Dancer at Silver Spires Read online

  I nearly got up and went straight out again at the sound of that word, but I didn’t because the girls might have thought I was weird. So instead I tried with all my might to block out what I’d just heard and to concentrate on the TV programme. I couldn’t do it, though. The other me was sitting up straight, filled with curiosity.

  Choreography is like a composition, but of a dance rather than a piece of music. And the other me was desperate to know if the choreography they were talking about was for a ballet, or for a different kind of dance.

  “We’ll need to get in as much practice and as many rehearsals as we can, you know,” said Maria.

  There was a pause and I imagined Olivia nodding.

  Then after a moment Maria spoke again. “Abi’s really good, isn’t she? I wish I could dance as well as her.”

  “Abi’s not that much better than…us two, actually,” Olivia answered quickly, and I heard big irritation in her voice.

  “No,” said Maria lightly, “but I mean us three are way better than the other four in the group anyway, aren’t we?”

  “Obviously.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that obviously. It was hard and boastful.

  When neither of them spoke for a while, I presumed that was the end of the conversation and I sank lower into the beanbag, beginning to relax again. But then I nearly shot out of it altogether at the sound of Maria’s voice.

  “Miss Morgan’s right, isn’t she? I mean it’s much harder to make ballet look good onstage, compared to any other type of dance, isn’t it? Unless you’re a professional ballet dancer, I guess.”

  My heart began to thud. They were talking about a ballet performance. Miss Morgan? Yes, I’d heard of her. She was the Silver Spires dance mistress.

  What? A ballet performance? Here? At school? said the other me, forgetting, as usual, that the new me didn’t want to know these things.

  And a few seconds later Olivia gave me the answer. She sounded half nervous, half sulky. “It’s going to be so scary on that stage when just about everyone in this place thinks ballet is the least cool thing ever. They just don’t get it, do they? I mean, they’ve got no clue how hard it is.”

  I didn’t stay to hear any more. I just got up, switched off the TV and left the room. I wished I’d never found out about this ballet performance. The very thought of it made waves of tension zap through me. I knew it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t as if I’d be dancing myself. But it was still ballet, and that wasn’t supposed to be a part of my new life here at Silver Spires. I’d done everything I could to avoid it, yet it had crept up on me again.

  I raced up to the dorm and sat on my bed, trying to calm down, telling myself that I didn’t have to watch the performance if I didn’t want to. Surely it wouldn’t be compulsory to attend. In fact, I didn’t even know if Year Sevens would be invited. No, I’d just keep right away from it and everything would be fine.

  But the other me wouldn’t leave the subject alone.

  It sounds like Abi’s really good. I’d like to see her dance.

  Then the new me slammed the door shut. Well, you’re not going to. It would only upset you. Ballet’s in your past.

  Chapter Two

  “Okay, girls, let’s do some stretches. Sitting on your mats in your proper gym position.” Mrs. Truman, our PE teacher, paused and checked we all had legs stretched, toes pointed, backs straight and heads up. “Remember, gymnastics is an individual sport, so you don’t need to look around at each other.”

  We were all still puffing a bit from the warm-up. We’d done lots of side skipping and different sorts of jogging with our heels up and then our knees up, and backwards jogging too, and all the activities made me feel alive. Gym is the complete opposite to ballet. In gym, you don’t turn out your legs and your feet like you do in ballet. You point your feet straight out in front. You don’t curve your arms softly, you snap them tight in a wide V. You don’t grow up out of your ribcage, feeling the imaginary piece of string making you tall; you arch your back hard. If I’d gone to The Royal Ballet School I wouldn’t be allowed to do gym, because it would spoil my ballet technique and risk injury. At Silver Spires, I can do it as much as I want. So I make the most of it and, as well as the ordinary lessons, I go to gym club.

  After the stretches, we put the mats together and worked in groups on a routine which had to include moves from four to three to two points of balance. I was with all my friends and we had a brilliant time moving in and out of various shapes. I concentrated hard on making sure I didn’t do anything that might look too graceful or ballet-like, and didn’t mind too much when Bryony suddenly said, “Your legs are very strong, aren’t they?”

