Dropping her bags, she dismissed the less than jubilant welcome. Sensing this girl was putting on an act, she hoped her instincts were right. If not, it was going to be a long 12 weeks.
“Hi, I’m Melissa,” she said, gently closing the door. “Melissa Solange. And you are?”
“Brandi with an ‘i.’”
“Brandi?”
“Yes, you know. Like the stuff you drink. Brandi Cappella.”
“Cappella?”
“Yeah, as in ‘a Cappella.’ You have trouble hearing or something?”
Taking the last bit of clothing out of the nearly emptied suitcase, Brandi made another trip to the dresser.
“Sorry, I just wanted to get it right. We are going to be roommates and all …” she explained, suddenly self-conscious about behaving like an idiot.
“Whatever. These two drawers are yours,” the petite blonde said, flicking her long hair away from her oval face. “Along with this top one. I’m taking the right-hand side of the closet and this bed,” she explained. Flinging herself down on the twin bed closest to the door, she crossed her arms as if anticipating an all-out war.
“Cool,” was Melissa’s casual reply. After all, Brandi had been the first to arrive, and accordingly, had semi-judiciously divided the space. So what if she’d kept the lion's share? Still seeming fair, the extra two drawers weren’t worth a fight. Tossing her bag onto her bed, she unzipped her anorak, heading to the closet to hang it up.
“Neat freak, huh?”
Glancing at Brandi, she seemed more relaxed. Lying on her side, she had propped her head up on her hand. Guessing that the mellowing in temperament meant she’d passed some sort of test, perhaps Brandi had expected her to be difficult about the arrangements. Since on bad days, everyone involved in ballet seemed high-strung and unreasonable, Melissa dubbed it the “diva syndrome.” Only a small minority involved in such unprofessional, disruptive behavior, it was there—just like slippery spots on the new designer dance floors.
“Listen, if you want another drawer …” Brandi offered, making a concession that proved her first instinct right. A decent person, she was covering it up with a false bravado used to drive the carnivores away. The guise dropped, the floodgates opened. Both girls were freed to be themselves.
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Melissa responded. “This is fine. And, I don’t know if I would categorize myself as a neat freak …” she replied, a smile playing on her lips, “but everyone else sure does.”
“I knew it! You just look really precise and perfect. And those feet! Arggh! Banana feet, right? That’s something I’ll never have,” she said lifting her right leg à la seconde and pointing her foot in the air. Melissa cast a knowing eye.
“Yeah, like you have anything to complain about. Miles of gorgeous leg and no thigh or butt in sight. Can you really tell what kind of feet I have in these boots? I thought they made them look like Frankenstein or something.”
“Yes! You’d have to be freakin’ blind to miss those arches! Or not involved in dance. I’m telling you some of my friends are so dense. Trying to get me to fatten up at lunch. I'm talking school friends not dance friends. They actually try to tell me I’m too thin. What am I supposed to say to that? It’s the way it is ... if you ever expect to work that is.”
“I know what you mean,” Missy said not understanding at all. Naturally thin, she did nothing to keep her weight down. Knowing others did have to battle, she decided not to rub salt in the wound—especially since she was going for bonding and not controversy. “I guess they just don’t understand …”
“And never will!”
Melissa laughed, “Yup! They’ll have a normal life and be able to stuff their faces while we’re …”
“Starving … and all hungry … with our noses pressed against the bakery window!” Brandi teased, acting out the scenario. Collapsing back on the bed, she tucked the pillow under her head. “All for the chance to be on stage in a tutu and pointe shoes,” she sighed.
“Yeah, wearing pointe shoes that give us blisters and make us wince in pain. I swear I was the only kid in high school worried about getting bunions. It’s still an honor though. Dancing is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do,” Missy confessed, getting serious. A far-off look in her eyes, it was the same look she always got when she discussed ballet.
