Authors: Thalia Kalkipsakis
Mum’s not home. Not sure where she is and I don’t really care.
For a while I just lie on my bed, too tired to sleep. I’ve been pushing myself so hard I’m not sure how to switch off. My eyes wander to the photo of Dad on the wall. His hair is the same dark red as mine. His mouth is open, about to react. I sit up and peer close into his eyes. What was it like for him then? What was it like trying to work through the pain?
Soon the front door bangs and shopping bags rustle in the kitchen. The sounds draw me down, and I stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the frame. ‘I’m home.’
Mum stops, a strand of hair flopped over one eye. ‘I can see. How did rehearsal go?’
‘Okay.’
She’s still watching me, holding a tomato punnet, waiting for me to say more.
She’ll be waiting a while. Once I start talking, it will be a sign that I’ve forgiven her and I’m not doing that anytime soon.
‘Have you eaten?’ says Mum. ‘I can heat up some chicken casserole.’
‘No.’ It’s the only word that I want to say to her right now, but she sets about warming the casserole on the stove anyway.
‘I’m fine, really. Too tired to eat.’
‘Okay,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll just leave it simmering.’ She heads into the living room and switches on the TV.
The saucepan beckons to me. I lift the lid and watch the casserole bubbling gently. I give it a stir, then taste a tiny bit from the wooden spoon. It’s warm and full of flavour.
I scoop at the casserole, standing as I eat. I wipe sauce from my cheeks and lick it from off the back of my hand before scooping again. Before I realise what I’m doing, the saucepan’s empty. Tiredness sinks into me.
I head back upstairs, at last able to sleep.
I keep thinking about Moss, wanting to call him and stopping myself.
Don’t call him. Don’t call …
People like us, we need our freedom.
I consider heading back to the Dixie Bar, but if I do that on my own again I know how it will look. Besides, I don’t have any money left for drinks and taxi fares. And there’s no way I’m asking Mum.
The only time I’m not tempted to call him is when I’m dancing, so I’m at rehearsal before the others and into a studio when everyone is leaving. My life becomes a series of extremes, doing more than I have to do, working harder than ever. Pointe shoes, street shoes. Tights on, tights off. Dance, sleep and wake up to dance again. The twinges and aches are comforting, they tell me my body is working as hard as I need it to.
Five weeks out from opening night, I come home to find my mail on the hall table.
Dancer
magazine, and a letter that makes my heart thud. My name is printed on the front with MPG Studios’ address in the corner. This could be the reference from Natasha. Maybe she gave up waiting for me or Mum to call back.
I pick up the letter and slide my finger in, tearing it carefully at first then ripping the envelope open. Inside is a single page headed ‘Remittance Advice’, with lines and figures. I flip it over, then flip back, disappointed. It’s not a reference.
Then I reconsider. In some ways it’s even better; proof that I can make it in the real world.
My first-ever payment for dancing.
Slowly I head upstairs, reading the numbers and coming to understand what they mean. Money means freedom. I don’t need Mum for cash. And even though my mantra of not calling Moss is still going around in my head, it morphs into an idea. I have money for the Dixie Bar now, and a reason to call him. It won’t seem desperate if there’s a reason.
I sit on the bed with my phone in my hands. Who knows what he’ll be doing at this time of day. I select the number.
‘Y-ello,’ says Moss.
‘Oh, hey, Moss. It’s Scarlett here.’
‘Baaaaabe.’ Then there’s an awkward pause as I wait for him to say more. Nothing comes.
‘So, what’re you up to?’ I say, and cringe.
‘Trying to write a song, as it turns out.’ His tone goes flat and makes me wish I could backtrack.
I launch straight in. ‘Some of my friends were hoping to catch you at the Dixie Bar, and I was wondering if you could put my name on the door again for Saturday night?’ I bite my lip. ‘It would help get them in since a couple are underage.’ I won’t say which ones.
‘Sure. Tell you what. I’ll keep it there ongoing. VIP for my girl, eh?’
‘Brilliant!’ I’m on my feet and bouncing. How could a dumb phrase like that make me feel so alive? The last time I felt like this was the last time I saw him. It’s not just the idea of seeing Moss again; I want Paige to meet him too. Once she meets Moss she’ll see how great he is and I’ll be able to talk properly to her again. ‘Thanks!’ I say to Moss. ‘That’s … fantastic.’
‘No problem.’
Again there’s a pause and I decide to get out while the going’s good. ‘Great! Well … I’ll see you then?’
