Kat: Breaking Pointe by Sebastian Scott

CHAPTER 1
    And finally the kombi is driving over the Harbour Bridge. Stretching above is an enormous, blue, cloudless sky, wiped clean for a new day. I rub the sleep out of my eyes. It’s been a long night on the road.
    Almost home , I message to Sammy. Meet you at the Academy of Pants in twenty minutes?
    Myles is sulking like a little kid as we pull into my street. (All right, I’m sulking too, but in a totally mature way.) As soon as he pulls to a stop, before he even has time to put the handbrake on, I leap out of the passenger seat and wrench open the side door of the kombi, grabbing my bag.
    â€˜For the record,’ I snap, ‘playing your own music is egotistical, not ironic.’
    I slide the door shut and Myles drives off without a goodbye.
    I wish I had time to shower and brush out these stupid braids (so over the hippie chick thing), but I’ve got places to be. I go inside to dump my bag, but before I get far Natasha pounces.
    â€˜Darling, look at you!’ she gushes.
    â€˜Tash,’ I say. ‘Gotta dash.’
    She pouts, slipping into the part of Disappointed Mother. ‘But you only just got back.’
    No way, Tash, I think, shutting the front door behind me, you do not get to play the guilt card. How many times has she ‘just got back’ from months of touring only to go straight out to a cocktail party or a performance?
    I jog through the park, sleep-deprived, running on excited energy and the sugar hit from the entire packet of barley sugars I ate for breakfast.
    At the Academy, there are first years flocking nervously, poor deluded things. I refuse to be slightly jealous of how excited they are, how special and important they feel. Ballet hasn’t broken them yet. The second and third years are almost worse. They know what they’re in for, but they still have stars in their eyes.
    I spot Sammy and break into a sprint. Sammy hugs are awesome hugs. I feel energy coursing out of him into me, I take some of his strength, his solidness.
    He smells a bit whiffy though. Sort of detergenty and his hands are all wrinkly. ‘Don’t look at my dishpan hands,’ he says, hiding them behind his back. ‘I’m hideous.’
    â€˜Still no joy from the olds?’
    â€˜Dad had his joy surgically removed a long time ago.’ We walk along together. ‘I’m bored of my stuff. Tell me about your stuff.’
    â€˜Ugh.’
    Sammy shakes his head. ‘He’s Myles Kelly. Who gets sick of those dulcet tones?’
    â€˜Even you, Samuel, the fortieth time he complains about how no one takes him seriously. Even you.’
    I can tell Sammy doesn’t believe me. We’re interrupted by a gushing first year, bringing biscuits. She kisses Sammy’s cheek.
    â€˜You’ve been well-occupied then?’ I say when she’s gone.
    â€˜Kat, I’m a boarding house advisor. It’s my duty to welcome the new first-year students.’
    A familiar voice chimes in. ‘Is that what you call it?’
    It’s Tara and Christian. My heart beats twice as fast when I see Christian. But that’s old news. Old, bad news – my long-term longing, my secret crush. Straight away I notice Tara and Christian are holding hands. So they’re on again? I kind of guessed as much, reading between the lines of the text messages Tara and I have been exchanging. After a single breath, I choose to be happy for Tara. My friendship with her has always come before my totally pathetic crush on Christian. I leap at her and we hug. It’s so good to see her. I don’t want to let go.
    Tara’s excited, loving energy surges into me. I feel the most like my true self around these people.
    â€˜So how long exactly did the “just friends” rule last?’ I tease when I finally release her.
    â€˜Yeah,’ adds Sammy. ‘Who caved first?’
    Christian and Tara point sheepishly at each other. But then Tara is distracted by her