by Charis Marsh
“All right, now why don’t all of you give it a try? Kaitlyn, dear, do it again will you, so they have someone to copy? Thank you, dear.”
After they finished the barre exercises, Mrs. Mallard turned to Tristan, Kageki, and Jonathon, and, with a small angry nod, said, “Well, I see you haven’t remembered a thing I tried to teach you last year. You obviously don’t learn anything correctly in your other classes, and you don’t seem to care. If you don’t want a career, by all means, ignore me. You can leave and just take Mr. Yu’s class. I’m sure he’ll get you prepared to join a company. You know, Tristan,” she walked over to him and gave him a tight smile. “You were actually improving last year. I had hopes that you were actually maturing. Evidently not.
“You know Andrew Lu,” she said, putting her finger on her chin and reminiscing. “Now Andrew Lu, he always paid such attention to detail. I remember he would even take extra RAD classes that weren’t even his level, just so he could make sure he had the basics completely down, especially when he was preparing for the Solo Seal. And you know, he got his Solo Seal Award. All that hard work, it paid off. Now he’s dancing with the Royal Ballet in England. And mark my words, it’s not the tricks and the show off steps that got him there, it’s that clean training, that attention to detail.”
George snorted from behind the piano. “I remember when Andy was here. He always came late, and you were always yelling at him for practising his pirouettes when he was supposed to be working on some adage exercise or something.”
“George!” Mrs. Mallard interrupted. “I am trying to provide them with a positive role model! There are enough negative role models in this school without adding Andrew into the mix. And he did receive his Solo Seal, anyway. Let’s continue.”
After they’d finished the second adage, she walked up to Alexandra. The rest of the class anxiously moved out of her sightlines. “Alexandra, I am absolutely fed up.” Alexandra swallowed hard and leaned back as far as she could. “Every year I tell you, you have potential. But if you are going to persist in slopping about and doing everything your own way, then I simply cannot help you. Every time, every time, I tell you that your legs are simply too high. Your hips are all over the place. You have no control, and it’s just ugly. That’s all there is to it. Now, just look at Grace, or Keiko. They both keep their legs far lower than you, but it’s clean! And that’s what matters, Alexandra. Not height.”
Alexandra stood, chin firmly up and lips pressed tightly together. Mrs. Mallard went on, as if they could read her mind, “And you know what? That is why you got bronze.” Alexandra looked up, hopeful that Mrs. Mallard might actually say something nice. “Yes. You need technique, good, solid technique and placement to get gold. With only tricks and high extensions, bronze is all you’ll get. Leonie had clean technique, that’s why she got gold. Alexandra, you just have to use your brain and dance with more physicality.”
Mrs. Mallard finally turned around, and Alexandra glared at her back with as much venom as she could muster. “All right, let’s move on to centre practice. Kaitlyn, dear, please show the class the first port de bras?”
As usual, Mrs. Mallard let them out 15 minutes late. They all skidded into the rehearsal room. Mr. Demidovski was at the front of the room giving a speech, but he paused as they came in to stare at them. “So glad you could join us,” Mr. Moretti, who was standing next to Mr. Demidovski, said sarcastically. Mr. Demidovski’s face creased in annoyance.
“Sorry, Mrs. Mallard kept us late. RAD class,” Tristan explained.
“Next time, don’t be late,” Mr. Demidovski said. “The rehearsal, the preparation, it is very important.” He gestured his arms towards them all grandly and said, “The Vancouver International Ballet Academy … we are all friends. We all love each other. We are all a happy family.”
At this Kageki put his arm around Tristan. “My brother!”
Tristan laughed and put his arm around Julian. “Yeah, we all heart each other.”
Julian pulled away from Tristan and grabbed his water bottle.
“Yes, we all love each other,” Mr. Demidovski continued. “Mr. Demidovski, Mrs. Demidovski, we both give you the love, the passion. That is why we rent the Vancouver Centre for you, to give you the chance to perform on this world-class stage. We spend much money to give you this chance, this opportunity.
