Abigail: Nice Girls Finish Last (3 page)

‘Abs you really don't want me as a fremeny,' Grace turns to threats after I refuse her offer to watch
Golden Shoes IV
. I've no time for her games – too busy warming up for the Prix de Fonteyn training class that's about it start. Grace carved Kat like a Christmas turkey and now she's turning nasty because I've called her on it. I'm not impressed and I don't give in to threats, not from someone that calls me after a muscle group.

‘It's Abigail. And we were barely friends to begin with.'

I might have seen through Grace, but Tara can't shake her country girl naivety.

‘Hey, the other night was fun-like,' she says later in class. ‘We should all hang out again soon … You, me, Grace.'

‘Grace plays with voodoo dolls and you still sleep with a teddy bear. I wouldn't start swapping friendship bracelets,' I try to warn her, but she takes it the wrong way.

‘Don't be jealous of her dancing. You've moved past that.'

Within twenty-four hours Grace makes good on her frenemy threat. When I join Tara at the café the next day, she looks like I've stabbed one of the lambs on her farm.

‘Why are you sitting here?' Tara asks.

‘We were going to “hang out,”' I remind her.

Tara shakes her head like she's really angry and then comes out with some irrelevance. ‘All my
pointe
shoes are broken. Grace's pointe shoes are broken.'

I'm wondering what this has to do with me when she adds, ‘And I want to believe you've changed but …'

She has to be crazy, but when Grace turns up, eating popcorn like she's watching a movie she's just directed, I know exactly what's happened.

‘Why would I have broken your
pointe
shoes?' I ask. ‘Because I'm deeply threatened by that bland dance you're doing?'

‘I can't believe how much of your crap I've put up with,' Tara blurts out. ‘What sort of pathetic
freak are you? Grace was your only friend and now you've pushed her away.'

‘I didn't touch them.'

‘Who else would?'

Grace smiles, standing next to her new best friend/victim.

‘Grace would, but you're not going to believe me are you?'

‘Grace is the least competitive person here and she's hardly going to break her own shoes. So no I don't believe you.'

Doesn't Tara know that ballet isn't the only competition in the world? I can't believe that after all the effort I've put in and how far I've come, she's going to believe a snake like Grace over me.

 

The next day in at the boarding house, Grace is lurking at the bottom of the stairs as I head down. ‘Come on Abs. Let's hug it out and make up now. I miss you.' She's all smiles, but I can sense her venomous fangs. The girl's deluded if she think's I'm playing. I push past her – cardio to do.

‘Grace, you're whack, and I'm rising above.'

‘Enjoy round two,' she grins, rolling her tongue in her mouth, like that's exactly the reaction she wanted.

Round two comes quickly. I've just finished going through my solo in Saskia's Prix de Fonteyn class when Miss Raine comes in and asks for a word with me, outside.

‘Abigail, I need you to explain why you felt the need to target and victimise two of your fellow students,' she says in the corridor.

‘You should talk to your god-daughter about that,' I say and then realise she already has.

‘Grace is worried about you and I have to agree. I've booked you an appointment to see your therapist again.'

Is she really that blind? There's a real therapy candidate clawing her way through the Academy, and Miss Raine's clueless.

‘I thought you'd moved on from first year but this jealousy is obviously an issue that needs to be resolved. And I want you to apologise to Grace and Tara.'

‘Do I have a choice?'

‘Apologise and compete in the Prix de Fonteyn or don't apologise and don't compete.'

That night in our room, I do apologise to Tara – for the things I did in first year like hiding her costume and the way I used to act. And I am sorry for my behaviour last year, but I'm not sorry for something I haven't done. Tara's not interested, too focused on packing her bag to move into the snake pit. Grace arrives to help move her stuff.

‘It doesn't matter anymore,' says Tara. ‘I just don't think we were ever meant to be roommates.'

She walks out leaving me with The God-daughter who makes The Godfather look like an amateur.

‘Where's my apology?' Grace asks with a smug grin.

‘She'll work you out,' I tell her. I hope Tara does, and not just for my sake. I sit back down on my bed. This is where being nice and making friends has got me. Rooming alone and accused of petty tricks and jealously.

But I have to put all that aside – more important things to worry about. Prix de Fonteyn preliminaries are a week away and I need constant practice with my choreographer if I'm going to perform at my best. I tackle Ethan in the corridor at the Academy. He's busy but I make it clear we have to rehearse ‘every morning and every night'.

