Step Up and Dance by Thalia Kalipsakis Page B

voice.
    Eew! Suddenly I realised that I was imagining Jay. He wasn’t the man of my dreams. He was the man of my nightmares. Maybe I had got mixed up.
    â€˜What’s wrong? You had it for a moment.’ Lesley had a curious look on her face.
    â€˜I, um …’ Spluttering and snorting from me.
    But Lesley was already rushing to the stereo. ‘Hold that feeling. I want to see you dance the opener right now.’
    I shook my head, clearing the icky feel of Jay from my mind. Then, as the music started, I let it all go. No thinking now, just my body and the dance.
    First I danced through the natural feel of my solo, then the hold. Finally I broke into the main dance with him inside me. Not Jay, nor even the uni guy, just the feel of someone special watching me. Holding me in his eyes.
    I still couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. And I knew that the man of my dreams liked what he saw.
    When I had finished, Lesley rushed in and squeezed me in her arms as if she were a mama bear. ‘Did you feel that? Did you feel it?’ she asked when she pulled away.
    I nodded, calm now and happy. Because suddenly it was easy. I understood how to dance the sexy opener. It wasn’t about learning technique or matching style. It was about an attitude that was already in me. A frame of mind.
    And to find that frame of mind, all I’d had to do was let go.

    Lesley drives a truck. At least, that was what it felt like – a big orange Volkswagen from the middle of last century.
    The bench seat felt hard, not like the seat in Dad’s car that holds my tired body like a hug. But Lesley’s voice filled the cabin with warmth and colour. The whole drive home she talked to me as if I were an adult who knew what it was like to run a dance studio. I realised there was a lot of stuff involved that I had never really considered, like the high cost of rent, and not being able to take time off when you’re sick. She told me about mums who don’t want to pay extra for costumes, and others who didn’t want to do any sewing to save money.
    Then, abruptly, she stopped talking. I braced myself against the door as we screeched around a corner.
    â€˜So what are your plans, Saph? Finish school and go to uni? Marry a millionaire?’ Lesley asked. ‘Or are you tempted by the wonderful world of professional dancing?’
    â€˜Um . . . I don’t really know, Lesley.’ I shifted my bum on the cold seat, not sure if I should be honest with her. Somehow I felt that I could. ‘Maybe become a German teacher? But if I could make a living out of dancing …’
    Lesley hit the brakes and stopped fast at a red light. ‘Ah, Saph, you’re one of the lucky ones! You’re young, brimming with talent . . . and the opportunities I have lined up for you.’ She made a thrilled theatrical face at me.
    I smiled at her in the darkness. Yep, I knew I was lucky to have a chance to live my dream. A life of performances and magical fantasy. Training my body ever closer . . . always closer to perfection.
    â€˜Don’t tell the others,’ said Lesley, crunching the gears as we started with a jolt, ‘but I’ve been working on the head cameraman, trying to get more of the troupe on TV.’
    What did ‘working on’ mean? I didn’t want to ask. ‘More exposure means more work!’ I said happily, before Lesley could get the words out.
    She laughed. ‘That’s my girl.’
    I pointed at my house, and Lesley hit the brakes again.
    â€˜At least you’re dancing like a sex goddess now, Saph!’ We both jolted as the truck stopped.
    I peered past her, up the path at the cold light on our front door. ‘I don’t know about that.’
    Lesley patted me on the knee. ‘Nope, you’re a gorgeous Greek goddess, Saph. And don’t you forget it, girl!’
    â€˜Thanks, Lesley, for everything.’ I unbuckled my seatbelt. Then I headed up