“In return, we expect, we want, you to give us your heart. You must do your best, eh? Mr. Demidovski give you 100 percent, you must give me 210 percent! It must be this way. Many people come to this performance, many rich people, many ballet people. Mr. Demidovski wants to give them a good show, eh? If no good feet, nice line, Mr. Demidovski is embarrassed. You must be thin, long line. There’s only a week until the show, must be perfect. Mr. Demidovski give you the beautiful costumes, you must make them look good. Take care of the physical, eh? Lots of vegetable, some yogurt. No sugar, no cake … after the show Mr. Demidovski doesn’t care what you do, but before the show you must take care. Also the technique, must work in the class. Apple must look like apple, orange must look like orange, no look like potato, no look like …” Mr. Demidovski paused, momentarily at loss for words. “… melon. When the ballet people come, they must have a good show! They must want to see you dance more. In the intermission, we do not want the audience to go get wine, we want them to stay, talk, wonder what will happen next. You must be good so they forget about the wine!”
“Is he saying that we will be responsible for turning the audience into alcoholics if we are hideous?” Alexandra whispered to Grace.
“Yep, pretty much. The sight of fat is proven to turn people into raging alcoholics!”
“So … anorexics are the same as AA?”
Kaitlyn giggled before she could stop herself. She didn’t want them to know that she’d been listening. Grace and Alexandra immediately bent their heads together and whispered something inaudible, then giggled loudly. Kaitlyn blushed; they were obviously talking about her.
“Mr. Demidovski wants to be proud when he shows everyone his academy. If the show is no good, they will say that the academy is no good, and Mr. Demidovski will be ashamed. I will dig myself a grave.” Mr. Demidovski looked around at them to make sure that they understood the gravity of this statement. “Mr. Demidovski will dig himself a grave because he is so ashamed.
“Must work!” he said in a vague attempt to summarize his speech. “Anyone else have anything to say?” he asked the other teachers. “Questions?” he asked the students.
“‘Trepak’ will rehearse first, and then ‘Mirliton,’” Mr. Moretti announced. “The rest of you may go.” Kaitlyn got up, glad not to be rehearsing for once. She walked into the hall and sat down to pull off her pointe shoes.
“I just don’t know what to do after dinner,” one of the younger students was complaining nearby. “Like, I’m fine all day, and then wham, I start eating. I’m trying not to eat anything after five o’clock, but then I keep going to get stuff.”
“Like what?” one of the other girls asked.
“Well, we have this fruit bowl in the living room….” There was a collective groan of understanding.
“Did you know that a banana has just as many carbs as a cup of rice?”
“What? You’re kidding, right? Great. It’s just so hard to stay up and study without something to munch on.”
“What I do is, I make some ice. And then I break it up, so it’s all in little chips. It actually works. You’re munching on something, but there aren’t any calories.”
“That’s an awesome idea! I need something to occupy me. Days off are the worst, all I seem to do is eat.”
“Do you know what’s great for days off? A lettuce smoothie. You can throw in ice and celery too, but make it mostly lettuce. It’s great, it really fills you up.”
“Uh, no offence, but that sounds kinda gross.”
“Actually, I think I want to try it. Do you want to make one with me when you come over on Sunday?”
Kaitlyn got up and l
eft. She wondered if the whole ice chips thing would actually work. It was worth a try, anyway. She wrapped her hands around her waist as she walked downstairs, trying to feel how far apart her fingertips were from joining in the back.
Downstairs, Jessica was taking orders for the next Yumiko shipment. Kaitlyn knelt down to gaze at the brochure. The sample fabrics were so pretty. Taylor was sitting cross-legged, hogging the signup sheet and the brochures. “I like the Alex one,” she was telling Keiko. “I’m not sure about the colours, yet, though.”
“Wow, how many bodysuits are you ordering?” Kaitlyn asked as she looked at the paper with everyone’s orders on it.
“Um … five so far,” Taylor said, giggling. “My mom said no more than five, but they are so pretty!”
“They do look gorgeous,” Angela said with a sigh. “But I really can’t afford any right now.” Everyone except Jessica ignored her.
“Aren’t your parents kind of rich?” Jessica asked.
“Well, sort of, But they don’t approve of spending money on bodysuits when we can only wear them for rehearsals.”
