19

My family and I don’t walk together with our new neighbours to the Library Theatre. There’s still no sign of them.

‘Maybe, they went out for tea first?’ suggests Brianne, but I know she’s really thinking the same as me. After what happened earlier, maybe Richa won’t come at all. Would there be any point humiliating myself on my own if Richa isn’t even there to see it? She has to come, she has to.

Mum, Ryan, Brianne and I, walk out of the glare of the heatwave and into the library. Instantly, I’m thinking of the afternoon Richa and I spent getting books for her. I picture her face when she spotted words that she knew and I nodded to say she’s got them right. She was so happy. I feel terrible for sharing her secret. Is it a worse feeling than the fear of having to dance in front of everyone? Different kind of bad. Just as bad.

I’ve been inside the library lots of times, but never into the theatre. I’m expecting something similar to the dance studios, kind of scruffy and makeshift, but this is something else. It’s a proper theatre. The four of us walk into the auditorium which is beginning to fill. There’s a smell of new fabric and anticipation. Quickly, I scan the blue-upholstered, fold-down seats, but there’s no sign of Richa or her family.

‘There’s some space still on the front row,’ says Mum. ‘We’ll get the best view, won’t we, Lion?’ She pulls me in for a sideways cuddle. Together we walk down the middle of all the seats towards the spotlight that shines on a purple curtain. I don’t look at anyone, just keep my gaze on the light ahead. None of my family have any idea that I’m going to try to get up on that stage. Nobody does. The terror and determination battle it out inside my head like two sword fighters.

As we walk closer, the curtain moves, and noises of things happening filter out. I catch Call-Me-Felicity’s voice and the tap of Anton’s shoes.

‘You better go backstage,’ says Mum and her voice is all high and excited like a little kid at Christmas. ‘You might be needed for props and things. I’ll save your seat.’

My stomach flips over. Not my SM, not now. Go away, bully. I take a breath, in for five, out for five.

‘I’ll take you,’ says Ryan, even though neither of us really know where to go. We climb up onto the stage and I follow my brother into the wings at the right. Once we’re out of sight from the auditorium it’s all very different. The air is thicker and tastes dusty, not at all like the fresh, air-conditioned clean smell of the auditorium. Black scaffolding poles crisscross one another with big boxy lights attached and wires are looped in and around everything.

We find the rest of the dance class and Felicity scattered in among it all. Everyone is dressed in their costumes and some are stretching or trying out different steps. There’s no sign of Richa. I concentrate on my breathing.

‘Hello Leo, my funky diva,’ says Felicity. ‘You can watch from backstage if you like.’

This is the moment when I have to come clean. As I tap on my brother’s shoulder and he bends for me to whisper, I feel my throat tighten.

‘I’m going to try to dance,’ I croak.

He pulls back from me. ‘You sure, Bruv?’ he asks but I see the grin waiting to spread out across his face, just like the dancers in the wings waiting to go and perform.

I swallow down a huge lump of nerves and doubt. Blotting out the SM voice, I nod at my big brother.

Ryan turns to Felicity and says, ‘He wants to dance. At least he wants to try to dance.’

Felicity’s face lights up with an enormous smile. ‘That’s wonderful news. I’m so proud of you, Leo. You are the most beautiful dancer and now that you have Richa – well I can’t wait to hear that applause. You two are destiny’s dynamite.’

I give her a flicker of a smile, but I can’t look right at her. It’s too much. If Richa comes then I can’t turn back now even if I do freeze. The sword fight inside my head intensifies.

‘Want me to record it for you on your new phone?’

I look down at the phone in my hands, the hopeful headphones hanging from it. My brother offers his ear again. ‘I need Richa to listen to something first,’ I whisper.

He winks at me. ‘I’ll come back for it.’

I go to hug him again, but he backs off. ‘Not risking that static shock, little dude,’ he says. ‘Bust a leg!’

As time passes and the auditorium fills, I anxiously watch backstage for Richa and her family. Unlike school, the seats fill from the front backwards and I see Tiffany with her mum, dad and sister sitting a few rows back from my family. No space has been left for me after all.

