Breaking Big

by Penny Draper

  The dancers manage to untangle themselves and get back to the performance, and I hand off the lantern to Jeremy, waiting in the wings. He looks like he’s in shock. There’s a lot of improv going on as the dancers find their places in the choreography. I bet a lot of companies couldn’t get back on track after something like that. But the Premier Dance Company can do anything. I play it cool for the rest of the production, right to the very last moment when the artificial fog rolls across the stage, making us all disappear as the curtain finally drops.

  I’m mobbed. I don’t know if they’re going to kiss me or kill me, but I’m not worried. I did what I had to do. If they didn’t like it, if they’re mad, if it wasn’t enough to keep the role, well, that’s the way it goes. But at least I tried.

  Thirteen

  Cam and Jer catch me in the hall and pull me into a small studio. “That was awesome, man!” Cam says.

  “Thanks! You know I couldn’t have done it without you, right?”

  “The look on Quince’s face! It was priceless!” Jer exclaims.

  “Yeah, and when you decorated his hair with the streamers? He couldn’t believe it was happening!” Cam doubles up with laughter.

  “The one I really liked was when Oberon couldn’t find the flower. He was trying so hard to be kingly, but up close you could tell that he was saying, What the hell?” Jer casts his eyes skyward and sighs. “It was beautiful.”

  I don’t say much. It’s more fun to listen to them do a postmortem on the prank. But much as I want the moment to last, duty calls.

  “I gotta go,” I say. “Mr. Acton’s called an immediate debriefing.”

  Cam laughs. “You think? This debrief will be historic!”

  “What do you think they’ll do to you?” asks Jer in a worried voice. “I mean, the rest of the dancers have got to be mad.”

  “All I know is that they can’t make me feel any worse than I felt before I did it,” I say. “So… whatever. I’ll roll with it.” I take a deep breath and go into the studio.

  * * *

  “What he did was insane! He threw everything off!”

  “I thought I’d throw up, I laughed so hard!”

  “Bellamy, you can’t let him get away with this!”

  “Bottom, I really like your new look…”

  “Now the show is going to be totally ruined!”

  “Quiet! Be quiet!”

  It takes a long minute for everybody to shut up. Mr. Acton, Mr. Colson and Miss Amelia are all standing at the front of the large rehearsal studio. Finally, there is quiet.

  “So,” says Mr. Acton in a calm voice, “are you all awake now?”

  The company dancers frown and look at one another.

  “Yes, awake. Yesterday this production was on life support. Today there’s enough energy in this room to start a nuclear reaction. I’d say I prefer the latter, although something in between would be even better.”

  Nobody speaks.

  “We blamed Puck for not being good enough, but it’s Puck who figured out how to pull this piece together. Don’t any of you forget that.” Mr. Acton takes in every single one of us in his stare. “That said, today was a once-only. A wake-up call. Now we need to channel all this energy and get to work. Titania, in Act 1 I need you to…”

  It’s the most intense debrief I’ve ever been in. Mr. Acton goes through every step, every phrase, every character. Inevitably, he gets to me. “Robin, let’s keep the bucking stool—it works with your character. But I noticed that in all the confusion, you left out your final double tour. Don’t let that happen again.”

  “No, sir,” I reply smartly. But inside I groan. I knew he’d notice, but I was hoping he’d say the ending looked better without it. Fat chance. As we all finally leave the studio to go to dinner, I get shoulder punches and back thumps from the other dancers. I’m in, but I’m not done.

  I now have just one day to master that stupid jump, so right after dinner it’s back to the studio for me. I’ve been at it for about half an hour when I see a shadow pass by the door, then back up. Someone peeks in. I groan. Odette. And she’s coming inside. Just what I need.

  “What are you doing here?” Odette frowns.

  “What does it look like? I’m practicing.”

  “Why?” asks Odette. She actually looks confused.

  “What’s so weird about practicing? You do it all the time.” I wish she’d go.

  “Yeah, but I’m a dancer. You’re an idiot.” She sniffs, turns to go, then whirls back. “That, that…circus you caused today? It was disgusting. Not that you care, but somebody could have been hurt. And it looked ridiculous.”

  “I’m hardly going to do that in performance. Not even you could believe that,” I shoot back. “It was…necessary. A step in the process. I cleared it with Mr. Acton first, you know. I’m not a complete idiot, much as you would like to think so.”

  That surprises her. “Mr. Acton actually let you do that?” she asks.

  I sigh. Why doesn’t she go away? “Look, if you must know, rehearsal wasn’t going well. Yeah, yeah, just as you predicted. So you were right. And I was a mess. We thought it would help.”

  Odette stares at me. “So why are you here? Practicing?” She makes it sound like a dirty word. “If Mr. Acton likes the fact that you’re an idiot, why bother practicing?”

  “Will you cut it out with the idiot business?” I’m practically yelling now. “Here’s the thing. This was supposed to be my big break. I wanted to do it right, okay? So I stopped fooling around, and look where that got me. I always thought I was a pretty good dancer, but if you take away the fooling around, it turns out I’m not as good as I thought I was. Not good enough for the company anyway. So I have to practice. Happy?”

