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Moss takes his time to respond and I suddenly worry that I’ve stepped over a line. ‘Yeah,’ he finally says, nodding carefully. ‘But it’s not perfect …’

‘But if you’d kept working it would have stopped feeling fresh.’ Hope that doesn’t sound stupid.

‘Yeah. Good call.’ There’s a spark of recognition in those grey-blue eyes. ‘You get it, don’t you? The work that goes in.’

‘Sure, I get it. Takes a lot of effort to make it look effortless.’

Someone calls out from around the coffee table, making Moss nod before turning back to me. ‘Well …’

I don’t want him to go. ‘So that woman at the bar,’ I say quickly, ‘was that Kitty Hudson?’ Moss nods in response, so I add, ‘And you two are an item?’

Can’t believe I just said that.

A sly, sensual smile spreads across his lips and his eyes move over my face. ‘Why? Are you jealous?’

That doesn’t answer the question. I push a shoulder forward, enjoying the feel of him looking at me. Two can play at this game. ‘Why should I be jealous?’

He laughs slowly. ‘Hey, I like your style.’ Moss’s eyes flicker down to my chest, just for a moment, before he looks up and says, ‘Tell you what … we’re on residency at the Dixie Bar. You should come next Saturday. Bring your dancing friends.’

There’s no way we’d get in. But right now my head is floating and my legs are tingling, so I just raise an eyebrow and say, ‘Sure. Sounds like fun.’

SEVEN

The distant buzz of the doorbell pulls me out of sleep. Gradually I become aware of my pillow, the rise and fall of my breath. Slowly I roll over, trying to sink back into my dream … dancing with a shadow, just him and me.

Soon the rising notes of a scale reach my room, and I accept that there’s no chance I’ll drift off again. I slide out of bed and my sore calves remind me what happened yesterday. For some reason my neck is stiff.

The smell of stale smoke rises from my hair as I step into the shower, bringing back the flavour of the afterparty until I wash it away.

Downstairs I boil an egg, aware that it won’t be enough. I find a banana. It’s gone in a few mouthfuls. All that dancing and so little food. Didn’t know I could take it that far. It makes me wonder how much harder I could push in terms of food and muscle tiredness. What could I cope with?

Soon the egg’s gone and I’m still empty. Can’t let myself eat any more. So I flick the kettle and scoop brown coffee granules into a mug.

After a coffee, the hunger’s gone, more or less, and the images of the shoot are immediately chased by a spark of panic about auditions on Friday for the grad performance. Everyone’s focused on the lead roles like lions on an antelope. I’ll need to get some studio time this week. Two nights, at least. Should have booked them already.

At lunchtime I eat tuna and a yoghurt, but a wave of tiredness hits me, so I make a second coffee and end up chewing gum after that. I have heaps of reading for psychology, an essay due in English, and that’s not even thinking of French.

I’m still working through it all when Paige calls for a Moss Young debrief. I don’t want to rub it in, so I gloss over the shoot and move straight to the afterparty. The house, the pool, the kinds of people. One person in particular.

‘Geez, Scarlett,’ says Paige once I’ve finished. ‘I can’t believe you went there on your own.’

‘Yeah, well … the other dancers were there too. And Moss Young was amazing. Really thoughtful, down-to-earth. He even invited me to a gig next weekend at the Dixie Bar. You should come,’ I try.

There’s silence on the other end. ‘In another life maybe,’ comes Paige’s voice. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m drowning in homework, and Saturday’s our first performance rehearsal.’

‘Yeah.’ I breathe into the phone, pushing down a twinge of annoyance. She’s right, of course. But still, a girl can dream.

Once Paige hangs up I start back into my psychology reading, then move on to French exercises. I’m halfway through when Mum calls something from the stairs.

‘WHAT?’ I yell as the door opens. ‘Sorry. What was that?’

Mum positions herself on the edge of my bed. ‘I thought we could go out for dinner tonight. Celebrate your first real job.’

‘Really?’ I click my laptop shut. It’s usually only birthdays and special occasions that we eat out.

‘I know I … didn’t react the way you might have hoped.’ Mum looks at me carefully. ‘But I do understand. Your first paid gig, it’s a big deal.’ She’s smiling, sort of happy-sad, like she gets it.

‘Where should we go?’

‘What about the new one on Harris Road?’ asks Mum. ‘White linen … Asian-influenced, I think. It looks like the sort of place worthy of an occasion.’