The noise of chatter gets louder, drowning out the hushed whispers that come from backstage. It feels very real, and I try not to think about all those hundreds of staring eyes.

Then I spot Richa’s mum, swaying from side to side with the weight of the baby, and pulling Aahan by his hand beside her. Next comes Richa’s dad, talking on his phone walking in slow, wide circles by the auditorium doors. I look for Richa, thinking she might be with her dad but she’s not.

‘Hello Leo.’

I jump and turn. Richa is there right behind me. She’s still in her sequinned outfit but she looks even more miserable than when she fled from our kitchen. Her eyes are all puffy, the gold eyeshadow completely gone and her wig isn’t on straight. Everything rushes and tumbles inside me and I want to hold her and tell her how sorry I am – but I can’t.

‘Richa,’ says Felicity, light-stepping to join us. ‘I was beginning to worry that you weren’t coming.’

‘I thought about it,’ admits Richa. ‘Is it OK to watch from here?’

‘Watch?’ says Felicity. ‘You can watch until it’s your time to go on.’

‘But…?’ Richa glances at me, confused. ‘I can’t do the dance on my own. I tried that at the rehearsal and I looked stupid.’

‘Ah, and that’s why our wonderful Leo here will be dancing with you.’ I’m looking at Richa waiting for her reaction but I can hear the smile in Felicity’s words.

Richa’s face changes from misery, to confusion, to disbelief.

‘But you can’t do it,’ she says to me.

I shrug and make myself hold her eye.

‘He can,’ says Felicity and begins fixing Richa’s wig properly. She has enough confidence for all of us. ‘And he will. The first time is always the hardest, but I guarantee you will both shine like the most marvellous magic.’

Richa starts to smile, just softly. A pull at the corner of her mouth. ‘Really?’ she asks me. ‘You’re going to try to perform? For me?’

I nod and as Felicity disappears, with a shaking hand I lift the phone and headphones so she can see them.

‘Ryan’s phone?’

I shake my head and tap the phone into my chest.

‘Your phone? Did he upgrade?’

I nod again.

She smiles properly now, as she tucks the left ear bud into her ear. ‘He knows good advice when he hears it,’ she says, and I smile back. This is more like the real Richa and I’m glad that determination is winning inside my head – at least for the moment.

Not needing or wanting to hear my voice, I let Richa have both earbuds so she can listen in stereo. It was only moments ago that I pretended Patch was Richa when I told him what I really wanted to tell her. I press play on the recording I made and labelled ‘Sorry’.

Richa,

I’m really sorry for telling Ryan and Brianne your secret. I told them because they didn’t understand. They didn’t know that you couldn’t read my letter.

They swore not to tell anyone. I know they won’t because they didn’t even tell Mum.

You’re getting really good at reading now. If you let me, I want to keep helping you and I’ll never tell anyone else. I swear.

I can help you when you start at Lakeside.

Maybe we can help each other?

I’m going to dance tonight. I’m going to make myself do it because I know it will show you how sorry I am.

My SM is horrible and dancing in front of people will be really hard for me.

I’m so scared but I know I have to do it.

I want to do it, but the SM is like an enormous wall I have to climb over first.

It’s hard to explain.

There’s so much that I want to say to you, but I can’t. Maybe now that I have this phone it might be a way that I can?

I can try. If you want?

There’s one thing I really want to say.

Even though you couldn’t read my letter sometimes it feels like you have. It’s like you do understand. You are the best friend I have ever had, Richa.

That’s why I’m going to dance.

I’m performing so that we can still be friends.

Richa takes the earphones out and her eyes are full of tears. She hugs me and I hug her back.

I hear her whisper in my ear, ‘I’m sorry too.’

‘Aw, you two are the cutest.’ It’s Brianne’s voice. As we pull out of our hug I catch the scent of Brianne’s shampoo. It smells familiar and good, like fresh hope. I can do this. I can.

Felicity dances over, ‘You can’t be back here now,’ she stage-whispers to Brianne. ‘We’re about to start.’

‘Sorry,’ Brianne whispers back. ‘Just came to collect the phone.’ She takes the phone, winding the cable around it in a neat, quick movement. ‘Got to make sure we record it all. Mum is beside herself with excitement.’

