So Done

by Paula Chase

  She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t gotten a text from her the night before or even word one while they were at the bus stop. It blew Tai. They had stood right next to each other at the bus stop, so it wasn’t like there wasn’t a chance to say boo, hello, dog—anything. Instead, everyone else had talked around them trying to crystal ball how the day was going to go. Now she was friended up with new girl. It was like she had been waiting on a reason to cut Tai off.

  Disgust and sadness mixed sourly in her stomach as she willed herself not to care. The bus doors opened. She followed behind Rollie and instinctively reached for his hand so he could pull her through the crowd. He grabbed it lightly, pleasing her.

  Noelle was obviously in charge. She barked out orders to the herd of students shuffling through the doors. “We need everyone in the auditorium, please.” She pointed as she spoke, directing the mass of kids toward a handful of faculty also signaling which way to go. Her eyes lit on Tai, then immediately went over her head and brightened. “Mila. Well, good morning. I’m so glad to see you.”

  Tai’s face burned at being ignored.

  “You all right?” Rollie asked. His fingers wiggled in protest inside her death grip.

  “Sorry.” Tai eased up. She cocked her head in Noelle’s direction, straining to catch the rest of the conversation. She filtered out enough sound around her to catch Bean saying, “If you love it, work for it, right?” then there was laughter.

  “Good luck” was the last thing Tai heard Noelle say before Rollie led her into the packed auditorium.

  A horrifying creep burned in Tai’s throat. She folded herself into the auditorium’s worn velvet-covered seats and eyed the huge crowd, trying not to think about how much she wanted to cry.

  Rollie’s head rolled on his neck as he took in everything. “Yo, this is insane. I ain’t think it would be this many people trying out. It’s a good two hundred people in here.”

  It seemed like way more. Students stretched from the back row to the front in the cavernous room. She counted them in her head. She stopped at seventy bun heads, afraid to know how many people she was up against.

  Until they arrived, one thought had coursed through her mind—there would be enough slots for everybody. Almost all the other bogus keep-the-kids-off-the-street programs accepted everybody. Why would TAG be any different? A few times she’d even thought about bringing that up whenever they talked about TAG. But seeing the clique sweat it out had been kind of fun. They were all so pressed.

  Until she’d seen the rows of buses and the auditioners streaming into the arts center like an army of ants, she’d been convinced she’d have the last laugh. But seventy girls?

  At least seventy, she corrected herself. There were more. A lot more based on the number of dancer types she’d watched come off buses in their black leotards, pink tights, and SPANX shorts.

  This was real. Everybody wasn’t gonna make it.

  She inhaled, held her breath, and counted until the burning made its way to the pit of her stomach. A parade of folks came across the stage, singing the praises of TAG. They all sounded too excited and way too rehearsed, like the program was magic.

  As stupid as it seemed, Tai wished that it were. If TAG was magic, it could fix her friendship and make things the way they used to be. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, but a surge of hope lifted her spirits. If her and Jamila both made it, they would still be together after school. Eventually things would get better. They had to.

  Another thing hit her. Sitting there in the dim auditorium meant Bean had been dead wrong about Tai never going along with anything anybody else wanted to do. As much as she hated ballet, she was here trying out with everybody else, wasn’t she? That had to count for something.

  When Bean stopped tripping, Tai planned on reminding her of that.

  Stubborn satisfaction eased her nerves. Beside her, Rollie’s eyes glittered. He was hanging on every word. She breathed quietly through her nose and listened to the millionth person get up and talk about how happy they were to bring this program to them. Good luck. Break a leg. Yadda yadda.

  They were finally dismissed into several long lines, including one where they took pictures of everyone auditioning. Eventually she found herself in a dance room trying to decide where to post herself. The room was wall-to-wall dancers and more trickled in behind her.

  People were stretched out, legs open in splits, some with one leg on a wall, the other on a partner helping them to loosen up. She stepped over arms and legs, looking for an empty space.

  Her shoulders actually jumped when Mo called her name and waved her over to a corner.