  “I like gym,” I said, carefully.

  Bryony was looking at me as though she was really impressed with my strength. “You’re the only one of us six who can support my weight in the aeroplane balance,” she said now. “And yet you’ve got such a small, slim build. Have you done lots of gym before, Izzy?”

  I felt myself crumble a bit inside. “No, not loads…well, quite a lot…” I knew I was sounding unsure of myself and it was a relief when Emily suddenly spoke excitedly. “Let’s compare thigh muscles! Mine are really strong because of horse riding.”

  But then Mrs. Truman clapped her hands to bring us all to attention. “Good work, everyone. Well done! Sit down now and I’ll tell you about the dance show that’s happening on the second-to-last Saturday evening of term.”

  I felt a gasp inside me. Why was Mrs. Truman telling us about the dance show? What did it have to do with us? This had been such a good gym lesson until now.

  “This is a show for the whole school, which means that anyone can be in it. And we also need a nice big audience to help create a brilliant atmosphere. There aren’t any parents or outsiders at this event, but last year the whole school came along and had a great time!”

  “What kind of dancing is it?” someone asked.

  “Well I’m just coming to that,” said Mrs. Truman. “If you’re keen on doing a tap routine, or modern dance, jazz, ballet, national, Latin American or any other sort of dance I may have missed out” – she did a little chuckle – “then let me know by the weekend and I can get to work on the programme. You have to produce about three to five minutes worth of dancing, but it must be of a high standard.” Mrs. Truman stressed the word must. “I don’t know you Year Sevens too well yet, so if any of you has any particular talent, do please come along and tell me, and then we can see what you might be able to do in the show. So far, we’ve got tap, modern, street and ballet routines, which have been organized through the individual junior and senior clubs, but there’s no reason why people shouldn’t work out their own routines without any teachers involved, and then I can check them through and see if they’re up to scratch.” She smiled around at us all. “Anyway, have a think about it, and don’t forget, let me know by the weekend.”

  We six didn’t bother to change at the end of gym, as it was the last lesson. We just put our tracksuits on to walk back to Forest Ash.

  “The dance show sounds exciting, doesn’t it?” Sasha said, when we’d hardly set off.

  And then the words I’d been dreading came up, as I knew they would. “Izzy, you must definitely dance in it! You’d be a natural,” said Nicole. “I mean, you must have done some sort of dancing when you were younger.”

  “Yes, you weell be our Emerald dancer!” said Antonia, her eyes all sparkly. “You can dance for us all.”

  My mouth felt dry. “I…don’t really want to,” I said carefully. “I don’t actually do…dancing any more.” I didn’t look round but I could just feel lots of eyes on me, including Sasha’s. I thought I ought to add something more final to close the conversation completely. “It’s in my past.”

  The moment the words were out of my mouth I regretted them, because they sounded too dramatic. There was a silence, and I had no idea how to fill it.

  “Wh…what exactly is in your past?” asked Bryony, looking p
uzzled.

  “Ballet.” There. I’d said it.

  “So, you did do ballet once…right?” said Bryony, still looking a bit confused.

  It was Emily who tried to get straight to the point. “Why didn’t you tell us? Don’t you like it any more, Izzy?”

  Yes, I love it, said the other me.

  “No,” I answered, my voice coming out a bit more firmly than I’d meant it to.

  Sasha linked her arm through mine. “Well, it’ll be good fun watching, anyway,” she said brightly. “I wonder if it’ll be in the theatre?”

  No one answered and I felt embarrassed for making the atmosphere awkward, and for making Sasha feel sorry for me. I was sure she would bring up the subject later when we were on our own, but I really didn’t want her to. Maybe my no that had come out like a bullet would make her think twice about it though.