Kaitlyn looked wistfully at the colours. She was pretty sure that her mom was going to get her one for Christmas, but she really wished she had it to wear right now. The colours were so bright and rich compared to the academy uniforms.
She wandered off to get changed, choosing not to torture herself over bodysuits she’d have to wait for. She went to the mirror and began undoing her bun, the long coil making one big curl as she took out the pins. She debated whether to risk taking the ponytail out or not. She was getting a serious headache. She pulled out the elastics, but her hair stayed in position thanks to the gel. Kaitlyn sighed and wetted her brush, starting to attack her hair in an attempt to make it look normal.
“I hate hair bumps,” Chloe said, stacking her stuff on the other side of the sink.
Kaitlyn winced at her voice. She couldn’t handle bright, happy people at the moment, especially ones that were half her size.
“Geez, stop taking up the entire counter!” Anna said in an annoyed tone as she came up behind them.
“Oh, sorry!” Chloe blushed as she moved her things over.
“Oh, that’s okay, I didn’t know it was your stuff. You can keep it there if you want.”
Kaitlyn’s stomach clenched, and she hurried to gather up her stuff. As she left the changing room, she paused to look at a photograph of Leonie Camden. My arabesque is way higher, Kaitlyn thought, pain flitting across her features. But Leonie is skinnier and so pretty with that soft little face. She shook her head violently in an attempt to clear it. She quickly looked around to see if anybody had been watching her. Relieved, she saw only general program parents and their kids. Before she made it to the door, a little girl came up to her and showed off her runs on demi-pointe.
“I’m a ballet dancer,” the little girl said excitedly. “That’s why I can go on my tippy-toes. See?”
“Er, yes I see,” Kaitlyn said. “Um … good job.”
The girl’s mother took this as genuine interest in her obviously prodigiously gifted child. She shoved the child closer to Kaitlyn, saying “She can already do skips, too! She’s only four, but she has such natural talent for the ballet. Her teacher says she has very good feet, very rare.”
“Um, yes …” Kaitlyn said, trying to leave.
“Look, I can go all the way up!” The girl rose to the tops of her toes and promptly crumpled down again.
Julian, who had come out of rehearsal to fill up his water bottle, grinned. “Obviously she is going to be a great ballet dancer,” he said to the mother, putting a serious expression on his face and winking at Kaitlyn.
The mother beamed at him. “Yes, a ballerina!”
“Seriously, though, don’t do that,” Kaitlyn said as the girl rose to her toes and crumpled again. This time, one of her ankles twisted into the floor on the way down. “You are really going to hurt yourself.” The mother glared at her.
Kaitlyn’s parents were both in the car when she got outside. “Where are we going?” Kaitlyn asked.
“To your grandparents’ for dinner, I told you this morning,” Cecilia said.
Kaitlyn deflated. She loved her grandparents, but all she really felt like doing was punching somebody, flying away on a plane somewhere, or, at the very least, becoming somebody else. She knew that the whole dinner would be spent discussing her fabulous ballet career and how it could be better achieved. “Can I maybe go home instead? I really don’t feel well.”
“What do you mean, you don’t feel well?” Jeff asked. “You look fine to me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Kaitlyn,” Cecilia said. Kaitlyn sunk down into her seat and started to cry. “What’s wrong with you?!” Cecilia turned around in her seat. “Stop. Here’s a Kleenex.” Kaitlyn grabbed one and blew her nose, then just grabbed the whole box.
“Did something happen?” Jeff asked.
“No! Just go away!” Kaitlyn wailed. She began to sob hysterically. Her mother told her to stop it and just grow up, as Jeff pulled the car out of the lot.
Chapter Ten
Taylor Audley
hahaha Keiko burnnnnnnnnn :D Love you, hate you, woodn’t wont to date you jkjkjkjk bahha fatttteeee So nervous :S for rehearsal :D blarg :S
Taylor’s alarm clock roused her from a marvellous dream. She jerked herself violently off the bed. “F! Ouch!” She swore again, accidentally tripping over the textbooks that lay on the floor beside her bed. She had meant to study when she went to bed, hence her laptop and textbooks all over the floor — and the blue ballpoint pen that had exploded all over her sheets, she just noticed … “Shi-shitake mushrooms!” Really, she thought, I might as well just go back to bed. Today wasn’t looking terribly promising.
