Off Pointe

by Lieberman, Leanne;

  When the music ends, I realize all I’ve done is developpé. Nio did say to do something we feared, and I used to fear them. That should be good enough.

  The younger girls dance first this time. They perform an intricate fighting routine. “It’s not really improv anymore,” one of them explains, “because we practiced it yesterday afternoon.”

  Nio beams with delight. “Awesome,” he says. “That’s exactly what I’m looking for.” Then he turns to me. “How about you, Meg?”

  “Well, I sort of did some ballet moves.”

  “No problem,” Nio says. “We can try to incorporate those into our dance.”

  I see Logan glowering as I stand in front of the others. I take a breath as the music starts and try to remember why I was scared of battement developpé. I was worried I would fall over if I got my leg too high. Maybe I could play that up. I stand on relevé as I bring my foot to my knee, steady at first, my leg coming up to the front, up to my shoulder. When I release the leg for the second developpé, out to the side, I start to tilt and only let my leg come up to my waist before toppling off-balance. I repeat the movements to the back, each time my leg getting lower, my tilt more dangerous. I try to make sure my face shows increasing fear.

  Nio claps when I sit back down. “That was interesting,” he says.

  “Except not all of us can do that,” I hear Logan grumble as she stands up to take her turn. She waits for the fast part of the music to come on and then begins a series of rapid-paced angular moves with her arms, first above her head and then by her sides, her hands flipping up and down and then hovering at her waist. I clench my fists as I watch her. I doubt I’ll be able to keep up.

  “Okay,” Nio says when she finishes. “I think we’re making some progress. Let’s teach each other some of our moves, and then we’ll choreograph them together.”

  We start with the younger girls’ fight dance, and although I think it would be perfect if I could dance with Logan, since we’re always fighting, Nio teams up with her and I work with one of the other girls. The moves aren’t difficult. We circle each other like panthers and throw pretend punches in alternating patterns. There’s a part where we touch each other’s shoulders and pretend to wilt to the ground, only to spring up suddenly and execute a bunch of little kicks. I can feel the group relax as we get the steps down.

  Then it’s Logan’s turn to teach. We stand in a row behind her and try to keep up. She goes too quickly, but I don’t want to be the one who asks her to slow down. I can see her watching me in the mirror as I struggle, one step behind the others. “It’s actually much faster than this with the music,” she says.

  When the others have mostly learned Logan’s dance, Nio says, “Great, I think we’re really moving forward. Meg, are you ready?”

  I step to the front and look at everyone. “So, it’s just three moves. Right foot comes to retiré.” I lift my foot to below my knee and then extend it in front in developpé. “Then it comes to retiré and out to the side, and then to the back.” I demonstrate. “Each time, we tilt more to the side and the leg gets lower.” I start out with a lower leg height so everyone can do the move.

  Everyone copies me, and no one says anything about the fear part being a bit weak. Then Logan says, “Are we sure we want some random ballet moves in our dance?”

  “Well, we don’t have to—” I start.

  “What if we did it with a flexed foot?” Nio suggests, and I smile gratefully. We try it again, with flexed feet this time, and it does look better.

  “Oh wait, I have an even better idea,” Logan says. “What if we really fall?” She does my move again, but this time her arms come up over her head and she falls into a push-up position. It’s the same windmill fall kids were practicing in class last week—the dangerous-looking move where it looks as if you’ll slam into the floor but you catch yourself at the last moment.

  Nio and the other girls try the move, and the way they’re doing it one after the other looks amazing. But I can’t do that fall—and from the triumphant glance Logan sends my way, I can tell she knows it.

  “That’s actually not what I had in mind,” I say. “My idea is about the fear of falling, not about actually falling.” My voice comes out snootier than I want it to.

  “Who cares?” Logan says. “Everyone knows falling is scary. In fact, I think it would be awesome if that was a repeating theme in the dance.”

