by Sheryl Berk
They all agreed and started sewing using Scarlett’s mom’s machine. After a few hours, they were done and tried them on for size.
Anya admired herself in the bathroom mirror. “These are great. I hope Miss Toni doesn’t notice we did a little fashion makeover on our old costumes.”
Scarlett agreed. “We look the part. Now we need a fabulous dance routine to perform.”
Bria held up her phone. “I downloaded the perfect music.”
At the touch of a button, an eerie voice filled the room: “Space, the final frontier …” Then Frank Sinatra’s version of “Fly Me to the Moon” started playing.
Rochelle covered her ears. “Oh, no, no, no! Not cool at all!” she said. “My grandma likes that song.”
Bria pouted. “I thought my Star Trek/Sinatra remix was very cool,” she insisted. “I don’t suppose you have any better ideas?”
“How about Katy Perry’s ‘E.T.’?” Rochelle suggested. “No one’s cooler than Katy, and it has a spacey vibe.”
Both Anya and Scarlett agreed.
“Fine.” Bria sniffed. “I’m outvoted. But I think you could have at least given Frank a chance!”
Chapter 8
Birthday Blastoff
Scarlett knew that any party Liberty threw would be over-the-top—but this one was over-the-moon. When she and the rest of the Divas arrived, they were greeted by several servers dressed in various alien costumes. Liberty’s mom, Jane, was dressed in a gold hooded jumpsuit with matching metallic eye shadow and lipstick.
“Hi, girls!” She waved. “Just call me J-3PO!”
Rochelle rolled her eyes. “Oh boy. This is gonna be interesting.”
“I like the dude with green skin and three eyes,” Bria remarked. “He kinda looks like my uncle Charles …”
A woman with pink hair and antennas offered Anya an appetizer. “Pig in a rocket?” she asked, waving the plate under her nose. Anya took a mini hot dog wrapped in a roll with a triangular hunk of cheese on top. “This is so Gracie,” she told Scarlett. “It’s just too much!”
“Don’t you mean tutu much?” Rochelle teased. “A little ballet humor.”
Scarlett looked around for Gracie. She insisted her mom drive her over early to help Liberty with all the last-minute details and Scarlett hadn’t seen her since. She wasn’t by the platter of star fruit and Mars red velvet cookies, nor was she playing the Saturn’s ring toss game in the living room. At least the birthday boy was having a blast: Olivier was zapping “alien invaders” on the giant TV in Liberty’s den.
“You know what’s missing from this party?” Rochelle asked her friends.
“Darth Vader?” Bria replied, stuffing a flying saucer–shaped ice cream sandwich in her mouth.
“No, our humble hostess,” Rock replied. “I haven’t seen Liberty anywhere.”
“Or Gracie,” Scarlett pointed out.
Just then, one of the four-armed, blue-skinned aliens summoned everyone. “Aliens and astronauts, may I call your attention to the formal dining room,” he said. Everyone filed in to see what was happening.
There, in the middle of the room, was a giant “moon rock”—craters and all.
“Awesome!” Olivier said, knocking on it. “This is so cool!”
“Stand back,” the alien announcer advised him. The room went dark as a laser light show began spinning on the ceiling. Then, in a flash of smoke, the moon rock cracked in half. Out came Gracie and Liberty—the Martian twins—in matching red sequin bodysuits and flowing red wigs. Katy Perry’s “E.T.” boomed over the speakers.
“That’s our song! They stole our song!” Rochelle exclaimed.
Liberty and Gracie did an amazing acrobatic duet filled with flips, spins, and tricks. The crowd applauded wildly.
“We can’t do our dance now—we’ll look like copycats,” Bria whispered to her teammates.
“All that work for nothing. You think it was a coincidence?” Rochelle asked Scarlett. “Or did Gracie eavesdrop and rat us out?”
Scarlett had to admit it was pretty fishy—and just like Liberty to put her little sis up to something so sneaky and underhanded.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said and sighed. “Olivier is happy and that’s what counts. It’s not about our dance; it’s about his party.”