“I know what you mean. I’ve always known I wanted to dance,” her new acquaintance confided with a giggle, “but, I think my parents would have been happy if I’d taken a little more time out to study. But I passed! They should be happy about that. A big high school certificate to fall back on! Don’t tell me I’m not prepared in case I fail at this!”
“You won’t. You made it here didn’t you? You’ve got to be good. I mean, look who showed up for that audition.”
Brandi slapped her hand on her cheek. “Oh, yikes! Don’t remind me! That audition was so brutal!”
“Tell me about it.”
Brandi sprang up to her feet. “Did you have to do this?” she asked. Executing a quick series of moving entrechats. the room's boundaries stopped her less than stellar demonstration. “I mean, how the hell?”
“What about this one,” Melissa said getting up and starting to do a grand en l'air. Her foot knocked noisily into a dresser. “Oops, guess this room isn’t dance friendly.”
“No, it’s designed this way to either torture us in not being able to practice, or protect us so we don’t wear ourselves out,” Brandi responded, still laughing. “I really am expecting the worst. Russian teachers! I swear they know every horrible exercise in the world!”
“I know. I've crossed paths with some during my summer intensives. So where’d you audition?”
“Chicago. I live in Wisconsin though. I flew in especially for it. You?”
“New York. My teacher drove me. I live outside Baltimore, but I knew they weren’t going there!”
Melissa unzipped her suitcase, Brandi walking over to her side and inspecting the contents.
“Yup, your friends are right.”
“About what?”
“About you being a neat freak.”
Melissa broke out in a case of the titters. “Is it really that obvious?”
“You’ve got plastic around everything—even your toothbrush container! I mean, why? Isn’t the case protection enough?”
“No, not really. The plastic is necessary—especially for the leotards. You know how you look in your drawer and can’t tell which leotard is which? Like this one?” Picking up one plastic-wrapped packet, she held up the tight square. “Is this a cami? A long sleeved? A ¾ sleeved? A cap sleeved?”
“You can’t tell until you unfold it.”
“Exactly! That meant rummaging through my drawers every single day, and messing everything up to find out! Not my idea of fun so I did this,” she explained, pointing to a small picture of herself in the leotard affixed to the upper right corner. “I just browse through the pictures by lifting the right corners.”
“Oh, my dear God! We are so not going to get along!”
Freezing until she saw the smile creep into Brandi’s face, her body quickly untensed.
“Whew, you had me worried!”
“Tell you what. I brought a hot plate, but let’s not use it. I’ll bring you downstairs to the cafeteria. You can get tea and stuff, and I can show you around, but you need to unpack first. I know you neat types. Here let me help you unless you object to fingerprints?”
“Oh, you!” she cajoled, lightly pushing her companion.
“And I’m sorry about the cool treatment. It’s just … well, I like to wait before being friendly. It’s easier that way. Especially when I'm competing.”
“Well, then let’s not compete—let’s be friends instead.” Extending her hand, Brandi eyed it for a moment before grabbing it, enthusiastically giving it a pump. “Great! As for the unpacking, there's something that even supersedes the innocuous arranging of clothing in drawers.”
“What?”
> “Never mind! Just follow me!”
Stuffing some money in her jeans, Melissa grabbed her key. Locking up, both girls ran down the hall. Brandi gamely keeping pace, they raced down the staircase, mirthful laughter emitted as they went. Melissa jumped down, clearing the final two stairs in a single bound. Her soft-soled boots softened the landing. She sprinted to the door, holding it open for her lagging friend.
“Where are you going?”
“You'll see,” Melissa answered mysteriously, stifling a new round of giggles.
Bolting out the door, Brandi followed suit. Running into an empty field behind the dormitory, Melissa surveyed her surroundings, quickly breaking into a more accelerated stride.
“We're not far enough away!” she explained, her legs carrying her over the dead grass turning into hay.
Giving chase, Brandi galloped behind. Speeding away, the two girls were now separated from the dorms by way more than a throwing distance. Melissa pranced in the middle of the field that had once been used to exercise Irwin Belmont's horses. Stretching out her arms towards the heavens, she spun in place, her screams aimed skyward.