  The other girls practice the fall again and again, winding their arms up from my graceful developpé into Logan’s brutal fall.

  Nio claps his hands. “I love it.”

  “Wait,” I say. “What if we did it this way?” Instead of falling to the floor, I wilt slowly, more gracefully, letting my arms float above me.

  The other girls try the move, and it looks spooky. I wrap my arms around myself, and Nio smiles.

  “I’m not sure what that has to do with fear either,” Logan says.

  “We could do both,” Nio suggests.

  Both Logan and I turn and glare at him. Then Logan says, “I have one other move from my improv I want to include.” She does a running leap into a shoulder roll. “How about that?” she says.

  Before I can stop myself, I say, “Are you going to add handsprings and aerials to the dance too?”

  “Why not?” Logan says. “We’ve got ballet in it.”

  I feel like stamping my foot. Instead, I say, “I wanted to include a jump too.” Then I run across the floor and leap into a switch split, one leg shooting forward and then back to create a scissor effect. I do another leap and then step into a handstand and complete Logan’s shoulder roll. It hurts to do without a mat, and I worry I’ve tweaked my neck, but I don’t care.

  Logan frowns at me and then turns to Nio, all innocence. “I was just suggesting a fall. I’m not sure why she’s getting all huffy.”

  “I’m not huffy,” I say. “I’m just not sure that fall is right for our dance.”

  “Why don’t you just try it?” Logan says.

  “I will,” I say. “When I get back from the bathroom.” I turn and leave the studio. Once outside, I’ve got too much nervous energy to go hide in the bathroom. Instead, I circle the building. I could try the fall, but not in front of everyone. I stop. I don’t have to do this. I could just not be in this stupid group. My shoulders relax at the thought. “I don’t have to dance in that group,” I say out loud, and I feel even better.

  I wait outside the studio for Nio to come out. He stops when he sees me. “I wish you hadn’t left. We made so much progress at the end of class. We’re really working well together now.”

  “That’s probably because I wasn’t there,” I say.

  “No, that’s not it at all.”

  We start walking to the dining hall. “Well, I think it is,” I say. “In fact, I don’t think I should be in the group.”

  Nio stops. “But we need you.”

  “You really don’t. You’ve got Logan,” I say, and then I walk away.

  Fourteen

  That evening, instead of eating in the dining hall, we have a cookout in the outer field of the camp. It’s hotter in the straw-like grass away from the water and also more buggy. The heat makes the air appear to move in waves.

  The counselors have set up four stations: softball, line dancing, archery and a dinner station of hotdogs and corn. I slap at mosquitoes and force myself to participate. I strike out in baseball and hide in the outfield when my team is at bat. I go through the motions of line dancing, even though it seems stupider than any other dance I’ve done. During archery I attempt to shoot arrows at the hay bale. I can’t hit the target, but I’m no worse than anyone else.

  As the sun starts to set, we all climb a small hill overlooking the lake and sit around a bonfire. One of the counselors plays guitar as the sun sets into the lake, turning the water pink and orange.

  Just as I’m starting to relax, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn, and there’s Nio. “Can you come with me for a second?” he asks.
r />   I follow him down the hill. “What’s up?” I say.

  Nio walks until we’re out of sight of the other campers. Then he stops and turns to me. “We’re having a dance rehearsal,” he says. “Right now.”

  “But I’m not in your group anymore.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Nio rubs his forehead. “Look, our dance sucks because of you and Logan fighting. And I chose you two because I think you’re two of the best dancers and I wanted you to be in my group.” He pauses for a minute and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “I wanted our dance to be about something real, something important. I know you’ve never danced your real fears in class. I haven’t either, so I want to do it for you now.”

  “Here?”

  He nods.

  I rub my temples. “What if I don’t want to see it?”

  “I thought maybe if I danced mine, then you would dance yours.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” I say.

