The evening is warm, with a breeze coming off the lake. The clear night sky sparkles with stars. Everyone else must have known there’d be a dance, because they’ve brought short skirts and high-heeled sandals. I try not to stare at the other girls dusting their cleavage with sparkles and pulling tight miniskirts over their hips. I only have a cheap navy sundress my mom threw in at the last minute. It hangs from my thin shoulders like I’m a clothesline. I think about the cream-colored Jean Paul Gaultier dress that I rarely have a chance to wear. It’s a one-shoulder dress draped in layers of ruffles. It would have been perfect tonight with the Jimmy Choos my aunt sent me for my birthday.
In the hall, streamers hang from the rafters and crepe-paper flowers decorate the walls. A disco ball sheds patches of silvery light around the darkened room, and the girls bounce to the pulsating beat of Beyoncé. I stand awkwardly at the side, watching Logan, Jodie and Cassidy swivel their hips as if they’re in a music video. I’ve started moving toward the back of the room, heading for the balcony, when Nio bounds through the door. “You look like you’re leaving, but we haven’t danced yet,” he says.
I look at the way the other girls are moving. I can’t imagine dancing with Nio like that.
He takes my hand and puts it on his shoulder, making me so nervous I bite the inside of my cheeks. “I went to the ballroom-dance session this afternoon, and I learned some new moves. Shall we?” Without waiting for my response, he takes my other hand. A line of nervous shivers runs down my back, even though I know Nio isn’t interested in girls. I’ve done ballet with boys before—I learned the “Peasant” pas de deux from Giselle—but I’ve never actually had a boy ask me to dance. Not outside a studio. Not just because he wants to.
Nio starts guiding me in a circle. “Did you know this is the fox-trot?”
“I didn’t.” I will myself not to step on his feet. He’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt and dark pants, and his hair is slicked back. He spins me out of his arms, then whips me back in and dips me. We laugh, and then he does it again. I hope Logan sees the whole thing.
“You learned a lot today,” I say, grinning.
“Actually,” Nio says, dancing us out the back door to the balcony, “my mom has been teaching me ballroom for years.”
“Is she a good dancer?”
“Yeah, she used to dance a lot before she had me.”
“So she’s cool with you dancing and all?”
“Yeah, she’s cool. She gets it.”
I nod. “And your dad?”
Nio shrugs. “He is now.”
The balcony is empty and dark except for the light of the stars. Nio spins me once around the perimeter and then we stand looking down at the lake. I think we’re alone until I hear a voice behind me.
“So here you two are,” Logan says. It sounds like an accusation. She’s wearing a tight pink dress with rhinestones around the low neckline, matching pink sandals and thick-winged eyeliner. Her hair has some electric blue streaks in the front. She looks amazing, like she should be on a runway.
“We were checking out the lake,” Nio says. “I’m glad you’re here too, because I want to talk to both of you.”
Logan narrows her eyes. “Talk to us about what?”
“I’ve decided it would be great for Meg to be in our final performance group.”
Logan arches one eyebrow. “Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but you can’t be serious.”
I pull myself up taller. “Don’t worry about it,” I say to Logan. “I don’t want to be in your group anyway.”
Nio grabs my hand. “No, I saw the way you danced yesterday. You’re one of the best dancers at camp. We need you.”
I soften, even though Logan is glowering at me.
“But we haven’t done the choreography yet,” Logan says to Nio. She turns to me. “It’s not going to have any ballet, so you won’t want to be in it.”
Nio says to Logan, “You did such a good job fixing up Meg’s solo that I thought it would be great if you worked together again.”
Logan frowns. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“Oh c’mon.” Nio tugs on Logan’s hand. “It’ll be interesting. What, you’re not jealous, are you?”
Logan rolls her eyes. I can see how jealous she is, and it makes me really want to be in the group, if only to show her what I can do. Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’ll do it.”
“You will?” Nio says.
“Yes.”
“Great.” Nio raises his hand for a high five, and I slap it. Then he squishes both Logan and me toward him, accidentally banging our heads together. I can smell Logan’s hair product. “Oops!” Nio cries out. Then he leaps away from us to go dance with Jodie and Cassidy.
Logan and I stand staring at each other. “You don’t even know what his dance is about, do you?” she says.
“What do you mean about?”
“It’s contemporary dance, so there’s a concept.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sure whatever he’s planned will be interesting.”
Logan nods. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to do all the moves.”
A niggle of doubt starts to form in my mind. I try not to let it show. “Well, ballet does give you a strong foundation. I’ll try my best.” I can’t help enjoying my snarky tone.
Logan leans against the balcony railing. “So, tell me what’s so great about ballet.”
I shrug. “Everything. I love the costumes and the music and the dancing.”
“And you’re going to be a ballerina?”
I hug my arms around myself and smile, my fingers crossed under my arms so Logan can’t see. “Yes,” I say.
She juts out a hip, her arms crossed against her chest. “What if you don’t make it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if you don’t get the parts? Or you get injured?”
“That’s not going to happen.” I hear my voice becoming defensive.
“But it might.”
I don’t say anything.