‘Okay, bye.’
That didn’t go too badly.
The next day at school, I pick my moment.
Tadpole’s in maths when Paige and I have human development. She’s already set up when I get there, so I slip in next to her.
‘So, Moss is playing at the Dixie Bar again on Saturday night.’ Her head hardly moves, but her eyes slide my way, so I keep going. ‘I thought we could have a bit of a dance, say hello before he goes on. It doesn’t have to be a late night.’
Her eyebrows rise. ‘You’re kidding, right? I’ve got practice exams coming out of my
ears
, and the grad performance is only five weeks away. You realise that, don’t you? Only
five weeks
.’
I lift a palm up hopefully. ‘All the more reason to let your hair down?’
‘Seriously, Scarlett, how do you cope with it all? Aren’t you stressed?’
‘Sure, I’m stressed.’
Her eyes narrow before she turns away. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about, though, do you?’ she says softly.
I just stare at her. Did she really say that?
Paige frowns and I feel the squeeze of a hand on my arm. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ve got a lot on my plate.’
Something in that squeeze makes me think about all the times we’ve shared. Dancing together, future plans, long phone chats. I used to be able to tell her anything.
For a while we just look at each other.
‘I can’t do it, though, Scarlett. I’m barely ever home as it is,’ says Paige.
‘You could stay at my place,’ I try. ‘We’ll spend Sunday doing homework.’
Already, Paige is shaking her head when a voice speaks up behind us.
‘I’ll come.’ It’s Grant, sitting straight and still as if he’s been listening. ‘If you want.’
I wasn’t expecting that. Sort of like going dancing with my brother. But I’m relieved. At least I won’t look alone and desperate. ‘That would be great.’
Grant meets me out the front of the Dixie Bar, hands deep in pockets and wearing a soft blue shirt.
‘You made it!’ I cry, arms in the air.
His shoulders go up. ‘Of course.’
‘Ready?’ I’m not carrying a backpack tonight. I feel light as I walk up to the bouncer. It’s the same huge dude as before.
‘ID?’ he says.
I resist the urge to wink. ‘My name’s on the list. Scarlett Stirling?’
The bouncer lifts the rope and Grant follows me up the steps.
Once we’re in the main room, I let the pulse of the music on the floor take hold. The dance area’s already pumping.
I turn and yell, ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK?’
‘Wha–?’ asks Grant, overacting a hand behind his ear.
I laugh. ‘How about a drink as thanks for coming with me? Vodka? Rum and Coke?’
He frowns. ‘How about a Diet Coke?’
It’s like a reminder, a bridge back to where we came from. Diets, discipline and dedication. Can’t wait to drag him onto the dance floor.
I buy the drinks and we find a table with teetering stools. It’s in a corner, tucked far enough away to talk.
‘So who’s getting your invitation to the grad performance, O’Hara?’ asks Grant.
I suck on my straw, and swallow. ‘The NBC. It’s a no-brainer as far as I’m concerned.’
One eyebrow goes up. ‘Only the best, eh? Well, I hope they see what you’ve got to offer.’
‘What about you?’
Already Grant’s shaking his head. ‘Not doing one. I’ve already talked to Mr Ingleby. I’m applying for a Bachelor of Education.’
I let the straw fall. ‘What? Uni?’
Grant flicks his fringe. ‘Yeah. I want to teach secondary students, but I’m going to specialise in dance.’
It takes a while to sink in. ‘So you’re not –’
‘Don’t look at me like that, Scarlett!’ Grant’s face breaks into a grin. ‘It’s been a long time coming. This is what I want to do.’
‘But all that work …’
He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not going to waste. And besides, I wouldn’t change a minute.’
A group of girls shuffle past, holding their drinks high to stop them spilling. The dance floor’s throbbing. I’d rather be doing it than talking about it.
‘Come on.’ I pull him towards the action.
Grant falls into a beat with me. We’ve spent so much of the past six years working together, there’s no question that our steps blend naturally. I can feel a few people checking us out. We’re not taking up much space, or really performing, but still I can tell we’re being noticed.
At one point I look over to see three tall figures making their way through the crowd. People stop moving and stare. The women are all tall, and when I see the last one I also stop.
Kitty Hudson.
I grab Grant’s arm. ‘Come and meet Moss.’
He pulls it back, and keeps dancing. ‘No thanks.’
Can’t help pleading with my eyes. People are still moving around us and one bumps Grant accidentally. He steps to the side and says something I can’t catch.
