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7
    â€˜Once I had a secret love…’
    I used to groan when my grandmother insisted on singing that old Doris Day song.
    â€˜One day you’ll know, Schmuelly,’ she used to say.
    Now is that day. I am living my grandmother’s favourite song in a storeroom.
    In front of everyone else Abigail is her usual scornful self but the minute I get her into the storeroom, my Abigail emerges. We kiss – properly. Kissing is another thing that Abigail does perfectly. I live for that storeroom and those moments when I can taste her fresh mouth and see that gorgeous smile that seems to come out just for me.
    She is like two completely different people. If only the world outside the storeroom could see the Abigail from inside, they’d know what I’ve always known deep down. That far beneath the cold, perfect and bitchy exterior is a totally lovable person.
    The ‘
secret love’
is nearly exposed when Christian walks in on us. Anyone else and it would have been round the school in seconds, but Christian is a man of few words. He leaves quickly.
    I think it’s funny. I wish he would spread it around.
    â€˜Stop laughing,’ Abigail says, ‘this is a disaster.’
    â€˜People are going to find out about us, it’s bound to happen.’
    â€˜What do you mean “us”? This is just this,’ she says as she waves her arms around at the storeroom. ‘It doesn’t make us
us.’
    She’s embarrassed by me. Great. It’s not like I don’t have other options. I tell her Petra has made it very clear she would love to kiss me in the storeroom or anywhere else. But Abigail refuses to acknowledge our relationship in public.
    â€˜What? Do you want us to hold hands and swap chewing gum under the monkey bars?’ she sneers. ‘We could get matching public tattoos: “Sammy and Abi 4 eva”.’
    I try to make her jealous. ‘Maybe I should just go out with Petra.’
    She calls my bluff. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’
    However, it’s not just my self-esteem that is being challenged. All the guys at the Dance Academy are under siege. We’ve been invaded by enemy forces: bigger, stronger but less coordinated and flexible. A group of football players from the Australian Institute of Sport has been sent to our school to learn some agility and balance. If Ethan, Christian and Sean get their way, they’ll learn a few others things, too.
    Things really kick off when they see us in character dance class. It’s a loud, strong gypsy dance that requires us to move in perfect unison. It’s all about masculinity: in the face, the eyes, the movement, but not in the clothing. The shirts we’re wearing have seriously puffy sleeves.
    While we’re dancing the footballers watch through the window from the corridor. We can’t hear them but we just know the kind of jokes they’re making. It’s the type of thing we all had to put up with before we came to the Academy. One of the best things about being here is not getting that sort of crap, but here we are with meatheads guffawing in the background again. The footballers are in the changing room as we walk in afterwards.
    â€˜Is zee dance for zee men,’ Ollie, the top dog of the pack, starts taking the micky out of Ms Tikkinova, our teacher. Jai, his mate, has his shirt off and is impersonating our dance. Badly. He might have muscles to spare but he’s no dancer.
    â€˜Hey, ballet boy,’ he calls out to me as we enter, ‘can I borrow your puffy shirt?’
    This is apparently a hilarious joke and sets the footy players off.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I say. ‘Missed that. I don’t speak meathead.’
    Next thing I know Ollie is towering over me.
    â€˜Who are you calling a meathead?’
    Ethan steps in. ‘If you had brains you’d back off.’
    Ethan and Ollie size each other up. Jai and his mates move round.
    â€˜Yeah, what are you