it for the sun, and in between the buildings was a big asphalt area, probably where the netball court would be.

I walked along a bit further and found an open gate. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to wander around the school on the weekend, but the place was deserted. I wanted to see what the classrooms were like, whether they seemed friendly or not. That was what I told myself – but really I was looking for dancing space.

Through the first row of windows, I could see walls covered in pictures and posters; mobiles and coloured cellophane balls hung from the ceiling. Just like my old school. My eyes filled with tears. On Monday, my friends would all be crowding into our classroom, laughing and shoving and Ms Green would yell at them to sit down and be quiet, like always. Would they miss me? Would they even notice I wasn't there?

What was I doing here? Tam had said I'd ruined everyone's life just so I could be a ballet dancer, and he looked at me sometimes like he wished I was dead. What if I let them all down? What if I wasn't good enough? My stomach churned with doubts. Mum chanting ‘determination' and ‘passion' didn't help the fear that sometimes choked me – that was choking me now. I swallowed hard, past the huge lump in my throat, sank down onto a wooden bench and wrapped my arms around my body. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe we could pack up and go home again, back to live in Nan's house among the gum trees, two doors down from my best friend. Back to our normal life.

No. Mum and Dad had new jobs and we'd moved all our stuff. It
was
too late. We were here and that was that. I had to grin and bear it, as Dad said. A picture of Ms Ellergren popped into my head – not as she was this morning, inspecting our every move and frowning at mistakes, but the large colour photo of her by the studio entrance. The ballet was
Swan Lake,
I was sure, and she was posing spotlit, arms lifted, in a perfect arabesque. Her tutu was white, with feathers and sequins that sparkled like raindrops, and her headdress was made of white feathers too. Everything about her was graceful and elegant and that was what I wanted more than anything in the world: to be in a respected company, dancing ballets like
Swan Lake
with the hope that one day I might be the principal dancer.

I used to dream about it regularly, a dream in which I wore a white tutu and pirouetted across the stage. I'd wake in the morning, feeling happy, and spend half the day there in my head. Suddenly I realised that I hadn't had that dream for ages. What'd happened?

Moving house, my grumpy family, trying to settle in, worrying whether I'd be any good or not – all of that had happened and squashed the dream out of my head. Well, never again. Imagining myself as a ballerina had always inspired me to believe it was possible, and I was determined not to let that go.

I jumped up from the bench and walked past the classrooms to the hall, where I peered through the front windows. It wasn't very big, but it did have a wooden floor covered in gym mats, with piles of chairs against one wall. The door was locked, but there were side windows with catches – maybe I could unlatch a window and sneak in.

‘Hey! What are you doing?'