Rhythm and Blues (4 page)

My first job for Miss Caroline was to print off the exam running sheets. That was what the examiners would use to mark us when they came to Silver Shoes. You see, the studio doesn't use teachers from our own school to take the exams. I guess it's because they might show favouritism, or because they already know us, so it's hard to judge us based on just what they see in the exam.

Miss Caroline gave me a USB stick and told me to go into her office and print five copies each of the jazz, ballet, lyrical, tap and musical theatre sheets, on the official Silver Shoes paper. Then I was to bring some to Miss Caroline for her to use in our practice, and file the rest away in the ‘exam correspondence' pigeonhole at the front desk.

I chanted the instructions in my head as I hobbled to her office. I knew Miss Caroline had given me a big responsibility, and it was a privilege – I didn't want to stuff it up. She was being super kind to me and I was determined to be the best personal assistant she'd ever had. I was really grateful to her for giving me something to take my mind off not being able to dance for a while.

Miss Caroline's office smelled like the lily-of-the-valley perfume she always wore. I couldn't stop a little giggle as I made my way across the
thick cream carpet and took my place at the chair behind her desk.

‘Why, yes, my dear, won't you step into my office?' I said out loud, then quickly peeped out the door in case anyone had heard me. I still felt like I was in an out-of-bounds area, doing something wrong. It was a funny, thrilling feeling. I was a bit giddy with it.

I logged onto her computer as ‘Guest' and plugged the USB in. The computer whirred and blinked as it loaded the device. Then a folder came up with a bunch of files. There were icons for the five exams – jazz, ballet, lyrical, tap and musical theatre.

There were also two other icons. One said ‘Minutes and Stats from Audit Outcome' (which sounded like the most boring thing in the universe). The other was a sub-folder that said ‘Notes for Exam Practice – Students by Alphabetical Order'.

I hovered the mouse over it for a second, wondering if I could just take a passing glance to see what it was.

But the title already made it pretty clear what was inside. And I also knew that they were Miss Caroline's private files and none of my business.

A good personal assistant wasn't a snoop.

I quickly clicked into the first exam icon, jazz, and opened it up. There were four pages listing the exam groups and then the criteria we were marked against – technique, style, alignment, memory, placement – with spaces to put notes, crosses and ticks.

I only hoped, when the time came, my injured ankle didn't earn me more crosses than ticks.

I loaded the special Silver Shoes paper into the printer, taking great care to make sure they were all lined up exactly.

Then, while I waited for the next exam sheet to print, I carefully arranged and clipped everything together, taking note of the exam groups while I did so.

Exams were ordered alphabetically, with four people to a group. Because Ellie's last name is Irvin and Ashley's is Jenkyns, they were in the same group for all the classes they were in together. I knew they would be happy about that – it's always nice to know you've got a friend with you.

In my exams – ballet, jazz and lyrical – I was with Paige, because our last names, Montreal and Nason, were close together. Usually I like being with Paige because she gets so nervous and I think having me there is comforting to her. But I knew I would be frazzled this time around, and I didn't want to let her down. I couldn't be strong for others if I couldn't even be strong for myself.

I felt very official walking out of the office with the papers stacked under my arm. After I dropped off the extra copies to reception, I headed down to technique class, which was just starting.

‘Here you are, Miss Caroline,' I whispered to her.

She looked down at me and stopped the girls in the middle of their tendu practice. ‘Thank you very much,' she said to me before turning to the class. ‘Girls, for the next couple of weeks Riley is going to be my personal assistant.'

I held my head high and tried to stand very straight, which was a bit difficult while leaning on a crutch.

‘I'm sure you'll all agree that there couldn't be a better person for the job. And I know you won't slack off with her either, or she'll pass that information straight on to me, won't you, Riley?'

‘Yes, I will,' I said very seriously, as I looked out at the girls who were to be my sort-of students for the next few weeks.

Most of them seemed pretty unconcerned about it. A few even looked happy, like Paige, who gave me a big grin, and Ashley, who flashed me the thumbs-up.

Some looked unimpressed, though.

‘I'm not learning exams under some peg-legged pirate,' I heard Jasmine whisper to Tove.

I gave her my coolest look. My new-found role was very important to me. If any girls thought they could make trouble, they'd better watch out.

‘The next four are Jessica front right, Paige front left, Serah back right, and Riley – uh, me – behind Paige.' I paused. ‘Well, imaginary Riley. Let's go.'

