Silhouette Read Free Page A

egg, aware that Mum can hear water in the pipes and must know that I’m up. I never go in when she’s teaching. The noise that we make is our conversation.
    I take a glass of water upstairs and slip the registration form out of my bag. It’s easy to fill in. At ‘Date of Birth’ I drop the year back by two but keep the day and month the same. Under ‘Professional Experience’ I let my pen hover then write, ‘none.’ I can lie about my age but not about my dancing.
    Then I place the sheet to one side and pull out my books. Mum and I have an agreement – I stay at the Academy only as long as I keep up my grades.
    I’m in the middle of a French grammar exercise when an image of the audition tomorrow comes to me. Messing up. Missing my triple turn. I must be hungry.
    Downstairs I pull open a tin of tuna, eating straight from the can and listening to stilted attempts at Ode to Joy . Sounds like a new student. I return to my books and work for another couple of hours before reaching a brick wall, the limit of my concentration.
    Now there’s nothing to distract me from the audition and it becomes impossible to sit still. I get busy organising my gear, music, water. It’s not until ten o’clock tomorrow, but I’m ready three times over and still the adrenaline is pumping. Dancing’s the only antidote for the way I feel now. I spend the next hour stretching, marking out the steps, moving through the nerves.
    It’s a relief when the clock finally clicks over to five-thirty. I throw my phone and a few other things into a bag and head downstairs.
    Mum’s sitting out the back, a newspaper open on the table.
    I stick my head out the door. ‘I’m going out. Back by ten.’ It’s worth a try.
    Her eyes lift. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Just the movies. With Paige, Izzy, Grant, Tadpole … you know, usual crowd.’
    ‘All right.’ Mum peers over her glasses at my tight T-shirt, my bare legs. That frown again. ‘After you change into something more appropriate to wear in public.’
    For a moment I glare at her. She’s never happy with what I wear, but I grit my teeth. ‘Okay.’
    Upstairs, I look in the mirror and fluff up my hair so that it falls thick and full around my shoulders, flaming red.
    Ever since I can remember, my hair has attracted glances. It’s like a light that’s always switched on. So I use it to my advantage. Big hair, a bit of cleavage, a lot of leg. I know how it works. When you look a certain way, you get what you want.
    That’s unless you have a mum like mine.
    I strip down to bra and undies then head out of my door, across the landing and into Mum’s bedroom. The reinvention takes only a few minutes. It’s just a dress-up game, rated M.
    I make my way downstairs and pose just the right way at the back door. ‘How’s this?’
    I wait as Mum turns to take it in. I’ve had my eye on this red dress for years, cut to the thigh, with a revealing neckline. Plus stiletto heels. Mum’s clothes, all of them. She can’t complain about my choice this time.
    ‘Too much?’ I ask.
    Mum barely reacts, a parting of her lips is the only hint that I’ve landed a victory. The dress is too small for her now, but I’ve seen it in photos. I look way better in it than she ever did. It hugs my body in all the right places. I know enough of the world to know what these clothes would say to the right kind of guy.
    Mum knows it too.
    ‘The shoes? They’re too much?’ I swivel, showing off the lines, and then glance up to see the impact.
    Mum sighs.
    ‘I’ll change them,’ I say after a while.
    ‘Good,’ is all that she says.
    I make my way up the stairs, feeling her eyes track my steps. I slip out of my heels and replace them with flats, then layer the red dress with a black top.
    Back downstairs I place a hand on the doorknob and call goodbye. Her reply comes when I’m already outside.
    Of course, I’m late to the Complex. Everyone’s talking about auditions for our graduation