I lean close. ‘What?’
‘You could do better than him, you know,’ says Grant.
‘Better than
Moss Young
?’ I scoff.
‘People like that, they get a warped sense of reality. They don’t lead normal lives.’
Who wants to be
normal
? I make a face, annoyed. ‘Are you coming or not?’
Again he pauses, so I just head towards the stage. I’ve only gone a few steps when I turn back to see Grant behind me, frowning slightly but still following.
I’m not even sure how to get backstage. Last time I was on such a high that I don’t remember where we went. After a dead end, I find a black door. This is it. I push on the handle and slip through.
It’s crowded in here, smoky and hot. Kitty and her friends have made it back here too. I recognise a couple of others. Bryn’s on the couch, strumming his guitar and talking to Rachel beside him. She lifts her head and nods.
I can’t see Moss, but Bruno’s up the other end of the room, talking to Kitty. When he sees me walking over he pauses before his jaw muscles clench, then he turns slowly to Kitty.
I act as if this isn’t weird. ‘Hey! I’ve brought a friend to catch the show. Grant, this is Bruno.’
Bruno nods and holds out his hand to shake. ‘You, ah … know Kitty Hudson?’
At the mention of her name, Kitty takes her time holding our attention as she pulls her straight blonde hair into a ponytail, twisting it before letting it fall around her bare shoulders again. ‘You’re one of the dancers,’ she says finally.
At least she’s heard of me. ‘Scarlett. And this is Grant.’
Bruno produces four beers from somewhere and hands one to Grant. He takes it awkwardly.
‘Oh, no,’ says Kitty and tuts as Bruno offers her a bottle. ‘Calories, darling.’ She tilts her head and pouts. ‘You know what I need.’
Bruno holds up a finger to say
wait here
and disappears into another room.
‘I thought about being a dancer,’ says Kitty coolly. ‘Decided against it.’
Grant stiffens, but that’s nothing compared to what’s going on inside my head.
‘No, well … modelling suits you,’ says Grant.
Kitty just raises an eyebrow, accepting it as a compliment. I’d be cracking up if I didn’t hate this woman so much.
‘Heeey!’ Moss appears, slings one arm over Kitty’s shoulder, and sends a wink my way. I can’t help noticing that Kitty’s taller than him. Too tall, I decide.
‘And who are you?’ asks Moss.
‘This is Grant. He’s a dancer too,’ I say.
‘Male dancer, eh?’ says Moss. For a moment his eyes travel down Grant’s torso, then back up. ‘Come on. The more the merrier.’
We follow Moss into another room. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here, but if
she
gets to spend time with him, then I do too.
Bruno has his back to us, leaning over a table. When we come in, he turns and frowns. Kitty walks straight over to the table and bends over two lines of white powder.
I turn towards Grant. His jaw clenches, a dark glare just for me. He places the beer on a nearby coffee table and crosses his arms. I turn back as Kitty stands away from the table, rubbing her nose.
‘Hey, Scarlett,’ calls Moss and holds out some kind of small straw.
Bruno mutters, ‘Nah, mate, don’t.’
For a moment I hesitate, then step forwards and put a hand on Moss’s shoulder. ‘Yeah?’ She did it. So I can too.
‘Have you done this before?’ asks Moss.
‘Mate, no,’ says Bruno again.
What is his problem? I glare at Bruno, ready to tell him to mind his own business but he’s too busy looking at Moss.
Moss reconsiders. ‘Why don’t you two have an E?’ He pulls a tiny snap-lock bag out of his pocket.
‘Thanks.’ I raise my eyebrows defiantly at Bruno as I take the bag. Inside are two tablets – pink, like musk lollies. ‘How much?’
‘Nothing for you, babe,’ says Moss.
He gets busy with the band while I find Grant leaning against the wall. Already I can taste energy rising in the room. Not long until the band is on.
I hold up the bag and tilt my head.
‘Why don’t you just have a drink?’ asks Grant dryly.
‘Calories, darling.’ But even I don’t laugh. I’m annoyed with Bruno, and somehow annoyed with Grant. ‘Look, if you want to go home –’
‘I didn’t say that.’
I look at the bag in my hand. Nothing bad happened when I smoked that joint. The world didn’t explode. And even though I know I should say no, I can’t help wondering what it’s like to say yes. When I look up again, Grant’s still frowning at me. ‘Aren’t you curious?’ I ask.