Previously on Dance Academy: Last Chapter: It his has not been the smoothest of days: from being covered in mud coloured paint to having to dance a role that stretches his moves and characterisation to maximum capacity, Christian is ready to pack it in.
Nice
Each time we start again I make Tara appear on the other side. Each time it helps. At the end though, when I run off stage after my last dance, it's Maggie who is standing there, still in that same place from when I grabbed my bag off her, looking just as proud as Tara would have been if I had danced my best.
'Wow, like, wow!'
I shrug. I've never been great at taking praise. And she is not a dancer, what does she know? But isn't that what matters most, that dance can actually speak to anyone, knowledge and experience or not? I know nothing of make-up, and yet I know how amazing her work is. Thinking of which: it's been hot under the spot lights, and I've danced my scenes again and again. I should be covered in sweat. This paint should be running off me. But when I look down my chest it's just like it was when I left the make-up room.
'Hey Maggie, I don't mean to be rude but how am I supposed to get this stuff off when it doesn't even smear on the girls' dresses?'
Maggie rummages in her handbag and hands me a massive tub of cream that clearly advertises itself as a solution to nappy rash.
'Rub this all over, then wipe with paper towel, follow that with a warm soapy shower. Don't go easy on the soap either,' she says, very matter of fact, as if she were talking normal make-up removal. 'Oh, and obviously shower here, but I would suggest you wait until everyone else has gone through, and then check yourself before heading out.'
I roll my eyes. Great. All I want to do is finally get out and be free, but no such luck. At least I've done my bit whilst others still need to rehearse their parts. I don't know why Maggie thinks I should wait for everyone but I certainly won't. Not today.
When I do get in the shower it becomes obvious that Maggie wasn't joking. I have to go back in twice to scrub the paint out of every part of my upper body that happens to have hair. I can't even make myself look back at the state I leave the shower in. I just pack my stuff and finally claim my freedom, and there's enough of the day left to make something of it.
The moment I am out I call Tara, but she doesn't answer. Then my phone rings but in my hast I've pressed the green button without noticing the caller's name. Sigh.
'Hi Zach.'
'Hey Christian, wow, lucky me, I was dreading getting your voicemail again.'
'What's up?'
'When can you come and see me? I need to talk to you about something.'
'Now?'
'Great, see you in ten then?'
'Something like that.' No rest for the wicked, I should have added. And no respite, when all I wanted was to be with Tara as soon as possible, to spend the evening chilling, one more time before my life turns into a dancing frenzy.
Just the thought makes me reluctant to even talk to her about my acting inabilities. After all she is such a natural she might not even know what she does that turns her into another character just by stepping under the spotlights. And she hates talking about anything to do with dance nowadays, so much so that she knows nothing of this character I'm supposed to portray.
With a heavy chest I ride down in the opposite direction to where I would like to be going and park right by the entrance of the National Academy of Dance. If I get a fine, Zach can pay it.
I stride through the Academy where a few students are lingering or doing their own work in the studios after class. I don't recognise anyone. It's as if I have been a student there ages ago, not just five months. But they all stare and hush their voices, as if they know me, as if I am already that famous. Or maybe I still got paint on. My hands go straight to my forehead, but only find smooth enough skin there, and my reflection on the windows is definitely me.
I hurry to the offices level, but then I hear her voice. My nose fills with the herbal scent of her shampoo and the tangy one of heat cream, which is crazy because she sounds too far away.
Still, I follow their lead to find Tara in studio 3. Ethan's there too, his elbow resting against hers on the barre they both lean on. In the middle is Masukio, in his compulsory tights and t-shirt uniform.
'So when you do your developé, extend the frame more, it's more expressive like that, lighter,' Tara says.
'Yes, and the same when you turn,' Ethan adds. 'It's a soft piece, and it will help soften the movement.'
A tight fiery mixture bubbles in my stomach and erupts in painful explosion in my throat. They wanted jealousy on stage, and it hadn't want to come out easily, but how swiftly it rears its head now. No holding it back.
I stride in. 'Everyone.'
'Hey Christian! How are you?' Tara asks with a gentle smile.
'Great,' I lie, although it's pointless, I must look like thunder. 'What's happening here? I thought you were Ballet phobic now?'
'I have lead role for production,' Masukio answers as he turns again and again. 'Ethan and Tara help.'
He has just said that as if there's nothing unusual about it, but that can't be. Tara is avoiding anything to do with ballet but her exercising. She refused to go and see the last Company production even if I had been given prime tickets. She said she couldn't cope with it. Well, she can cope when it's with these two, obviously.
I raise my eyebrow at Tara, but she refuses to make eye contact with me.
The bubbles threaten to completely boil over, so I direct my attention on her ex. That jealousy, it's all his fault. 'And what are you doing here, Ethan?'
He just shrugs, a tiny jolt of the shoulders. But that's my signature move, so it riles me no end.
'Zach asked me to help choreograph the mid-year production.'
That humility should reassure me, but I hate it. The proud, in-your-face Ethan I am used to is easy to deal with. This washcloth version, I don't what to do with it.
