Previously on Dance Academy Last Chapter: Christian is shocked to find Tara moving out and in with Abigail, of all people. He challenges her choice of flatmate but she lashes back at him the times when Abigail was there for her and he wasn't. Christian rushes out to swim his rage out and comes back to find Tara able to talk with him in a way that lets him open up about his own new home choice.

Spunk

And just like that, in a matter of not even days, but just hours, we are no longer housemates. After three years, three years of living under the same roof. Now I have another week to see through with just Masuyo and me in the massive and empty boarding house. At least Masuyo likes to keep to himself, so I can just wallow as much as I want. Not that it is what I want to do. It's like the least wise options, and yet the one that still get chosen. I don't even train. I don't even go and see Tara, and I am back into ignoring my phone.

But today it's gonna change. Today, I am going to get the rest of my life into motion. Today, I have finally received my contract.

I rush up the stairs of the Academy but pause by the studio. Summer school is in midmorning class mode, no longer taken by Miss Raine. It looks like Patrick is back. His attention is focused on Masuyo, his face as stern as ever but there is a glint in his eyes that I only saw at the end of my tutorials with him, when he had finally forced fed me technique so that I could finally see the point.

It takes for me to watch Masuyo to notice that the glint is different. Masuyo doesn't need to have technique drummed into him. He is a natural, tidy and precise in the extreme, like the needle on a sewing machine, nothing out of line. For a boy so thin and wiry, he is also really strong, his muscles coming into shape as he leaps, higher than I can, stronger than I am.

I grit my teeth so hard it hurts, so I move off.

I find Zach in Miss Raine's old office, the pristine desk now covered in paperwork. I knock.

'Oh, hi Christian, so you did get my text then.'

I nod.

Zach purses his lips. 'It would have been polite to reply.'

And I shrug. Then I shake myself out of my funk. I've been feeling sorry for myself for too long. 'Sorry.' I don't wait to be invited in, I just sit in a chair at the front of the desk. 'So you've got my contract then?'

'Yep, here it is,' he shuffles a few papers, some slide to the floor beside him, 'hum, not here. There, there it is.'

He hands me a thick envelope.

'You've read it?' I ask, toying with the flap that no longer stayed stuck down.

'Rebecca suggested I had a look, but mate, as you can see, I'm already in paperwork heaven. I did try put I got a phone call or something.' He rakes his hair up but it flops straight back down.

'Busy then?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Just a little.'

'Okay, well, I'll take it with me then.'

'Christian, wait, sit down.'

He's got that serious look that terrifies me, the one the doctors had when they said my Mum was on her way out, the one the judge had when he peered at me as he listened to the case made against me, the look that said 'I have some bad news in store'.

Zach turned round and got a folder out of the shelves, the only thing that looked neat in the whole office.

'Do you still want to be involved with the Memorial?'

'Yes, of course!'

'Do you remember how we talked about you becoming more than just a teacher, that you might want to help me manage the place?'

'Erm, yeah.'

'Well I met with the charity committee, because of course there is a committee.'

A dislike for red tape is something I can completely relate to, and that eases my worries a little. Zach is still considering me and yet I hadn't thought about it for ages, so of course guilt is working its way up in my chest instead.

'Sammy's dad is insistent you can be trusted, some of the other members however...'

And this is where it all goes crashing down. I can see that woman with her pooch at my interview to get back into the Academy in third year. Committees are full of these self-absorbed think-they-know-it-all obnoxious snobs. They never give chances to people like me, not really, not without you paying with a little bit your soul first.

'- are worried about delays. They are all in your favour. A manager that would also teach would cover a lot of the duties needed to keep the memorial running -'

Well, that floors me alright. Thankfully I am sitting down. All in favour?

'But it's the insurance people who are fussing about your - erm - police report.'

I can't help it, my forehead hit my hands, my elbows digging in my thighs. I need all the support I can get to stay upright. Is it never ever going to let me be, this past of mine? Will I ever be able to be define by my present and what I make of it? Ever?

'And there's your lack of actual experience and qualifications. I think we can work around the legal stuff, you have been release and excused from what has happened after all, and you have been a model student when you did return in third year, tour aside.' He raises an eyebrow at me. 'I know you are as qualified by experience as any other with the piece of paper that proves they can teach dance, I have no doubts about it, but it would be best if you could get one of those papers all the same.'

'What do you mean?'

'Some people just like things to be regulated. Dance teaching is falling into that administrative trap, which is not all bad considering that not long ago anyone could call themselves ''dance teacher'',' he points at his own chest. 'But sometimes, regulation is a good thing.'

He flips through the back of the file and eases out a wad of leaflets. 'Here are some accredited courses that are meant to be good. There are fees, of course.'

