by Kari Jones
“It makes sense,” Eve goes on as we enter the lobby and she pulls her hoodie and shoes out of the cupboard. “I mean, of course Dana wants more girls than she needs, so she can choose the best ones. It’s how any professional dance group works.” She zips up her hoodie and slips on her shoes.
The lightness I felt at the end of class disappears, and my boots feel like they’re made of concrete as I shuffle down the stairs behind Eve and out of the building to the bus stop. For the whole ride home, all I can think about is what a dolt I’ve been. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it.
Nine
I toss and turn all night, dreaming I’m in dance class and that at every beat of the music Dana stops me to correct my posture or movement. Each time, I’m sure I’m standing or moving properly, but when I look down, I’m all wrong, and I have two left feet, and I’m dressed like a construction worker with overalls and tools hanging from my pockets. It makes the night seem to last forever, and in the morning I have to drag myself out of bed, and I miss the first bus again. When I slide into the seat next to Angela in English, she says, “Ouch. What happened to you?”
“I have so much to tell you,” I say.
“Me too,” she says.
It’s hard to pay attention in class because I’m so tired, and twice Angela nudges me awake. I try to talk to her at lunch, but Nini and Sarit don’t get the hint that we want to be alone, and they chat at us for the whole hour. Angela keeps looking at me funny across the picnic table, which must be because I keep nodding off, and by the time school is out, all I want to do is head home for a nap. Thank goodness there’s no dance class tonight.
Angela has to talk to Mrs. O’Connor about her To Kill a Mockingbird essay, so I head to the study lounge to wait for her. I haven’t even started my essay. I guess now’s a good time, but my eyes are so blurry that even though I stare at the page until Angela comes to find me, I have no idea what the instructions say.
“So,” I say once we’re settled on the bus. “It turns out Dana is only going to have ten girls on the stage, not twelve, so all this time, she’s been auditioning me. I can hardly believe it! There I was, being so proud that she was paying all that attention to me when all along she was checking me out. Every time she corrected my footwork I’d think, She’s paying attention to me to make me perfect, but actually she was noticing how sloppy my footwork was.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Lila. I’m sure she was trying to make you perfect.”
“You think? You don’t think she was looking for how terrible a dancer I am?”
“Of course not! I heard Dana say she approved of you as Amala’s choice to go dance with her. I know she thinks you’re a great dancer. She wouldn’t have you there if she didn’t, would she? I mean, she’s trying to put together the best-possible troupe for the festival, so even if she is only taking ten of the twelve girls, those twelve girls have to be the best around.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I say. Angela’s long hair falls into my shoulder, and I wrap my fingers in its silky smoothness. “It’s so amazing, Angela, dancing with someone who’s so thorough. I mean, sometimes it makes me panicky, like last night, but mostly, I admire her and the girls who dance with her so much. I don’t know if I’m good enough, you know?”
“Of course you are,” Angela says.
“I really hope I’m chosen. I mean, I should be, right? There are other girls in the class who aren’t as good, who don’t know the dance as well as I do even though they’ve been there longer. So I should be able to dance in the festival, don’t you think?” I say.
“Of course,” Angela says, but she pulls her hair away from me and slides over so we aren’t touching.
“What?” I say.
She doesn’t answer.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
She still doesn’t answer.
“There is something wrong. What is it?” I ask.
Angela slides even farther down the seat and says, “You’ve spent the whole bus ride complaining about your issues, and you haven’t even asked me how my date with Jonas went.”
“I’m so sorry, Angela! I totally forgot! How’d it go?”
“You can’t just ask me now and make it okay. There are things I need to talk to you about, and you’ve been so caught up with your dancing you haven’t even noticed,” she says, and without warning, she stands up as the bus pulls into a stop and rushes out the door.
“Angela,” I call, but she’s gone. She marches down the street without once glancing up at the bus. For the rest of the ride home, my heart races, and I have to wipe tears from my eyes.
By the time we reach my stop and I get off the bus, all I can think about is figuring out what’s going on with Angela. Her house is on the way to mine, so when I get there, I plunk myself down on her step to wait for her.
“I’m sorry,” I say again when she comes up the driveway.
She hesitates, like she might turn around again, but instead she sits next to me on the step and puts her head in her hands.
“How was the date?” I ask.
“Wonderful,” she says without raising her head.
“So…I don’t get it. Why are you sitting with your head in your hands?”
“He wants to go out with me again,” Angela says.
“But that’s good, isn’t it?”
Angela sits up and stretches. “Yeah, for sure. But the problem is Nini. She keeps going on about how much she’s in love with him, and the truth is, he doesn’t really like her—not like that. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and I don’t want to lie to her, so I keep avoiding her, and now she thinks I’m mad at her because I won’t talk to her. I don’t know what to do.” She drops her head into her hands again. “Nini’s practically my best friend except for you. I can’t keep lying to her,” she says.
