01x08 - Growing Pains

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Dance Academy...

Your upper body looks like a stick.
There's no groove in it.

That's because I'm a ballet dancer.

Carbs after 3:00? I'd rather
eat a deep-fried vending machine.

Tara doesn't want to room with you,
so just sign the form.

Has it ever occurred to you that
the reason I won't change rooms

is because you want me to?

If I ever have to pick up
after you again, I'll get violent.

Is that a promise?

Ethan, I made you a mix CD.

It's just a few dance tracks,
some contemporary...

She isn't.

No, she is.

Hi!

Hey, Ethan. You're working late.

Hey.

Hi. Saw the light. You're...

You're working late.

Hey!

Saw the light. You're working late.

Just trying some ideas.

Oh, so I saw there's
this contemporary group

coming from Alice Springs,
performing Wednesday night.

Thought it might give you
some inspiration.

I don't know if that's the best idea,
you and me going out.

Oh, it wouldn't have
to be a date or anything.

Look, it's not like I don't
think you're a great kid.

But, I mean,
you're Kat's best friend.

You're like my other little sister.

OK.

When I was three,
I took a vow of silence

until my parents let me start ballet.

I was the youngest kid ever to attend
the Patchewalling ballet school,

the youngest winner
in the regional eisteddfod.

I used to like being the youngest.

But these days it just
feels like another liability,

especially in this place, where
we all know each other's weaknesses.

Ow!

We keep tabs on everything,

who has the best arms,
the best feet, the best technique,

which means our bodies
are on display 24/7.

There's no such thing as privacy...

- Whoa!
- Dude, get out.

Sorry. Sorry, Christian.
Sorry, mate.

And no small flaw
ever goes unnoticed.

Will you stop doing that?

Stop doing what?

I call this one 'The Thinker'.

It's just a pimple.
Wear it with pride.

- Hey, Kitty Kat.
- Hi.

Ooh, what happened there?

Oh, gosh, did you think
that one up all by yourself?

Yep.

Um, Tara, about that thing
that you've got on your...

Hey!

He's only two years older than me.

Where does he get off
treating me like a little kid?

Maybe because you lose the capacity

to speak in complete
sentences around him.

"Oh, um... so, Ethan,

"do you... would you...?
Um... I love you."

Sorry. Ow. Ow!

It's true, though.

Katrina, your hair is a mess.

Tara, posture.
Tail in, shoulders back.

Abigail, you're out of uniform.

I'm still a little cold.
Were you here for warm-up?

Of course.
Then take that thing off.

I need to correct your body.

Unless you think I have
nothing to teach you?

Of course not, Miss Raine.

It's just I think I'm coming down
with something. I feel a bit shivery.

Miss Armstrong, you are either
ready to work or at the doctor.

Which is it?

Back to the beginning, please.

Is that tender?

OK, slip your crossover off
and I'll check your lungs.

Is that necessary?
It's more of a head cold.

Yeah, I need to check
that your lungs are clear.

Well, can't you do it on top?
It's freezing in here.

No.

OK, big breath. Goodness,
that sports bra's very tight.

Maybe you should go up a size.

Maybe I didn't come here
for fashion advice.

And again.

Not that it's any
of your business,

but I'm the same size
I've always been.

Well, your lungs are clear.

I still have a head cold, right?

I mean, I don't want
to make it worse.

Abigail, you do know that
for your height and weight,

you're in perfect
proportion, don't you?

It's normal to be developing.
I'm not developing.

I'm certainly not MOST girls.

And soubresaut, chassé,
pas de bourrée.

Another single tour.
Double tour on the last one.

Great, and pirouette to finish.

And finish. Hold it.

Better.

That's it for today, everyone.

Hey, Lieberman, what's this?

Oi!
What the hell are you wearing?

Something funny?
No, don't touch him.

Hey! Is this a ballet school
or a boxing ring?

Right, Sean, you can
explain to Mr Kennedy

why you think wedgies
are so hilarious.

The rest of you, out of here now.

Not so fast, Christian.

Lieberman, where's your dance belt?

I don't believe in them, sir.

Don't be ridiculous. It's uniform.
Every male dancer wears support.

I swear, I really don't own one.

I don't know how you got away
with that, but your rebellion is over.

I'm giving you a note
to miss study period.

You're going on a shopping trip.

Oh, and, Christian,
you're his wingman.

What?
What's this got to do with me?

Consider it character building.

You're Tara Webster, right?

Yeah, but you're in the company.
You're Damien Lang.

Yeah. Damo. Hi.

Look, I've been trying
to track you down

ever since we got
back from the tour.