Brianne goes to move away and then she lifts the phone and takes a quick, sneaky photo of Richa and me. We’re holding hands and I hadn’t even noticed.

‘Just the cutest,’ she says.

‘Go, go, go.’ Felicity waves my sister away.

‘Next stop The Lion King,’ Brianne says as she disappears.

Richa laughs and gives my hand a little squeeze.

It’s our time to dance.

I hide within my costume. I am not a boy who can’t talk, I’m a new boy, one who was born to perform. This is what I tell myself to quieten the noise inside my head. This is what I have to believe in order to get out there in front of everyone.

There are no final words from Richa. She doesn’t grab at me and try to pull me, like before. Instead, holding hands, we steadily walk out together from the wings into the middle of the dark stage. The audience is quiet, the music has not yet started and, closing my eyes for a moment, I tell myself to breathe. I remind myself not to listen to anything but the music, especially not any bad thoughts that might come.

I do not have to talk; I just have to dance.

I am not alone. I am with my best friend Richa and I am trying.

Here I am, trying my very best.

We’re in our starting positions – backs to the audience, side-by-side, freeze-framed in the John Travolta pose. The spotlight blazes suddenly onto us, cooking our backs. It’s as hot as the heatwave and our shadows cast out in front of us, up onto the curtain, like the perfect silhouette. I imagine from the audience we must look like one of Mum’s album covers. Two members of Earth, Wind and Fire.

Because I can’t see all the faces of the audience it’s easier to block their staring eyes out of my mind.

I’m surprisingly calm, the SM bully quiet.

The music starts and immediately my automatic dance-pilot kicks in. Everything else disappears: the worry, the terror, the doubt. All thoughts of anything other than dancing slide away from me, like water running off my skin in the shower.

This is what this boy does – he dances.

Our routine is so well rehearsed we could do it in our sleep – and have. I let the music carry my body, moving it in practised perfection.

De dah de dah de dah de dah de da de da doh.

Doom da de doom da.

This boy is the Disco King!

Four Travoltas on each side, pivot turn and into the glare of the lights.

Egg beat roll, shoulder wiggle, rolling grapevine, funky chicken and groovy side-step left, then right, all the way through the introduction.

Doom da de doom da.

Doom da de doom da.

Shuffle, kick change, easy walk for three with arms, twist and lunge for the beat of four. Strut walk away from Richa, with New York mambo change and sassy finger click. Head jerk to strut walk back, high fiving Richa on the way past. Same back to the middle and into the chorus; the beat of the lyrics energising me.

Doom da de doom da. Deedo da dee-doh.

Synchronised Travoltas, with back-leg flick.

I’m grinning. I can feel it, wide across my face. Richa is too and we can hear them – the audience is singing. The beat is amplified by them.

Doom da de doom da. Deedo da dee-doh.

With more energy, we jump into part two, back-to-back, partner arm links and the back rolls, each letting the other roll over our backs as we rotate around in a full circle. There’s cheering and clapping, I can hear it above the music.

We’re the Disco King and Queen!

Into the strut walk and high fives, shuffle kicks with head and arm roll twists. Underwater wiggle with fingers holding noses, then grapevine with dandruff dust, and back into the chorus.

Doom da de doom da. Deedo da dee-doh.

They’re singing, they’re definitely singing. Did they do that for the others? Wait – they’re up on their feet and dancing. The audience is dancing!

Doom da de doom da. Deedo da dee-doh.

Doom da de doom da. Deedo da dee-doh.

It’s incredible but over too quick and now we’re strutting and spinning our way off stage as the music fades. We can hear the cheering and stamping of feet.

‘They loved us, Leo. They loved us!’

Richa is breathing heavily, her chest heaving up and down and she’s grinning. Really grinning. All I know when we hug is that I have never felt so happy in my whole life. With her ear close to mine I whisper, ‘We did it!’

She doesn’t pull out of our hug. She doesn’t jump up and down screaming that I finally spoke to her. It’s like she knew that I would always talk to her, if she just waited long enough because, she just whispers back in my ear softly, ‘We did.’