To Touch A Star

Sirius

Ok... We don't literally have a dead British Prime Minister as our dance teacher. Her real name is Ava Crestney. There's just something about her pasty white face and hairstyle - which looks like cooked cauliflower - that makes it feel like the Iron Lady is standing in front of us. Her cold gaze combines with the awkward gaze of the other ten dancers. Coming in here was such a stupid idea. I probably should have left.

"S... sorry I'm late," I squeak.

"I'm so glad you could join us. Only ten minutes later." She sighs. "Oh well. It's only your money you're wasting. I'm not going over anything."

She even has a faint British accent. All we needed to know was her view on trade unions and then she could have been Thatcher's younger sister.

I nod and rush next to the most familiar face there – Diah Tarigan. The best way to describe her is that she's a smile. She's barely five feet, has long curly hair that bounces in the ponytail and has warm olive skin. Even her shirt has Miss Happy on it. She gives me a reassuring smile.

It has been four years since I started dancing at Third Position. Over the years, I started to gain a vague awareness of the other dancers – especially in the senior class. Apart from Diah, there's the boy who used to have an afro, Laura Craft wannabe and singer with a Youtube channel. They have been in the seniors class for years, so they stay towards the front as if it were the cool kid table. Diah and I, who have just started, stay towards the back with Stevie. Like Diah, Stevie has been in my class since I first started. Her black hair has been twisted into two perfect plaits.

Finally, I notice a new arrival to our group; a short girl wearing a pale blue hijab.

I blink. I have never seen her before. She could be a stray attracted to the sound... but she's actually in the class. With tap shoes on. I try to hide my confusion, but she catches my eyes and gives me an awkward smile. I could kill myself. Gawking at the new girl is definitely not the best way to make her feel welcome. I look over at Diah.

"Who's she?" I mouth to her, gesturing at the new girl.

"You missed too much time, Zoey. Do you really want to waste any more of it? Pay attention," Ava states before Diah can even answer.

I snap my head back at her. Talking is the worst thing you can do. Well, just after missing a lesson when they were working on patterns. "You think you're good enough for this class. Maybe you should try to prove it."

Just by looking at the mirror I can see everyone focusing on me. Most of them look like they want to laugh, but then I make second-hand eye contact with the new girl. She gives me a warm reassuring smile, revealing a dimple to the left of her lip.

Light tap sounds echo throughout the room. Ava slowly goes over the steps and makes us repeat them until they're perfect. Well, as close to perfect as possible for Diah. No matter how many times she tries, her beats either don't happen or come out scratchy. The more she dances, the clumsier it gets.

"Enough," Ava says as she shakes her head in agitation. Diah gulps before smiling even wider.

"It's not terrible."

She goes on to the next dancer and a grin bursts onto my face. It's as if she has told me that I was the next Ginger Rogers.

Ava eventually reaches the new girl. She's... not bad. In fact, her beats are much stronger than all the other dancers. From the side, I swear I can see a hint of a smile on her pale cracked lips.

We continue our dance lesson for the next hour. Slowly – and after a lot of repetition – it started getting easier. Our ankles start to warm up after the months' break during school holidays. The deodorant I put on mustn't be working. The room reeks of the sweat dripping off all our bodies.

"You need to practice. You are adults. Some of these steps should have been drilled into you when you were eight years old," Ava tells us. Her eyes fixate on Diah, but the message is really to all of us.

"Thank you," Stevie squeaks.

We slink out of the studio and finally breathe. The older dancers join us in the waiting room but go off into their own group.

"Crikey. That was an.... interesting lesson," Stevie says with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, but we knew that when coming in. And she was a lot sweeter in tap than she was in jazz," says Lily. I raise my eyebrow. Most of the dancers do a few dance styles at least, but I never saw the appeal to any other than tap.

"We had to do so many push ups," Diah whines. "I can still feel it." She rubs her arm gently. I suddenly appreciate my decision not to continue with jazz.

"She isn't too bad," Inzhu says. She has a hint of an accent I haven't heard of before. It's rough and sounds like a distant relative to Russian. "You should have seen some of the dance teachers I've had in Brisbane."

"Oh. So you're from Brizzy?" I ask with a small smile. I have been in the same room as Inzhu for more than an hour and all I know about her is that she's a great tap dancer. That is shocking etiquette. She nods.

"Well, I'm originally from Kazakhstan, but we moved to Brisbane about ten years ago. Then over to Perth the year before last. Things have been so hectic I've barely been able to get to a proper dance class."

"Until now, of course," Stevie says with a nervous grin. Inzhu's eyes widen before she laughs just as awkwardly.

"Oh, yeah. Of course."

The room suddenly becomes uncomfortable. No one knows what to say and we just wait for someone to have the courage and say it.

"Well, it' pretty good here. I'm sure you'll enjoy it," I say. Inzhu nods and gives me a look of gratitude.

"I am enjoying it so far. Everyone has just been so friendly."

The other dancers start talking to her with a casual air as if they have already met each other. Usually, I'm fine with only taking one class, but I miss out on so much by not doing ballet, hip hop or jazz like them. They have created their own family, and I'm just the awkward step-aunt who hasn't quite found my place yet.

I slip out before anyone notices. Sometimes I have gotten caught up talking to people that I miss the bus. Walking is fine, but not after an hour of dancing.

This time I don't even have to run. I get to the bus stop just moments before it appears. The same driver nods me on. Stars have resurfaced to the sky, guiding me home as they did to the hunters thousands of years ago.

It's not even 8:30 pm by the time I get home. The house is a ghost of what it was before. Hatred fills the air and the shattered glass remains on the ground. The screaming has been replaced by sniffling from mum's bedroom. I bite my lip and go to her door, taking a deep breath before opening it.

She sits on her bed, wrapping her arms around her frail body. The tanned skin around her eyes have become puffy and tear stains run down her cheeks. Her typically fiery hair has been extinguished, leaving barely any life in it.

"Hey, mum. You ok?" I ask gently and go to sit down next to her. She doesn't move.

All she does is stare at the ground, muttering in defeat, "Your dad left."