  Nio stretches his arms over his head and then lets them fall to his sides. “Meg, at school there are kids who want to beat the crap out of me every day because I dance. And I can’t talk to anyone about it at home. But here I can. And I can dance it. I wanted to plan a dance around that fear, but I couldn’t imagine talking about it in front of the entire class, so I thought we could choreograph it together. So please, do me a favor and watch my dance before I go home and have to pretend to have a girlfriend, okay?”

  I suck in my lips. We stand looking at each other for a moment and then I say, “Okay.”

  Nio backs away from me and I sit down in the long, scratchy grass. The sound of campers singing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” wafts down the hill. Then Nio starts to move slowly, as if he can hear a song in his head. He starts to waltz in a circle in the grass, pretending to hold a partner the way he held me the other night. Heat climbs up my face as Nio moves his imaginary partner through different ballroom steps. The expression on his face is so soft, it’s embarrassing to watch.

  Then his dance becomes faster and more aggressive, and although he’s still dancing with a pretend partner, he’s also fighting that person. He looks confused. I want to look away, but I also want to keep watching. I sigh with relief when he stops dancing, when he whirls away from the confusion. He stands before me, sweating and panting. Then he stumbles away to swig from his water bottle and lies down, half-hidden in the grass.

  For a moment neither of us says anything. I’ve never thought of dance being that personal.

  Then Nio rolls over and looks at me. “Your turn,” he says.

  “I’m not like you. I don’t have those kinds of fears,” I whisper. I try to imagine Nio standing up in front of the contemporary dancers and describing his dance. I can see how hard that would be.

  Nio drinks more water. “What about being scared of trying new things?”

  I get up from the ground. “I can’t believe you would say that. I’ve done nothing but try new things all week. And if I can do this camp, this class, then I have nothing to fear.” My voice gets louder. “Everything else in my life is only hard work. And if I work hard, I can do it.” If only I really believed that.

  “What about being scared of that fall Logan wanted to put in the dance?”

  I ignore him. “You want to see my dance? It’s called I Have No Fear.” Then I back away from him, and with two small running steps I leap into a grand jeté. When I land, I step into an arabesque and then twist into a series of turns. Nio’s frowning face spins by. I end with my arms lifted above my head, my head tipped back. Then I curtsy.

  Nio doesn’t clap. He crosses his arms against his chest, frowning. “What if you don’t make it?”

  “What?” My arms wilt at my sides. I can’t help it.

  “I said, what if you don’t make it?”

  “Have you been talking to Logan?” I can’t help sneering as I say her name. I lift my arms and prepare for another turn, but Nio’s “what if you don’t make it” echoes in my head, and I wobble out of the turn, almost tumbling.

  “I know you were scared to do the move Logan suggested this morning. And I think if you use that fear, you’ll be an even more amazing dancer.” Nio pauses. “Show me your real fear dance.”

  I stand, my arms again wilted at my sides. Nio’s right. This is the emotion Mrs. G wants me to make an audience feel. And this is the time to show it—here, in this field, with only Nio watching.

  Slowly I walk toward the space where Nio danced, where he trampled down the grass with his confused waltz. I tuck myself into a ball with my arms overhead and try to pretend Nio isn’t here, try to think how to move. I remember Mom reading me Mrs. G’s email, and I feel the fear that gripped my heart. I let that feeling spread throughout my body until my feet start to tap under me, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until I feel like the fear is going to explode out of me.

  Then I step to the side, my arms spreading wide as if to throw the fear away. I tuck myself back into a ball, hiding my head again, my feet still tapping. I repeat the steps, warming up, and then I start the developpé. My left leg comes up high to the side; then I tip off-center. I don’t bother with either of the fall moves Logan and I came up with. Instead, I contract my stomach muscles as if I’ve been punched in the gut, then crumple to the ground. Yes, I think. This is how fear feels.

