Authors: Thalia Kalkipsakis
Of course it is. What else was I expecting?
There’s a wall of windows, no curtains and a shadow falling on the bed. Part of me is standing back, watching. So this is how it will be for me, my first time. Who would’ve thought? It’s with
Moss Young
.
Moss pulls me to the bed so I sit, awkwardly at first, and then end up lying backwards with the press of his chest. He’s got a condom on before I’ve even worked up the courage to mention it. More than anything I’m aware of not wanting to seem young, silly. Inexperienced. But soon I realise that this is so much like dancing, finding a sense of your partner’s body. Anticipating and responding. Moving in time.
When we finish, Moss rolls onto his back, chest rising and falling. For a while I just watch him with my arms tucked into my chest, feeling small on the bed. Cautiously I rest my head on his shoulder and then relax at his response. A hand slides down my leg.
His other hand reaches out of sight and returns with a cigarette and lighter.
I feel his body inhale, and sense a kind of relief. For a while we’re quiet, smoke f loating in moonlight, cigarette cinders flaring.
It’s as if I’m seeing Moss as he really is, without the performance. The moment feels honest. I think of the fight with Mum tonight; pushing her away has pulled me closer to Moss. It’s almost as if it were for a reason, as if it were meant to be.
‘I just found out that my father was addicted to painkillers,’ I hear myself say. ‘That’s how he died.’
Moss’s cigarette hovers, his head turns my way. ‘Your father died?’
‘Years ago, when I was four.’ I roll away. ‘I take after him, though. He was a dancer too.’
The mattress moves and Moss sits on the edge of the bed, stubbing out the cigarette. His torso swivels so that he can look at me. ‘Painkillers?’
‘So he could keep dancing.’
There’s a sigh before Moss turns and stands, moving to the window. ‘Then your dad knew how to live. You know what they say, it’s better to burn out than to fade away.’
I look at Moss, standing there naked. I like how comfortable he is with his body in front of me.
‘You know, that story makes more sense to me than the people living down there.’ Moss gestures down into the valley, where the city lights indicate so many lives. ‘I don’t know how they keep doing it without going insane. Get up, go to work. Follow everyone else. They spend all their lives treading the same path.’
I’m quiet, watching the shadows formed by the curve of his shoulders
.
‘And they think they can judge anyone who tries to make something of their lives, when they have no idea what it is to really …
create
something from nothing.’ He turns to me. ‘You know what I mean. When you’re trying to do something new, you can’t live in the mainstream. We have to push a little … live on the edge.’
His voice is urgent, almost angry, and I’m not sure how to reply. So I just nod and lie back down.
All I know is that I’m on the other side of something. All I hear is the word ‘we’.
I wake early the next morning; Moss is lying motionless beside me. For a while I just watch him breathe, trying to save the image in my brain. That’s Moss Young, sleeping. Stubble shadows his face. In the morning light he seems different,
less
somehow, and a panic comes over me at what I’ve done. How much I’ve given this guy.
My clothes are on the floor. I collect them into a ball and head to the bathroom, keeping as quiet as I can. Mum would be up already, probably checking my room. What would she say if she knew?
I don’t want to be here when Moss wakes. Quickly I dress and make my way through the house, trying to remember where the front door is.
I’m tiptoeing through the living room when a woman appears. It’s his housekeeper, the one who opened the door at the afterparty. I freeze and my cheeks burn, wondering what she’s going to say.
‘Can I get you some breakfast? Eggs? Porridge?’ she asks calmly.
Not what I was expecting. ‘Oh, no thanks.’ Even though I’m starving.
‘Coffee?’
This still feels weird. ‘Maybe a glass of water?’
I follow her into the kitchen and accept the glass, complete with ice and a slice of lemon. I sip at first, then end up gulping, even thirstier than I realised. As I finish, the woman keeps wiping the bench, one eye on me. A pile of dishes sits beside the sink, bowls, saucepan, a pair of champagne glasses. Deep red lipstick stains the edge of one. Kitty’s? Or someone else’s?
‘I guess this must happen quite a lot?’ I ask, trying to ease the awkwardness.
It has the opposite effect. She just shrugs and tucks her cloth under the sink. ‘Can I call you a taxi?’
‘Ah, sure,’ I say. I don’t have much money for a taxi but I’ll catch it to the nearest bus stop.
