Love You, Hate You

by Charis Marsh

  Grace came into the bathroom just then and said, “Do you have a private or something?”

  “Nope!” Alexandra blushed and added a quickly made-up excuse. “My uniform bodysuit is still damp.” She added a sparkly pin to her bun, something she hadn’t bothered to do in a while.

  Grace raised her eyebrows. “Okay, but you’d better make sure the Demidovskis don’t see you.” She set down her stuff and began to do her hair. Alexandra finished her hair and added some more makeup, carefully applying sparkly silver eyeliner to her top lid and more black eyeliner on the bottom.

  “You’re wearing a lot of makeup today, Lexi,” Grace said. Alexandra shrugged, not bothering to answer, and finished with her eyeliner. She turned around to view her profile and tugged her bodysuit down a bit in the front. You can get away with pulling your bodysuit down pretty low if you don’t have boobs, she thought, chuckling to herself.

  She went upstairs and sat down next to Tristan, Julian, and Kageki, starting to stretch. Kageki was playing a game on his PSP, with his own sound effects.

  “Boys are so weird,” she said and got up and stood next to the wall, using it to prop herself up as she pulled her leg past her head. Then she went and lay down next to Tristan, stretching her turn-out. They listened in on Chloe’s father and Michael’s mother talking as they waited in the hallway. They were sitting in chairs in the middle of the hallway watching classes, as usual.

  “Well, Kate and I think it is very important to stress that academics are important, too. We always tell Chloe that she has to do well at school.”

  “Yeah, I believe that, too. But I always tell Tony that we have to understand that Michael has a gift, and we have to make allowances so that he is able to develop that gift.”

  David Song interrupted her quickly. “I do understand that. We realize that Chloe is very special, but we set our children up to succeed. We want it to be possible for Chloe to succeed in both academics and dance. And she does, she certainly does.” He sat back proudly, confident of having proven his point.

  Tristan rolled his eyes at Alexandra. She shook her head, smothering her giggles with her hand. Tristan rolled over onto his back and prepared to go up into a bridge.

  “I don’t think my parents set me up to succeed,” Alexandra whispered to him as he started to push up. “I feel cheated.” Tristan collapsed, unable to complete the bridge while laughing. Alexandra went up into a bridge while Tristan tried to stop laughing. She slowly walked her hands to her ankles and managed to grab her left ankle with her left hand. She tried to do the same with her right hand, but lost her balance and fell over.

  “How are you? How was class?” Beth asked during dinner.

  “Good,” Alexandra said. “It was fun.”

  “What was good about it?”

  “I don’t know, nothing particularly. It was just a good day. Oh, and I am doing a pas de deux with Tristan for festival. I just have to talk to Mrs. Demidovski about it and arrange privates.”

  “That’s great. It’s nice to see you coming out of there happy again.”

  “Mom!”

  “What? It is.” They spent the rest of dinner discussing various costume options for competition, since it was only the two of them for dinner. Everyone else was out.

  Alexandra went up to her room after dinner, yawning. It had been a long day. Thank goodness I didn’t have rehearsal today, Alexandra thought. I need sleep. Before she went to bed she checked her email and deleted what felt like a million Facebook requests. She told herself to go to bed, but couldn’t help herself. She logged onto Ballet Talk; she hadn’t checked it for a while. She scrolled down through the forum, not seeing anything of interest until she spotted a thread called “Genee Results” with posts that were only a couple of days old. She clicked on it excitedly, wondering if they had said anything about her. Blah, blah, she thought, skimming to the more recent posts. She felt a little glow of happiness as she saw the words “Bronze = Alexandra Dunstan, Canada (Vancouver International Ballet Academy).” She scrolled through other posts praising the gold winner — for control? Alexandra reread it in disbelief. That girl had tremendous potential and talent, which was why she had gotten gold, but control? Hardly. They mentioned silver briefly: a boy. He was good, had nice tricks, and a clean, not particularly interesting performance. Alexandra laughed at that; he’d been able to impersonate every judge and teacher they’d had during the competition with deadly accuracy. And finally herself!