I sat in a high-backed chair to the side of the studio, pleased with how strong and authoritative my voice sounded. Miss Caroline had decided we'd spend the last half of technical class going over whatever exams we wanted.

If you do jazz or lyrical or ballet, you have to take a technical class to work on – you guessed it – technique. Mostly everyone was in jazz and lyrical, so we'd already practised jazz, where I'd begun to find my feet as Miss Caroline's personal assistant. Now I was really in the swing of things. We were onto lyrical, taking turns to do a mock exam in our groups of four. Those who weren't doing the mock exam were meant to be off at the sides, practising other exams, or stretching.

Twice I'd had to tell off Violet for tapping too loud, even in bare feet. Now there was a stink of irritation floating towards me from her general direction. I ignored it. I was just doing my job, after all.

Lyrical jazz is also known as neo-classical – it's a very soft, storytelling fusion of jazz, ballet and contemporary dance. It can get quite technical, but really it's about telling a story
with your body, through the song. You have to sell the emotion.

So, like I said, lyrical was the exam I was most worried about. Technically, I knew I'd hit everything, but my critiques in competitions always mention that I need to display more emotion and feeling in my movement and face. But for someone like Ellie, who maybe is just off technical perfection, the emotion isn't a problem.

So I was really looking for that in all the girls – even in their floor and standing exercises, right up to their travelling steps and the short routine.

With the standing warm-up exercises, there were a lot of body, arm and leg swings, contractions and releases, and warming up of the feet. I studied everyone, comparing them to how I would or would not have done the exercises. I was pleased when Miss Caroline called
out that someone needed to extend more, or adjust this, or roll through that, and I'd had the same thought in my head.

One thing bothered me, though.

Paige was in the front row and she didn't really have any idea what was going on. She chucked a panicky look to the mirror each time the girls shifted into a new exercise, and copied them, always a beat behind.

Her actual movements were fine – turnout was solid, her feet pointed where they were meant to, and she created some pretty lines with her arms. But all of that meant nothing if she couldn't remember what came next. Marks for memory were a big part of exams, too.

The three girls finished their last standing exercise and Miss Caroline nodded.

‘Not bad, girls,' she said. ‘What do you think, Riley?'

‘Well,' I said, and cleared my throat. I glanced at Paige, standing on the spot wringing her hands. I wondered if I should say anything. I knew she got upset and embarrassed easily.

But it wouldn't be very fair if I had criticisms for everyone but my best friends. I didn't want to be accused of playing favourites.

‘Um, Paige,' I said, and shifted in my seat.

She looked up at me in surprise. I noticed Ellie look up too, from where she was stretching on the floor.

‘You need to know what you're doing,' I said, as professionally as I could. ‘In every single exercise you just watched what the other girls did and followed them. You need to learn the steps yourself. Plus, in the exams, we won't be performing to the mirror, like now, and you'll be up the front, so you won't actually have
anyone to copy. Maybe you should practise at home so you can remember the order of things on your own.'

Paige was silent. I saw the dimple in her cheek deepen as she bit the side of her mouth, thinking. Then she looked down at her toes. ‘Sorry,' she whispered. ‘Okay.'

‘Your lines were nice, though,' I added, to soften what I said.

Paige nodded. Miss Caroline didn't say anything. She just shuffled the girls over to the side for the travelling exercises. I did notice that she put a hand on Paige's shoulder and whispered something to her, at the end of which Paige broke out into a smile and stopped looking like I'd thrown a rotten egg in her direction.

Gosh. I'd only been trying to help.

My cheeks felt hot, and I looked down to see Ellie watching me quite peevishly
from the floor. I glared at her. I hadn't done anything wrong! If you can't take helpful criticism, then you shouldn't be a dancer. At least they got to dance, unlike me sitting here doing nothing.

‘Ellie, you'll have to move from there,' I said. ‘You're right in the way and Jess will trip over your leg.'

Maybe because I was feeling slightly defensive, my words sounded a bit harsh. Ellie let me know she wasn't impressed by making a face. Then she made a big act of getting up off the floor.

‘Yes, sir,' she said, and marched to the side of the studio, where Ash was watching both of us. She whispered something to Ash and they both turned to look at me.

I stared straight ahead, concentrating on watching Jessica's soutenu turns.

Sorry, girls. I didn't want to be mean to
anyone. But with my beloved dancing taken away from me, this was what I had to focus on. I had a job to do. And unlike my ankle, I was determined not to stuff it up.

