Designs by Isabelle

by Laurence Yep

  I rose on the ball of my right foot with my left leg bent and began to turn. I wobbled a little as I spun away from Emilio, but it was so slight that I hoped no one noticed.

  The next character was a freckle-faced dancer named Agnes playing the role of a milkmaid. She rubbed her stomach hungrily just as Emilio had done and then stretched out her arms.

  This time I was determined to get my pirouette perfect. I ran through all the steps—beginning with finding a spot on the wall. Each time I finished my spin, I stared at that same point to keep from getting too dizzy. But I was so busy running through my list of steps that I forgot to smile.

  “Don’t look so grim, Isabelle,” Ms. Ferri instructed. “Feel the joy.”

  I pulled the corners of my mouth up into what I hoped was a grin, but it probably would have scared small children.

  Whirl like a top, I told myself.

  Raising my left leg again, I began to turn. Though I tried my best, I felt myself tilt ever so slightly. Agnes’s hands twitched as if she was getting ready to steady me.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Renata, playing the role of a duchess, was my next stop. As she rubbed her stomach, she whispered, “How’d you get this role, Dizzy Izzy? It should’ve been mine.”

  I’ll show you who should be the Gingerbread Girl, I retorted in my mind. As I started my third pirouette, I decided that I must have been going too slow with Agnes. Spin faster, I told myself. But I immediately lost my balance again and fell right into Renata’s arms. She seemed just as disgusted by that as I was.

  “Catch and release, Renata,” Ms. Ferri ordered.

  With a smirk, Renata pushed me away. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?” she asked. “A human bowling ball?”

  I heard giggles from some of the nearby dancers. Renata’s teasing wasn’t going to improve my pirouettes. What was I doing wrong?

  I managed to get through my pirouettes with the next three castmates, but if I’d been graded on those spins, I wouldn’t have scored over a C+. By the time I reached Luisa—the seventh and last dancer who was supposed to catch me—I decided that this pirouette was going to be the spin of spins.

  Luisa stood with her legs crossed, smiling slyly. Her character—a fox—was supposed to ignore me, but she gave me a little nod to encourage me. Then she deliberately looked away.

  I danced all around her, trying to get her to notice me. When she lunged forward to snatch me, I tried to pirouette away. But again I lost control and would have crash-landed if she hadn’t caught me.

  “Upsy-daisy,” she whispered as she shoved me back onto my feet.

  Ms. Ferri held out her arms and fluttered her fingers. “All of you, come to Mama,” she said.

  But I’d thrown off the others’ timing as well as my own, and the music ended before we could reach Ms. Ferri. I shuffled to a stop with the others.

  Ms. Ferri scratched her nose. “Well,” she said and then repeated more slowly, “wel-l-l, this is what practices are for: to work out the mistakes.” Was she looking right at me when she said that? I was pretty sure she was.

  Renata deliberately bumped me as we returned to our original spots to try the routine again. “Watch your step this time, Bowling-Ball Belle,” she whispered.

  I fought the wave of anger rising in my chest. Why did Renata have to be in this cast? She wouldn’t be happy until she had my role. That made me more determined than ever to perfect my pirouettes.

  At first I’d thought that Mr. Kosloff had made a mistake when he had cast me for such a big part, but now that it was mine, I didn’t intend to give it up. Not to Renata. Not to anyone. I found my place next to Luisa and squared my shoulders.

  I was glad when rehearsals finally ended. I had wobbled my way through the rest of my pirouettes, and I just couldn’t figure out why.

  As we bent over to get our bags, I grumbled softly to Luisa, “I’d like to wipe that smirk right off Renata’s face.”

  Luisa whispered, “Don’t pay any attention to Renata. She’s just jealous.”

  I glanced at the corner where a smiling Renata was chatting with Ms. Ferri. Maybe she was asking a genuine question, or maybe she was buttering up our instructor, trying to steal my part.

  “Can you see what I’m doing wrong with my pirouettes?” I asked Luisa, hoping for any pointers I could get.