'I'll be fine, I'll do it, no problem. Anything.'

Zach's smile grows to the widest setting. 'Good, I'm glad. I really do need you there.'

And then I get a bit flustered. It's all too much, and also all about me, me, me.

I settle myself back in my seat. 'How are things for you?'

'Everything goes too fast and too slow, there is no medium tempo, and it's driving me crazy. But the board is looking into new headship for here, and I can't wait to return to just being a teacher, I can tell you.'

'It's quite obvious.' I mock, indicating the piles everywhere. Diverting the spotlight is liberating.

'One needs to know his strengths and weaknesses and his place in the world. And leading a school ain't mine.'

'But a memorial?'

'That's unknown, but that I am excited about. Right Christian, I love you and all, but I really have to finish sorting through all these new admissions nightmare, so you'd better go.'

But for a second I am kind of frozen. The three little words ring in my head.

'Come on, seriously,' he laughs as more paper slip through his searching hands. 'Do call if we need to meet over the contract, I would be happy to look through it with you, but right now I really have to do this.'

I pack the envelop in my rucksack and head out. 'Yep, will do. Good luck with all this.' But he barely hears me as he buries himself behind the piles.

I bump into Patrick as I go down the corridor.

He shakes his head. 'You had little experience, and next to no technique, but you did have raw talent, and spunk. He has all the technique and experience, shed load of talent, but I am not sure what we are going to do about spunk,' he says, indicating Masuyo exiting at the far away door.

'You're one of the best teachers I have ever had, Patrick.' Even if I would have never admitted it back then. 'If spunk is what he needs, you'll help him find it.' And I tap his shoulder, like a mate, like an equal.

'I was always a technique boy myself, though.'

And I ponder that for a second. 'From what I remember you must have found your spunk alright.'

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

I am not sure why but all these plans, all this talk of spunk, have given me strength. I get my phone out, ignore the flashing signs of full voicemail and texts inbox and just dial.

She picks up on the second ring.

'Hey Tara.'

Nothing. She says nothing.

'I am sorry for the silent treatment. Please don't dish it back.'

'Why not?'

'Because I am stupid and foolish and you're not?'

That brings a giggle at last.

'Okay, Hi Christian, long time no hear.'

'How good are you with legal speak?'

'Legal speak?'

'I've got my contract for the company and I've been told it might be particularly obscure.'

Nothing again.

'Tara?'

'And you want me to help you with it?'

When she says it like that it's kind of obvious how ridiculous I am being. Why would I call her for this? She has no legal background, no interest in it at all for the matter, and Tara might be bright, but no brighter than me. Talk about asking a blind person to lead another one. But maybe all I want is for us to fumble through it together, even if it makes the process longer than it could be. Maybe even because it will.

'Yes.'

'Okay, when do you want to come?'

'Now?'

'Oh, hum, in half an hour?'

At the words, my feet move. 'Why what's up?' Or more like ''what is it that you don't want me to see that is fixable in thirty minutes?''

'Nothing, tidying I guess.'

I slow down. That I can cope with.

'I'll bring some lunch then.'

'Okay, cool.'

I climb the thousands stairs back to the boarding house, get my bike to fetch my favourite burger, times two. I push the bell and get buzzed in without even a reply. I am normally a stairs person but for once I catch the lift. And it's only when I am about to knock on the door that I worry Abigail might be in, but surely she is sweating in class... A class I should be part of. I'll have to make up for it this afternoon. Tara opens up with the brightest smiles and slowest walking frame reverse.

'Come in.'

The flat is brightly lit by the sun streaming through the window. There's a kitchen area with a high breakfast table just on my left, a sofa in the middle of the room, opposite two sets of shelves in each corners, both covered with competing medals, trophies and framed diplomas. They dwarf the small TV set they encase.

A coffee table complete the set, covered in Dance magazines. A typical Dancer's place, complete with pilates ropes and blocks, balance balls and rolled up mats piled up in the last corner.

I turn to find Tara perched on one of the tall stools, like she has done ever since her fall. She taps the other one beside her till I sit on it too, then she turns her screen so that we can both see it. It is filled with tabs, all about legal terms and contract legislation.

I smile, but then she elbows me. 'Come on, give it to me, let's have a look.' There's a weird shine in her eyes, one that says how excited she is at learning something new, but with an unusual matt quality.

She hands me another yellowed spiral-bound booklet, like the one I got, back then, but this one has been signed. Abigail's contract in one hand, mine in the other. I am no longer surprised there is wistfulness in her eyes, for where is hers?

Ah, it's good to be back! Have a look at my blogs if you want more Dance Academy related posts: .com and .com