  Every evening during the week we have prep for an hour, which is just like homework except that we work in silence in a room at Forest Ash with one of the teachers supervising. Tonight it was Mrs. Pridham, our lovely housemistress, and she must have been concentrating hard on whatever she was reading, because she didn’t notice how often I went into a daydream. The trouble was, the other me couldn’t stop thinking about the dance show. I kept on going over and over Mrs. Truman’s words. So far, we’ve got tap, modern, street and ballet routines, which have been organized through the individual junior and senior clubs.

  I’d realized that Maria and Olivia must be members of the senior ballet club and that their group would be performing in the show. But what about the junior club? Would there be girls of my age dancing? What would it be like sitting in the audience watching them? It made me upset just thinking about it.

  My prep wasn’t getting done and no matter how much I tried to concentrate, I’d lost the thread and that made me restless, so in the end I put my hand up and asked if I could go to the loo. Mrs. Pridham smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course, Izzy.”

  I didn’t really need the loo. I was just desperate to have a few moments to myself to be alone with my secret. The loos were a good place to go – nice and private, especially during prep time. I stood up straight, facing the mirrors above the sink, and checked in the full-length mirror to the side that my whole body was in alignment.

  Miss Amelia was always talking about alignment. Nothing must be even a millimetre lopsided. I pulled up out of my ribs and tightened my stomach and leg muscles. I lifted my chin just the tiniest bit, then, very slowly, balancing on my turned-out left leg, I raised my right knee and unfolded my leg until my foot was just above the level of my waist, pointing out to the side. At the same time I moved my arms up above my head into what is called fifth position in ballet. I was in a full developpé and I hadn’t wobbled on my supporting leg one single time. It felt wonderful holding that position, even though I’d still got my baggy tracky bums on. But then I heard footsteps outside in the corridor and my magic moment had to stop. So I lowered my leg and closed to first position.

  By the time the door opened, I was washing my hands.

  “Hi,” said the Year Eleven girl who’d just come in.

  “Hi,” I said back. We smiled at each other in the mirror.

  “You look happy.”

  I smiled again. “Yes…” Then I dried my hands and went out.

  That moment in the toilets had made me desperate to practise for longer. It had been a good developpé, but I could have made it better. I was feeling a little tinge of anxiety creeping in that I hadn’t raised my leg high enough. When I’d been having classes with Miss Amelia, I’d always been able to raise my leg in a developpé until my foot was level with my shoulder. But then by the time I’d started at Silver Spires, I’d got completely out of practice and had lost quite a bit of suppleness. That was the reason my secret life first started. I simply couldn’t bear the feeling that I’d lost my flexibility, so I would go off secretly whenever I knew I wouldn’t be missed and, more importantly, to a place where I didn’t think anyone would be around, and steal a few minutes to practise.

  At first I only did it once or twice a week, but these days I’d started to find myself snatching odd moments much more often than that, and worrying all the more in case anyone ever found out. That would be terrible. My friends would think I was so odd, especially since I’d told them I didn’t like ballet any more. It was a big relief that some of my flexibility was back, but if I was honest, it wasn’t only for that reason that I kept up my secret practices. It was also because the other me just didn’t seem able to let go of ballet, even though I knew it was stupid and pointless and there was absolutely no future in it for me now.

  That night I woke up with a start. I’d had a bad dream about my audition at The Royal Ballet School. I often have this dream, but it’s never usually such a nightmare as it was this time. I dreamed that when I saw my reflection in the mirrors, my body wasn’t my own. I’d grown into a really weird shape and when I watched myself dancing it looked terrible, like someone who had no idea what they were doing. And the panel of judges folded their arms and turned almost purple with rage as they watched me, and eventually one of them stood up and, without saying a word, he marched me out of the room. Then he turned and went back inside, shutting the door behind him. The worst part of the dream was what happened next though. Very slowly, some black letters appeared on the door and it took me a while to realize what they said, but then suddenly they were crystal clear: KEEP OUT!

