Abigail: Through the Looking Glass

They say a true prima ballerina comes along once in a generation.

I gaze into the dark eyes staring back at me from the changing-room mirror. I am finally becoming the person I was always meant to be. I’ve dreamed of coming here for so long, and now I can actually reach out and touch my dream. There are thousands of guys and girls wanting to join the National Academy of Dance, and only a few places to be filled. One of them is mine.

Mum says that with my looks, I can have the world at my feet. She’s always encouraged me to be the best I can be – and that means being better than everyone else. She knows I’m special.

Thinking of my mum and sister, my chest suddenly feels tight. They’ve sacrificed so much for
me, splitting up the family so I could come to Sydney and train at the Academy. I
have
to get a place!

I wonder how Dad’s doing back in Brisbane. I bet he misses us. We were supposed to commute back to Queensland to see him every second weekend, but it doesn’t seem to happen as often as we’d planned.

I take a deep breath and say my mantra over and over in my head. Ballet is everything. I’ll do whatever it takes to reach my dream.

I’m standing in the studio with Georgia doing my stretches – and keeping an eye on the competition. So far I reckon I’ve got nothing to worry about.

‘Can the boys finish warming up and follow me next door?’ says the boys’ ballet master, Patrick. ‘Girls are staying here with Miss Raine.’

‘Patrick, may I have a word?’ says Miss Raine.

Of course, as soon as Patrick and Miss Raine leave the studio, Kat starts mucking around. She thinks she can get away with anything because her mum’s a famous ballerina. She’s connected her MP3 player to the stereo and now it’s blasting out some kind of hideous electronic music. She’s actually eating a chocolate bar!

I see her exchange a few words with the girl who came into the introduction meeting late and out of breath.

‘So you met Kat?’ I ask the girl.

She looks a little bit edgy. A victim of one of Kat’s hilarious practical jokes, no doubt.

‘We were all at junior school together,’ I tell her. ‘Kat’s lots of
fun.
But the staff know that if you’re friends with her, then you’re not really taking dancing seriously.’

‘Bad impression to make in audition week,’ Georgia adds.

We all look at Kat, who is trying to make an extremely nervous boy dance with her. He’s squirming away.

‘Got it,’ says the girl.

‘I’m Abigail,’ I say. ‘This is Georgia.’

‘I’m Tara,’ says the girl. ‘Webster.’

That rings a bell – I’ve seen that name somewhere before. I know! The accommodation lists.

‘You and I are roommates,’ I say.

She smiles back at me.

‘So I know it sounds ridiculous,’ I say. ‘But I have this thing … ’

I look at the place where Tara is standing. She looks blank.

‘Abigail always stands at the front of the
barre,’
Georgia explains.

Tara hastily goes to stand behind us. That’s a good sign – she’s not pushy. Miss Raine has come back in and stopped Kat showing off. Our first proper class – I can’t wait!

I smile at Tara.

‘This is going to be such a great week,’ I say. ‘I can feel it.’

The first class is awesome. Miss Raine singles me out for special attention and even gets me to demonstrate for the class. Tara is way out of her depth. Georgia and I feel a bit sorry for her and try to cheer her up over lunch.

Kat is trying to steal Tara away from us, keen to cultivate a fellow rebel I guess. How Kat manages to have a gorgeous, dance-focused brother like Ethan is beyond me. I’d love to dance with him, but he’s going into third year so I guess I don’t have much of a chance.

By the evening, Tara is sitting exhausted on her bed while I do my sit-ups. Her toes are blistered and
the blood has soaked through her tights. (Seriously, how long has she been dancing?)

‘I need air,’ she says.

‘It’s after ten,’ I point out. ‘You’d be breaking curfew.’

She looks amazed. ‘Seriously? I’m not allowed outside?’

Tara leaves the room. I think she’s homesick. She’s going to have to learn to toughen up if she wants to stay here. But I think we could be friends.

Georgia’s muted cries of pain make my skin crawl.

One minute she was dancing
cabrioles,
and then she made a bad landing and that was it.

‘Where does it hurt?’ Miss Raine is asking.

‘My achilles,’ Georgia sobs.

Everyone’s crowding around Georgia, but Tara steps back beside me. The colour has drained from her face. The achilles tendon is vital to a dancer.

‘If it’s snapped, she’s out,’ I say in a low voice.

Tara doesn’t reply. I push my emotions down and head over to the
barre
to keep my muscles warm, forcing my face to look blank. Everyone thinks I’m a bitch anyway; let them think I don’t
care about Georgia. Why should I let them see how I feel inside?

For our final audition tomorrow, Miss Raine wants to see how we perform a real dance and tell a story. We each have to dance a solo from
The Ugly Duckling.
I’m feeling really good about it – I know Miss Raine will love what I do. I’m the best in the class. Like Mum says, there’s nothing boastful about knowing how good you are.

The music swells, and I begin to dance, focusing on making every movement perfect. But out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Tara isn’t following the routine. I don’t know what’s happened to her. It’s as if she’s slipped away into another place. This is a different girl from the one I’ve been sharing a room with all week. I expect Miss Raine to tell her off, but instead she criticises me!

‘Abigail, there was a coldness now,’ she’s saying. ‘I want to see what’s beyond the steps.’

Her voice is coming from far away, ringing in my ears. I feel hot and a bit dizzy.

‘You could learn something by watching Tara.’ She gives Tara a tiny smile, and my world turns upsidedown and inside-out. ‘It was surprisingly good.’

It’s late. I can’t sleep, and Tara is tossing and turning in her bed.