Really?
Yeah. My mum's Shirley Lang.

She knows your mum from
the Country Women's Association.

Of course, Miss Shirley.

She adjudicates the eisteddfod.
She's terrifying. In... in a good way.

Now you know why I had
to talk to you when she asked me to.

My mum is gonna flip
when I tell her I met you.

We saw you dance
at the Easter show once.

When you got into the company there
was, like, a parade in your honour.

You're a legend.
Well, yeah. Only locally.

Well, it's been a pleasure.

I'll have to listen
to my mother more often.

That was Damien Lang.

Yeah. Damo.

Oh, sorry.

Do you work at being annoying
or does it just come naturally?

I didn't see you there.

That's not mine.
I don't eat chocolate.

Are you sure, because...
"Are you sure, because..."

What are you? Five?
Just leave me alone.

Need a hand?

There's one in every year.

You OK?

Yeah, I just have this skill
at making a fool of myself.

Look, you can't worry about what
people here think of you, alright?

We're from Mallee country. We're
supposed to be tough, remember?

Right. Real tough.
Yeah.

Here, hand it over.

Admit it, Christian. Dance belts
are hot and uncomfortable.

They stink, they look
stupid. I mean...

And they're unhygienic, so...

That's why you wash them.

You wash them?

Have you ever seen me
do my own washing, Christian?

No, I take it home to Mum.
I can't ask her to go there.

You know, what is happening to us
is a form of oppression

and I don't like it.

Do you reckon if I jumped
I'd make it to the shore alive?

I reckon it'd be bad for your health,
like a dance belt.

But seriously,
I've done the research.

Do you know what overheating
does to a man's sperm count?

OK. No. No.
No, seriously.

Listen. What about when
I want to have children, Christian?

If I wanted a wedgie,
I'd just ask Sean.

We're here. You're getting one.
I'm not getting one.

You are.
Hi.

You guys need some help?
No, we're just browsing.

No, he needs a dance belt.

What size do you want?

I don't actually want one.

I don't believe in their
validity or necessity.

I think you'll find

they're actually not that bad
once you get used to them.

What size do you think you are?

Um, what's your biggest?

What?

- They're based on jean sizes, so...
- Oh.

OK. 31.

OK.

Why don't you give this one a try?

Yeah, sure. Thanks.
You can have that one.

Thanks.

Hey. Oi!

What? What is this?

Step away from the pimple.

It's gonna pop all by itself
when I tell you what I heard.

Wow. Artistic.

OK, so two of the most
stuck-up girls in second year

just bombarded me with questions
about how you're dating Damien Lang.

Damo? No way.

Yes way. The entire school
is obsessing about it.

What did you tell them?

That I was not at liberty
to discuss your personal life.

I think they took that
as a definite yes.

Our mothers know each other.

But if people want to talk,
who am I to take that away from them?

It's not like I started the rumour.

And anyway, I could totally date
a company member, don't you think?

Oh, so proud right now.

So do you reckon Ethan's heard
about us? You know, Damo and me?

Less proud.

The doctor said
I'm well enough to dance,

but as a medical precaution
I should keep my crossover on,

just in case I'm coming down
with the flu.

I'm intrigued to see the note.

She didn't put that bit in writing
but she asked me to tell you.

The note.

I don't know
what's got into you, Abigail.

All that's written here
is that you present with symptoms

not inconsistent with a slight cold.

I suppose you can sit the class out.

But she said I'm OK to dance.

Then you will abide
by my uniform code.

Ladies who are prepared to dance?

Come on!

Remember
your épaulement.

Artistry.

And sustain to the end.

Thank you.

Tara, come to the front so I can
demonstrate something to the class.

Girls, let me draw your attention
to the hideous amount of make-up

Tara has decided
to inflict on herself.

I'd like to remind you
that while make-up is allowed,

it should be kept tasteful.

Miss Raine, I'm sorry
to disagree with you,

but I believe that I am old enough
now to decide what I put on my face,

and even though you
may not like it, I do.

Thank you for that opinion, Tara.

But this is my class and that
means no excessive make-up

and proper attire at all times.

Thank you.

- Is everything OK in there?
- Um, Christian?

Is he there? Christian,
can you come here a sec?

Christian?

Oh, what can possibly be so hard?
If you want me to demonstrate...

Nothing, nothing, it's fine.
It's surprisingly comfortable.

Then why are you taking so long?

I've been giving you two some time.

She's been checking you out.
Don't you think she's cute?

Excuse me? Hi. Hi, um...

Hayley.
Hayley. Hayley?

Can you come here a sec, please?

I take back everything
I said about dance belts.