“Look, I’m not trying to be mean,” Logan says, even though I can clearly hear the cruelty in her voice, “but not everyone makes it. What if there are girls better than you—you know, someone with your technique but who also has fantastic stage presence?”
“I will make it,” I say quietly, even though Logan’s words make my stomach ache. “If I had my toe shoes here, I’d show you how I can dance.”
Logan raises her eyebrows. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Then she turns and struts back into the hall. I see her join some of the girls from our cabin under the disco ball. She shoots me one last look, tossing her head before she begins twirling with her arms over her head.
Eleven
Nio waves at me when I enter the dining hall for breakfast, but since he’s sitting with Logan, I head for the other end of the table. I eat alone and then warm up at the back of the contemporary studio by myself. Contemporary doesn’t seem as weird anymore; it’s just something I have to get through. Only five more days of this, and I can go home. Home to my own bed and my own room. Home to Julia.
I started writing a long letter to Julia last night after I left the dance. It was all about how great ballet is going to be this year and which dance companies we should audition for in a few years. I started crying as I wrote because I really wanted to tell her how worried I am about not making it and how my life feels like a vast hole without ballet. Everyone at home is probably improving while I’m wasting my time at stupid Camp Dance.
I follow Tara through the warm-up, stretching, contracting and releasing. I can’t be bothered to hold back, and I kick my leg as high as it can go, ignoring the other dancers’ attention. I catch Logan’s annoyed look and make sure to put as much passion into my kicks as I can. I could compose a whole dance fueled by Logan’s sneers.
After the warm-up Tara gathers everyone at the front of the studio. “As I said, you are going to be the choreographers this week. Over the weekend, dancers who wan
ted to choreograph presented their ideas and music to me. Today, the five choreographers will present their dance concepts to you. Then you’ll write down your first three choices, and I’ll make the groups. Each group can have three to seven dancers, so there will be a space for everyone. Okay?”
I pull my knees up to my chest. I should have asked Nio what his dance was about before agreeing to be in his group.
Tara nods to one of the oldest girls. “Olivia, why don’t you start?”
Olivia stands in front of the group and tucks a loose strand of hair into her ponytail. She cracks her toes against the floor before she begins. “My dance is called Beware, and it’s about eating disorders. It starts with a group of dancers moving together, and then one girl breaks off and starts dancing by herself. It’s kind of a lonely dance, very proud, like she’s a swan among ugly ducklings. Her dance is really alluring, and she slowly leads one girl after another toward her. Eventually, almost all the girls are drawn into the eating-disorder dance, except for one. This girl dances a solo, a happy, kind of independent dance, and manages to draw the girls back to her.”
Olivia moves to the stereo and plays the Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.” The upbeat song seems at odds with her story. I cock my head to the side. Maybe the difference between the two will make it interesting.
I listen intently as the other dancers move to the front of the room and describe their dance concepts. Not all of them are as detailed as the first. The youngest girl’s dance is a day at an amusement park, including a section on a roller coaster and another in a house of horrors. She demonstrates some of the moves for the different rides, and everyone laughs. Another girl describes a complicated love triangle set to classical music. Then Nio gets up to present his idea.
“My dance is about fear, and learning to conquer it,” he says. “And trying new things. It’s about facing your fears.”
A dance about fear? I feel my face heat up. Is this why Nio wanted me in the group? I look carefully at him, but his face doesn’t show anything other than genuine enthusiasm for his dance. I shift on the floor. A dance about fear might be the best choice for me, but it also feels the most dangerous.
Nio says, “I haven’t started any choreography because I want it to be a group effort. I’m planning on doing some improv exercises to start.” I groan—more improv?—and Nio goes on. “I’m looking for dancers interested in working together. I’ve chosen some music already.” He pushes Play on the stereo, and the pulsating sound of drums pounds into the room so loudly that it makes me want to leave. The music plays on forever. I want to hide my head under my arms.
I don’t have to be in Nio’s group. I could write down the name of Olivia’s dance on the paper Tara has passed me. I know enough dancers who have suffered from eating disorders. But I know what Mrs. G wants from me. That’s why I’m here—to become more expressive. To learn how to make the audience feel something.
And I want to show Logan what I can do. I take the paper that Tara hands to me, and I write down fear.
Twelve
Tara figures out the groups while one of the older girls leads the across-the-floor section of the class. As soon as Tara has the results, she tapes them to the mirror. Dancers crowd around the paper and then scatter into groups across the room. I don’t even bother looking at the lists. Instead, I slowly join Nio in the far corner. He’s sitting on the floor with Logan, in front of a sheet of paper and some markers. I avoid looking at Logan at all, and she focuses on the other three dancers in the group. They are all serious-looking and slightly younger girls.
“So,” Nio begins, “first we’re going to start with a list of things that scare us. Then we’ll do some improv around that. Uh, well, I guess I’ll start.” He uncaps a pen. “I’m terrified of spiders.” The other girls laugh and then join in with their own fears. One girl is scared of the dark; another fears public speaking. Everyone laughs when Logan says she fears sex-ed class. I sit listening, flexing and pointing my toes in front of me.
