Dance Academy Anywhere but Here Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  Have you read all of the Dance Academy books?

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  Why am I here? More to the point, why is anyone else here auditioning for the National Academy of Dance? I’ve got no choice. When your parentals are Australia’s leading dance duo – prima ballerina and top choreographer – then you’re simply going into the family business.

  I’m like a greengrocer’s daughter putting out the oranges for sale. There was never any discussion about whether I would come here. Nobody ever asked, ‘And what does Kat want to be when she grows up?’ It was just assumed by everyone, including me. I was always going to audition and always going to get into the Academy.

  But I don’t know why anyone would actually choose the life of a dancer and I don’t know why everyone has to treat this all so seriously. Take Abigail. You’d think she was running for President of the World the way she’s been dedicated to this since the day we started the junior school together. She was determined enough at age ten to invade and conquer a few small countries. Nothing is going to get in her way.

  And take this doe-eyed, desperately hopeful bunhead tripping down the corridor towards me, nervously asking for directions to the changing room. She’s got ‘country girl who was top of her ballet class’ written all over her anxious face. So naturally when she asks for directions to the changing rooms I can’t resist directing her to the boys’ room.

  Seriously, these kids are all taking the auditions way too seriously. At our first session you can practically smell the nerves, particularly from Sammy, who seems to be polluting the atmosphere pretty regularly. So I put a bit of hip-hop music on and see if anyone wants some fun. I dance around with Sammy, trying to get him to loosen up a bit, but he gulps like I’m some secret dance test.

  There is one guy wearing board shorts instead of tights. His name’s Christian and I’m impressed with the gear, but even he looks pretty moody.

  The girl I met in the corridor comes in.

  ‘Hey, did you find the dressing room okay?’ She meets my question with a ‘don’t let her see I’m upset’ look.

  ‘Fine. Thanks.’

  Oops. Perhaps I went too far. But then she is heading over to Abigail, queen of the bunheads, so she may be going for world domination, too. The class begins and we do the stuff we’ve done a thousand times before. Yawn.

  At lunchtime I’m outside at the café on the wharf by the harbour with my half-brother, Ethan. He’s a third year and an alleged hot guy. I can’t see it myself, but my classmates from junior school take turns to have crushes on him and get their hearts broken. I now have a rule – no being friends with PEVs – Potential Ethan Victims. I hate having to clear up after him.

  I have a horrid feeling he’s checking up on me as he grabs some of my chocolate cake.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure him, ‘you can report back to the parentals that I’m here, as requested. Dancing my heart out.’

  ‘Yeah, if only that were true.’

  I leave him to wallow in his own gorgeousness and find another seat. Tara, the fresh-faced country girl, is there with Abigail and her sidekick, Georgia. Abigail seems to be taking Tara under her wing – a dangerous place to be. Perhaps I should help.

  ‘Oops about before,’ I say. ‘I’m crap at giving directions.’

  Tara doesn’t answer and Abigail just snorts. We used to be friends when we were about six and before she got hooked on the idea of conquering the dance world.

  ‘A bunch of us are heading out after class. Do you want to come? I’d invite Abigail but it’d interfere with her sit-ups.’

  Abigail ignores me and moves away. Georgia trots off behind her. Tara hesitates. I think that there may be some hope for her, but then she says, ‘Sorry, I just want to concentrate on my classes this week.’

  It is the standard bunhead response. Running around after Abigail, Tara is on the brink of being a lost cause, but something tells me I shouldn’t give up on her.

  The next night there’s an end-of-year party for students at the Academy on the rooftop so when I see Tara without Abigail I reckon there’s a chance to drag her along.

  ‘I’m not really in a party mood,’ she pleads.

  ‘Negative, bunhead. Take your mind off things. What do you have to lose?’

  At the party it turns out Tara’s already a celebrity. Apparently when I sent her to the boys’ changing room she stripped down to her bra. Ethan and one of his mates, Tim, are at the party. Tim smiles when he sees Tara.