  Bean and Christol were with her. For a second she debated waving Mo over to sit where she stood, ankle deep in other dancers. But she wasn’t beefing with Mo and besides, Mo had called her, so she walked, back straight, face blank. She didn’t need Bean thinking she cared about having to sit near her.

  She slumped down under the barre, where the girls were camped out. “Like, could there be any more people in here?” she asked, forcing herself to sound normal.

  A few girls looked over with mild interest, then went back to stretching.

  Tai’s head turned every which way, looking back over the sea of dancers.

  “Where’s Sheeda?” she asked, talking only to Mo.

  Mo’s chest was lowered down to the floor. She reached for her heels as she answered. “She decided to only try out for drama.” She lifted her head long enough to frown at Tai. “For real, I think she thought y’all was gonna do that together.”

  Tai glanced over at Chrissy Whatsherface almost hoping she’d be looking her way so she could grit on her. But she was facedown in a center split. Why did Mo have to say all that in front of her?

  “I can try out for what I want, Monique.” She waved her hand at the girls in the room, dismissing them all. “I’m probably as good as some of these girls.”

  The look of doubt on Mo’s face made Tai hot with anger. She scowled back. “Maybe not ballet, Mo. But I tear jazz and hip-hop up and you know it.”

  Mo nodded and put her head back down to the floor.

  Tai envied her flexibility. She steepled her feet together and bent over them until her nose hovered over the floor. It was the only stretch that made her feel like she was doing something, even though Noelle made it clear it was only stretching out her back.

  A voice came from above her. “Do you want some help stretching out?”

  A grin leaped across Tai’s face.

  That’s right, Jah-Mee-Lah, you spoke to me first, she thought with cold glee. Her stomach flipped with joy. She fought the urge to snap off a smart answer by only shaking her head no. When Bean’s feet didn’t move, Tai lifted her head long enough to mumble, “I got it,” before bending back down.

  She felt hopeful. Bean was the peacemaker. It’s just how she was. An apology had to come next. And Tai was ready. Once Bean apologized, she’d go along. Cross her heart and hope to die, she’d squash the beef right then and there. Her eyes stayed on the clean, pink leather ballet slippers as she waited on her friend to dead the tension between them. She counted slowly and was up to fifteen when they padded softly away, disappearing from sight. Tai swallowed against the lump of disappointment searing her throat.

  “I tried,” she heard Bean whisper softly.

  The quiet statement roared in Tai’s ears. She tried? Tried what? Tai wondered. Offering some funky little help with stretching wasn’t the same as saying you was sorry. And why was she saying that to Christol? Had the two of them been talking about the stupid argument behind her back?

  She clamped her jaw so tight it hurt, staying in her sloppy stretch until her back ached. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone anymore. Thankfully three teachers strutted in, heads erect. Tai popped up, more than ready to get it all over with.

  The teachers stood in the front, stone-faced, until there was absolute silence. None of them were Noelle. Tai wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappoin
ted. At least she knew Noelle’s warm-up . . . sort of.

  She eyed them carefully. Dance buns always made dancers look older, but she was sure that at least two of the “teachers” were only about sixteen years old. That made her feel better. They probably weren’t there to judge her.

  She kept her eye on the girl closest to her side of the room. She had on a fierce grape-colored leo—lace in the front with spaghetti straps. The kind of leotard Tai had begged Nona to let her have, but Nona said it was too grown.

  The teacher’s voice vibrated off the dance room’s ceilings. Even in the back, Tai heard her clearly. “We’ll do a routine warm-up. One I’m sure will be no issue for those with experience.” She wrapped her arms around her small body, nodding gently with every word like she was going down some checklist in her head. “For those who are brand-new to dance, do your best to keep up. Right now, trying is just as important as previous knowledge. The panelists will ultimately be looking at a variety of things, including experience, potential, and heart.”