“What do you mean lying?” I ask.
“She asked me why I missed dance the other day, and I made up some excuse about helping my mom, which I totally think she didn’t believe, because my mom knows I have dance on Wednesdays. And now I’m going to have to lie to her again.”
“Why?”
“We’re going skating this Wednesday. Nini’s going to ask again.”
“Wait! You’re going to miss another dance class? Can’t you go another night?”
“It’s the only night he’s free. His team is playing in some tournament all the other nights this week.”
“So it’s okay for you to skip class but it’s not okay for him to miss a game?” I ask. My voice rises as I speak. I can’t believe Angela is cutting out on dance class again.
“It’s a practice. I’d never miss a performance, just like he’d never skip a game,” Angela says.
“I can’t believe you’re missing another class,” I say.
“That’s not the point. The point is Nini.”
“It is the point.”
Angela sighs. “No it’s not. Nini’s more important. I don’t want to lie to her, and I don’t want to give up Jonas. What should I do?”
“I have no idea,” I say. “I really don’t. I don’t know why you would even go out with a guy who makes you miss dance class, especially when the festival is only a few weeks away.”
“You don’t understand,” she says.
“I gotta go home,” I say.
Angela eyes me as I gather my bag and sweater. “Fat lot of help you are,” she says as I stand up and step onto the path.
I shrug. “Get him to go another night. Easy peasy,” I say.
“What about Nini?”
“You’ll have to tell her sometime. Better make it now, before it goes too far.”
Angela stands up and picks up her bag. “You don’t get it,” she says.
“You’re right,” I say. “I don’t.” And I walk down the path to the sidewalk.
Ten
Eve stands in the middle of the room, a fierce look on her face as she drills hip circles half time, then quarter time, then full time. I can see her through the doorway as I pull off my coat and boots and slip on my leg warmers. I skipped last period to come here early, hoping I’d be alone so I could practice in front of the mirror. After yesterday’s fight with Angela, it was a good excuse to avoid her after school, and I also want to dance perfectly today.
Though I’m making a bit of noise, I don’t think Eve notices, because her concentration never falters. Over and over she drills the same move, until her hip muscles must be tired, but the movement is flawless. As the song ends and another begins, her body shifts to meet the new tempo, and she somehow manages to stay on the right beat without making any jarring changes.
“Join me,” she says when I come into the studio.
I walk across the dance floor to stand next to her. “I didn’t think you heard me,” I say.
She nods at me through the mirror and says, “Chest circles next, starting right.”
I take a moment to settle into my posture, and then, on the beat, I slide my chest to the right, lift in the center, slide to the left and drop back to neutral. It’s jerky at first, as I warm up, but after a couple of circles the movement smooths out. I can feel my upper abdominals and the muscles in my upper back working. It takes concentration to make sure each movement is made with the proper combination of muscles so that my lungs and diaphragm are clear and I can still breathe easily.
Eve and I practice together to the beat, our breathing following our bodies, so we look and sound like one being, separated by a foot of space. For a second I see the whole troupe standing here, all in colorful skirts and sparkly scarves. A whole row of girls moving as one. It will be spectacular.
I just hope I’m one of them.
The image only lasts a second, and then I’m back to seeing Eve and me standing in our tank tops and yoga pants and leg warmers, with sweat on our faces. The song ends, and Eve turns and hugs me.
“Oh,” I say, because I didn’t expect that. Eve always seems so distant.
She laughs and says, “Let’s go again, this time with hips.”
“Aren’t the others going to get here soon?” I ask.
“We’ll stop when they do.”
I really hadn’t expected to find her here, but it makes sense, so I ask, “Do you come before every class to practice?”
Eve nods. “It’s my secret strategy for success.” She’s still smiling like we’ve won a competition.
“How come you’re so happy?” I ask.
Eve turns away from me slightly, so she’s not looking at me as she says, “I’ve waited a long time to find someone as serious about dance as I am. I’m glad it’s you. You could be really, really good, you know.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. On the one hand, she’s saying I’m not that good, but on the other, I know she means to compliment me.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Okay, let’s go again!” Eve jumps around me in a totally un-Eve-like way, making me laugh along with her. After a second she stops, and we both settle back into posture until she nods at me and presses the remote, and we start a slow arm undulation.
By the time the rest of the girls come in, I’m tired but loosened up, and after a couple of sips of water I’m ready for class. Dana strides in and takes her position in front of the mirrors. We go through the warm-up quickly, then get into place and strike our starting poses. Dana starts the music.
The first girls move. I count the beats so that when my turn comes, I am in perfect time. My body glides through the motions until our sequence is over and the wave of movement flows along to the next batch of girls. When we all dance into the pinwheel, I am still in perfect time, and my footwork is flawless, so I don’t lose any momentum when I step out for the shimmy. Eve grins at me as I position myself beside her and Bea, and I grin back.