  First, just an acknowledgement that she won, and yes, she was Canadian. Then:

  Isn’t Alexandra Dunstan the “North-American Somova?” I am thinking about a tall, hyper-extended, somewhat-vulgar teenager who butchered Petipa’s choreography for Kitri at the YAGP finals last year? Tricks over substance and style. Sorry, but she totally made me think about Somova while watching her in the finals. Genee used to have higher standards … if I’m thinking about the same person.

  “Ouch,” Alexandra whispered to herself. Vulgar? Then there was a question about the gold winner and a post asking if it was really appropriate to call a sixteen-year old vulgar, and the original poster had responded:

  Indeed, it is Sky Landon from Britain. Her magnificence and modesty simply highlighted Dunstan’s weaknesses. As to “somewhat vulgar” — I stand by the statement 100%. Competitors expose themselves. If they can’t take the truth, they shouldn’t be there. Ditto the parents. Smug, prolonged smiles at the audience should be reserved for Liberty Belle in the “Stars and Stripes” pas or the four ballerinas in Grand Pas de Quatre. Then again, there are extraordinary “kids” who take the risk at an early age and merit the kudos, such as Takuya Nakamura, also at Genee. Extraordinary ability, yet modest. No need to “milk” the crowd.

  Alexandra stared at the computer in disbelief. She began to cry. Genee had been so much fun, she had thought that everyone had liked her … had the audience really just sat there thinking she was embarrassing herself? Why would they give her bronze then? She blew her nose and continued reading.

  I think it’s quite right to call her execution vulgar and if she makes a professional career that will soon change. What I do not like, and I do realize I am watching a film and it’s quite different to being at a performance, is her feet. In her attempt to dance fast she hits poses without going on full pointe ugly, ugly ugly and that reminds me of certain Russian dancers of the past who thought that speed was what audiences wanted, not finesse. Miss Dunstan also irritates me by not completing steps where the heels should go fully down, before going onto the next phrase. Even at speed she should be doing this. Watch Maximova in a series of pirouettes or fouettes. Why make a young girl emulate the Sofiane Sylve video with the multiple pirouettes when two clean balanced pirouettes would have had a more aesthetic and competent looking effect. I have hope for her, though.

  And that was another poster! Apparently everyone agreed. She sucked. Alexandra took a deep breath and kept going. A few more posts saying that the post before was too harsh and young dancers shouldn’t be criticized so severely, but nothing saying that they were wrong. And another from the earlier poster:

  As Mommy used to say “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.” The dancers in question are either pros or pre-professional students presenting themselves in competition, where they should expect to be judged by all who see them … not just the panel of official judges. They asked for it. Ballet Talkers know about what they write and will not be mere “Yes Men.” Praise and criticism come with the territory of being a professional dancer or an aspirant who presents him/herself in competitions. Hopefully, Ms. Dunstan’s next year of training will serve to tame her because the raw talent was definitely there. In fact, I’d love to hear about her progress in Vancouver, if anyone has seen her of late (not just on YouTube).

  So that’s that. That’s what everyone thought when they see me — vulgar. Alexandra pushed away from her computer and threw herself on her bed, sobbing. Mr. Moretti is right, Mrs. Mallard is right, I’m terrib
le! She stayed there crying until she felt like she had no tears left. She got up and blew her nose, undressed, turned off the light, and crawled into bed. She lay still, feeling her body push the mattress down. She pictured herself disappearing into the mattress more and more, just disappearing.… She could picture a really cool contemporary dance with that theme.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julian Reese

  Show Time! Good luck everyone!

  It was the day before The Nutcracker. After the rehearsal that morning, they’d been sent home for a rest. They were expected to be at the theatre at 9:00 a.m. the next morning. They probably wouldn’t get out of there again until at least 10:00 p.m., later for the boys because Mr. Yu always made them help move the sets out of the theatre. Julian had taken the invitation to rest to heart, and had gone from the studio straight to bed. But now Leon was sitting on his bed, slapping his face.

  “I’m up! I’m up!” Julian sprang up, angrily. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “You have an I.D. now, right?”