  A tiny smile broke across Tai’s face. Heart was being courageous enough to try. And it was the one thing Noelle praised her for anytime they had to put all the combinations together and dance across the floor. At first Tai thought she was trying to joke her. But after it happened a few times, she began owning how Noelle would yell over the music, “Girls, be more courageous, like Metai. Do the steps like you know them, even if you don’t.”

  Christol might have the experience. Mo had the potential. And Bean was naturally good, but Tai knew nobody had more heart than she did. And if heart counted, she had this.

  Music exploded overhead.

  Tai stared a hole into Purple Girl, who demonstrated each step at the very second the older woman called out a move. They were so in sync, Tai had to remind herself to participate and not just stare. She turned off her mind until all she saw was Purple Girl. She imitated her every move until her body felt like it was attached to the girl’s body.

  She had to get this right. She had a feeling her and Bean’s friendship depended on it.

  Chapter

  13

  With every move, Mila’s heart swooned. She wasn’t inside of her body anymore. Instead, she watched every pas de chat, every jeté from above. She didn’t know if her arms or legs were right. All she knew was, it felt good. Free.

  There were a lot of positions, but the choreography was actually pretty easy. Because of the new girls, she figured.

  A smile burst across her heart as she remembered she was still “new” to dance herself.

  Ms. Rexler, the audition director, yelled combinations and counts, keeping the girls as in sync as possible. She demanded the girls extend, move faster, move slower—dance, execute, remember this is an audition. And with every command, Mila adjusted, letting her body be clay formed by the older woman’s words.

  After the warm-ups, with everyone still panting to catch their breath, four panelists including Mademoiselle Noelle walked into the room and took their places at a long table in the front of the room. They had clipboards and cups and marched in as if someone had given them a cue. No one said anything.

  Mila wanted to look at Mademoiselle but was afraid. It would only make her more nervous. She watched, hawklike, as the first line of girls went, then the second. She named every step they did, banging it into her memory.

  Her line was third. It gave her legs a chance to steady. Not much, but enough.

  The music started.

  The song eased into Mila’s ear and seeped into her bloodstream. She moved naturally to the beat until the song cut off abruptly. When it did, she stood, heels touching in first position, waiting for instruction. The girls on either side of her breathed hard. She slowed her breath until she was breathing in time with them. She was afraid to breathe too loud in case Ms. Rexler or the judges said something.

  Mademoiselle Noelle leaned over and pointed to something on her paper. She flicked her eye up at a girl to Mila’s left. The judge nodded. “Again, please,” Mademoiselle said, tenting her hands in front of her.

  The music started then seemed to stop even faster than before. Mila was ready to do it a third time, but the next round of silence ended with only a curt smile from Mademoiselle.

  Ms. Rexler nodded them to the back. “Thank you, girls. Can I have numbers forty to forty-nine, please?”

  The soft tipping of slippered toes echoed in the room as the next row quickly stepped into place.

  Mila eased her way to the floor beside Mo. Mo patted her shoulder.

  “You did so good.”

  “You did, too,” Mila said. For the first time the thought of not making it into the program sank into her stomach. “I think we’re as good as some of these girls.”

  Mo nodded firmly and flicked her eyebrow up like of course.

  Mila pushed herself against the wall as Christol and Tai stepped into line. She silently wished them both luck and hugged her knees to her chest.

  As soon as the music started, Tai’s feet went left instead of right.

  Come on, Tai, you can do this, Mila rooted in her head, swallowing a gasp. The thought stayed on her heart and near her lips as the music ended.

  Mo’s arm encircled hers. Mila squeezed it.

  “She messed up on that first combination,” Mo whispered.

  Mila could only nod. Her mouth was too dry to answer.

  “She be all right,” Mo said. “No cuts till after round two. And next round we do interviews and jazz.”

  Mila hoped so. One of the judges, a short Black man with a bald head, kept his eye on Tai the entire time like he was assigned to her. He never smiled. Nodded. Winked. Anything. It made Mila nervous.

  Mademoiselle Noelle hadn’t really looked Tai’s way. But she knew Tai, Mila figured. She’d seen her dance before. It was up to the other judges.