  ‘This is the newbie who got her gear off in our dressing room!’ he says.

  I had no idea she was so gutsy. I think it’s a brilliant way of dealing with the situation and tell her.

  ‘Wow, you’re like famous now!’

  I’m trying to pay a compliment but Tara doesn’t see it that way. She stripped off because she genuinely believed she was in the girls’ dressing room. She stumbles off, crashes into some guy and spills his drink all over herself.

  ‘Nice, Kat,’ says Ethan. ‘She’s just a kid.’

  ‘She’s the same age as me!’ I say.

  But Ethan’s right. I was trying to have some fun and lighten the tension of the auditions for everyone but all I’ve done is make things worse for Tara. She really does want to get into the Academy and I’m only making it harder for her. Can I do anything right?

  I try to apologise to Tara in class the next day but she’s not listening so I give up. There’s dancing to be done. We’re doing solos from The Ugly Duckling for Miss Raine. It’s the moment the ugly duckling realises she’s a swan. Tara and Abigail are dancing the solo at the same time. Abigail does it perfectly, getting every piece of choreography right. Tara doesn’t. She closes her eyes and dances like she really is the ugly duckling. She’s not following the choreography but when you watch you can totally see the emotion in her dancing. She doesn’t seem to care any more about the Academy, me, Miss Raine or everything else that’s gone wrong. I’m beginning to really like this bunhead – one that can dance because she’s loving it, not just to try and impress.

  Turns out she does impress. Miss Raine tells her it was ‘surprisingly good’. From Miss Raine that’s practically a gold star. Miss Raine even tells Abigail she could ‘learn something by watching Tara’.

  Nice one, Miss Raine.

  Abigail’s not impressed. She only likes girls that are no threat to her supremacy. As soon as she thinks you might be a threat it’s war. I’m going to have to look out for this little duckling from the country.

  The next day it’s the final auditions. We each have to perform on our own before a panel that includes Miss Raine and the principal, Mr Kennedy. All the bunheads are at maximum nervousness. Even I know I have to make an effort. My mother may be Australia’s favourite dancer but if I don’t cut it in that room I won’t be in the school. For all my fooling around I know I’m meant to be in the Academy. It just doesn’t occur to me that I could be anywhere else. My mother would totally kill me if I didn’t get in. Besides, with her touring the world en pointe with my dad, my brother, Ethan, is the only family I’ve got. If I don’t get into the Academy I won’t see even him. Getting into the Academy is my only way of having some vague approximation of family.

  As we’re all waiting outside, Tara flies along the corridor looking flustered. Her hair’s a mess, she’s missing
a pointe shoe and she’s in a major panic. ‘I overslept,’ she announces.

  ‘I’m not an alarm clock,’ says Abigail. They’re roommates and Abigail didn’t even bother waking her up. Nice.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ says Tara. ‘I was up all night.’

  I see a look flash across Abigail’s face. She’s gone in for the kill, I can tell.

  Miss Raine comes out and calls Tara, which is weird because Tara is meant to go in last, not first.

  Tara gives Abigail a hug, like she’s actually been doing her a favour.

  ‘Break a leg,’ Abigail says. I can tell she means it literally.

  ‘What’s that all about?’ I ask Abigail as Tara goes in.

  ‘No idea,’ she replies, but I can tell she’s lying.

  While Tara’s in there, Sammy has his ear pressed to the door. ‘Mr Kennedy’s talking about breaking curfew,’ he reports.

  Breaking curfew is big. If you get caught, it’s grounds for instant dismissal from the auditions. Suddenly I like Tara even more. Curfew-breakers are my kind of people. But there’s more to it than that. If Tara got caught breaking curfew then she’d know why she’s being taken in first. She would be dreading this moment, but it’s obvious she went in there not having any idea that they knew she had been out. Someone has obviously dobbed her in and it doesn’t take much to work out who.

  ‘Why would they ask her that?’ I grill Abigail.

  No answer.