  “Ah, he finally sees the light,” Odette says sarcastically. Then she frowns and turns to go. She looks kind of sad.

  “What?” I say. “What’s the matter?”

  Odette sighs. “At least you have something unique. You’re a dancer and an idiot. I’m just a dancer. If my rehearsal didn’t go well, I wouldn’t have anything to add to the mix. Only technique, and if it doesn’t measure up, I’ve got nothing.”

  Oh boy. Where is Dr. Cam, psychoanalyst—heavy on the psycho—when you need him? What do I say?

  “Ummm…”

  “Don’t even try, Rob! Don’t think this is true confessions or anything, because it’s not. It’s reality. I have to be the best, because technique is all I’ve got. Charis has passion, Sybille’s romantic, and Johanna can do young and innocent. Mavis plays the comic. Everybody else has this other layer, but I just dance.”

  “Maybe you have another layer but haven’t found it yet?” I suggest weakly.

  “Oh, shut up,” Odette says fiercely. “Your balance is wrong on the double tour—that’s why you can’t do it, you know. That’s what you’re practicing, right? Watch me.”

  Odette pulls off her sweats, does a couple of stretches, then faces me. Feet in fifth position, plié, then…she flies straight up in a perfect double tour.

  “How did you do that?” I ask, aghast. “Girls don’t do double tours!”

  “Like guys don’t dance on pointe, right? Except when they do. You’re being an idiot again, Rob.” She prepares, then does a second perfect double tour.

  I want to cry.

  “I’m a dancer,” she says. “I can do any step I want.” She crosses the floor, grabs my arm and drags me to center. “You’re a mover.”

  I groan.

  “Nothing wrong with that. When you’re moving straight and fast, you eat up the f
loor. Your problem is when you try to turn. Think about it. What are your best moves?”

  “Grand jeté, cabriole…”

  “Yeah, the steps that move you full steam straight ahead. What are your worst?”

  “Well, double tour, of course…” I think about it. “And pirouettes.”

  “Right,” she says firmly. “All the moves that require rotation. Whenever you try to turn, your brain gets twisted. Your idiot side tries to get creative or something, I don’t know. And it means you miss the most important part of the whole jump.”

  “What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “The snap. Watch me again.” Fifth position, plié, and she’s soaring.

  Then she looks at me. “Did you hear it?”

  “Hear what?”

  Odette sighs.

  Maybe I really am an idiot, because I haven’t the faintest idea what she’s talking about. I watch her go to the desk and tear a sheet of paper off a pad. She sticks one corner of the paper under the leg elastic of her leotard so that it dangles down between her thighs. Then she goes to the middle of the floor, takes fifth position again, pliés and shoots into the air. What sounds like a shot rings out as her thighs slap together. I jump and she says, “So now did you hear it?”

  “That was amazing!” I’m still trying to get my heart rate down.

  “That’s the snap. It’s your thighs that hold you up straight.” Odette looks smug. I pick the paper up off the floor. It’s practically torn in two.

  “Try it,” she orders.

  This is just plain wacky, but I take fifth position, plié, then fly straight up, rotating as I snap my thighs and think of gunshot wounds. And I do a perfect double tour.

  “What the…?”

  “Again!”

  I do it again. Perfect again. I don’t believe this.

  “Keep practicing,” Odette says. “And don’t forget that you’re still an idiot.”

  An idiot who’s in total shock, and I’m not the only one. The door opens and Charis comes in, looking seriously surprised.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands.

  I open my mouth, but she’s not asking me.

  “That stunt this afternoon only got him halfway there. He still has to actually dance,” Odette replies, “and he’ll kill the reputation of the school if he flubs the very last move. Somebody had to deal with it.”

  “So you’re helping him? Really?”

  “You’re not the only one who cares about the company, Charis.”

  “Ladies?” I seem to have become invisible again.

  “But you hate Robin.”

  “How do you know how I feel?”

  “Ladies?”

  They both turn my way, looking a little startled. Ha! So I really did become invisible. Talk about channeling Puck.

  “Can he actually do it?” Charis looks questioningly at Odette, who nods.

  “Let me see,” Charis demands.

  I look over at Odette as she says, “Remember the snap.” I nod.

  Feet in fifth position, plié, and then I fly straight up in a perfect double tour. “Third in a row,” I say, grinning.

  “You are some teacher!” Charis says, looking at Odette with disbelief.

  “Don’t I get any credit?” I ask.

  “No,” both girls answer at once.

  Fourteen

  I’ve been in lots of shows before, but never as part of a professional company. There’s a different vibe. Every dancer knows they’re going to push themselves to the limit, because that’s what we do for the audience. So there’s an air of seriousness and intense focus.

  That is, until a runner knocks on the door. He’s ushered into the change room, carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses.