I snort. 'Zach has found his new desperate case to replace me, then.'
'Christian!' Tara remonstrates me as if she doesn't know how him and I are together. But Ethan, instead of parrying back, just nods.
Tara places a hand on his shoulder as if to attenuate his hurt. And I see red.
'Bit of a drop from being the all promising choreographer in Spain, no?'
At last I am getting some glint in his eyes and some tightening in his jaw. But then he glances at Tara, who smiles so kindly at him it makes me gag, then he takes a big breath. 'No one said it would come easy.' And he shrugs again, and not even to wind me up. A real one. What the heck is happening? Where is his fire? Is behaving like this for Tara?
I'm about to attack again, anything to get another reaction than this limp excuse, but Masukio is pulling me by the shoulders.
'Christian, help me with that.'
And he plants me right in front of him.
'Ah, there you are.' I turn to find Dr Whicks peering through the door. 'I'm ready for you.'
Tara nods, throws me a careful glance and follows her out.
'If you've got it, Christian, I'm going to go too. I've got to check something with costume design.'
'No, I...' But he is already gone.
Masukio stares at me. He is at least a full head and shoulder taller than me, so when he looks down it's like he is the adult and I'm just a kid. 'You like Tara.'
I really want to pretend being shocked. But why should I deny it? Even if he is now Tara's friend and he ends up telling her, she would not believe it, or even worst, ignore it.
Still, I say nothing.
'Fight with Ethan no way to go. Make you look silly.'
I'd like to shove him off my case, but he is so calm and gentle, an Asian angel.
'Tara don't like silly.'
'I know.'
'So you be grown up, you be nice, Tara see nice, Tara like nice.'
And I think of Ben, whom she once described as nice and uncomplicated. Is that what Ethan is going for? I will never be 'nice and uncomplicated', but at least I can try to be more respectful.
'Fair.' I keep my eyes on his feet, still in first position even though we are just standing there talking.
Then my phone rings. Saved by Zach, again. It's not that I am trying to be unhelpful but I doubt I have anything to teach this boy. I saw him dance, he is technique personified, and there's no way I can help anyone with characterisation right now.
'Sorry, Mate, I got to go.'
I find Zach in his office and it is not much better than when I last saw it, which thinking about it was ages ago.
'Ah, at last. Sit.'
I would love to stay right where I am, balking at his order, but to be honest I'm shattered, so I just do it.
Zach pushes files and papers from one pile to another, then finally sits down.
'Sorry, I'm a bit sharp at the moment. They have finally found a new head for the Academy, but there's loads to sort out before I can hand over without my pride and professionalism being shattered to the ground.' He mops some invisible sweat off his brow. 'How are you?'
'Okay.'
He rises an eyebrow.
I sigh. 'This has not been my best day and curtain is up in two days, so...'
'Why? What's up?' he asks, his elbows now unevenly spread over two piles to get closer to me, ever the caring teacher. I wonder sometimes what I will have to do to make him drop that role.
'Nothing to worry about right now. What can I do for you? You called me after all.'
'Ah yes, let's get this over and done with. The paperwork is finally ready for the Memorial, which is incredibly bad timing seeing that you are about to be dancing nearly every night for the next month. The pay is not what I was hoping we could offer you.' He slides a paper in my direction.
No, it's not a lot, but it'll have to do. 'I'll just have to carry on being a life guard on the side, no problem.'
'I might have another offer.' Zach stares at me for a second. 'Although it won't be that much more, to be honest.'
From the way his body shakes his feet must be beating a fast stress-filled rhythm under the desk.
'Go on.'
Zach reclines again, still gauging me. 'I am sure you remember the strong reactions from the student body when the board decided to cancel the alternative dance lessons that were once available during your first year here.'
'Ye-es,' I answer cautiously.
'Well the tide is turning again.'
'Hmm hmm.' That's not much of an answer but inside my head words are jostling. Where is he going with this? Surely he is not considering me? No, Cheds, get that out of your mind. You tutoring disadvantaged kids, that can be tolerated, but teaching Academy students when you're just out of it yourself? No, don't you dare dream, Cheds, don't you dare...
'Wilson who taught you is currently in the US, so we can't count on him for HipHop.'
I keep singing my mantra in my head. Above it comes the picture of Wilson who was so good. No surprises he is moving up. He's choreographed many music videos here, for big names, it's logical he should immigrate for a while. My disobedient mind pictures me in his footsteps. I smash that thought and refocus on looking politely interested in the conversation.
Zach pauses.
'I've seen what you've done here in your little illegal classes. Would you consider doing that again, but over board this time?'
I gulp, my heart beating in my ears, distorting the sound so badly that I cannot be sure that I heard right, but my brain somehow cannot come up with an alternative word-sound association.
'Me?'
'It would be for six hours a week, one hour sessions. Your recent qualification as a dance teacher covers the requirement, and you would be great, I truly believe it.'
It's too good to be true. Surely someone's going to shake me out of this dream and let me crash back to reality. The board, probably. So I might as well check now. 'And the board?'