  I have to do something. If I am going to have a decent friend at the Academy next year, then it’s going to be Tara. She may be a bunhead but, dammit, she is a good person. We’ve given her a horrible time at these auditions. She’s been humiliated, played with and insulted, and yet she’s been as nice as anything to everyone. She didn’t deserve me giving her the wrong directions and she certainly doesn’t deserve the Abigail treatment.

  I’m going in.

  ‘Okay, you can call off the witch hunt,’ I say as I swing into the room.

  ‘You have something to contribute, Katrina?’ Miss Raine asks.

  ‘No, she doesn’t.’ Tara’s dreading that I’m going to make it worse.

  ‘Last night Abigail was snoring. Seriously, that girl needs to do something about her nasal passages. The walls shake.’

  ‘Your point?’ Miss Raine asks.

  ‘My point is, Tara bunked with me,’ I tell her.

  ‘Really?’ Mr Kennedy seems to have some difficulty believing me.

  ‘Would I lie, sir?’

  ‘Miss Webster?’ he asks Tara.

  She glances at me.

  ‘I was in Kat’s room last night.’

  That’s the end of Abigail’s scheme. I’ve no idea where Tara was last night, but I know she’d have a good reason for going out and I know she deserves to be at the Academy. She still has to impress the panel, but at least now it’s all down to her and her own talent. Poor thing, I can see she’s totally confused. She can’t believe that someone here has actually helped her.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ I say with a smile.

  I hope she blows them away.

  CHAPTER 2

  The parentals’ lowest expectations of me have been met – I’ve made it into the Academy. While everyone else’s parents are over the moon with the news, mine are just overseas.

  ‘Well of course,’ said Natasha on the phone from wherever. ‘We wouldn’t expect any less.’

  At least I get to see Ethan, although if I have to deal with as many PEVs here as I did at junior school I might regret being here.

  There are some drawbacks to getting into the Academy – principally my roommate, who is making me live in a fog of revoltingness. Our room stinks.

  As we walk to class on the wharf outside the Academy, I try to talk to Tara and Sammy about her but Tara’s having a vague moment. I snap my fingers to return her attention to where it should be – my puke-inducing roomie.

  ‘She’s hoarding something morbid,’ I say. ‘It reeks.’

  ‘I wish we were sharing,’ says Tara. She’s in with Abigail, so sharing with a tank full of sharks would probably seem preferable.

  ‘You and me. Tara, I’m touched,’ I say as a joke, but I think she really means it.

  ‘Why don’t you get Abigail to sign a room exchange form?’ Sammy suggests. ‘Surely she doesn’t want to live with you either.’

  It’s a brilliant idea with one fatal flaw – Abigail.

  ‘Bet you ten bucks she says no,’ I say to Sammy, who takes me up on it.

  When we get to Miss Raine’s class I’m ten dollars richer – Abigail thinks about the room swap for all of two seconds, sees it’s what Tara wants and says no.

  After class, at the café, some serious friend support for Tara is required. Miss Raine’s been brutal in her feedback.

  ‘Fifty thousand years from now, aliens will find my skeleton and even they will know I am the loser of the Academy,’ Tara says.

  ‘But they’ll also be impressed with your lack of bunions,’ I answer.

  We’re interrupted by the sound of an argument I’ve heard so many times before. Ethan is breaking up with Isabelle, his girlfriend of the past two minutes, and she’s not pleased. Needless to say I did warn her. She hurls her drink at him.

  Liking that. Not liking her walking towards me. I can feel a whinge coming.

  ‘What is with your brother? Why does he do this?’ she complains to me.

  I hold up my hand. She knew my ground rules when she started going out with him. ‘Don’t dump your toxic waste on me,’ I say.

  ‘You’d tell me if he liked someone else, wouldn’t you?’ she asks. ‘Please Kat, I need to know. You’ve got to talk to him for me.’

  It’s pathetic. Isabelle moves in for the physical expression of emotional support otherwise known as a comforting hug.

  ‘Three words, Isabelle,’ I say. ‘Told you so.’

