Step Up and Dance by Thalia Kalipsakis Read Free Book Online Page A

same blank stares and slouched shoulders, so I don’t know why Mr Kissinger had singled me out. As usual, Jay was sitting across from me, and avoiding looking my way ( What am I, the Invisible Bimbo? ), stretching his long legs out like two thick trip-wires.
    â€˜Now, Saph. Please read out the essay topic,’ asked Mr Kissinger. He was making me tired from all that bouncing.
    I peered up at the screen, forcing my eyes to focus. ‘ Echtes Glück ,’ I said with pretty good pronunciation, if I do say so myself.
    Mr Kissinger’s smile was one of relief. ‘And translated?’
    â€˜Um . . . er . . . right happiness.’ But that didn’t sound right. ‘No! Real happiness,’ I called quickly.
    â€˜ Wunderbar !’ Another relieved smile. ‘Or “genuine happiness” if you like.’
    Silence and distant stares from the class.
    Mr Kissinger gestured to the screen like a butler introducing the Queen. ‘Class, I’d like to introduce your essay topic. Essay topic, here are the people who are going to write about you.’
    Uncomfortable rustling from the class. Now he had our attention.
    â€˜Four hundred words. In German. Due in two weeks,’ said Mr Kissinger.
    Lots more shuffling and uneasy murmurs. Four hundred words! In English that would be fine, but 400 words in German was like doing a foreign language marathon. Especially since we would be looking up 350 of them in the dictionary.
    â€˜Four hundred words, Sir?’ Someone voiced the disbelief on everyone’s faces. Annette Braun – who had white eyebrows and German parents – was the only one not frowning.
    Jay had picked up his dictionary in both hands as if it could save him from this hell.
    â€˜Now, now.’ Mr Kissinger held out his hands to calm the class and sat on his desk. ‘Do your first draft in English. Don’t worry about your vocab, write from the heart. Then I’ll help you …’ He stood up to make his point. ‘I’ll help all of you translate.’ He started pacing calmly – thank goodness, I was way over the bouncing. ‘This is an exercise in genuine expression. And a great way to expand your vocab.’
    I settled back in my seat, thinking about the essay topic. Now it didn’t seem quite so bad. Genuine happiness . . .
    Soon we were working on our own, brainstorming ideas while Mr Kissinger cheered us on and typed up prompts on the screen. ‘When do you feel most alive? What stops you feeling happy? Strip away life’s comforts and how do you feel?’
    Starting was easy. Happiness is dancing in front of a crowd and making their eyes pop with each kick.
    But what else? Happiness is sipping hot chocolate with my best friend, Summer. That was a no-brainer. Happiness is looking at Damien Rowsthorn’s legs. I stopped and read over my work. Then I crossed out my last sentence. Mr Kissinger was cool, but not that cool. I kept scribbling.
    Pulling on a fresh pair of dancing tights.
    Eating chocolate and not getting fat.
    Getting my licence and buying my very own cool little car.
    Real happiness will be turning eighteen.
    Four hundred words here we come! This was too easy.
    â€˜Eating chocolate and not getting fat, eh?’ The empty space beside me was suddenly overtaken by two tanned arms placing books and a laptop on the table. Enemy alert!
    â€˜Sorry, that seat’s taken.’ I wasn’t ready for Jay to come and sit here. Not when he could see my work! I rested my forearms over my page of scribbling.
    â€˜Now it is.’ Jay folded himself into the seat and flashed me a grin.
    I went back to scribbling, writing any old stuff and ignoring the enemy beside me.
    But he started talking to me as if we were friends. ‘I hear you’ve signed up for girls basketball?’
    â€˜Yeah, well, I’m a girl of many talents.’ I shrugged as if the basketball prank was a bit of a yawn. But my heart was