Rochelle glanced over at Liberty, who was bowing and blowing kisses to the party guests. “Really? I think it’s all about Liberty—as usual.”
Chapter 9
Get to the Pointe
With only two more weeks to practice before opening night, Mr. Minnelli was feeling the pressure to get everything in his ballet perfect. He mopped his brow with a white handkerchief and exclaimed things like, “Quelle horreur!” whenever the dancers forgot a step, bent their knees, or fell a beat behind the music.
All rehearsals now took place at the Paramus Playhouse on the massive stage. There was so much to remember, and so many little details to check: the lights, the sets, the Ferris wheel, not to mention that all of the dances had to go off without a hitch.
The “Russian Dance” from the Land of Sweets was one of the hardest to execute. It involved crazy acrobat leaps, flips, and stunts.
Marcus clapped his hands together. “Where are my Russians?” Three boys—Will, Ben, and Presley—appeared onstage.
“This is one of the most memorable dances of the entire production,” he said to them. “Let’s hope it’s for a good reason …”
The music pounded from the loudspeakers and the dancers rushed out onto the stage, leaping and flipping through the air.
“More energy!” Marcus shouted. “Those split jumps should be high enough to touch the sky!”
But the more Marcus barked, the more confused they got. Ben accidentally tumbled into Presley, who tripped Will just as he was about to do his cartwheel. They all landed in a heap on the stage.
“Tragic, tragic, tragic,” Mr. Minnelli moaned. “Can’t anyone here do a decent flip without falling flat on his face?”
“Gracie can!” Liberty said, peeking out from the wings. She gave her a little push. “She could do that dance in her sleep. She’s an amazing gymnast.”
Gracie gulped. All eyes were staring at her. “I am?”
“Totally!” Liberty gave her another shove. “She can show you how it should be done.”
“You don’t say?” Mr. Minnelli replied, raising an eyebrow. “Would you care to show us, Gracie?”
Gracie walked to stage right and waited for the music to start. She executed a perfect aerial cartwheel and then squatted on the floor with her arms crossed over her chest. She kicked her legs out to either side without a single wobble.
“Spasibo!” Mr. Minnelli cheered. “That’s Russian for ‘thank you.’ That, gentlemen, is what I want to see!”
Gracie beamed as the cast applauded.
“Great job,” Liberty whispered. “You are the best dancer here.”
“Really?” Gracie said. “You think I’m better than even you?”
Liberty gritted her teeth. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far …” Then she smiled sweetly. “But you’re the star, Gracie. And as the star, you should get everything you want.”
“What do you mean?” Gracie asked.
Liberty noticed the crew working on the Land of Sweets backdrop. They were hard at work creating a mosaic out of multicolored candies that spelled out “Welcome to the Shore.”
“You see those candies over there?” She pointed to a mountain of gummy bears, lollipops, and jellybeans scattered on a table backstage.
“Yeah! Yum!” Gracie said, licking her lips. “There must be a gazillion of them.”
“Right, so you certainly help yourself to as many as you want,” Liberty said, egging her on.
Gracie’s eyes grew wide. “I can? I mean, I can!” She marched over and scooped up a pile and began popping them in her mouth. There were so many different kinds for the taking.
“Hey, what are you doing?” one of the scenic designers asked her. “Drop th
ose props right now! Those are property of A New Jersey Nutcracker!”
“And I’m the star of A New Jersey Nutcracker,” Gracie insisted, swiping another handful off the table. “So I can have them.”
Scarlett overheard the exchange and raced over. “Gracie! Give ’em back!” she pleaded.
“Nuh-uh,” her little sister replied, taking a bite out of a red licorice twist. “Liberty says I can have as much as I want.”
“I’m so sorry,” Scarlett said, apologizing. “She didn’t understand this was for decoration, not eating. She won’t take any more.”
“I did understand.” Gracie stamped her foot. “I’m the star and I make the rules.” She marched away in a huff, leaving a trail of jellybeans behind her.