  ‘You Karamokovs are a chip off the same iceberg,’ she spits and walks off.

  Great. Ethan dumps his girlfriend and the girlfriend dumps on me.

  ‘I need to go eat my feelings,’ I say to Tara and Sammy. I’m off to seek the sure comfort of my other family member, the one that gives me the emotional support I need – the vending machine.

  Suitably comforted with sugar and fat I decide to tackle Abigail on my own about switching rooms. I go to her in Tara’s room. She tries to close the door in my face but I stick my foot in the gap.

  ‘Why are you doing this? Are you such a desperado that you have to hold people captive?’ I ask her and shove the room exchange form through the gap in the door. ‘Tara doesn’t want to room with you, so just sign the form.’

  Abigail doesn’t even glance at the form. She opens the door further and looks at me in her superior way. ‘Has it occurred to you that the reason I won’t change rooms is because you want me to?’ she says.

  Vintage Abigail. I can’t believe we used to be best friends. This means one thing: war has officially been declared. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her to her knees and force her to sign the form.

  The first stage of the offensive is the redecoration of their room: a pretty rose garland on the door, some sweet porcelain dolls on Abigail’s bed and lovely pony photos on the walls – total kitsch kitout. Unfortunately, Tara reports that Abigail refuses to react.

  Stage two: I rub her deodorant on the rug while Tara shaves Sammy’s leg with her razor to leave nice big man-hairs on it. She has to hate that we reckon, but Tara reports no reaction.

  Then comes the retaliation. Just as Tara is brushing her teeth, Abigail tells her she used that brush on her toenails. Gross.

  ‘We need to crank the sabotage up a notch,’ I say. ‘Find a weakness and hit her where it really hurts.’

  The next day Tara comes up with a masterstroke – karaoke. Everybody hates karaoke, especially in their own bedroom. So Sammy and I install ourselves in Abigail’s room with the song machine and belt out a duet so bad that the neighbourhood cats are covering their ears. We invite
Abigail to join in but she ignores us, puts on her pretty pink eye-mask, sticks her MP3 player earbuds in and pretends to go to sleep. Foiled again.

  It’s no good. We’re going to have to play dirty. Just before Miss Raine’s class the next day, I’m in the corridor looking out for Abigail, while Tara waits in their room. When I see Abigail heading there to grab her things for class, I quickly phone Tara and then follow at a safe distance. In the room, Abigail puts her keys and mobile down on her bed for a second. Tara grabs them, flies out the door and we lock it. Abigail’s stuck inside without her key or phone.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Abigail shouts, banging on the door.

  ‘Abigail – is that you in there?’ I ask innocently. ‘It’s not like you to be late for Miss Raine’s class.’

  ‘I mean it, Kat, open the door!’ she demands.

  ‘I’m willing to unlock this door and help you maintain your sickeningly perfect attendance record,’ I tell her as I slide the room exchange form under the door. ‘All you have to do is sign on the dotted line.’

  She pushes the form back out. ‘Not in this lifetime.’

  I push the form back again and head to class with Tara. If Abigail’s going to be stubborn then we can be more stubborn.

  Correction. I can be more stubborn. As we’re warming up for class, Tara gets an attack of the guilts.

  ‘I can’t do this, Kat,’ she says. ‘It’s not right – I can’t stoop to her level.’

  ‘Relax, I’ll stoop for both of us,’ I offer.

  ‘I’ve got to let her out.’

  ‘On a meanness scale of one to Abigail this isn’t even a seven,’ I tell her, but it’s no good. Tara rushes out to free our victim.

  Fatal mistake. Before Tara even gets back to class, everyone’s mobiles start going off. Someone’s done a group send. Sammy reads the message on his phone and his face pales like he’s just received a death threat. I grab the phone and read it.

  Ethan Karamokov, by Tara Webster.

  Pros

  When he’s around the whole world goes blurry but he’s always in sharp focus.

  He kind of just knows who he is, the way the rest of us are just pretending.