Told you.
Yeah. I'm going to take five.

Can I also try some shorts
over the top of them?

Yeah, sure thing.
Yeah, great. Thanks.

Oh. Also, my pal Christian's
going to help you pick out some.

OK.
Thanks.

Go!

They're all just here, so...

Christian, I gave her to you on a
silver platter and you d*ed in there.

Oh, did I, now? Alright.
Hmm. Oh, what's that?

I don't believe it.
Alright, cool.

Hi, it's Hayley.

Pretty soon there's going
to be a little beep.

Be brave. Leave a message.
Yep.

Hayley, it's Christian.
Wait, wait.

Being brave.
Give me the phone.

Call me or whatever. 'Bye.
Give me the phone.

That was the worst
impression of me ever.

Right. It was too
articulate, wasn't it?

Tiara, mascara wand down.
We're gonna be late for breakfast.

- Get out!
- Whoa, banshee.

You have no right to barge
into people's rooms like that.

Happily leaving you
to your little psychodrama.

Leave me alone, Kat.

Come on.

I've known you since we were five

and you have never
walked out of class.

You're the last person
who would understand.

Alright. Then, for the sake of the
exercise, pretend I'm someone else.

You want to know what's wrong?
Tell me what you see.

A really boring leotard.

Like you haven't noticed.

Honestly, you look exactly the same.

What about these?

That's what you're stressing about?

Abigail, they don't
look any different.

Anyway, I have these.
I have bigger these, thankfully.

But I'm going to be a principal dancer,
and principals don't.

They just don't. They're ethereal.

- They're like...
- Who?

Tara?

They don't all have flat chests.

Take...

Take my mum, for example.

Natasha is a genetic freak.
She's one in a million.

Abby, you have spent years stepping
over everyone to get this far.

Are you really going to let
a little bit of this stop you?

You all want me to fail.

This must be the funniest thing
that's happened in years.

Alright.

Firstly, no matter
what you do, Abigail,

you are never going to be funny,

and secondly, the crossover,
you don't need it.

- Hey!
- Sorry.

Sorry.

Hey, Tara.

Is it true Damien Lang's going
to be doing 'Spartacus' next year?

I'm not really allowed to say,

but personally, I think it would be
a great career move for Damo.

Cool.

We need to talk,
Christian, about privacy.

If we're going to share a room,

we need to get either a lock or
some sort of colour-coded schedule.

Shut up.
OK.

Come here. Give me
your hand. Make a fist.

I don't want to fight you,
Christian.

"Oh, just a minute.
Come in, Christian."

Brilliant. Yes.

The rumour's reached the third-years.

Yeah, I know. I was
just speaking to Ethan.

Don't get any ideas.

OK, everyone find their partners.

Except you, Tara.
Mr Kennedy wants to see you.

I'd get a move on.

Alright, is everyone ready?

Come in.

Tara, I need to ask you
some questions.

Damien, give us the room, please.

No, he doesn't have to leave.
We need to talk privately.

A staff member has come to me
with a disturbing rumour,

one that every student in the school
seems to be discussing.

But it's not his fault. It's mine.

The reason we have a policy about
students dating company members

is to protect them both.

It's all made up.

Not by me, exactly,

but, see, our mothers know each other
and some girls saw us talking

and this rumour just
took on a life of its own,

and I probably could have...

I definitely could have said
something, but I guess I just...

I just thought...
You thought what?

I never meant it to get this far
or for anyone to get in trouble.

A story like this could
ruin Damien's career

and do yours a lot
of damage as well.

I'm extremely disappointed
in you, Tara.

Damien!

I can't talk to you
anymore, alright?

Just stay away from me.
Wait. Please.

Stop. Please? I explained
everything to them.

Alright. Well, explain it to ME.

It's stupid.

There's this guy and he's
in third year, and I thought...

I thought that if he knew
that someone older liked me,

that he might see me differently.

So I just watched my career
almost get wiped out

because of some stupid
schoolgirl crush?

I'm sorry.

You know, when we first talked,
I thought how great it was

that there was this kid
at the Academy that was real.

I was proud to come
from the same place as you.

You shouldn't be
in such a hurry to grow up.

I have this image
of myself where I'm, like, 25

and I'm walking towards
a theatre... in Paris.

I still look like me
but I know exactly who I am.

My inside finally matches my outside.

The only problem is
that's jumping to the end of the story.

Hey.

Hi.

You causing trouble again?

Some.

You know, you look better
without make-up.

Enough, Tara. You are SO done.

And you know what?

If I went straight
to that theatre in Paris,

I'd miss out on all this other stuff
I never could have predicted.