The rest of the song goes smoothly. When we end, we all wait silently to digest what has happened. Dana always stands at the front of the room, watching with her hands on her hips, but today her hands are clasped in front of her chest like she’s concentrating really hard.
“Girls, that was amazing!” she says.
Something inside me softens when she says that, and I realize I’ve been clenching my jaw for days. I let out a little whoop. The girls laugh, but then join me, and the twelve of us whistle and jump around until Dana says, “Let’s see if you can do it again.”
That sobers us up, but there are still grins on our faces as we settle into our poses and wait for the music. This time Dana is back to stopping us as we run through, but she only stops for me once, thankfully, and I breathe easier as we come to the last beat.
When the music ends, Dana says, “I have news.”
All the tension returns, because this is going to be the moment. I glance around. Who is she going to cut? Robin’s face is beet red, and Bea pulls at a lock of her hair. Alex stares at her toes. Only Eve stares boldly at Dana. But then Dana says, “I’ve chosen the costume for the dance, and I have a sample here to show you.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and feel my jaw relax again. Robin’s face goes back to its normal color, and Bea lets go of her hair. Dana walks to the doorway and reaches up to a suit bag hanging off it. She unzips it slowly, as if to prolong the suspense, then reaches in and pulls out the costume.
The skirt is white, straight from the hips to a slight flare at the bottom, and threaded in gold so it sparkles. Dana pulls it on over her leggings and straightens it, then kicks out a leg, showing off the long slit that starts mid-thigh. Next, she pulls a belt out of the bag. It’s white, as wide as my hand and banded in gold studs. Dana wraps it around the top of the skirt, adjusting both so they sit low on her hips. When she pulls off her tights, we get the full effect of the skirt: shimmery but slinky.
“That’ll look amazing on you,” I say to Eve, who’s standing next to me.
“On all of us,” she says.
I nod, but yeah, it’ll look better on her than on anyone else.
Dana reaches into the bag again and pulls out a piece of cloth that she unravels to reveal a white bra studded with gold threads and beads. Robin and Alex gasp beside me as Dana pulls off her tank top and straps herself into the bra. She shakes her hair out of its elastic and raises her arms to show us the full effect of the bra.
“We’ll wear gold jewelry to give some color,” she says.
Eve’s eyes sparkle, and I can see why. She’s got the perfect body for this costume. Slim, tall and busty. The rest of the girls look less excited, and both Alex and Bea have concern in their eyes.
“It’s pretty skimpy,” I whisper to Robin. She nods without taking her eyes off Dana.
“What do you think, girls?” Dana asks.
“Fantastic,” says Eve.
“I knew you’d like it,” Dana says with a big grin at Eve. “What about the rest of you? Alex, Sam?”
Alex and Sam both nod and smile, but Bea says, “It’s different than usual.”
“Indeed. I thought we’d try for a new style. I want us to really stand out this time, and this costume is so flashy,” says Dana.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep a bra like that up,” says Allie from behind me, and we all laugh. Allie’s flat as a bo
ard.
But Dana says, “We’ll have a bra-making party. Buy yourself a white bra, and we’ll build up from there. We take off all the straps and make our own ties, so they are super adjustable, and we cover the bras in satin and beads and coins so they look flashy. This style can fit everyone. You’re all going to be so beautiful and stylish. We’ll wear hair down and flowing. You’ll see—it’ll look amazing.”
The costume is beautiful, but my heart races, because it hits me that I will be up onstage in a skimpy bra and a nearly-as-skimpy skirt, and despite what she says, I’m not sure that I am going to be beautiful and stylish. I may look like a lumpy ghost. For a second, I long for both Angela’s dark coloring and Amala’s bright costume. Just for a second.
Eleven
That night I dream of dancing again. This time I’m wearing the right costume, but when I walk onto the stage, the bra snaps open and falls off, and I’m left topless in front of everyone I know. I wake with a start. My sheets are all tangled at the bottom of the bed, and I’m drenched in sweat. My heart is racing. It only takes me a second to scroll down to Angela’s name, but then I stare at my phone for a while before turning it off and lying back down. I want to talk to Angela more than anything. I’m not sure if she’ll want to talk to me.
In the morning I get up in time to catch the bus, and I sprint to the stop and hop on a second before it pulls away. I make my way down the aisle and wait for Angela to get on at the next stop.
“What are you studying?” I ask as she pulls out her books. Her stuff spills across the seat, so I have to squish myself in next to her to sit down.
“English,” she says.
“Oh no! I totally forgot about the English test. Something more to worry about.”
Angela sighs. “What are you worried about?”
Now that she’s asked, I’m not sure I want to talk about it, so I say, “Dance.”