Step Up and Dance by Thalia Kalipsakis Read Free Book Online

mirrors I unzipped my make-up bag and slowly started taking off the goop. Cold cream first, then careful soothing strokes as I wiped away the grime. It felt good to remove that stuff and find my own skin underneath it all. Here I am again. Still me.
    I could feel Abe watching my reflection. ‘You okay?’ she asked in a grumpy way.
    I shrugged. ‘Kind of deserved it, didn’t I?’ Then I threw some tissues in the bin and turned to look at Abe – the real Abe, not her reflection. ‘I know I made you look bad, Abe,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
    She glanced at me with a nod and a small smile. Then she leaned in to her reflection – touching up rather than taking off her make-up. ‘Well, Saph, the way you dance sometimes makes me look better than I deserve. So I reckon we’re even.’
    A snort from me. Without make-up it was easy to see my cheeks flush red. But I was glad that everything was okay again with Abe and me.

    By the time I walked out to the carpark to find Dad, I was almost calm. It felt good to be finally away from the bright lights and watching eyes.
    â€˜You’re late,’ Dad said, as soon as I fell into the seat beside him.
    â€˜Sorry.’ I seemed to be saying that a lot. ‘I . . . took longer getting changed than usual.’
    Dad looked again at the clock display, but he didn’t take it further.
    â€˜Did you see the game?’ I asked breezily and pushed my shoes into the pompom bags on the floor in front of me. A heavy tiredness had sunk into my legs. My head felt numb.
    â€˜It was an important win,’ Dad said, leaning forward in his seat as he changed lanes.
    â€˜Did you see us dance the opening number?’ I asked tentatively.
    â€˜No. They cut straight to the game.’
    I breathed a sigh of relief – my stuff-up hadn’t been recorded for eternity. Just in that dark place where you keep memories that you’d rather forget.
    Dad glanced at me in the dim light, then back at the road. ‘Magic’s in the quarterfinal, so you have an extra game?’ he asked with a slight growl. The cabin lit up as a car loomed behind us, then drove past.
    I nodded. ‘But Megan’s happy to drive me,’ I said slowly. ‘Just for the quarterfinal, will you let me get a lift with her, Dad?’
    I could see the muscles bulge in Dad’s jaw. His hands gripped the steering wheel. But he didn’t say anything for a while. When he did speak, it came out like a slow sigh, ‘Saph, I’m not in the mood.’
    I didn’t blame him really. Working sixty hours a week, then having to drive me around on his night off.
    But part of me must have blamed him – for being tired, or just for being stubborn – because I blurted out, ‘Well, I’ve organised a lift to stop you having to do this. Don’t try to make me feel guilty!’ The high whine of my voice seemed to linger in the air.
    Dad shook his head. ‘You’re too young,’ he growled.
    I snorted and crossed my arms. Yeah? Abe would agree with you on that.
    I set my face in an angry pout, and gave Dad the silent treatment for the rest of the drive home. It had been the night from hell.

    Get this for an awesome daydream: a bright flat next to the beach, perhaps sharing with Summer, or just me on my own. Lazy chai teas down the street before driving to dance training in the city. Then long nights of slick professional dancing. A dream life, where I’d meet my dream man . . .
    â€˜ Guten Morgen , Saph, bin ich Sie uns könnte verbinden froh. ’
    On Monday morning, my wonderful daydream was interrupted by a bouncy German teacher. Mr Kissinger was rocking on his feet, and nodding eagerly.
    â€˜Sorry, Sir?’ I stretched out my legs, trying to shake off the daydream.
    â€˜Good morning, Saph. I’m glad you could join us,’ Mr Kissinger translated and did an enthusiastic jig.
    Everyone had the