  My heart was beating really loudly as I sat up in bed and hugged the duvet around me. I was desperate to switch my light on, but I didn’t want to wake up any of the others. So I sat there in the dark, shivering and going over the dream, because my mum once told me that bad dreams won’t come back straight away as long as you think them through when you’re properly awake and try and laugh at how silly and unreal they are. The trouble was, my dream felt totally real, especially the expression on the judges’ faces, because I knew all the dream judges in real life. One of them was a man who worked in a newspaper kiosk back home, so what he was doing in my dream I don’t know. But the other two were Miss Amelia and a man I’d seen when I’d done my actual audition.

  I couldn’t bear the memory of the look I’d seen on Miss Amelia’s face in my dream. It was as though she hated me. And I couldn’t picture her nice smiling face any more, because her horrible dream expression kept popping up instead.

  In the end I found myself creeping down my ladder and opening my bottom drawer to get my pile of ballet stuff out from the very back. I wanted to get the picture of Miss Amelia from amongst all the photos, because I thought if I could actually see her face it might help get rid of the dream. I got back into bed with the pile and as no one seemed to have stirred, even with me moving around so much, I thought it might be safe to switch on my little light for a minute. No one woke up, so after a few seconds I relaxed and carefully went through the photos until I came to the one of Miss Amelia. I was expecting to feel a big relief sweep over me at the sight of her face, but in fact I just felt horribly sad, as usual, about how my dancing had not been as good as either of us had hoped.

  I turned to the next photo in the pile. It was a picture of me dancing in the last show I’d done with Miss Amelia. I’d had the main part, and the photo showed me holding an arabesque, which is when you balance on one leg and extend the other leg up high behind you, without turning your hips sideways, but making sure your leg is turned out right down to the end of your foot. Your back tilts forwards a bit, but not too much, and you have to hold the balance and keep your legs stretched but your arms soft, as Miss Amelia used to say.

  Seeing the photo now made me want to get back out of bed, stand in the middle of the dorm and try an arabesque right there and then, but obviously I couldn’t do that because if one of the others woke up and saw me there they’d get the shock of their lives. But I wasn’t ready to go back to sleep yet, so I went through my ballet autograph book, turning the pages slowly because I loved comparing all the signat
ures.

  I was back in my other world, completely forgetting that it was the middle of the night and I should really be asleep. I had a stunning photo of Jaimie Tapper from The Royal Ballet that I’d cut out of a ballet magazine, and I’d also got her autograph when Mum had taken me to see her dancing in the ballet Coppélia. I think that was the precise time when I’d vowed to myself that ballet was definitely the only career I ever, ever wanted for myself when I was older. I started imagining the whole story of that particular ballet. In my imagination, I was right in the middle of the bit where Swanilda creeps into Doctor Coppelius’s house and stares in shock at all the life-size clockwork dolls, when I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Sasha’s voice.

  “What are you doing, Izzy?”

  “I…nothing,” I whispered into the gloom.

  She was leaning on one elbow and squinting at me from her bed, which is close to mine. “What are you looking at? Why are you awake?”

  I was worried that the others might wake up at the sound of Sasha’s voice, because she wasn’t speaking very quietly.

  “I had a bad dream,” I whispered. “I’m fine now, honestly. Go back to sleep, Sash.”

  But she was getting out of her bed. “It’s okay, I’m awake now,” she said, a bit more softly this time. She climbed down her ladder and up mine, while I tried to quickly stuff my ballet photos and things under my duvet, just keeping hold of a few. But then I realized Sasha was about to sit on top of where I’d hidden everything, so I whipped the pile out and put it under the pillow just in time.

  “But what are you doing, Izzy?”

  I spoke in the softest whisper. “Just looking at these pictures… They’re nothing much. It’s just that I haven’t got a good book and I wanted to make my eyes tired, so then I might be able to get back to sleep.”

  Sasha had squashed in beside me, so we were both sitting up with our legs under the duvet. She took the small pile of photos and cuttings and things I was holding and I tried not to tense up too obviously. I wasn’t even sure which ones they were, because I’d had to act so quickly.