The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton Page B

that Mr. Saladin
     wanted to gain control.”
    The counselor frowns and reaches up to tug a tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. “You don’t,” he says.
    “No, I don’t,” Julia says. “Gaining control isn’t the exciting part. Sleeping with a minor isn’t exciting because you get
     to boss them around. It’s exciting because you’re risking so much. And taking a risk is exciting because of the possibility
     that you might
lose
, not the possibility that you might win.”
    The girls look her up and down, and marvel with a collective disgusted fascination. Their expression is the expression of
     any popular girl who takes time to regard an unpopular girl while she is speaking. They watch Julia as if she is a carnival
     act: intriguing, but it might make you feel a little sick.
    “It’s like gambling,” Julia says, even louder. “If you make a bet that you’re almost positively certain you’re going to win,
     it’s not going to cost you much adrenaline. It’s not that exciting and it’s not that much fun. But if you make a bet where
     all the odds are against you and there’s just a tiny, tiny glimmer of a chance that you might make it, then you’re going to
     be pumping. There’s a higher possibility that you might lose. It’s the possibility you might lose that gets you excited.”
    The girls start to shift and mutter, but Julia’s gaze stays fixed on the counselor, her eyes shiny and narrowed and hard.
     The counselor is looking at his shoes.
    “The fact that Victoria was underage and virginal or whatever wasn’t exciting because he could exercise more power over her,”
     Julia says. “It was exciting because he stood to lose so much more if anyone found out.” Julia has a way of cocking her head
     to emphasize the shock value. “He wouldn’t just lose her,” she says. “He would lose everything.”
    There is a small pause and then another rustling swoop as all the girls turn back to look at the counselor. He looks up, tugs
     again at his tuft of hair, and sighs.
    “I think we’ve deviated from the point,” he says. “What we’re concerned with here is the power imbalance. We’re concerned
     with the fact that, as a teacher, Mr. Saladin abused his position of power by seeking out a relationship with a student.”
    “We’ve only deviated from
your
point to
my
point,” Julia snaps. “And anyway, isn’t every relationship a power imbalance in some way?”
    The counselor quickly turns back to the group before Julia can open her mouth to say more. “What do you guys think?” he asks,
     trying to make eye contact only with the least combative and least articulate girls in the room. “Any thoughts? Agree? Disagree?”
    A few girls raise their hands and begin to speak, and Julia loses interest immediately. She scowls at the counselor, and then
     fishes a biro out of her pocket and begins to doodle on the back of her hand as if she doesn’t care. After a while she looks
     up, and to her sudden thudding surprise Isolde is looking at her. Her expression is no longer childish and candied. Her head
     is turned slightly so she is looking half over her shoulder like a cold and careless queen with her neck all standing out
     in ropes.
    Julia flushes under her collar and censors herself too late. Her heart is beating very fast. All of a sudden she feels too
     big for her own body, clumsy and stupid and lumpish, and the feeling washes over her all at once in a horrible thrill.
    They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and then Isolde looks away.
Saturday
    Isolde and Victoria are watching television. Isolde is curled in the cat-furred hollow of the armchair with her legs hugged
     to her chest and her head upon the arm. Victoria is lying on the sofa with one leg cocked and the remote control held lightly
     between her finger and her thumb. Their father has just come through the room and crumpled Isolde’s toes in his big hand and
     said, Goodnight, slugs. Their mother has just called out