Step About

Step About

by

Natalia Heaney

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Natalia Heaney

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

Glossary: Irish Dance

Glossary: Australian English

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

Also by Natalia Heaney

Cool Competition (Pointe Perfect #1): Chapter One

Friends and Rivals (Pointe Perfect #2): Chapter One

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Have you ever been interested in something your friends don’t understand? Have you ever worried about being teased because you’re doing something other people think is weird?

When I was growing up and taking dance lessons nearly every day, half the boy dancers I knew kept it a secret from their school friends. It takes a lot of courage to pursue a passion that’s not considered normal.

And how about being the overlooked one? Have you ever had to sit back and watch a talented sibling or friend get all the attention? Even if you’re happy for them it can be hard to be the one people forget about.

In Step About we have Connor Quinn, who’s too embarrassed about his achievements to tell his friends, and we have Ceili Ryan, whose champion little sister takes all her parents’ attention. Both of them have become experts at keeping secrets – even from each other.

However, no matter how hard a person tries to conceal it, the truth often comes out.

Natalia Heaney

Glossary: Irish Dance

Céilí Dancing: standardised social dances that are generally performed by two to sixteen people at a time. Ceili is also used as a name, as with the heroine of Step About.

Feis (plural: Feiseanna): Pronounced fesh, and literally meaning festival, in Irish dance the term usually refers to a dance competition.

Figure Dance: non-standardised group dances that may include more modern elements.

Ghillies: the soft, laced shoes worn by girls and women in Irish dance. They are usually black, and usually made of leather.

Hard/Heavy Shoes: worn by both male and female dancers. Similar to tap shoes, but bulkier in appearance, they have fibreglass on the soles.

Oireachtas: in Irish dance, the word refers to regional championships.

Poodle Socks: the white socks worn by female Irish dancers.

Reel Shoes: the version of the soft shoe worn by male dancers.

Scoil Rince: School of Dance in Irish.

Solo Dress: the dress an Irish dancer wears when dancing or competing individually. No two are the same, and the dancer may have a lot of input into the colour and design of her dress. These days it is common to decorate them with crystals.

Team Dress: a dress worn in céilí and figure dances. Each dance academy has a team dress of its own design.

Glossary: Australian English

Car Bonnet/Boot: the hood/trunk of a car in American English.

Car Park: parking lot in America.

Chocolate Crackle: an Australian confection made of icing sugar, cocoa, desiccated coconut and puffed rice cereal.

College: in some parts of Australia students go to college for their final two years of high school.

Esky: an ice chest, often used for keeping drinks cold.

Fairy Floss: cotton candy or candy floss.

Mate: Australian slang for friend.

Mobile Phone: cellular or cell phone in American English.

P-Plates: in Australia (and other countries), leaner drivers must display L-Plates on the front and back of their car, and then P-Plates when they earn their provisional licence.

Relief Teacher: supply or substitute teacher in other countries.

RSL: the Returned and Services League – an Australian organisation for returned soldiers.

Southern Hemisphere: In Australia winter is from June to August. Summer is from December to February.

Tap: faucet in American English.

Ute: the Australian version of the pick-up truck.

Windscreen: windshield in American English.

Woop Woop: Australian slang for in the middle of nowhere.

Chapter One

Ceili

Canberra, Australia.

It’s Friday afternoon, we’ve just finished history class, and for the first time in my life I’m attempting to ask a guy out on a date.

Needless to say, it’s not going well.

‘So… anyway… that’s what I was planning to do this weekend,’ I finish lamely, and Connor Quinn, the guy who’s been making my hands shake and my stomach flip over with butterflies all year, makes a sound of mild interest.

It’s not the wild declaration of love I might’ve been hoping for, but at least he’s not running for the hills.

‘This weekend?’ he asks while he digs around in his backpack. Fitting all his things into that bag is a bit like watching someone trying to solve a puzzle. I don’t know what he’s got in there, but if he’s anything like other guys I know, I probably don’t want to know.

‘I thought you had a family thing you had to go to,’ he says, sounding distracted while he fights to get a couple of pens in an already full side pocket.

‘Oh, that. I was thinking of backing out of it.’

‘Really?’ he says vaguely, like he’s only half listening. There’s a pair of socks sticking out the top of the bag and he’s preoccupied trying to stuff them back in. It’s totally weird because I don’t know anyone who takes spare socks to school, but then Connor’s kind of an original.

Usually he’s not this distracted with me. Apart from his looks – he’s hot – the way he always seems to hear me and see me, that’s what makes him different.

‘Uh, I’ve got to be somewhere this weekend,’ he says, and I want to dig a hole in the old carpet on the floor and hide in it.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say before he feels the need to fob me off with more random lies. ‘It was just an idea.’

The sound of Connor snapping the zipper of his bag closed seems magnified in the awkward silence between us. The war with his bag won, he slings it over one shoulder and looks down at me, smiling the way he always does, like nothing embarrassing just happened. He’s taller than me, sure, but today I feel about half my normal size and I’m pretty sure my face is red.

How in the world do other girls manage to get boyfriends? It’s a lot harder than it looks.

‘You ready to go?’ he asks.

Ok-ay then. I guess he missed the point of the whole conversation – but maybe that’s a good thing.

‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling a little relieved. ‘My sister has dance this afternoon, so I can’t be late.’

Actually, my sister has dance practically every afternoon, but there’s a big competition coming up and the stress level in my household has doubled, or maybe even quadrupled.

We’re at the classroom door when our history teacher, Mr Bristow reappears, and he’s holding some papers and a plastic folder I recognise. He looks from me to Connor and back again, and then walks back over to his desk.

‘Ceili, do you have a moment?’ he asks, as if that isn’t a request that strikes fear into the heart of every student. But this is a teacher I actually like, especially because he pronounced my name properly from day one, without me explaining it to him. It’s kay-lee, but I’ve lost count of the people who guess wrong and call me see-lee…

‘Uh…’ I glance at Connor and then back at our teacher, ‘sure’.

‘I’ll see you later,’ Connor says, and just like that he’s gone, walking down the nearly empty hall, heading for the stairs, the car park, and the freedom of the weekend.

Mr Bristow hands me the folder and I take it with a lot of apprehension. A person doesn’t get called back after class unless they’ve done something really good or really bad. I’m not sure which one will be worse.

Am I supposed to open it in front of him? If I’ve got a terrible grade I don’t need an audience when I discover what it is.

‘It’s fantastic, Ceili,’ he says before I work up the courage to look for myself.

It’s only then I flip through the pages, from the slightly blurry black-and-white picture of my grandad in his military uniform at the front, through the thousands of words I’ve typed about his life for our project: Personal Experience of War. On the very last page I find a big 100%, circled in red.

‘It’s going to do well in the national final,’ my teacher says.

‘But…’ But I never actually promised him I’d enter the National History Awards, just made a vague semi-promise, hoping Mr Bristow would forget about it.

‘You just wait and see,’ he says before I can tell him that. ‘I took the liberty of processing the application for you, so you’re all