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

doing star jumps. Was he going to own up to signing me up for basketball?
    â€˜Well, Mr Sandown is really keen.’ As Jay played with his pen, the muscles in his arms tightened and bulged slightly. I was so close I could see the pale hairs on his tanned skin.
    Annette Braun was chatting away in German to Mr Kissinger as he sat on the table next to her. Puh-lease!
    â€˜Hey, did you catch the Magic game on Saturday night?’ Jay asked.
    Saturday night? Not Saturday night! A stumble and loss of timing, beetroot face . . .
    â€˜Is that a trick question?’ I asked, with a quick glance his way.
    â€˜I know you were there ,’ Jay said smugly. ‘But did you see the game .’ He didn’t pause to let me answer. ‘From where I was sitting it looked like you were fluffing up your pompoms. Or was that your hair?’
    Fluffing up my hair! I couldn’t let him get away with that. I wracked my brain, trying to remember what had happened on the basketball court that terrible night. It helped that I had overheard a couple of fans talking on the way to the carpark.
    â€˜Well, for your information, Tyson Andrews going off with a bad knee nearly cost us the game. But Damien and that other old guy did some top plays and saved the day.’ It sounded pretty good at least. I flicked back my hair and smirked at Jay.
    He had one dark eyebrow raised. The corners of his mouth were lifting slightly. ‘Not a bad assessment . . . except I would have said that Grant Cunningham and “that other guy” saved the day.’ He actually made the quotation marks in the air with his hands.
    I shrugged as if to say well , that’s your opinion , and I kept working, or trying to, as a torrent of questions formed in my mind. Where did Jay sit during games? How closely did he watch the dancers? Had Jay seen my stuff-up in the opening number?
    I put down my pen. ‘So your family has season tickets for Magic games? Where do you sit?’ Now it was my turn to pretend we were friends.
    Jay shifted in his seat. ‘On the park side …’
    â€˜Saph and Jay. I hope you’re talking about the essay topic,’ Mr Kissinger called and started bouncing again.
    I picked up my pen and kept working. Jay did too.
    After a few minutes, I reached over and wrote on Jay’s page, Where on the park – But I didn’t get to the end of my sentence.
    Jay grabbed my hand. He peered at the back of it with his nose scrunched up.
    â€˜What is that?’ he asked quietly.
    His hand felt warm, before I pulled mine back and crammed it between my knees.
    â€˜Why is your hand orange ?’ Jay was peering at me as if I had some disease.
    I scrunched up my face, feeling my cheeks burn. Orange hands and red cheeks. Not a good look.
    â€˜Fake tan,’ I said in a low voice. ‘We use it for cheerleading.’
    â€˜Fake tan?’ Slowly Jay’s look of horror turned to one of pure glee. ‘ Fake tan?’
    I clenched my jaw tight and flashed Jay one of Dad’s Greek stares of fury. ‘Yeah? You already know heaps about fake stuff Jay. Like . . . fake letters?’
    When I said that, Jay stopped smiling, shook his head and started working again.
    I did the same. I wrote Happiness is standing up for my rights on my page and kept jotting down ideas. Real happiness . . .
    Except, I wasn’t sure what I was doing anymore.
    Real happiness is eating chocolate and not getting fat. That wasn’t happiness; that was a fantasy. It wasn’t real.
    Now I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even spell. My mind was full of fake tan and thick make-up, basketball scores and the layout of the Magic home stadium.
    How could Jay just waltz in, say a few things, and turn everything upside down?

CHAPTER 5
    When I got to the dance studio for cheerleading practice it had turned into a zoo. A bunch of mothers were crouched on the floor, trying to squish their tiny tots into bright pink tutus. In