She had meant to do her homework last night, but had been side-tracked by a thread on the Ballet Talk forum that had mentioned Alexandra. It was seriously vicious. I wonder if she’s seen it? Taylor thought, secretly hoping that she had. She kicked her right leg with her left one. “Don’t be a bitch,” she said out loud.
She reached out her arms directly in front and then swung them around to the back. She heard her back crack satisfyingly. She then toppled her upper body down toward her feet, feeling her hamstrings wince from yesterday’s work. She swung her head and crossed arms around, bumping her elbows on the ground. Her body was starting to loosen up. Finally, she swung her head to touch her feet, pressed her body to her legs, then she swung up and cracked both hips. Oh, head rush much!
Alison barged in, demanding to know what Taylor had done with her book report book.
“I don’t know!” Taylor was indignant. “I’m dyslexic. Do I look like I go around reading other people’s books?”
Alison ignored her. Her book was on top of the pile of textbooks on the floor. “I can see that you got a lot of homework done last night,” she said sarcastically. “These are my books!”
“What? Well … how come you didn’t notice if you did your homework?”
“I’d already done it,” Alison answered smugly. Taylor rolled her eyes, unable to think of a comeback.
“Go away! Your homework is baby stuff, it should take you like five minutes to finish it!”
Taylor went down to the kitchen in a foul mood. “Do you want some toast, Tay-honey?” Charlize asked with false cheerfulness.
Taylor muttered, “No thanks,” and poured herself a glass of chocolate milk.
“Taylor, why don’t you have something healthy with that?”
“This is healthy!” Taylor protested. “It has calcium, and other stuff. Milk is healthy.”
Alison rolled her eyes. “It’s not when it’s got that much sugar in it.”
“Ali’s right, Taylor.”
“Okay, fine!” Taylor set the half-full glass down on the table. “I won’t drink it if it bothers you that much.”
“Taylor, you have to have something for breakfast.” Taylor shrugged and went to get her stuff.
For o
nce, she managed to catch the early bus. I might actually get that homework done, she thought hopefully. She fished out her iPod and tried to listen to it, but she was too jittery. She unplugged her earphones and began tapping her fingers and feet, staring out the window. She felt the bus moving, making her stomach tense.
As they went over the bridge, Taylor imagined the bus speeding up, faster and faster …. and then boom! Pow! She pictured the explosion in her head, seeing the bus crumple, everyone instantly dead…. Taylor immediately felt guilty. She didn’t really want the other passengers to die. But somehow, she really didn’t care if she did or not. Which was pretty weird now that she thought about it, since she cared so much about what she did with her life and was scared of so many things. I don’t think I’d be particularly upset if I found out that I was going to die in a moment, Taylor decided. Only if there was going to be pain. She bit her lip, wondering if there was anyone up there listening to her. “Sorry, God,” she mouthed silently, just in case.
She reached into her bag and pulled out one of her new pointe shoes, a needle threaded with floss, and a ribbon already cut and burnt, and began to sew the ribbon onto the shoe. She started to feel a bit calmer and sewed happily.
By the time Taylor got to McKinley, both of her shoes were sewn. She ran to the school bathroom to fix her hair. The rain always made it go all wavy, a look she didn’t particularly like. While she was putting on her lip gloss, she suddenly remembered that she had to do her homework. But, once she got to the study hall and reached into her bag for her books, she stopped breathing. She’d brought her day one books and work instead of her day two work. She looked up and down the study hall. She couldn’t see anyone from the academy or any of her teachers for the day. She flew down the stairs and out the door before she met anyone she knew.
Taylor went to the bus stop she knew that nobody from the academy used. It was raining fairly heavily now, and she had forgotten her umbrella, again. She was at the comfortable stage of wetness, where you’re already soaked so it doesn’t really matter that it’s raining. In fact, the rain falling seemed warmer than the water soaking Taylor’s clothes, so it was sort of pleasant. She did a travelling pas de bourée and a pirouette en dedans. She came to an abrupt stop when she saw that Julian was already at the bus stop. She stood still, desperately searching her brain for an excuse that would fit.