Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Read Free Page B

between two people, the tingle of two hands colliding for the
first time; whatever that elusive quality, I know I want it – and with Luke, it
just isn’t there.
    ‘Thanks,’ I say, twisting my ponytail into a knot at the
nape of my neck, pretending not to see the hope in his eyes, ‘but Jenne’s
already booked me for movies.’
    ‘Oh.’
    His disappointment is tangible but I know I’m doing the
right thing. Better not to encourage his attentions when I can’t return his
feelings.
    Once inside, I put aside my musings and we fall into the
comfortable routine of warm up stretches and the unique combination of dance
steps that we’ve choreographed from a combination of ballet, hip-hop and Latin American
ball-room. We’re like two halves of the same whole, each an extension of the other
and any prior tension or awkwardness has melted away. This is what I need to
protect, this feeling of security we share. It’s why I need to prevent Luke
from admitting his true feelings to me. Even though I know how he feels, saying
it out loud would change things irrevocably.
    By the end of the session, my headache is gone but every
muscle in my body burns in a satisfying way.
    ‘You’re good, you know,’ Luke says, bending down to
retrieve two towels from the floor. He throws one at me and proceeds to wipe
his own brow with the other. ‘Even on your off days…you really should be in the
School of the arts -’
    ‘You know my mother won’t allow me to register.’
    I lean my back against the wall and slide into a sitting
position on the wooden floor. ‘I just wish she would stop being so negative.’
    Luke threads the damp towel around the back of his neck
and turns to me with a sober expression.
    ‘Shay-kie,’ he says, and I flick the towel at him to
show my distaste at his use of my childhood nickname. For some reason, it’s
common practice amongst South African children to take each friends name,
shorten it and add ‘kie’ onto the end. I know this practice stems from the
‘tjie’ (pronounced ‘chi’ or ‘ki) suffix tacked onto Afrikaans words to indicate
that something is either very small or very young. I resent the implication.
    Luke snickers, jumps back out of reach and schools his
expression back to seriousness.
    ‘She thinks she’s doing what’s best for you.’
    ‘But surely I know what’s best for me?’ I demand, ‘I’m seventeen for goodness sake. Why does
she still treat me like a child?’
    ‘Sixteen,’ he corrects.
    I cluck my tongue and he grins back; he offers me a hand
and pulls me up from the floor.
    ‘Look, she just doesn’t realize how good you are.’
    ‘Yeah, cause she’s never bothered to come watch me.’
    Luke puts one hand on my shoulder and spins me around.
    ‘Stop it,’ he admonishes. ‘Just stick with the plan.’
    ‘But what if I can’t persuade her to come to the
competition? What if -’
    ‘Uh-uh,’ he interrupts, shaking his head and wagging a
finger in my face. ‘You need to stay positive if this is going to work, and it will work. If your mother will just come
to the competition and see you dance, I know she’ll change her mind about the School of arts.’  
    Luke gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and chucks me
lightly under the chin before moving off toward his Polo, parked on the curb.
    ‘See you tomorrow.’
    ‘But tomorrow is my birthday!’ I protest.
    He turns around, does a little backward walk for a few
steps and flashes me one of his impish grins.
    ‘Yes and you need to keep those ageing muscles in shape,
Ms Greene!’
    I stick my tongue out at him but when I turn toward my
mother’s waiting car, for the first time today, I am smiling.

 
    ‘What about this one?’
    Jenne pulls a pale pink silk blouse from the sale rack
and holds it up for my inspection.
    ‘I thought we were looking for a gift for your mom?’ I
say.
    She pulls a face at me and tosses her mass of brunette
curls back with a flick of the head.
    ‘Yes, I know but don’t