He grumbles about being ‘a choreographer' and not ‘my choreographer' and tells me not to get demanding. I don't care, right now he's the only person around here I can rely on.

But at our next scheduled rehearsal, Kat's there. What is it with her interrupting our rehearsals? She's decided she wants to get back into the Academy and has badgered Miss Raine into letting her audition. Ethan volunteers me to get Kat into shape.

‘In what universe would I agree to help Kat?'

‘The one where I require payment for my choreography. Unless you want to start learning a different solo?' Ethan says.

‘You never said I had to pay you.'

Ethan thinks he's being clever.

‘It'll be mutually beneficial. You need to stop obsessing,' he says to me.

‘You need to obsess more,' he says to Kat. ‘I expect nothing less than magic.'

 

Preparing Kat for her audition is surprisingly enjoyable and, more importantly, doesn't impact my own rehearsal schedule. In fact it's helping me relax
in my downtime. Who would have thought inflicting pain, abuse and driving someone hard could be so satisfying? After all those years she's made fun of my dedication and now she wants my guidance. Karma. Kat has one week before her audition so she's going to have to work.

And she does. Jumping rope, doing sit-ups, running up steps and her most hated exercise of all, eating salad instead of a burger and chips. Under my strict supervision, her fitness definitely makes progress.

The day before her audition I'm waiting for her in the studio for some more cardio, but she doesn't show. I'd heard that Miss Raine told her she'd have to go into first year again. She's probably drowning her sorrows in fat and sugar. I decide to track her down before a carbohydrate catastrophe takes place.

Eventually I find her sitting on steps outside, but I was wrong. It's not fat and sugar, it's fat and salt. She's eating a bag of chips.

‘It's like training a goldfish,' I say, taking them out of her hand. ‘You were due in the studio twenty minutes ago.'

‘For leg squats? I had six days to prepare. You don't think that time would've been better spent at the
barre
?'

‘As far as technique goes, there's nothing you can do in six days. It's impossible,' I say.

‘Thanks for telling me I'm hopeless,' she grabs her bag and tries to move off.

‘You would be if you were starting from nothing but you've been dancing since before you could walk Kat. Your technique is in there … somewhere.'

‘That's where you're wrong. I was given every opportunity known to balletbot kind and I still never deserved to be here.' She starts walking away.

‘At some point you might want to stop inventing excuses to quit,' I call after her.

She stops and turns. ‘Yeah. Why's that?'

I can't believe I'm saying this, but it is true, ‘Because you're not actually terrible.'

She looks at me and for a moment I see the old Kat. The one that went to ballet classes with me all those years ago, that used to love ballet as much I did. The only best friend I ever really had.

 

For her audition, her hair's in a bun and she's nervous but focused. She's prepared to stand there in front of Miss Raine in a line-up of tiny girls, with half the second year students watching through
the window, to prove herself. She must really want this. And she's good, head and shoulders above the rest, literally. With her talent and my training, Miss Raine has no choice but to re-admit her.

The preliminaries of the Prix de Fonteyn national championship have arrived. Everyone's nervous. To make it even worse, Saskia tells us that in her time, only three students from the Academy got through to the Nationals. Lesser dancers might crumble under that kind of pressure, I'm just more determined.

The morning starts with a class where we're observed by the judges. As I arrive at the
barre
, Tara and Grace are warming up. Grace affects her usual indifference, but something's wrong with Tara.

‘You're moving especially constipated,' I call it like it is. I try to move to the front. I've got a number 1 pinned to my leotard, so I should be at the front. But Grace, in her totally non-competitive way, blocks me.

As we go through our moves, Tara isn't at her best and Grace covers for her. She sneezes just as the judge is next to Tara and she's performing a really weak
arabesque
. Tara mouths a thank you. I focus on my own performance. As we move to the
pirouettes
, I get the judge's attention by asking if he wants doubles or triples.

‘As many as you can do,' he says and then adds ‘cleanly' with the smile. Mine aren't just clean, they're pristine. Grace makes hers look effortless and Tara's are a mess. Something is definitely wrong.

Later outside the theatre Grace and Tara are ordering a cab. Tara says she's just going off for a massage or some pain killers. If she's got a back injury she shouldn't be dancing, no matter how important the occasion. Dr Wicks, the Academy physician, won't allow it – for our own good. Dancing on an injury is stupid, it can end your career. I can tell from Tara's face she's planning something ridiculous. She always goes for the dumb option, like trusting Grace.