I should have listened to myself. Everyone’s competitive, and that includes Tara. I bet she pretended to be the worst in the class, just so that she could steal the limelight at the crucial moment. What if that happens in the auditions tomorrow? What if the place that should be mine goes to her because she dazzles them like she did today?

I’m lying very still, pretending to be asleep. I don’t want to talk to her. The sounds of the city are comforting – it’s funny to think how much I hated them when I first moved here from Brisbane.

An ambulance siren wails past the window and I hear Tara sit up. It sounds as if she’s getting dressed. A few seconds later, our bedroom door opens and closes softly.

I can hardly believe that she’d be so stupid as to break the rules, but just in case I stand up and pad over to the window. We’re one floor up. I wait, and then I see her. Unbelievable. She’s broken curfew! That makes it so easy.

There’s a chance that Tara could get the place that should be mine, so I have to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. It’s all about
overcoming the competition, and Tara’s just handed me the method on a plate.

It’s the day of our solos in front of the panel. I feel as if I’ve been working towards this my whole life. I’m not going to let anything spoil it.

Tara flies along the corridor towards us, late, dressed in her babyish powder-blue leotard. Her hair is a mess.

‘I overslept,’ she gasps.

‘I’m not an alarm clock,’ I say.

As if on cue, the door opens and Miss Raine looks into the corridor.

‘Number forty-five,’ she says. ‘Come with me.’

‘But I’m meant to be last,’ says Tara, looking confused.

‘We’d like to see you now.’ Miss Raine’s voice is cold.

Tara suddenly gives me a hug.

‘Thank you so much,’ she says. ‘For everything.’

I feel a bit uncomfortable, knowing the storm she’s about to face, but I force a smile.

‘Break a leg,’ I say.

Tara disappears inside the studio and the door closes behind her.

A boy called Sammy – the one who Kat was trying to force to dance with her on the first day of audition week – has his ear pressed against the door.

‘They’re talking about breaking curfew,’ Sammy says.

‘Why would they be asking her about that?’ Kat asks, staring at me.

Her eyes are accusing, but there’s no way she could know anything. I let my face go blank. Kat’s eyes narrow. Then she marches straight into the studio!

‘Okay, everybody, call off the witch hunt,’ she announces.

Kat basically lies through her teeth. She says that Tara slept in her room last night, and Tara goes along with it. Worst of all, the teachers believe them!

Through the window, I watch Tara getting ready to perform her audition piece. The music starts and I see that she’s going into that other place – that place she went yesterday when we were rehearsing. My chest starts to feel tight, and I feel as if every heartbeat is shaking my body. I just keep thinking:
That’s what I have to beat. That’s what I have to be better than.

She’s nowhere near tough enough, she’s completely out of her depth and she has no idea how good she is. Her country ballet school technique is way behind the rest of us. But one thing’s for certain; based on this audition performance, she is sailing into a place at the Academy.

Once again a dream has come true for me. Nothing is going to stop me now. I danced every day of the holidays in preparation. Mum is almost as excited as me. Dad said he’d be proud of me whether I’d got in or not, but he doesn’t
get
ballet like Mum and Paige do. Paige is so jealous that I’m here. I can’t wait for her to come and visit so I can show her everything.

Kat and Tara both got in, and I’m sharing a room with Tara. I’ve decided to put audition week behind us and start again. I’m not
forgetting
what happened, but if we’re roommates, we might as well try to be friends.

Okay, time to do a quick evaluation of the competition, just like Mum taught me.

Tara Webster: Some raw talent but no finesse. I don’t think she’s got a competitive bone in her body. Assessment: Not exactly competition, but she’s got
something.

Kat Karamakov: Flippant, spiky and annoying as ever. We were close once, but she decided years ago that I was a bunhead, and we’ve never been friends since. I don’t care about the opinions of someone who doesn’t put dancing first. Assessment: Kat’s a really good dancer, and she could be awesome – if she wanted to be.

The rest are either no competition or complete mysteries, but I guess I’ll get to know them soon enough.

The classes and the training are relentless. We’re also learning jazz, contemporary, character and hiphop. We were all fitted for our
pointe
shoes yesterday in the shoemaker’s studio. It’s the ballet version of Santa’s grotto! Everywhere you look there are piles of ribbons and satin and tissue paper.

I’m loving every minute, but Tara’s struggling. Miss Raine says that her technique isn’t ready for
pointe
work, and she’s got to go back to basics and work at the
barre.

‘If she’s written you off as the worst dancer in the year, it’s up to you to prove she’s wrong,’ I tell Tara.

I know she’ll act on what I say. And sure enough, now she’s dancing in repertoire class in her forbidden
pointe
shoes. Miss Raine is white with rage.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hisses.

‘Dancing,’ says Tara. ‘As well as anyone.’

‘If you believe that you must be delusional.’

Miss Raine’s voice is like a whipcrack.

‘I–’

The look on Miss Raine’s face is awful.

‘Your feet were sloppy,’ she snaps. ‘You lost your turn-out and almost dislocated your knee, not to mention your ankle. There was a complete lack of coordination between your upper body and your arms. Shall I continue?’

Tara shakes her head. There are tears shining in her eyes.

‘But I was just trying to–’

‘If you’re going to stand there and argue with me, or worse still cry, then you can get out of my classroom. Right now.’

Tara’s eyes overflow. Miss Raine turns away from her in disgust, and Tara curtseys and walks out of the studio.

‘She was out of line, no question,’ I’m saying a short while later. ‘I had no idea she’d react like that.’

Tara shakes her head.

‘It’s not just Miss Raine,’ she says. ‘It’s me. I don’t make sense here. At home I’m …’