  “Sort of, I borrowed it. You’re legal. What do you want my I.D. for?”

  “I don’t want your I.D. I just wanted to know if you have one. Let me see.” Leon picked it up and looked at the picture. He started laughing. “I cannot believe that you managed to find someone with hair like you! What is up with this name? Caspian Ocean?”

  “Everyone calls him Cas. I’m supposed to give it back when I go home the day after tomorrow.”

  “This is a real person?”

  “Yeah…? I’ve known him since before I was born. His mom and my mom were friends while my mom was preggers with me, and his mom was preggers with his little sister.”

  “What’s his sister called?”

  Julian rolled his eyes. “Lyric Ocean. She’s really pretty.”

  “I bet,” Leon said, staring at the I.D. “Anyway, we wanted to know if you wanted to come with us? A bunch of us are going downtown to Number 5 to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “Nutcracker’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  Julian shrugged. “Sure. Just let me get ready.”

  “Take your time. Mr. Yu’s downtown arguing over the price of Duan’s buns for dinner tomorrow.”

  When Mr. Yu got back, he was in a good mood. He’d managed to haggle the buns to five cents less than the year before, and he even got some custard tarts added for free. Julian, Mr. Yu, and Leon piled into the van, and Mr. Yu took off with a screech of protest from the elderly vehicle. He stopped at Broadway to pick up Dmitri, Jonathon, and a man Julian didn’t recognize.

  Inside, Leon hit Julian over the head. “Stop grinning, Caspian.” Mr. Yu led them to the table and Dmitri hopped off to go get drinks.

  “You have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve gotten drunk,” Julian said, sitting between Jonathon and Leon. “Nobody at the academy ever seems to do anything fun, and I haven’t really had time to make friends at McKinley.”

  Dmitri came back with a pitcher of beer, and Julian poured himself a glass and downed half of it. “Like, it’s an uber-preppy school,” Julian explained. “If I wanted somebody to come over and help me with my math or … I dunno, start a band with violinists and pianists and like flautists, I’d be set. But going out drinking? That’s when you’d have a hard time getting people to come. Unless you tried to pass it off as an anime party!” He finished the glass and poured himself another. “The beer kinda sucks, hey?”

  “Yup,” Leon said, laughing. “I’d take it easy there.”

  Julian shrugged, but he set his glass down for a second and Dmitri quickly refilled it. He looked over at the stripper on the stage. “I like her hair,” he informed Leon before he finished his second glass.

  “You buy the next,” Mr. Yu barked across the table before turning back to his conversation with the man Julian didn’t recognize (who was called Kang, apparently) and Dmitri. They were arguing about something. Suddenly Mr. Yu pulled out a pack of cards and called Jonathon over. Jonathon went over happily, smirking at Leon as he passed by.

  Leon rolled his eyes but pulled the pitcher closer to himself and Julian. “They get the cards, we get the beer, fair’s fair,” he muttered. Julian raised his eyebrows as a question. “Majong,” Leon explained, pouring them both another glass. “They need four.”

  Leon got up and went to get another pitcher, leaving Julian by himself. The others were absorbed in their game. Julian sipped the rest of his beer, staring at the strippers. He noticed a tall brunette doing a backbend and started sniggering. Tristan could do that back bend so much better. The image of Tristan up there in those outfits flashed in his head. He finished his glass with a laugh.

  When Leon came back with the pitcher, he asked what was so funny.. “Just … one of the strippers wasn’t very flexible, and then I started thinking of people at the academy who were, and I got this mental image of Tristan up there,” Julian explained, laughing as he poured himself a drink. “Thanks, man,” he added, indicating the pitcher.

  “No prob,” Leon said. He poured himself another, took a sip, and put it down again with a grimace. “This stuff really is vile.”

  “Um … yeah,” Julian said, feeling his stomach twist as he took another gulp. “I probably should have eaten something, but I couldn’t find anything in the house except Wonder Bread, which I don’t eat, and Cheerios. So I had a handful of dry Cheerios.” He finished his glass and sat back, his hands on his stomach. He felt it lurch, and grimaced a little.