  “No,” she admitted, “but maybe Jade can figure it out.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. But lately, Jade was barely talking to me, or to anyone. I figured she was concentrating on her big role as Clara. I’d have to wait for the right moment to ask her for help with my own dancing.

  As we headed toward the doorway, Luisa took out her phone and checked her voicemails. The next moment, she gave a little skip and said, “Danny left a message!” Danny, her older brother, had joined the army last summer.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  Luisa threw an arm around me and gave me a hug. “He’s coming to our show!” she said happily. “He’s got leave.”

  “That’s great!” I said. “He’ll love seeing you.” I’d be happy to see Danny again, too. But then I suddenly wondered, Will he watch me perform as the Gingerbread Girl—or Renata?

  As we stepped out into the hallway, the door to Studio A opened and several dancers came out, including Jade. Her blonde hair was still pulled up into a perfect bun, but she looked tired.

  “Hey, how did it go?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she mumbled.

  My sister never liked to brag, but today her shoulders were hunched and her lips were pressed tight. Usually she was so excited about a dance routine. When it came to ballet, there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. “Just okay?” I pressed.

  “Clara’s a big role,” Jade said. “I’ve got a lot to remember.”

  “She’s the heart of the show,” Luisa agreed sympathetically.

  I couldn’t blame my sister for worrying a little. She had been practicing her role hour after hour at home. So even though I would have liked to ask for her advice about my routine, I decided to wait until later.

  “Ready to go?” Luisa asked.

  “I’ve got an errand to run on the third floor before we go,” I said.

  I had been feeling frustrated by those pesky pirouettes, but when I thought about the costumes, excitement and curiosity took over. There were three casts for The Nutcracker, and the HDC’s wardrobe department turned out costumes for all of them. I couldn’t wait to see how they did it.

  “What’s up there?” Luisa asked as she fell into step beside me.

  I tried to answer matter-of-factly. “Mr. Kosloff wanted me to look at some of the costumes for the children’s party scene,” I said.

  Luisa punched my shoulder playfully. “Next time, share the good news, girl,” she said with a grin. “If I’d been asked to do something like that, everyone would have heard about it by now.”

  “Yeah, congratulations,” Jade murmured. She knew how much I loved costume design—and how exciting this must be for me—so I expected more of a reaction from her. But I guess it was just another sign that her mind was busy with other things.

  We went up the stairs to the third floor and into a small lounge with mismatched sofas. Hanging on the wall were large posters of the theater’s shows and some black-and-white photos of dancers caught mid-jump.

  “I think this is where the company members hang out,” Jade said.

  We walked through the lounge and down the corridor to a door with a sign that read “Wardrobe.”

  When I opened the door, I felt as if I were stepping into a cave filled with treasure, like the one in the story “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.” Only instead of chests of gold coins and jewels, there was a whole wall filled with bolts of fabric in all sorts of colors and patterns. The shelves were lined with bins of feathers, fake fur, buttons, lace, and trimmings. I wanted to stroke every fabric and feel each object. Was it soft? Did it shine? How would I mix and match these things? I coul
d spend the rest of my life coming up with designs using all of this stuff.

  A long table near the door held pieces of cut fabric, and my fingers itched to put them together like parts of a puzzle. Instead, I gazed past the table and noticed several people working in the room. One woman fluffed the layers of a tutu hanging on a dress form. From a clothesline above her head, pancake tutus—short skirts with stiff layers of chiffon, tulle, and organdy—hung like frilly flying saucers.

  When I heard the familiar burr of sewing machines, I glanced at a woman and a man hunched over two machines, carefully sewing fancy costumes of embroidered cloth. More costumes dangled from clotheslines over their heads, looking like brightly colored parrots roosting near the ceiling.

  At another table with a small, bright lamp, a woman sewed what looked like sequins onto the bodice of a costume. Behind her, a man was busy making a tall, bulb-shaped soldier’s hat out of black fake fur.

  I jumped when a middle-aged brunette woman asked, “May I help you?”

  Her sweatshirt was covered with little bits of different-colored thread and lint. It reminded me of Mom’s clothes after she finished cutting and sewing one of her creations. The woman was holding a cup labeled with the words “The Real Fairy Godmother.” The string of a tea bag dangled over the side.