  “For Robin Goodman,” he squeaks out. There are titters all around. I want to either die or kill my mother, whichever comes first. Only principals get flowers. I have no choice but to take them, but having done that, I don’t know what to do with them.

  Peaseblossom saunters over with a vase. “From your mommy?” she asks sweetly.

  “She used to be my mom,” I reply grimly. “She’s just been disowned.”

  That gets a laugh. I sigh. I stick the bouquet into the vase, then reconsider. Taking the flowers back, I pull out one long-stemmed rose and present it to Peaseblossom.

  “For the ten little bruises,” I say.

  Peaseblossom goes red. “I didn’t really have bruises.”

  “I know.” I grin. Then I make my way around the room, handing roses to all the ladies. They’re all shaking their heads at this lame performance, but at least I’m getting rid of the flowers. Finally, there’s only one left. I go up to Oberon.

  “Just in case you can’t find the flower tonight,” I say as I present him with the rose. The whole room breaks up at the look on the King’s face.

  “Gotcha!” I laugh. And the beauty of it is, they really don’t know what I’m going to do tonight. Anything could happen.

  * * *

  When the orchestra stops tuning its instruments, the lights dim and the buzz from the audience quiets. This is it. Own the stage. That’s what they tell you. My grand jeté takes me front and center, and I know the stage is mine. But not only mine. As I do my short solo, I can feel every other dancer onstage. They’re watching me, waiting to react if I do something crazy. I won’t, of course, not in performance, but now I wonder if somebody else will. We’re all on high alert, watching one another, waiting for the opportunity to play up the gags.

  Peaseblossom gets me first. When I pretend to be the three-legged stool and she sits on me, she smiles sweetly, then tickles me under cover of her skirt. I buck her off two beats early, because if I don’t, I’ll bust out laughing. Not cool. From the looks on the faces of the nearby fairies, they were in on it, so I use my two counts to tickle the one closest to me. That gets them going, and for the next eight counts, we’re all grinning like crazy. We’re supposed to smile, but this is coming naturally, which makes it way more fun.

  Oberon’s flower is where it’s supposed to be, but when he hands it to me, I see the red rose tucked inside the big purple blossom. He gives me a kingly smile, then winks. I swear I leap higher as I dance offstage to make the love potion.

  Peter Quince struts when he reads from the scroll. I didn’t pack it with streamers this time, which he no doubt has already checked, but the strut tells us all that he’s on top of it. The audience cracks up when they see that Bottom has decided to keep the tiara on the donkey head, and there’s a breathless moment onstage just before Starveling opens his lantern. Ratinski’s not there, of course, but there is a rat. It takes a second for the other dancers to realize that Starveling has stuck a small stuffed rat into the pocket of his costume to honor the memory. I know to look for it, because, well, who do you think he got the stuffed rat from? The inside joke ramps up the energy even more. We are so on. It feels amazing.

  The energy keeps on building as the dance draws to a close. For everybody but me, that is. My high starts to leak away as the double tour gets closer and closer. I tense up and nearly miss a step. Luckily, I’m supposed to hide behind a tree right after, so I have a chance to catch my breath and get my head straight. Focus, Robin!

  That’s when I see Odette. She was assigned backstage duties, so she’s been around all night, helping with costumes and props and stuff, but now she’s in the wings. She’s really not supposed to be there, and she never breaks rules, so I keep half an eye on her as she unclips a piece of paper from her clipboard. Then she looks straight at me and v
ery deliberately waves the piece of paper in front of her face.

  The snap.

  I have twelve more counts to think about the jump. Then I leap out from behind the tree. It’s the last scene of the whole dance, and everybody is looking at me. It’s Puck’s job—no, my job—to bring the whole dance—every dancer, every step, every beat of the music—to a satisfactory close. No pressure.

  Feet in fifth position, plié, and then I fly straight up, rotating as I go. Twice. Energy shoots from my toes upward, and I’m flying, I’m turning…

  Snap.

  It’s a blur after that. The stage manager must have flicked the switch that makes the fog roll out over the stage, because I can feel myself disappearing from sight. I know the lights grow dim, the curtains close and the music goes quiet, but it all feels like a dream.

  Only for five seconds, of course. Then I hear applause, and the rest of the dancers are pouring back onto the stage for our bow. I take my place in line. Give me your hands if we be friends. Together we lift our joined hands in the air and bow to the audience.

  Fifteen

  Mr. Acton is pleased. Not overjoyed but pleased.

  “I liked the feeling onstage tonight,” he says. “Light and fun but with an edge. Good work, everyone. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning at nine. For now, your public awaits!” Everybody backstage claps, and Mr. Acton grins, bowing with a grand flourish.

  “We were way better tonight than I thought we’d be,” says Peaseblossom. “Even you.” She grins, poking me good-naturedly.

  The fairies joke with Starveling about his rat, and Bottom and Titania work out a hitch in Act 4. “I still haven’t got the timing quite right in that middle section,” mutters Peter Quince. It’s interesting to hear the company dancers parse their performances, but right now I don’t even care. I did it!