  And then something changes in me. I’m not just dancing steps through the high grass; I’m dancing the feeling in my head, in my heart. I start doing Logan’s dance, the quick hand movements—then I interrupt it with the crumpling fall I just came up with, my arms reaching in front of me. I pick myself up and continue Logan’s dance until I think about how it would feel not to be a ballerina. Again I drop to the ground as a surge of fear rushes through me. I don’t have to pretend to show it on my face because it’s already there.

  My fear isn’t going to go away—but maybe I can let it help me. Like Nio, I can use it to connect with my audience. I can make him feel my emotion, the way he did with me in his dance. I dance until I’m exhausted, until my knees feel bruised from falling. When I finally run out of energy, I collapse once more, slowly this time, and lie in the grass, listening to my heart race.

  A moment passes. Nio calls “Meg?” from out in the shadows.

  I lift one arm above the grass, and Nio crawls toward me. It’s almost too dark to see each other, but Nio holds out one hand and pulls me up to sitting. “That was crazy,” he says. “You have to do that for our group.”

  “Okay,” I say, still breathing hard.

  “And,” Nio says, “you have to talk to Logan.”

  I hesitate. “She won’t want to.”

  “Tell her you’re doing it for me.”

  I nod my head. “Okay.”

  Fifteen

  By the time Nio and I join the others, the campfire is winding down and the counselors are starting to gather their campers to walk back to the cabins. I want to talk to Logan right away, to get it over with, but also to show her the new fall move I’ve come up with while I’m still excited. I slip in and around campers, looking for her, and then I spot her walking through the field with some other girls from our cabin. “Hey,” I say. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “That’s odd. Usually you avoid me.” She keeps walking.

  “Wait,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s about our group.”

  “I heard you’re not even in it anymore.”

  “No, I am. I talked with Nio. Actually, I danced for him.”

  “Great.” Logan licks her lips. “Just make up your mind. You’re in, you’re out.”

  “I’m in.”

  “That’s too bad. We made a lot more progress after you left.”

  “Well, I’m in the group. I have to be. And I came up with this other fall move I want to do, and…” I hesitate. “I was wondering if you’ll teach me your fall, the one into the push-up position.”

  She looks at me carefully. “Why would
I do that?”

  “Because I can do all the other moves except that one.”

  Logan stops walking and puts her hands on her hips. “So if I don’t teach it to you, then you can’t be in the group?”

  I take a deep breath. “No. I could get Nio or one of the other girls to teach me.”

  “So don’t bother me.” Logan starts walking faster to catch up with the other girls. I jog to keep up with her.

  “Look.” I grab her arm. “I’m not here to steal Nio or take anything from you. I just came to learn some new things. And I’ve got this whole routine I made up from our moves, and it’s all based on your idea, about falling, and I want to stop fighting with you, but I need your help. And I thought if I asked you to teach me the fall, then you wouldn’t hate me so much.”

  Logan stops. We’re on the edge of the field, near the cabins. The other girls are all ahead of us. The only light is from the dance hall ahead, the porch lights swarming with insects. “I don’t hate you. I just think you’re really annoying.”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, that’s too bad, but if you want our dance to be good, you’ll have to put up with me.”

  “Yeah, forget it.” She turns to walk away, but I grab her arm.

  “Look, this is Nio’s dance, the dance that expresses all the things…all the things he can’t say at home. Are you going to be the one who ruins it for him?”

  Logan’s scrunched-up brow and clenched teeth release. “Fine, I’ll do it for Nio, but don’t think I’m doing it just to help you.” She steps away from me to show me the move. “You just lift your arms on one side and bring them over your head, and then you fall slowly and catch yourself.” She demonstrates, making it look easy.

  I step away to try it. My arms come over my head and I start falling, but I can’t let go. I jut my leg forward at the last minute, breaking the line of my body. I try again, gritting my teeth, but I can’t do it. I expect Logan to sneer, but she looks sympathetic. “It would be easier in water,” she says. “You could try it tomorrow afternoon.”