The taxi takes me to Central station. I climb out and for a few minutes just stand there, watching people as they pass. For them, this is just another day. For me, everything has changed.
I take the bus home, thinking of a kitchen full of food. My bed. My room …
Mum rushes towards me when I open the front door, hands clutched tight to her chest. Has she been doing that all night?
‘I’m glad you’re home,’ she says. My cheeks flush as she pulls me into a hug. Can she tell what I did last night?
Mum pulls away and holds out a note. ‘That woman called.’
I take the slip of paper, a name and number: Natasha. ‘You spoke to her?’
Already Mum is shaking her head. ‘No, she left a message for both of us, but I …’
‘Thanks.’ I slip the note in my pocket and spend the rest of the day in my room.
I find Paige in the caf before school on Monday, a textbook spread open in front of her and a mug held in both hands.
‘Chamomile?’ I ask, and slip in next to her.
‘Peppermint.’ She holds it up. ‘Want some?’
I shake my head. ‘How was your weekend?’
Paige pauses for a moment, as if remembering, before her eyes relax into a smile. ‘Pretty good. We had fun. It wasn’t a big deal, but at the same time …’
‘So how …’ I shake my head. ‘Did he ask you out?’
‘No, we were talking about dance numbers in movies and he said that he hasn’t ever seen
Taste of Sunshine
, and I just … asked him round.’
‘Well.’ I sit back. ‘You dark horse.’
‘It’s not like we, you know … did anything.’
I’m not sure what to say. My night was so different to hers. I raise my eyebrows and smile. ‘Not yet.’
Paige turns pink and makes a face. ‘So what did you end up doing?’ When she sees my reaction, her eyes narrow. ‘Oh no, don’t tell me. You didn’t, did you?’
‘Well …’ I’m searching for a way to explain. Compared to Tadpole, Moss Young seems out of this world.
‘You went and saw Moss! Geez, Scarlett. How did you get in?’
How did any of it happen? ‘I don’t know. He had my name on the door.’
‘And your mum let you go?’
My lips squish together. ‘No … ah, not exactly. We had this massive fight –’
‘There you are!’ We look up to see Izzy dodging chairs at the other end of the caf. ‘Come and check this out,’ she says once she reaches us, grabbing my arm.
‘What?’
‘Come on!’
Already I’m being pulled out of my seat. Paige packs up her stuff to follow. We end up in the hall, people crowded around.
‘Make way, make way, she’s coming through!’
The crowd parts and I find myself in front of a mobile phone screen. There’s an image of clouds and blue sky with a play button in the middle. I know already what it is.
‘Ready?’ One of the year eights hits play and the opening bars to Moss’s single make everyone go quiet. The screen’s pretty small, not much volume. But the look, the whole feel, is so professional that it doesn’t seem to matter.
Moss looks like some kind of god, standing on a cloud and singing so intensely that I’d swear he was singing just for me. Someone squeals when I move into view, looking out of this world. It’s hard to believe that it really is me. It’s not just the choreography that’s awesome, but the way we all look. My face has been touched up so that I’ve become a perfect version of me. They did something to our hair during production too, making it shimmer and slide when we move. I can tell that a lot of the work was done after shooting.
When the music ends, I turn and breathe in. Everyone’s quiet, looking at me expectantly. Am I meant to say something?
‘That was …’ Paige’s eyebrow kinks as if she can’t find the words.
‘Amazing,’ finishes Izzy. ‘You didn’t tell us it would be like that. I mean, you told us you were doing the music video but I never realised it would be that
good
.’
‘Well, it wasn’t just me,’ I explain. ‘The make-up and costumes took ages.’
‘I can’t believe you were working with Moss Young,’ gasps Anka, her tone a mix of disbelief and envy.
‘What’s he like?’ asks someone else.
‘Did you rehearse together?’
A couple of the year sevens are staring at me as if I’m about to give them the answer to the meaning of life.
So I give them what they want to hear. ‘Actually, yes, I saw Moss on the weekend. He’s amazing to work with.’
The questions come faster. As I answer, I glance over at Paige and Izzy. They’ve moved to one side, still listening but also stepping back.
The crowd’s all around me. I stay where I am, answering questions, feeling as if I’m looking at them all through a glass wall.
‘Up, up … REACH,’ calls Jack from the front. ‘Yes, that’s good!’