‘You're seeing a doctor outside the Academy?' I can't believe she really is that stupid. It's the Academy's most fundamental rule. See a doctor other than Dr Wicks and you're out. Tara begs me not to tell anyone but she's taking a real risk, not just with
the rules but her health. Grace acts like it's all some joke, shouting ‘kisses' at me from the taxi window as she takes Tara off to ruin her entire career.

After lunch it's our solos. That's where we really have to push ourselves and stand out for the judges. If Tara dances injured, she could do herself permanent damage. I don't know what to do. This goes way beyond competitive rivalry, but I don't have time to be distracted by other people's problems. The solo that Ethan choreographed for me is good, but I need it to be sensational, unforgettable. I should be focused on my own performance but instead I'm thinking about Tara. Typical Tara, dragging everyone else into her personal drama. I so don't need this now.

I sit in front of the mirror in the dressing room, trying to gain focus. This is my story, my chance, not Tara's. Saskia comes in with a costume bag. I have to get out what's on my mind, so I can focus on me.

‘I was just coming to talk to you about Tara,' I say. ‘I'm worried about her.'

‘Me too,' Saskia says. ‘The judges are going to annihilate her this afternoon.'

She sits down. ‘I know this is a lot to put on your shoulders, but I need at least one girl to go through to the Nationals. And Grace is unpredictable.'

She's right and obviously I'm going to do everything I can to get through to the finals. Then she unzips the dress bag and pulls out a pair of red shoes.

‘How well do you know
The Red Shoes
?' she asks.

‘I've seen Tara struggle through it a zillion times. But what about the piece Ethan choreographed for me?'

‘
The Red Shoes
, when it's performed right – unbeatable,' Saskia suggests.

Not the conversation I expected. I am worried about Tara, but if she's not going to help herself, why should I do it for her? If Saksia thinks I can carry off
The Red Shoes
, I should. My mind flashes to Ethan and the work he's put in. But this is the Prix de Fonteyn, the biggest competition in the world. Emphasis on
competition
. If I'm not going to compete, why am I here?

I take the red shoes.

 

Later as I'm applying my make-up, Ethan comes in to wish me luck. He's worn the same socks for three days. Nice. ‘It's a good luck ritual,' he explains.

‘Unnecessary. I've decided to go with another solo.' There's no point letting him down gently. He laughs, thinking I'm joking. But I don't joke, not about dance.

‘We've been working on it for weeks,' he says. ‘I know it's risky going with new choreography but you are going to be fantastic.'

Being hard is the only way I know I can do this. ‘It's amateurish. You might need it for your showreel, but I can do better.'

‘Then you do that Abigail,' he says and slips out, leaving the memory of his image in the mirror. I close my eyes, grit my teeth and hope I'm doing the right thing.

Saskia walks me backstage when it's time for the girls' solos. I'm in the white dress and carrying the shoes. Anyone who sees us will know exactly what I'm going to do.

‘You're going to have to dig deep in the
piqué
turns.' Saskia seems even more nervous than me.

‘I wasn't planning on coasting,' I say, annoyed at all the last minute advice.

‘And the
posé
in attitudes – focus on your upper body. Tara's expressive,' she says. ‘There's no point doing this if you're not going to be better than her.'

I stop, suddenly realising why Saskia wants me to perform. All semester she's been entertainingly vocal about how crap Tara is at this solo. And now … I know why she hates Tara so much. She's jealous.

‘I knew Tara was good, but I just never thought she was good enough to scare you.' The youngest principal in the history of the company and she's scared someone might perform
The Red Shoes
better than her. I thought she was inspirational, someone to look up to, but she's not. She's just another person using me to play her own games.

She picked the wrong girl. There's only one solo I'm going to perform. Mine. ‘Excuse me,' I say. I've got to change my costume.

 

When it's time for me to go on stage, Ethan comes up behind me. He didn't leave, even when he thought I'd given up on our solo. ‘I was banking on the socks that you'd change your mind,' he says.

The judges announce the commencement of girls solos. I'm on first, but there's one thing I need to know.

‘I have a question, dancer to choreographer,' I say.

‘Go for it.'

I lean up and kiss him. His lips, surprised for a second, respond. Definite chemistry … or maybe performance nerves.

‘I've been wondering if it was a strictly professional relationship between us,' I say as the judges call my name out, announcing I'm performing an original piece by Ethan Karamakov.

‘Did that clear it up?' he asks.

‘Totally professional,' I smile, go out on stage and dance better than I ever have.