  I recognized this woman as the seamstress who had taken our measurements after our first rehearsal, but I didn’t know her name. “Um, hi,” I said. “Mr. Kosloff said he’d have some copies of his costume designs for me. May I speak with Margie, please?”

  The woman sipped her tea noisily. “Isabelle Palmer, right?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Hi, I’m Margie,” she said warmly. “Mr. Kosloff said you’d be coming up.” She looked at me curiously and added, “You’re a little younger than I thought you’d be.”

  “You should’ve seen the great costumes she designed for our school show,” Luisa bragged.

  Margie nodded knowingly. “You’re drooling like my little boy when I take him into a candy store,” she said with a smile.

  She was right. I spread my arms as if I could somehow hug the whole room. “This place is amazing,” I said.

  Margie seemed pleased. “Cinderella’s godmother has got nothing on us,” she joked. “And our gowns last past midnight.” She picked up a large brown envelope from a desk and handed it to me. “Here. I printed out copies of the designs that Mr. Kosloff wanted you to take a look at.”

  “Thanks,” I said, holding my breath as I took the envelope. Was this really happening?

  Luisa seemed as excited as I was. As soon as we were in the hallway again, she reached for the envelope. “Gimme!” she begged. “I want to see what I’m wearing.”

  I blocked her hand with my elbow. “It’s just the outfits for the party scene,” I reminded her.

  Luisa tried to snatch the envelope with her other hand. “Then I want to see Jade’s,” she said. “Don’t you, Jade?” She glanced at my sister for support, but Jade had already put her earbuds into her ears and was fiddling with her MP3 player.

  I retreated a couple of yards away from Luisa. “I think Mr. Kosloff wanted only me to see them,” I said.

  “You’re no fun,” Luisa sniffed.

  As I stowed the envelope safely inside my bag, I instantly felt better about The Nutcracker. Even if my worst nightmare came true and my sloppy pirouettes got me booted from the show, I was helping with the costumes. At least I’d still feel like part of the show.

  Before we’d gotten on the bus, Jade had called ahead to a pizzeria. Mom had given us money to get pizza for supper, and by the time we got off the bus on M Street, it was ready to pick up.

  During the bus ride and on the walk home, I kept waiting for Jade to ask me how my rehearsal had gone today, so I could bring up my problem. But she looked so lost in her own world that I didn’t say a word. Was she still worrying about her own performance? I wondered. After all, I was in just one of the numbers while she was in practically every scene. If you compared our visualization routines, mine was a three-minute cartoon while hers was an epic movie.

  The smell of the pizza wafting up from the box was driving me crazy, and by the time Jade unlocked the front door, I was ready to tear open the box. The door had barely closed when we heard the patter of paws and our kitten, Tutu, came scurrying along the hall rug.

  She looked ready to pounce on the pizza, too, so I shrugged off my dance bag and then lifted the box high over my head. “Tutu must smell the pepperoni,” I said to Jade. “I think we’d better feed her first.”

  It was my fault, I guess. I’d made the mistake of slipping Tutu some pepperoni from my pizza a couple of times. Now, as a family member, she always demanded her fair share of it.

  Jade nodded for me to go into the kitchen. “I’ll make our salad. You take care of her,” she said.

  “Pizza’s enough for me,” I said.

  “Mom gave me orders to make a salad,” Jade said firmly. While she got some stuff from the fridge, I opened a tin of cat food. Usually, Tutu rubbed herself against anyone near the can opener, but today she was all eyes for the pizza. Just as I was dumping the cat food into her dish, she jumped onto a chair and tried to open the box with her paw.

  Setting the cat dish down, I shooed Tutu off the chair. “That’s people food,” I scolded. But I felt a little sorry for her.

  Without turning around, my sister added, “And no sneaking any pepperoni to her either.”

  “Me-owr,” Tutu said, which I’m pretty sure was feline-ese for “spoilsport.”