“What was that all about?” Rochelle asked.
Scarlett shook her head. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, Liberty’s behind it.”
Chapter 10
Scene and Heard
“I want to run the snow scene,” Mr. Minnelli called from the back row of the theater. “How are we doing with the flakes?”
“Does he mean us?” Bria asked Scarlett.
Scarlett pointed to a box of white confetti floating high above their heads. “I think that’s what he means. It’s a snow machine.”
On cue, delicate white flakes wafted down from the ceiling. “Cue the music!” Mr. Minnelli shouted.
The “Waltz of the Snowflakes” song filled the air.
“Too loud!” Marcus yelled to the sound crew. He was seated at Mr. Minnelli’s side, frantically taking notes on what needed to be fixed.
The girls began their dance. A white flake fell on Bria’s nose. It tickled, and she tried to subtly sweep it off before it made her sneeze.
“No flicking flakes!” Marcus bellowed at her.
She was so busy dodging clumps of white confetti that she didn’t realize she was pirouetting to the left while everyone else was going right.
“You!” Mr. Minnelli barked. “You’re going the wrong way!”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was kind of daydreaming.”
Marcus stormed down the aisle of seats and up the stairs to the stage. He repositioned Bria stage right.
“Pay attention,” he said firmly.
He jotted a note in his binder, which Bria was sure wasn’t a compliment.
“He hates me,” she whispered to Scarlett.
“Hate is a strong word.” Scarlett tried to make her feel better. “Just make sure you follow my lead.”
When the waltz started up again, Bria was careful to stay in line and turn in the same direction as the rest of the ballerinas. The girls each held a snowy white branch in their hands as they floated en pointe around the stage. The branches reminded Bria of her plant biology experiment. Why wouldn’t that little lima bean grow, no matter how much she watered it? How was she supposed to turn in her lab report about chlorophyll if it wouldn’t cooperate?
“Glide, glide!” Marcus barked, watching them carefully. “You are supposed to be dancing on ice, not in mud!”
Bria tried her best to look graceful and keep up with the complicated choreography. It was all going smoothly, until she had to wave her branches high above her head and lean to the left.
“Ouch!” shrieked a girl next to her. “Watch where you wave that thing! You could have poked my eye out!”
“I’m so sorry!” Bria said, once again halting the rehearsal. “It was an accident. Really!”
Marcus had seen enough. “You!” he snapped at Bria. “Come over here.”
Bria looked at Scarlett and sent her a telepathic SOS. She tiptoed over to the corner of the stage where her director was standing.
“Your dancing lacks focus,” he told her sternly. “Is there a reason why?”
Bria sighed. “Would you like a list? I have a term paper due on Friday. My math midterm is in a week, and I have no idea how to solve a quadratic equation. Oh! And did I mention I am going to fail science if I don’t figure out why my lima beans aren’t sprouting. That’s it—in a nutshell.” She smiled. “No pun intended.”
She waited for her director to explode into a Miss Toni–esque tirade. Instead, his face softened. “You know, when I was in middle school, I had a very hard time keeping up with my studies and my dancing,” he said quietly.
“You? You had a hard time?” Bria gasped. “You’re a legend in ballet.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Yes, well, even so, my parents put a great deal of pressure on me to excel. I assume you know what I’m talking about.”
Bria nodded. “Absolutely! If I don’t get at least a B plus, I can’t be on the Divas team.”
“So here’s what I propose,” Marcus continued. “When you are here in rehearsal, you focus solely on the task at hand. And when you’re at home and in school, you’re not allowed to think about The Nutcracker.”
Bria thought it over. It made sense and seemed so simple—why hadn’t she thought of it? She always felt distracted, as if a million ideas were battling to get out of her brain at the same time. If she could just keep them from getting in her way …
“And if you need some extra practice time, just let me know,” he said. “I think you have a lot of talent. You just have to get your head in the game.”