“How about you, Meg?” Nio asks.
“Oh, I’m absolutely terrified of heights,” I lie. “Um, especially on roller coasters.”
Logan looks up at me, one eyebrow raised.
“We could also put down waterskiing,” Nio says.
I glare at him and cross my arms tightly across my body. Some people don’t know when to give up. “I’m not scared of waterskiing, just not interested.” I try my best to sound bored with the whole exercise. Around us, the other dancers are already running through their routines.
After a few minutes of brainstorming, Nio stands up. “Let’s try some improv exercises around some of our fears now. I’ll go first, and Logan promised she’d join me.”
The other dancers look relieved, and I feel a little better.
“Are we going to start with spiders?” Logan asks.
Nio shrugs. “Sure.” He chooses some music and starts moving to a rap song. I watch as Logan pretends to battle an enormous spider, chopping with her fists and kicking it karate-style. Nio does a little two-step, edging his way around a scurrying spider.
When it’s my turn, I stand up reluctantly. I’m not really scared of spiders, but I’m not fond of them either. I can pretend, right? Nio chooses a moody-sounding blues song. I start backing away from an imaginary spider and brushing my hands down my thighs. I repeat the movement and add a head-twisting motion as if brushing spiders out of my hair.
I’m almost disappointed when Nio turns down the music. Okay. I tap my fingers on the floor. Let’s start the choreography. I can suggest the two moves I made up in my improv.
But no, Nio isn’t done. “This time,” he continues, “we’re going to dance in pairs. You’re going to pretend your partner is whatever you fear most. Your partner will be dancing with you, but also reacting to you.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes and turns on the drum music he played earlier. “We’ll try it as a group and then we’ll present to each other,” he says.
Nio chooses to work with one of the other girls. The other two younger dancers pair off, and I find myself staring at Logan.
“I guess we’re going to dance together,” I say.
“Great,” Logan says sarcastically.
The drums start pounding, and I’m not sure how to move. I said I was scared of heights, so I pretend to be up on a building, walking along the edge of it, teetering, and then flattening myself against a wall. And Logan is supposed to represent that fear? She’s a building? Hmm, tricky. I start stepping away from Logan as if she’s dangerous. Meanwhile, Logan appears to be pretending I’m a spider and is backing away from me. We’re getting farther and farther away from each other, until I’m almost in another group’s space. When Nio turns off the music, Logan is flat against the wall. I cringe, thinking about having to repeat this dance for the others.
Nio and his partner perform first. Nio’s dance is small and intricate, with fear seeming to radiate from within him. The two other girls fight a mock battle, their eyes shooting daggers of hate at each other. It’s fascinating to watch. Maybe Nio will choreograph something similar for the group, something charged with energy.
When Logan and I stand up to dance, energy seems to fizzle from the room. Logan focuses on her own moves, not even looking at me. I find myself backing farther away. I turn some purposefully teetering pirouettes and then struggle to go on. I add the headshaking movement I came up with earlier and keep repeating it until the music ends. I don’t dare look at anyone as I sit back down.
The lunch bell rings soon after we finish. When the other dancers start filing out of the studio, Nio grabs Logan and me by the arms. “Not so fast,” he says. He waits until the room is empty. “What was that about?”
“What?” I say.
“Your dance.”
I blink. “It was my dance of fear.”
“And you?” Nio turns to Logan.
“I was dancing,” she protests.
“Pathetic!” Nio yells, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. �
��What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing,” Logan says.
“Yeah right.” Nio puts his hands on his hips. When I don’t say anything, he says, “Well?”
“Nothing,” I repeat. “Are we going to start choreography tomorrow?”
Nio frowns. “I’m not sure.”
“The other groups are getting way ahead of us,” Logan says, and I nod.
At least we agree on this.
Thirteen
It rains that afternoon, so instead of boating and swimming, we get a choice of dance classes—a hip-hop class on popping, as well as sessions on lyrical jazz, swing and tango. In the evening we watch Dirty Dancing. I’ve already seen it, and my mind keeps wandering back to our unstarted choreography. I caught a glimpse of Olivia’s group today. They’ve learned at least half of their dance already, and it looks great.
The next morning we’re back in the studio in our same corner. “So,” Nio says, all smiles. “Today we turn yesterday’s improv into choreography. To help refresh our memories, I thought we’d do one more exercise, this time to the music.” He nods at us all enthusiastically, as if yesterday’s session was a huge success. “And instead of thinking about a specific fear, we’ll dance a more general feeling of fear, okay?”
Despite his smiles, Nio doesn’t sound as confident as he did yesterday. Still, everyone nods, and when he starts the music we all find a spot to dance.
The drums start to pound, and I try to ignore the other dancers around me. I’m not sure how to start. I do a few small jumps to the music to warm up, leaping in first position. I used to think battement developpé was scary, because you might tip over. And before I know it, I’m doing developpé in time to the music, my right foot sliding up my left leg to the knee and then straightening out in front, then to the side and finally into arabesque in the back. It feels good, familiar, but also different to be doing it to the drum music.
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