“I am Melissa Solange, and I am so happy to be here that I could cry!”
“Me, too!” Brandi shouted. Spinning next to her friend, she joined in the spontaneous affirmation. “This is the chance I've spent my whole life preparing for! Thank you for letting me be here with my new friend!”
Facing each other, they joined hands. Using the weight of their bodies as counterweights, they pivoted as quickly as they could before dizziness caused them to fall. Lying on the ground, they laughed uproariously, knee-deep in dried leaves.
Unselfconsciously they tossed leaves, crying out joyously. Thinking that the woods shielded their antics from prying eyes, they were unaware that someone ... or something… deep within the recesses of the Velofsky School of Ballet was watching.
Chapter Four
A few groups of boys and girls bunched together in the large, spacious lunchroom like birds on a wire. Most students sat uncomfortably alone, occasionally looking up to see if anyone noticed their distress.
Taking her time deciding where to sit, Missy carried her tea and muffin on the utilitarian tray. A girl catching her eye, she seemed upset about something way more troubling than being away from home for the first time.
“How about over there by the window?”
“You mean the table behind where that girl is sitting?”
“No, I mean at the table where the girl is sitting.”
Brandi looked over and then back at Melissa, scrunching up her face.
“Do you know her or something?”
“No, but we are here to meet one another, aren't we? And she is sitting alone and ...”
“And what?” Brandi asked in a manner conveying either profound confusion or obstinacy over the entire idea.
“Well, let me put it this way, if you were her, wouldn't you want company?”
“I suppose,” Brandi moaned, obviously not convinced.
Ignoring the flash of stubbornness, Missy resolutely approached the sad-faced dancer.
“Mind if we join you?” she asked.
The short, curly-haired dancer seemed astonished at the intrusion. Her mournful solitude was quickly replaced by a sudden gush of good humor that was as bright as the sun shining through the large, picture window.
“Oh, sure! You just caught me by surprise. I mean, some of these girls ...” she said, punctuating the thought with a sigh of extreme disapproval.
“I'm Melissa Solange. Missy to my friends,” she said, taking the seat across from the girl still lost in figuring out why anyone does anything.
“And I'm Brandi. With an ‘i’.”
“I'm Collette, and God that muffin looks good.” Directing the remark towards Missy, she didn’t take her eye from it. “I was going to get one. I didn't mean to start about badly, but then that awful girl made that remark and ...”
Melissa was right. There had been some sort of confrontation. Curious about which of the fresh-faced teenagers was the troublemaker, she scanned the room. It didn't take long for her to single out a culprit. A pompous girl holding court at a large table was acting entirely too big for her britches. At least that's how Phoebe would have phrased it. Laughing too loudly, she was doing everything in her power to draw all attention her way. She seemed a classic example of someone that thought all attention was good attention.
“And what?” Brandi asked, picking up the strand left dangling. She was already warming up to Collette, and to the idea of perhaps including a third into her newly forged friendship.
“Well, that girl over there,” she said indicating the girl Melissa singled out for contempt, “was standing behind me when I reached for one. She said something about why it was that girls with big butts always seemed to be grabbing for the wrong food. Then her friend, the one with the red hair,” Collette identified with a nod of her head, “said that it wasn't a coincidence, but simply cause and effect.”
“Wow, how rude!” Brandi condemned, as she ripped opened a packet of artificial sweetener and poured it into her orange spiced tea.
“I'll say,” agreed Melissa who slathered more butter onto her toasted blueberry muffin.
“You can afford to do that, I suppose. Me,” Collette said hitting her hand against the side of her hip, “I'm gonna always have to watch out for this.”
“Stop it. You are not fat. Not even close,” Melissa admonished. “Don't let the remark of one jerk affect your life.”
