Two days before our chorey assessment is due, Grace demonstrates her usual level of dedication by announcing she has ‘some thoughts’. Like I’d still be at the ‘thoughts’ stage now.
‘It’s due in two days,’ I tell her. ‘Ethan’s been helping me with a solo.’
‘Another one?’ she asks, disappointed.
Ethan claims my choreography is ‘cluttered’. I need to demonstrate everything that I’m capable of in this piece, but he’s right. When I strip it down and stop trying to include so many moves, it flows better. Ethan and I work well together. We’ve got a strictly professional relationship but Grace throws a romance spanner into our smoothly operating works.
‘The chemistry in this room. Out of control. I literally have goosebumps!’ she says as she watches us rehearse.
I look at her blankly. There is no chemistry, just mutual dedication to dance perfection.
‘I get it. You’re not ready to go public yet. My lips are sealed,’ she says.
‘That was weird,’ Ethan comments after she leaves.
‘She has a warped imagination. I’ll start from the jeté entrelacés?’
I try to move past him to get into position but he moves the same way. We touch. We look in each other’s eyes. And there it is, Grace’s spanner ruining everything.
I catch up with Grace later to ask what gives with the unhelpful innuendo.
‘Just telling it like it is,’ she says, all-knowing.
‘He’s earnest. He’s shiny. And he fell for Tara, so add weak-minded to the list.’
‘Well good. I hate it when friends disappear because of some guy.’
Good? It’s not good. I need his help with my chorey assessment and now we can’t even be in the same room.
‘I’ll probably fail my assessment,’ I complain.
‘We’ll whip something up,’ she offers. Looks like my solo is off the program for the chorey assessment.
I find Ethan in the rehearsal studio later to break the bad news but he’s already been researching some ideas to improve my piece. I look at him being all earnest and shiny and something gives. I can’t just drop him. Maybe I can delete the word chemistry from my hard drive until after the assessment. Rehearsals resume and when we’re alone, concentrating on dance with no family, no Grace, no chemistry-induced awkwardness, it works. It’s professional, like minds working well with real dedication and chem – No, not reinstalling that word. Absolutely not.
For his chorey assignment, Ben’s organised a flash mob event on one of the harbour ferries. He ropes us all into it. As we wait at the station to get a train to the Quay I talk to Grace about how good working with Ethan is.
‘Yes, it’s weird but we’re both ambitious. We’re both focused.’
‘Sounds hot,’ Grace says.
‘We could be like the new Natasha and Sebastian of the ballet world,’ I say without thinking. I can’t believe I’ve just compared Ethan and myself to his ballet royalty parents.
The flash mob’s fun, even if Ben and Sammy failed to establish whether the ferries were running today and we have to perform on the train instead. Afterward we head to the rotunda overlooking the harbour. Ethan and I are sitting on a bench, talking. It takes me a few moments to realise we’re not even talking about my chorey assessment. I need a time out, there’s real danger that we might get unprofessional. I can’t believe I’m falling for the Ethan Karamakov charm – just like Tara and all the gushing ballet girls before her. Could I really be another Dance Academy cliché? I go to get some drinks to give myself some breathing space.
In the short walk to the café and back my mind races from cutting him dead for the rest of the year to imagining us touring Europe together. His choreography, my performance, thunderous applause, rave reviews. It’s stupid, but hey, we’ve just danced in the corridor of the 2.15 City Circle train, stupid is trending today. I’m half way through a standing ovation in Paris when I come back to see Grace on the bench next to Ethan. They’re kissing. Ethan is kissing Grace. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I let my guard down, lose focus for one second and this happens … I have to escape, leave them to their irresistible urges.
Grace runs after me. ‘I have no idea what just happened. I was talking to Ethan. Trying to suss out what was going on with you guys and … then his tongue was down my throat,’ she says.
I don’t care who did what. It’s a wake-up call. I’m here to dance, here to focus and nothing else. Grace is dogged in her good friend routine, determined that I’ll believe her, and I guess I do.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
‘I was rejected by someone I wasn’t even interested in. I’m fine.’