  As Jade poured salad from a bag into a bowl on the counter, I washed my hands and then got out some plates, silverware, and glasses.

  “Ready,” Jade finally said, crossing the kitchen to put the salad and a bottle of dressing on the table. The salad was in a large bowl of dark wood with inlaid patterns of lighter wood. Mom had traded one of her fabric pieces with another artist for it.

  Tutu leaped onto my lap as soon as I sat down. I gently pushed her off, but her paws had no sooner touched the floor than she had bounded back onto my lap again. We repeated that several times before she stalked out of the kitchen sullenly.

  “Sorry,” I called after her, inhaling a delicious whiff of pizza as I finally got to lift the lid of the box.

  Jade tapped my wrist. “Salad first,” she reminded me.

  My sister heaped salad onto my plate. I stared at the green hill in front of me. “I don’t need all that,” I insisted.

  “The pizza’s lukewarm,” Jade said. “You can eat the salad while we heat it up.”

  “I think there’s still some carrot cake left over from my birthday,” I suggested. I’d just had my tenth birthday last week. “Carrots are vegetables. Can’t I have that instead?”

  “I said salad,” Jade declared regally.

  I’d had enough. “Who made you queen of the world?” I demanded to know. Grabbing a slice of pizza from the box, I put it on my plate.

  Jade hesitated, but when I began eating and making happy noises, she took a slice and began to eat as well. As we chewed, she indicated a spot on my right cheek where some sauce had splashed. I pointed to her left cheek, where she had a similar spot.

  Grabbing a napkin, she leaned forward and began to clean my face. So I snatched up another napkin and returned the favor.

  We were both laughing when we heard the bump-bump-bump of Mom’s large wheeled suitcase outside the front door. The next moment there was a draft as the door opened and Mom came in, wheeling the bag behind her.

  “How was the craft fair?” I asked.

  Mom leaned the suitcase against the wall, crossed the room, and lifted the lid of the pizza box. She studied the pizza and then picked a slice with a lot of toppings.

  If I had to eat salad, so did Mom. I slid my heaping plate of salad over to her. “Salad first,” I said. Then I added just a little bit of salad to my plate, not the Mount Everest of greenery that Jade had given me.

  Mom h
esitated and gave the salad a sideways glance. “Why, thank you, Isabelle,” she said. But she started with her pizza just as I had. Then she wiped her mouth and added, “The fair wasn’t bad. I sold three pieces—the most expensive ones.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned as she took another bite of pizza.

  I held up what remained of my pizza in a kind of toast and said, “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” said Mom and then asked, “How did the rehearsal go?”

  “Um, I’m still learning the steps,” I said carefully. Mom wasn’t a dancer, so if I’d told her about my pirouette problem, all she could have done was given me a pep talk. But maybe this is my chance to ask Jade for help, I thought, stealing a glance at my sister.

  Jade, though, hadn’t heard a word I’d said. She sat lost in thought, her shoulders hunched over her dinner.

  So I kept talking. “Mr. Kosloff saw my costume at the Autumn Festival and asked me to look at some of The Nutcracker costumes,” I announced to Mom.

  “Did he really?” she said, clearly impressed. “Well, he’s a smart man. I’m proud of you, honey.”

  Mom took a bite of salad and then glanced at Jade. “And how are things going for you?” she asked, nudging Jade’s shoulder.

  My sister shrugged. “Fine,” she said.

  Before Mom could press for more, Dad came home. “Pizza?” he called from the hallway. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “What’re you doing back so early?” Mom called.

  “We drove through all that traffic over to Silver Spring,” Dad complained as he strode into the kitchen, “but when we got to the restaurant, we found out that the company had canceled the party. Nobody thought about calling us.”

  I put some pizza slices onto a plate for him. “They ought to pay you anyway,” I said.

  “That’s what I’m going to argue, but we’ll see. The company I was supposed to play for is a law firm, after all,” Dad said as he sat down. “But let’s forget about gigs. I think this is the first time we’ve gotten to eat together in a while.”

  Jade was heaping salad into a bowl for him. “Do we need name tags?” she asked, grinning.