I headed straight back into the studio after school the next day. It was Friday and only the seniors had lessons that afternoon. I tried to help Miss Caroline in jazz class, but I wasn't really needed. All the seniors had been dancing and taking exams for a long time and there wasn't much my ten-year-old self could teach them.

Eventually, I left the studio to have a wander around Silver Shoes and stretch my legs.
It had been a week exactly since I'd sprained my ankle, and although I knew it wasn't 100 per cent healed, it did feel a little better. Just enough to give me hope.

I really missed dancing. My head felt all busy and my heart a bit too full when I couldn't dance. I was desperate to get back out on the floor and just loosen up and work off some energy.

In the drama studio – which is the old church hall recently connected to Silver Shoes by an undercover walkway – Paige and her ballroom partner, Benji, were practising for their next competition.

I watched them through the window in the door. They were doing a fast-paced boppy dance, I think it might have been the jive, and Benji was twirling Paige round and round. They were both laughing so much they almost couldn't dance, and Paige's cheeks were a
bright rosy red. Her bun, which was normally hairsprayed within an inch of its life, had come loose and her hair was flying out around her face.

She looked so cute and happy, and something burned in my chest at the thought of making her upset yesterday.

I knocked on the window, just a small tap.

Both Benji and Paige stopped and looked over at the door. Benji gave me the thumbs-up straightaway, but Paige took a step back and nervously brushed some hair off her face. I smiled my friendliest smile and gave her a little wave. After a second she smiled and waved back, and it was like the tide had come in and put out the little fire burning in my chest.

Then the ballroom teacher's face loomed out at me from the other side of the door. Everyone knew you didn't mess with Fleur.
I quickly turned on my crutch and hobbled away.

Studio two was empty, so I let myself in and came to a stop in front of the mirror. I stared at myself. Still the same Riley. Long legs, two braids, coffee-coloured skin. Puffy ankle.

I dropped the crutch beside me and pushed it away with my good foot.

Then I held myself in the starting position for the routine of the lyrical exam. I needed to practise, or at least step through it, to keep it fresh in my head, and to apply the corrections Miss Caroline had given us yesterday.

Also, I just wanted to feel a bit of the happiness and lightness dancing gave me. I knew I was giving Mr Grumpy a run for his money in the attitude department this week.

So, starting position – left arm extended, opposite leg stretched behind. Easy enough. Bend the knee, change the arms, lean forward,
gently raise the back leg into développé. Still fine, because all my weight was on my good leg and my sprained ankle was the one up in the air.

But of course in the next move I had to step back onto my bad ankle and do a chaine chassé turn followed by two soutenus.

My ankle wasn't having any of that.

That's fine
, I said to myself,
you haven't warmed up yet.

So I did a slow set of relevés and pliés, and by slow, I mean
very
slow. Like, a snail could have done them quicker (if they had feet). Then I did a few tendus, dégagés and ankle rolls, carefully working through my injured ankle, stopping the range of motion or shifting the weight as soon as I felt a twinge or a pull where I shouldn't.

After that I moved to the corner and tried some simple travelling steps. My ankle felt
a bit better now when I put weight on it. It cheered me up a little.

I went back to the centre of the studio and into the starting position for the lyrical routine again. This time I let my arms and upper body perform at their full range of motion and limited the amount of footwork I was doing – I did everything at a quarter of the power I normally would, in my lower half.

The steps came back to me and I imagined the music in my head. I tried to let myself feel it, to give over to the imaginary rhythm I heard.

I gave over too much though, because, before I knew it, I'd forgotten that my ankle was only working at a quarter power, and I began to dip and reach into the movements more, thinking that I was my old self.

I finished a series of stepping movements and was about to launch up into a relevé side
développé – a kind of athletic pose where you rise up on one foot, with your arms held over your head, and extend the working leg to the side, holding it in a high attitude – but just as I was coming up to the height of my rise, I felt my ankle start to give and knew I was in trouble.

I threw myself ungracefully on the floor before my ankle could roll and cause further damage. My elbows took the impact of my fall. I rolled over and lay on my back, panting.

That was close. Next thing I knew I would give myself a broken ankle. As it was, I'd have to go and get an icepack now to reduce any swelling I'd caused.

Despite all that, I was pleased with myself. I knew the limitations of what I could and couldn't do. It was a good start on my road to recovery.