The rest of the day sped by, and all too soon it was time for gym class. I’m morally against competitive sports. When I told our gym teacher, Mrs Harris, about my stance two years ago, she said she didn’t understand how jump rope could be considered competitive and dismissed my case. Therefore, I’d been overjoyed when I’d looked at my timetable this morning and discovered that for PE this term we would be taking dance classes.
As Jelena and I (poor Cass had been scheduled for cricket) headed for the performance room where our first dance class was to be held, my heart felt so light I could have floated away. I pictured myself waltzing around the room with a dashing partner. He was just telling me how divinely I danced when reality cut in. The other members of our class had stopped at the doorway of the performance room and were peering in with wide eyes. Curious, I did the same.
A woman with the longest brown ringlets I’d ever seen, wearing a wispy white dress, was standing in the centre of the room, her arms raised in a dramatic arc. The scent of sandalwood floated through the air, along with the soft strains of flute and harp coming from the speaker system.
‘You may enter,’ she said.
Everyone looked at each other dumbly. Was this even the dance class?
‘Anyone who is late will receive a mark against their name.’
Okay, she was obviously a teacher. We all filed in cautiously.
‘Welcome,’ the woman said in a soft voice. ‘My name is Dana DeForest.’
‘Is that your real name?’ Jeffrey Clark asked, curiosity obviously getting the better of him.
‘No, it is my soul name, one that resonates more strongly than the name I was given by my parents, Mr …?’
‘Oceanus,’ Jeffrey said.
Everyone snickered.
‘You are here to expand your consciousness,’ Ms DeForest continued, unperturbed, ‘through interpretive dance. I am here, as your teacher, to lead you along the path to enlightenment.’
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be led along Ms DeForest’s path. It looked like one trodden by people who spent a lot of money on incense.
‘I would like you all to lie on the floor and close your eyes,’ Ms DeForest said.
‘On the floor?’ Amber Jenkins looked horrified. ‘There’s dust everywhere!’
We all looked at the floor doubtfully.
‘Your mind creates your reality,’ Ms DeForest said.
Something in her eyes stopped everyone from protesting further. This was all too much like The Matrix for me. Next, she’d be telling us to take the red pill and head down the rabbit hole. However, I lay down on the floor gingerly, Jelena taking the spot next to me.
‘Everyone focus on breathing deeply — filling your body with illuminating white light, letting it spread through all seven chakras.’
‘What’s a chakra?’ Amber whispered.
Anna, her best friend, shrugged.
Ms DeForest frowned. ‘Please pay attention if you want to avoid psychic surgery later in life.’
Psychic surgery?
‘Psychic surgery, for everyone who doesn’t know, is when a psychic surgeon runs his hands over your body and pulls out anything blocking your energy,’ Ms DeForest explained.
‘I bet he also pulls out your credit card and charges a hell of a lot for it,’ Jelena muttered.
I smothered a laugh. Several titters came from elsewhere in the room.
‘Calm your turbulent feelings, class,’ murmured Ms DeForest as the flute reached a crescendo on the New Age CD.
Amber brushed dust from her white T-shirt. ‘It’s hard to be calm when all-consuming rage is bubbling up at how uncomfortable I am.’
‘All suffering is the result of greed, hatred and spiritual ignorance,’ Ms DeForest said.
Spiritual ignorance. Was that why I was now lying on the floor in an interpretive dance class, right at the bottom of the Wheel of Karma? I didn’t follow a religion, so was God throwing a random one at me now? I was obviously going to have to research my religious options and undergo some sort of spiritual awakening. I made a mental note to do that at home tonight.
Ms DeForest droned on. ‘The function of suffering is to further our spiritual growth.’
‘So there is some purpose to this class then?’ Jeffrey piped up. ‘Hallelujah!’
Ms DeForest stopped the CD and clapped her hands. ‘Everyone! Get up! Young man — wake up this very minute!’
Travis Ela had obviously found the CD too soothing.
‘Everyone into a circle. I want you all to loosen up from the waist down. Pretend you have an oversized backside and you’re shaking it around.’
What?
I wasn’t the only one standing with my mouth open in shock.
‘Do I have to remind you, class, that participation in these exercises makes up forty per cent of your mark?’
Everyone got moving. With all the gyrating, the room looked like an MTV music video. Next thing you knew, we’d be wearing hotpants. I jiggled half-heartedly to the tribal music before deciding that I’d had it. It was time to put a stop to this.
‘Why are you pausing, Miss …?’ Ms DeForest stood in front of me, displeased.
‘Aurora Skye.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘I’m pausing because I think this is a derogatory exercise for women. I don’t want everyone looking at my butt. I want them to listen to what I have to say as a person!’
Ms DeForest’s response was cool. ‘Ms Skye, you’ve got to let go of your attitude that everyone is focusing on you. Everyone is concentrating on the exercise. No-one is looking at your butt!’
‘Actually, I was looking,’ Jeffrey said.
‘Yeah, I was too,’ Jesse Cook added.
A few other male voices joined in with further confirmation.
‘Sorry to say, Miss, but as red-blooded men we were studying all the girls’ butts,’ Travis said.
The female element of the class let out a collective shriek and clamped their hands over their backsides.
‘Enough!’ A vein was throbbing in Ms DeForest’s forehead. My guess was that she was going to need a lengthy meditation session to get over this class. ‘Next exercise! I want you to use your bodies to demonstrate emotions. Joy!’
Everyone ran about as if they were skipping through buttercup meadows.
‘Fear!’
We all dropped to our knees, covering our heads like a nuclear bomb was about to drop.
‘Lust!’
Jeffrey grabbed his crotch in a Michael Jackson-style move.
‘Keep it clean!’ Ms DeForest screamed. All signs of her formally peaceful demeanour had vanished.
‘It’s lust!’ Jeffrey said in a hurt voice. ‘How can you keep that clean?’
‘Rejoice in it, people! Feel the air vibrating with emotional intensity!’ Ms DeForest called out.
The air of emotional intensity was broken by the sound of the bell. Thank god.
‘Now, I don’t have you again till next Friday,’ Ms DeForest announced over the stream of students stampeding out the door like prisoners being released from Alcatraz. ‘During that time, I would like you to remember a traumatic experience from your past and create a two-minute dance using this memory. You will perform this for the class next week.’
‘Was that ever one heck of a class!’ Jelena blurted as soon as we were out of earshot. Her hair was mussed up at the back from lying on the floor. ‘I don’t think this school is ready for Ms DeForest’s revolutionary methods.’