Wow. This time I even
want
to change into something classier. Mum disappears to fix her make-up while I pull on a short black dress and strappy heels.

Mum takes a look at me when I come downstairs, but she doesn’t say anything about my clothes this time, just smiles.

As soon as we sit down at the restaurant, Mum orders two glasses of sparkling and makes a point of lifting hers, tinging it against mine. We order three dishes to share – chilli scallops that I want more of, sizzling beef and a plate of zucchini and eggplant.

Soon my glass is empty and my stomach is fuller than it has been for days. Already feeling guilty.

‘Can I tempt you ladies with dessert?’ asks the waiter, offering menus.

Mum takes the menu before looking at me. ‘What do you think?’ I’m shaking my head. ‘Would you like to try the ginger crème brûlée?’

I push air into my cheeks and let go. ‘I couldn’t. Really.’

‘All right then,’ she says. ‘Just the bill, please.’

‘It’s been great, Mum, though. Thanks.’

She smiles softly, eyes relaxed. ‘You know, work like this music video … maybe it’s something worth aiming for. You could work as a dancer and have time to study as well.’ She shrugs hopefully. ‘Or travel. You’d be keeping your options open.’

‘Maybe.’ I look at my hands. ‘You know, I found out the choreographer for the music video partnered Dad once. I think you knew her. Natasha Stojmenov?’

There’s no reaction about her other than stillness. It’s as if her breathing has stopped. ‘I thought she was still at the NBC,’ Mum says, her lips barely moving.

‘She is. The “Everywhere” video must have been on contract.’ I’m watching her closely now, intrigued.

Mum’s looking down at the tablecloth. When she lifts her gaze, there’s pain in her eyes. ‘You spoke about Ashton?’ she asks.

‘A bit. She said I’m like him.’

The bill arrives, slipped onto the edge of the table, but Mum barely notices. She’s searching my face for … what?

I pull the business card out of my wallet. ‘Natasha wants to speak to you about me applying for the NBC.’

‘Really,’ Mum says, her voice dangerous.

I place it beside her hand. ‘Will you talk to her? For me? She thinks I have a chance.’

‘No,’ Mum says simply. She reaches for her purse as if that’s the end of the conversation. She slides a credit card on top of the bill, not checking the amount.

I can’t let it go. ‘I know it hurts, Mum. But nothing’s going to bring Dad back. Whether I’m at the NBC, or another company, it won’t make a difference. But this is my life. My
chance
…’

Mum’s face is hard. All she does is shake her head.

Disappointment morphs into anger. ‘Dad would have helped me, if he were here.’

She shakes her head. ‘But he’s not. And I am.’

At the end of the next day, I find Paige in the senior hallway.

Anger’s carried me through each class after the fight with Mum. But I’ve used it as a source of energy, making sure that I’m the one who stands out. Won’t let her get me down.

‘Geez, you can’t half tell auditions for the grad performance are this week,’ I mumble, and stab a toe into the base of someone’s locker.

‘How come?’ Paige’s head pokes around her door, then disappears again.

‘The studios are all booked out.’ It comes between gritted teeth. ‘Everyone nabbed them while I was away last week.’ Anton and a couple of his mates wander past so I force a smile. ‘I was lucky to get half an hour on Thursday night,’ I finish dryly. Not that it will be enough. I’ll have to find space at home to work.

‘Oh, poor baby.’ Paige smiles happily, head tilted.

‘Yeah, yeah …’ I’m not expecting sympathy from Paige but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop complaining.

She closes her door, pushing the lock between palm and fingers, then turns to me. ‘I can’t believe it’s our turn this year, doing the
graduation performance.
’

‘Yeah, I know. After watching it for so many years, this time it’s going to be one of
us
in the lead.’

‘Probably you,’ mutters Paige.

The tone of her voice makes me frown, annoyed. ‘We’ll all be trying for it.’

Paige hooks her backpack over her shoulder and we start walking up the hall. At the T-intersection she comes to a stop, tilting her head and shuffling a foot.

‘Actually, about the studios,’ she says to the floor. ‘I have one now. Booked it last week.’

‘Yeah?’ Something gives me the feeling that she didn’t want to tell me.

Paige glances down the hall. ‘I want to work on a few things, make some changes. I’m not taking any chances, you know?’ She glances again at me. ‘But you could come with me. We could … take turns.’

