Sammy by Bruno Bouchet Page B

all of you put together.’
    She smiles, gives a little wave and pushes the door closed in their faces.
    Perfect, absolutely perfect.

CHAPTER 2
    A few weeks into the first semester and we’ve settled into a sort of routine. Every week, Tara humiliates herself over Ethan. He’s Kat’s brother, a third-year student and the love of Tara’s life. The only problem is he seems oblivious to her. This is just as well as she is incapable of saying anything coherent if he is within three metres of her. Every week Kat finds some totally innovative way to get into trouble. And every week I manage to fall apart in mixed dance class right when Miss Raine is staring at me.
    On the plus side I’ve finally got a male roommate – Christian. His weekly routine is uttering one word. Last week he surpassed himself with two: ‘Don’t care’.
    I wouldn’t mind all this if the main routine I’ve settled into wasn’t dreading Saturdays. It’s
Shabbat,
supposedly a day of rest for Jewish people across the world, only for me it’s becoming the biggest day of unrest there is. It starts on Fridays. At around about midday this knot forms in my stomach and starts growing. In the evening I go home for a family dinner. It’s supposed to be a nice occasion. My mum always prepares an amazing meal. My grandmother’s there, smiling like life is always beautiful. I should enjoy all this, even with my little brother, Ari, doing joke
pirouettes
and saying he wants to be a ‘dahhhncer’. I can’t enjoy it though because I know tomorrow is Saturday and somehow I have to attend synagogue and Saturday classes at the Academy at the same time.
    The stress is affecting my school work. This Friday lunchtime I’m at the Academy café with Kat and Tara. We’re sitting outside, the sun’s shining, there’s a beautiful harbour just metres away but it means nothing. I am a dead man – I was given a B plus for my English assignment.
    â€˜It’s only English,’ says Kat.
    â€˜You got a B plus, not an F,’ Tara adds, not helping.
    They don’t understand. I may as well be six feet underground without a pulse.
    â€˜I promised Dad straight As. That was the condition for letting me come here. That and going to synagogue every Saturday.’
    â€˜I’d love an excuse like that to get out of class,’ says Kat.
    â€˜It’s not an excuse,’ my voice goes up an octave as the knot in my stomach leaps up to grab my throat, ‘it’s a web of lies. One week I’m telling Dad I’m too sick to go to temple so I can go to class. Next week …’
    â€˜â€¦ you’re telling the school you’re too sick to dance so you can go to synagogue,’ Tara says.
    I feel like I’m about to implode. Hopefully the implosion might split me into two then I can be in two places at the same time.
    Kat states the obvious. ‘You realise you can’t keep this up?’
    She’s right. I must decide one way or the other.
    â€˜Tomorrow I have to go to synagogue because I promised Dad I’d do a reading. But after that I’ll be firm … unless it’s a special occasion or something.’
    The knot loosens for a millisecond until I hear Patrick, the dance teacher who takes our class on Saturday morning. ‘Young Lieberman …’
    Next thing I know I’ve absolutely guaranteed to be in class tomorrow.
    I bang my head on the table. It’s the only logical thing to do.
    That night after dinner at home, Dad produces my English paper. ‘You’re not a B plus. You’re upper percentile. You could have any career you want.’
    â€˜As long as it’s a cardiologist.’
    â€˜There are other specialties. Your grandfather was only a dermatologist.’ It’s his idea of a joke.
    Then he repeats my lie back to me. ‘You tell us you’re one of the best dancers at the Academy …