Zach smiles, so widely he could hook the corner of his lips to his ears. 'It actually was Natasha Willis who suggested you. She is the Chair now.'
Kat's mother, who was the worst teacher I had ever come across in my life, and I had met a few, and who had belittled Tara so badly behind her back? That Natasha Willis?
'And this would be the freelance pay for it.'
He pushes another piece of paper towards me.
I stare at him. 'Teachers here get paid this much for six hours!'
Zach laughs at my reaction, a warm-hearted laughter that suddenly eases the tension that had been weighing down in my body.
'You know there's a difference between free-lance and full-time positions. It's the same here, you get better pay for the unpredictability. But don't be fooled,' he added. 'You would earn them. Teaching is not just about turning up. It means having a curriculum to teach, teaching it, assessing and grading the students. HipHop will be part of the secondary set of classes, but will count in the overall grade. This is a very serious post. You might want to think about this carefully.'
And there I sit completely unable to make his warning take weight. Planning? Assessing? Walk in the park, right?
'And if you wanted to take on another production, with The Company or other, you would have to find your own replacement.'
It's my turn to smile. 'As if there's any risk of that happening.'
Zach smirks as if he completely expected my reactions.
That riles me up, of course, the idea that I might actually be that predictable or that he knows me so well that he might know me better than I know myself.
'We shall see. Right, I am already late for my dinner with my in-laws, so I better not stay any longer. Think about it, and let me know within the next week. Natasha is really pressing to get this going before the new Head comes. And I agree with her on that.'
He stands up and shakes my hand in goodbye. 'Future colleague,' he says as his parting comment leaving me once against stunned.
I somehow must have got out of the office and erred in the Academy building without realising for I find myself at the very end of the building, by the last studio. I track back to find Tara coming down the stairs, slowly, with Ethan in tow, the both of them as thick as thieves.
'Well, hello you,' I greet them, sounding like a snarling bulldog, but I am stopped before I make even more of a fool of myself by a big great whack at the back on my head.
Masukio passes me by, his sports bag on his shoulder, his weapon of choice. 'Nice,' he whispers, winks, and gets out, saying in a louder voice. 'See you tomorrow, Tara?'
'Sure thing,' and she smiles that beaming grin on hers that twists my stomach.
Ethan screws his eyes at me, then snakes his arm across Tara's back and leans in for a kiss on her cheek.
That surprised look she gives him makes me smile so wide it hurts my cheekbones.
'See you tomorrow too, then,' he chants as he leaves.
'Yes,' she answers so simply that it clearly is no big deal to her. Nothing like the crazy behaviour she displayed when she was all over him in first year.
She turns and looks at me, finally sheepish.
'So what's this all about?'
'I'm just helping Masukio. He asked me,' she adds quickly.
'And Dr Whicks?'
Tara blushes. Why the heck is she blushing?
'She's helping me out.'
'She is?'
'Yes, she saw me in the studio the other day with Masukio, and she offered to give me a check up.'
I am trying hard to ignore the fact that she has been helping Masukio for what sounds like a while when she refuses to have anything to do with Ballet when it comes to me. It got to the point that I can barely tell her about what is happening at The Company. I brush this aside to focus on this news though.
'What does she say?'
Tara sighs, rubbing her lower back with both her hands. By the look of it she is not wearing her brace.
'I'm tired, Christian, could we talk about this later?'
I nod, even though I'd love to remind her that we normally have dinner together, and that I really don't want to go my poky bedsit, not that I can truly admit to that.
'Are you walking me home?' she asks, and my heart leaps.
'Sure thing.' And then I remember my bike which I have parked in both an illegal and unsafe place. 'I've got my bike though. I could meet you back there.'
Tara's lips get all pinched, the way she does when she is thinking, and all I want to do is caress them with the very tip of my finger to smooth them down.
'Maybe it's time you took me for a ride...'
'You! You on my bike?' My heart is suddenly sprinting against the hold of my ribcage. 'Is that even possible?'
And here comes the blush again, stronger even now. 'I think so.' She casts her eyes down as if she's worried I might read something she doesn't want me to see in them. Then she looks up again with a self-deprecating crooked grin. 'I looked it up.'
'What? Motorbike riding for the injured?'
She shoves me with her shoulder for my cheek. 'Yes, actually.'
'And?'
'I wouldn't suggest it if the doctors didn't think it would be alright. Dr Whicks puts me on the bikes here and she does say that it should work but that I need to be ready to give up on the idea if the vibrations,' Tara coughs as if that's embarrassing her, 'get too much. So you'd have to stop straight away if it doesn't work.'
'I'll go very carefully.'
'I know you will.'
My day started on a fluttery high, crashed down in the muddy pit, roughed it on a rocky road and is finally getting me on a smooth ride up, up, up.
Author's note: I wanted to thank everyone who is still reading this even though the posting has been a bit hit and miss of late. I really want to sort that out as we are getting closer and closer to the end. Thank you.
A particular Thank You for the reviewers. It might sound silly but when others enjoy my work and let me know, it really drives me to keep going!