  The panel made the row perform the combination a total of three times before dismissing them. When Tai plopped down near her, Mila instinctively reached over and touched her arm.

  “You did good.”

  “I guess,” Tai said.

  The blank look on Tai’s face made Mila’s stomach feel like dusty, ugly moths were batting their wings inside it. It was the way she felt anytime her and Tai disagreed. The only thing that ever made them go away was going along with Tai.

  She reached out to tap Tai, ready to end the stupid feud, but then Christol leaned closer, whispering, “Remember Mademoiselle Noelle said we could use the dance room to rehearse our solos. Wanna practice together?” Her eyes were glossy with excitement. “We can critique each other in case some stuff needs to be fixed.” Seeing Mila look over at Tai, Christol added with a smile. “I’ll let you ask her. But Mo already said she’d be down with it.”

  “Sounds good,” Mila whispered back.

  Mila felt like she was standing in the middle of a forked road. One road would get rid of her queasy stomach and make everything between her and Tai okay. The other—she wasn’t sure. Practicing dance with Christol and Mo. Helping each other make it into TAG. It felt new and different. She wanted Tai to come down that road with her. But she couldn’t make her.

  With Christol on one side and Mo on the other, she let herself be pulled into their critiques. Every few seconds one of them would whisper about which girls they thought were good and Mila would pass the comment back and forth. Tai sat quiet, her face stony even when Mo tapped her into the conversation.

  Pointing out how many strong dancers were auditioning made Mila nervous, but in a good way. By the end of the day the ugly moths were replaced by excited butterflies.

  When they finally stepped outside and onto the buses, Mila was shocked to see daylight. It felt like they’d been in auditions for days. Once back in the Cove she floated down the street, going over the day’s combination in her head, humming the music aloud. She raced into the house, yelling hello to her brothers and undressed.

  Her phone rang as she headed to the shower.

  Cinny.

  �
�Heyyyy,” she sang, ecstatic.

  “Umph, I was going to ask how your audition went but it musta been good. You sound happy,” Cinny said.

  Mila shared every detail with Cinny. Minutes later, breathless from her own chatter, she dialed it back to let Cinny talk about whatever she wanted.

  “That’s so good, Mi,” Cinny said, sounding like a proud momma. “So how you and Metai getting along these days?”

  It wasn’t an odd question coming from Cinny. She’d never cared for Metai. Mila knew it was her own fault for always sharing when Tai got on her nerves. Even when Mila didn’t complain, Cinny always checked in to make sure there was no drama between the girls.

  Mila cradled the phone closer to her lips, debating how much to share. There was no sense in lying. Cinny would hear it in her voice.

  “We not really talking,” she admitted.

  “It’s always something with her. What now?” Cinny asked.

  “It’s stupid,” Mila said.

  “It always is,” Cinny said. “So what her hot tail mad about now?”

  She gave her sister the most basic lowdown, leaving out Tai’s comment about her being grimy. Cinny would demand to know why Tai would say something like that about squeaky-clean Mila, of all people.

  “I keep telling you to stop messing with Metai, but I know that’s easier said than done,” Cinny said. Mila could practically see the eye roll. “Real talk, Tai has always been jealous of you. I don’t think she even know how to be a friend, because she so busy always wanting what you have.”

  “Like what?” Mila scowled. “Tai gets whatever she wants from Ms. Sophia. She’s the one with more clothes than the store. And her grandmother finally let her cut her hair. What is she jealous about . . . me having to watch Jeremy every day after school or cook dinner three times a week?” A sense of righteous annoyance crept up her neck.

  Cinny sucked her teeth. “You always so daggone innocent, Jamila.” She laughed like it was cute, but her voice was laced with warning. “Trust, Tai is jealous of you. For a few dozen reasons, probably, but what she hate most is she’s a Cove girl and you not. And every single time you do something like wanting to move or liking to take ballet, it reminds her that you not. She hates that.”