Anka, Grant and Tadpole are on the f loor, punching the moves. There’s a sense of grunt and thrust in the air. Flicks of sweat as well.
The music finishes and they make their way around the back to join the rest of us. Anka does her usual strut, trying to psyche us all out. When her eyes meet mine she looks away. Not sure what’s going on there. I’m used to getting a challenging smirk.
My turn next. In time with Jack’s count I run onto the floor behind Paige and Izzy.
‘Feet, Izzy!’ calls Jack at one point. Then, ‘Good, Paige,’ at the end.
As usual, I get barely a nod. I’m used to it now. Ever since I landed the part in the ‘Everywhere’ video I get the feeling that Jack’s been avoiding me, not wanting to seem like he gave me preferential treatment, I guess. Or maybe he’s still annoyed.
After class, a blister takes a bit of time. When I come out of the studio, Paige is leaning against the wall, one foot lifted.
‘Sorry.’ I start towards her. ‘I didn’t know you were waiting.’
‘It’s okay.’ She smiles and falls in beside me. ‘I wanted to ask what you were about to say this morning before Izzy came in.’ She glances my way. ‘You said you had a fight with your mum?’
‘Yeah.’ I stop walking and breathe in. My mum.
We’re heading to the caf but I don’t want to talk about it there, so I pull her through the main entrance and sit on the top step.
‘We had this argument,’ I say slowly. ‘Turns out she lied about how Dad died.’ At the back of my mind I search for the words, hesitating at the way they taste.
Shoulder injury. Alcohol. Painkillers …
They make it sound so lonely. I suddenly want to cry.
Paige rests her elbows on her knees. ‘How did he die?’ she asks gently.
Cars are passing on the street, so many strangers going about their lives. I keep my eyes on them as a kind of anchor. ‘It was a mix of drugs, sleeping tablets and alcohol.’
‘Drugs?’
I don’t need to look at her to know what she’s thinking. ‘Prescription drugs. Painkillers,’ I say. ‘Because of his shoulder injury.’
Paige is quiet, and still I don’t want to look at her. ‘That’s so sad,’ she murmurs. ‘So why did she lie about it?’
‘To make it easier for herself.’ I take a breath. ‘I think he was having an affair –’ It’s only as I say it that I realise it’s the truth.
My voice breaks and I can’t keep going. I should hate him for what he did, but I don’t even blame him. Mum never understood his dancing – but Natasha did. That’s why Mum can’t handle the idea of me being at the NBC. Not because Dad used to dance there, but because Natasha still does.
‘That’s tough,’ Paige says softly. She shifts on the step, sitting taller. ‘Hey … look, Scarlett. That was a long time ago.’ She shakes her head. ‘But you have everything now. The lead in our grad performance, an awesome music video. If anyone’s going to make it, you are. You realise that, don’t you?’ Her arm is against mine. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘So try not to let all this stuff get to you. It’s all in the past. It doesn’t change anything, really.’
‘I’m not sure how to explain, but it’s not just the past for me –’
Paige twists her torso as she sits, stretching her back. ‘I mean … the rest of your life’s pretty much as close to perfect as anyone’s, so don’t let this get you down.’
Has she been listening to anything I just said? I clench my jaw and stand up. ‘All right. Thanks.’ Thanks for nothing.
Paige stands too. ‘So you’re okay?’
‘Yeah.’
I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Not with Paige. The way she’s reacted is so different from Moss.
Your father knew how to live
…
In silence we walk through the main doors and into the caf. There’s clear space between our shoulders as we walk, but I’m not sure if it’s because I want the distance, or because Paige does.
By the end of the week I’m like a light that’s been on too long: fizzing and hot. I’m tired of people coming up to ask about the music video and I’m exhausted from rehearsing.
When I get home, Mum’s in with a student. Fine with me. She can do her thing and I’ll do mine.
Upstairs I dump my stuff and flop back against my pillow. It’s the first time all week that I’ve let myself stop. I find my headphones and let music take over, push everything else away. Eyes on the ceiling. Ramp the volume higher.
Forty minutes go by and I’m still listening to music. I sit up and sigh. I should get through some homework before rehearsal tomorrow. I’m winding up my headphones when my mobile lights up. Unknown number.
I press answer. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, it’s me.’
Moss. My heart does a triple twist. ‘How did you get my number?’