Pirouette by Robyn Bavati Page A

it’s not really my money, is it? If it were you my parents had adopted, it could just as easily be yours.”
    Simone looked uncomfortable but took the card. “Thanks,” she said. “How come you’ve got your own bank account, anyway?”
    Hannah shrugged. “Pocket money, birthday money, Hanukkah money … ” She glanced at the clock. “Anyway, gotta go, or I’ll be late for warm-up!”

    Miss Roth’s voice rose and fell in a steady rhythm as she marked out the exercise. “ Demi plié and stretch, demi plié and stretch, grand plié and stretch, and rise and turn.” Hannah stood at the barre watching, her hands sketching the prescribed movements of the legs and feet. She was nervous, but in a good way. This was her first ballet lesson at Candance, and it was what she’d been waiting for. It was why she’d spent months trying to convince her parents to let her enroll. It was her best chance to improve as a dancer, because training in classical ballet with the top teachers in the country was the most wonderful training a dancer could get.
    Hannah had been learning ballet for nearly ten years. She was good, but coming from Armadale Dance, she just wasn’t sure she was good enough. Could she really fool Miss Roth into thinking she was Simone, who’d trained at the prestigious, entry-by-audition-only VSD?
    She placed one hand lightly on the barre, the music began, and Miss Roth strode up and down the length of the studio, watching the dancers. “Don’t race the music. Fill it. Stretch the movement. That’s it. Lovely.”
    The class moved on to another exercise, and another. “Peel the foot off the floor and into retiré ,” Miss Roth was saying. “Bring the leg into an attitude derrière , stretch it out into an arabesque and carry it to the side … Don’t drop the knee.” She passed from one end of the barre to the other, making minor adjustments to the dancers’ positions. She stopped beside Hannah, looked her up and down, and moved on to the girl in front.
    I’ve done it, thought Hannah. She hasn’t noticed a thing.
    Just then Miss Roth turned back and caught Hannah’s eye. “Square hips, please, Simone. And pull in that rib cage. What happened to the impeccable technique I saw yesterday?” Luckily it was a rhetorical question, and before Hannah could think of an answer, Miss Roth had moved on.
    Despite the close call, for the rest of the lesson it seemed that Simone’s shoes were working like a lucky charm—
Hannah found herself dancing better than she ever had before. Simone had been right; Hannah could cope with the highest level. When she began the port de bras in the center, she lost herself inside the music, and when she’d finished, Miss Roth was smiling at her. “Well, Simone, your technique might need work, but I have to say, you’re lovely to watch. You dance from the heart.”

twelve
    Bag slung over her shoulder, sunhat and dark glasses on her head, Simone trotted along the footpath. She was planning to spend the day at the local pool and was on her way to the bus stop, but swimming was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she was thinking about Hannah’s dad and the fascinating fact that he was a publisher. She imagined meeting him. They’d talk about books and writing, and he’d tell her all about publishing and the famous authors he’d met and worked with. Maybe she’d have a chance to meet them too …
    In the photos Hannah had shown her the night before, the whole Segal family looked warm and good-humored. Brown-skinned Adam seemed cheeky and funny and had a wiry, athletic build. Hannah’s mom Vanessa was small and neat, and often had a kind of half-smile on her face. And Manfred … Manfred looked like the kind of dad you’d want to have. He was a large man, his smile open and friendly, and he appeared to have