Bria nodded and took her place again in the snowflake line. This time, as she put school out of her mind, her dancing was graceful and flawless. Marcus gave her a thumbs-up, and Mr. Minnelli breathed a sigh of relief.
The next group to run its scene was the toy soldiers. Hayden and Rochelle took their places in the front row. “Today’s the first day we work with our props,” Marcus said. He and Miss Andrea distributed wooden rifles.
“Cool,” Hayden whispered to Rochelle. He twirled his fake rifle effortlessly in the air and switched it from shoulder to shoulder. Rochelle tried to copy him, but it fell out of her hands and clattered to the floor.
“Butterfingers,” Hayden teased, but Rock could feel her cheeks burning. All the boys in the scene laughed and pointed at her. She was happy to be the only girl in the soldier corps—she liked to be the center of attention—but not when she made a stupid, clumsy mistake.
“These prop rifles are probably heavier than the broomsticks we’ve been using in practice,” Marcus instructed them. “Handle them with care.” He cued the sound crew, and the battle scene music swelled. The group marched in perfect unison around the stage.
“Higher, higher,” he said, correcting Rochelle as she struggled to keep the rifle suspended above her head.
When they finished, she was panting. “That thing must weigh at least fifty pounds!”
Hayden held the rifle in one hand as if it were light as a feather. “I’d say about six pounds. You just have weak muscles.”
Rochelle raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a wimp?”
Hayden chuckled. “Rock, take it easy! I’m kidding around. I’m just saying you are the only girl who’s playing a soldier and maybe it’s a little tough for you …”
Rochelle crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I’m a girl and I can’t cut it?” she challenged him. “Is that what you think?”
Hayden shrugged. He didn’t know what else to say. Clearly, he had put his foot in his mouth. “Maybe you just need a lighter rifle?”
Rochelle shoved the prop at Hayden and marched off to her friends in a huff.
Hayden handed both back to Marcus. “I don’t get it. Did I say something wrong?”
“I am not one to give advice in the love department,” the director insisted. “When I was your age, I had a knack for saying and doing everything wrong.”
Hayden suspected he was talking about his breakup with Miss Toni when they were teenagers at American Ballet Company. Rochelle and Scarlett had filled him in on everything.
“What I will tell you is this,” Marcus continued. “You want to patch things up before they get in the way of the ballet. And that’s not a suggestion. It’s an order.”
Hayden looked over at Rochelle. He swore he saw steam coming out of her ears. “She’s really mad at me. How do I patch things up when she won’t even speak to me?”
Marcus demonstrated a graceful saut de basque into a bended knee on the stage.
“Okay, I get it,” Hayden said. “Beg.”
He went over to Rochelle and did the same dance move. He kneeled at Rock’s feet and took her hand and kissed it.
“Get up,” Rochelle said, tugging on his arm. “This is embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry,” Hayden apologized. “Please forgive me.”
“Aww,” Bria said, sighing. “This is so romantic!”
But Rochelle wasn’t buying it. “I challenge you to a duel en pointe,” she told Hayden.
“A what?” he asked, scratching his head.
“You think you’re such a big, strong guy. Try walking in my shoes for five minutes!”
She handed him a toe pad and one of her pointe shoes. “You stand on your toes and I’ll stand on mine, and we’ll see who lasts the longest.” She strapped on her left shoe and waited for Hayden to put on his.
“Rock, this is ridiculous. I don’t wear toe shoes.”
“What’s the matter? Too hard for you?” Rochelle taunted him.
“They won’t even fit me.” Hayden tried to wiggle his way out of it.
“Try mine,” Anya offered. “I’m a size nine wide. I have huge feet like my dad.”
Hayden slipped his toes into Anya’s shoe and laced the ribbon up his ankle.
“This is so silly,” he said, limping over to Rochelle. “What is this supposed to prove?”
“That everyone has his or her own strengths and weaknesses,” she said. She put on the right shoe and went up in relevé. “Do what I do. And Anya, you clock it.”