  “Don’t throw up on me!”

  “It’s okay,” Julian reassured him. He poured himself another glass. He let his body slump, feeling the lovely warmth of beer all over his body. Leon’s face disturbed his meditation. Julian took another gulp.

  “Are you going to be okay for Nutcracker tomorrow?”

  Julian thought about it. “Sure. See the stripper over there?” He pointed. “She looks like Delilah. But her hair is like my mom’s.”

  Leon looked at him funny. “That’s just disturbing,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’re right. She does look like Delilah.”

  Julian poured himself another drink.

  The next morning, Julian woke up to the sound of somebody yelling his name in his ear. He groaned, wishing the noise would stop. His head was throbbing and he just needed to stay very still. He moved slightly, trying to investigate the noise. His earlier diagnosis had been incorrect, he was obviously dying. He clutched his head, a hand on either ear, trying to hold his head together.

  The voice wouldn’t shut up. “Jules, we have Nutcracker rehearsal, you have to get up now!”

  Somebody’s finger prised his eyelid open. “Jules?” the voice said softly. “You need to get up now, Mr. Yu won’t wait for you.”

  Mao … Keiko … oh no! Mao said something to Keiko in Japanese and they both started giggling.

  Julian wondered if he had enough strength to kick them out, and sat up with that aim in mind. He swore as his head registered the motion. His stomach lurched and he ran for the bathroom, Keiko and Mao following closely behind. He puked up all he could, then turned to the girls who were watching from the doorway with expressions of disgust. “Go away! It’s rude to watch people hurl. Where’s Leon?” He bent over the toilet again before they could answer.

  “He went on the first trip with Mr. Yu to help with sets,” Keiko said. “The show’s today; how will you dance?”

  Julian started to answer but interrupted himself: he had to bend over the toilet bowl again. That seemed to be it, so he locked the door so the girls couldn’t come back. By the time he got out of the bathroom, the girls were all sitting in the kitchen ready to go. Keiko and Mao’s buns were already perfectly done and Keiko was finishing up her nails.

  “Hurry up,” Mao said. “Mr. Yu’s going to be here soon.”

  Julian gathered his stuff quickly. He reluctantly left his room when he heard everyone else calling him, sure that he had forgotten half of his stuff. They all piled into the van, the smell of
old costumes, sets, and years of transporting Duan’s buns gave it a peculiar smell that definitely would have made Julian puke if he hadn’t seen the look on Mr. Yu’s face. Julian steadied himself and lodged himself into the seat, clutching the side of the van in an attempt to anchor himself as the van started to move. The drive from Mr. Yu’s house to The Centre had never felt so long.

  Keiko patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, good boy don’t …” she paused, unsure.

  “Puke?” Julian croaked.

  Eventually, they reached The Centre, and Julian managed to clamber out, his legs had turned to jelly. They all walked into the theatre, Keiko pointing him in the direction of the boys’ changing room. Nobody was there. Julian was grateful to be early. At that moment, Michael came bursting in.

  “Oh, good, you’re here! Tristan was looking for you. He thought that Mr. Yu was going to be late and you wouldn’t have any time to warm-up before warm-up class. Are you okay? You look sick.”

  “I’m fine,” Julian said very quietly, hoping that Michael would take the hint. “Where is everyone?”

  “In the theatre, stretching. Right, you’ve never been here before have you? Come on, put on your warm-ups and I’ll show you the way. You can help cut up the tinsel for the snow if you want. They always get the strands instead of the little pieces and have us cut them up because it’s cheaper. It’s fun, though.”

  Michael led Julian to the theatre and left him there, then ran off to see how Chloe and the rest were doing with the tinsel.

  “Dude, come on.” Tristan spotted Julian and called him over to where he was stretching his left splits on one of the audience’s seats. “I can’t believe that it’s finally the show today. I’m so excited. I love how The Nutcracker just makes you feel like Christmas is finally here. Jules, are you okay?” Julian was lying, stomach down, on the carpet.