Melissa flashed an ominous glare at the dark-haired girl who’d stopped talking to her red-headed friend to eye the trio in a decidedly calculating fashion. Well aware she was being discussed, Melissa could have cared less. What she'd said wasn't right. The fact that she was super thin made it all the worse. Using her natural good looks to her advantage, Missy categorized her type as “toxic ballerinas.” Overhearing Phoebe use the term, her teacher had advised that she avoid them like the plague.
“Missy's right. You look fine to me,” Brandi continued, bolstering the stated opinion.
“Thanks, but I've gotten those kind of comments my entire life. And no, I'm not going to go nutso or anything. I mean, for regular life, I'm okay. In fact, I'm on the thin side, but for ballet? You guys know I have entirely too much junk in my trunk. The problem is when I lose weight, I lose it everywhere but there!”
“Tell me about it! My thighs just won't go down. With or without eating these,” Brandi admitted, holding up what was left of her bran muffin.
“I think you're both crazy,” Melissa admonished, turning her attention back to people that mattered. “You have gorgeous figures and are focused way too much on what a few idiots have to say,” she stated, stopping to wash down a bit of her muffin with some honey-sweetened tea. “I mean, there's always one.”
“One what?”
The voice came from behind Melissa. She whirled around and saw the glassy, doll-like blue eyes. They belonged to the hateful diva they were discussing. Melissa froze. Having no idea that she’d been standing behind her, she wondered how long ago she'd arrived. More importantly, she was curious why the two girls she'd befriended hadn't alerted her to the predator at her door.
“One stale muffin. She was complaining about it,” Brandi blurted out.
“Yes, that seems reasonable,” the girl answered sarcastically. “I just came over to borrow some of these. They're all out of the yellow ones at my table,” she explained, taking a handful of the small packets. “I assume you have no objection?”
Brandi and Collette smiled, shaking their heads docilely. It made Melissa sick that they were acting so compliantly towards someone that was used to throwing her weight around.
“Good. And as long as I'm here, I have something to say to you,” she said addressing Melissa. She leaned down, invading her personal space. “It was smart of you to let your friend over there do your talking for you. I mean, you wouldn't want to start with the wrong person.”
>
Slowly uncoiling, vertebra by vertebra, she nonchalantly sashayed back to her table leaving Melissa to wonder why she hadn't responded. While not rude, she didn't let others walk over her.
“Gosh, Melissa, are you alright?” Brandi asked.
“A little late for that. Why didn't you tell me she was standing behind me?”
“I didn't know what to say. I wasn't expecting it and then, well, she would have heard.”
“I see. So you put me on the hook.”
“And took you off it!”
“Yes, by lying! I would have liked to answer for myself.”
“I don't think that would be a good idea,” Brandi warned. Rather than help diffuse the situation, it set off Melissa even more.
“I don't either. You start with her now, she'll be breathing down your neck for the duration,” Collette seconded, attempting to talk sense into the girl fast losing her temper.
Neither was telling her anything she didn't know, but she'd had it. She threw the last piece of muffin down on her plate. She no longer had an appetite.
“What you two don't seem to realize, is that she will anyway. That type always does. Now if you'll excuse me.” Speaking in a clipped tone, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. Placing it on her tray she rose to her feet.
“Where are you going?” Brandi asked excitedly.
Melissa ignored her. Picking up her tray, she headed over to the troublemaker that had attempted to intimidate her with unwarranted threats. She heard Brandi behind her, piteously calling out her name. She was trying to stop her, but she couldn't. No one could. Melissa had spent too many years keeping quiet about things that bothered her. She wasn't going to take it anymore.
The conversation between the trio at the other table stopped. The red-haired girl sat slack-jawed, giving Melissa the once-over all to find fault so she’d have something to pick on. This time, she couldn’t. The boy to her right, smiled appreciatively. He was going to enjoy sitting back and watching the cat fight.
“Yes?” the raven-haired girl asked, drawing out the last word. She was trying so hard to appear casual, but Melissa saw through the act. She was nervous—as nervous as Brandi and Collette had been. The sharp-tongued girl's companions tittered, delighted at her nerve.
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