We’ve done it before, performing for each other. But tonight, for some reason, it wouldn’t feel right. ‘Nah, but thanks.’

She looks relieved.

On Thursday morning, people begin to disappear. One every half-hour, in alphabetical order by surname. I can sense their energy when they return. My stomach tightens into a ball of hope and nerves.
Tomorrow, Scarlett. Tomorrow’s your day.

Anka is the first of the girls to go in. She strides back into French later, when we’re meant to be translating a poem. The whispers begin even before she sits down. ‘
How did you go?’

It’s as if she hasn’t even heard us, blowing on her fingernails before polishing them on her chest, eyes on the ceiling. After a dramatic pause, Anka looks down and smirks. ‘Well, I absolutely blitzed it. Blew them all away.’

There’s a moment of silence, nervous minds processing, before we launch into ten minutes of discussion and banter until our French teacher, Christof, gives us The Lecture.
Auditions are a normal part of every dancer’s life. We can’t put everything on hold every time we have to audition. This week is as much about maintaining a professional approach to the other parts of your life
… and all the rest.

In the end he gives up and tells us to finish translating the poem as homework.

Grant disappears during lunch and comes back halfway through acrobatics. Mats are spread across the floor. Knee and elbow pads are the look of the moment. As he does a circuit of the room – curtseying here and there, camping it up for the crowd – I try to catch his eye, ready to offer a wink or encouraging nod. But as he finishes the circuit and sits himself in a corner, I can see his grin disappear. It’s like he switched it off.

I make my way over. ‘So, how did it go
really
?’

His eyes travel up to mine, a slow sigh. ‘I don’t know, O’Hara. We’ll see, hey?’

I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to say more, but Grant just winks and we head over to the handspring mat.

Paige’s audition is at the end of the day. She’s been even quieter than normal and we’ve all given her space. I’m itching to get into a studio after school, but I hang back, waiting to see how she is when she comes out of the main theatre.

The door slides open and a tall figure emerges. Our eyes meet.

‘Well?’ I ask.

She presses her lips together. Hiding a smile or something else? I make my way towards her and she slips me into a hug.

‘Good?’ I say as a waft of hairspray fills my nose.

‘Yeah.’ Paige pulls back and her whole face breaks open with relief. ‘Better than I was expecting. I hardly slept last night.’ She lets out a laugh, before covering it with a hand. ‘But I did … okay. I think … I might even have a
chance
.’

Her confidence takes my breath away. My stomach turns over.

‘Do you want to grab something at the Complex?’ Paige asks before her forehead creases. ‘No, you’ve booked a studio, haven’t you? So what are you doing wasting time here?’ she says, mock stern, the Paige I know well. ‘Get to it.’

‘How about tomorrow after assembly?’ I say. ‘Tell the others. Audition debrief.’

‘Good.’ A single nod. ‘I’ll spread the word.’

My mood shifts as we say goodbye and Paige’s relief becomes my nerves. I head to the studio.
It’s okay. I’ll be okay.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I find my sense of purpose. There’s only so much I can do in the lounge room at home. This time has to count. It’s not enough anymore just to be good. After my stunt with the music video, I have to step up and stand out.

With the music, my solo comes back to me, familiar and fresh at the same time.

I smooth over a step near the start but other than that I don’t do much. It’s too late for changes now. I make sure the triple turn is solid, inevitable. Then I go back to the beginning again. Breaking it down and refining it, just like Natasha did for the shoot. As I work I imagine what she would say to me, improvements she might suggest. When my time is up, I’m satisfied. As much as I’ll ever be. I have to hold on to what I just did, and make sure I carry it with me overnight, ready to tap into tomorrow at eleven.

As soon as Izzy heads off for her audition, I’m on edge.

She’s only been gone twenty minutes when I see a tail of brown hair flick past in the hallway. It’s moving too fast to be good news. Paige sees it too and raises her eyebrows my way.

We check Mrs Wearne up the front, squinting at her laptop. We’re meant to be working on a practice essay. Meant to be. Paige nods before heading up. She’s the best at this kind of thing, pointing out to the hall and saying that Izzy’s upset.

Mrs Wearne isn’t happy, but after a bit of discussion she nods once, making us promise to be fast.

Together, Paige and I head into the corridor. It’s empty except for a pixie of a year-seven kid carrying a cello as big as she is.