So Done

by Paula Chase

  He opened the door another few inches and waited patiently while Mila unfolded herself from the floor.

  The girls whispered “Good lucks” were cut off as the door shut behind her. The room was deathly quiet, like all of the noise had been sucked out of it.

  “I’m Mr. George,” the older gentleman said, extending his hand. He pumped Mila’s hand lightly. “I’m the director of student services for the school system. Please place your bag in a corner and have a seat at the chair in front of the panelists’ table when you’re ready.”

  Mila quickly put on her jazz shoes and was in the chair within seconds. She crossed her feet to stop the tremors in her legs.

  Mademoiselle Noelle, Mr. George, and Ms. Rexler sat behind a table.

  “First, I need you to breathe,” Mademoiselle said. She smiled broadly as Mila’s breath came out in a swoosh. “Good. It’s okay to be nervous. But we’re just going to talk to you for a little bit. We have a few questions and then you’ll do your jazz choreography for us. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Mila said, like a soldier accepting her orders.

  Mademoiselle nodded to her fellow judges.

  Ms. Rexler pushed a pair of specs higher onto her nose and looked down at the paper in front of her, then asked, in a rehearsed clip, “What does dance mean to you?”

  Mila’s legs jiggled as the question rolled around in her head. “Dance . . . ,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  Mademoiselle held up her hand. “It’s okay to take time to think about your answer. But when you answer, speak up, please.”

  Mila sat up straighter. In the ballet audition, she’d been afraid looking at Mademoiselle would make her nervous. But her teacher’s firm instruction comforted her. She nodded confidently and projected her voice.

  “Since I was about five years old, my dad has made me and my brothers pick activities to do after school. And when we didn’t pick one fast enough, he’d pick it for us.”

  Mr. George and Ms. Rexler chuckled softly under their breaths. Mademoiselle smiled knowingly.

  “When the rec center put up posters about La May . . . I mean La Maison de Danse, it had a picture of this Black woman leaping. I had never seen anybody leap that high before,” Mila said, relaxing at the memory. “She looked like she was flying and I knew I wanted to try it. It was the first time that I asked my dad about signing up before he could tell me to. And then when I walked into my first day of class, Mademoiselle Noelle was there and she was the one on the poster. It was like meeting a celebrity.”

  Mila’s face turned hot. She felt silly admitting that, but the judges’ curious faces prodded her on.

  “That was only two years ago, but it feels like I’ve been dancing forever. Sometimes I don’t even remember what I did every day before I started dancing. It’s a big part of my life now. I . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to sound corny, like she believed TAG could change her life even though she really wanted it to. She cleared her throat and told the truth. “I feel like I need to dance because . . . it’s where I feel safe.”

  She sat back in the chair and uncrossed her legs. There was nothing else to say.

  Each judge scribbled something.

  Mila felt her heart settling. She didn’t know if what she’d said was enough. But it had been the truth.

  Chapter

  18

  Tai sat up against the wall, eyes closed as the music behind the door played faintly. It sounded like something from a Broadway play—lots of trumpets and piano. Noelle sometimes gave them choreography to that kind of music and Tai didn’t like it. It was dramatic and corny.

  She was glad they had gotten to pick their own music for jazz. She was dancing to Big Daddy’s “Get ’Em Girl.” It was lots of bass and drums.

  She drowned out the wacky music and went over her choreo. Her foot tapped to the rhythm as the beat filled her chest. Her lips mumbled the steps as she performed them in her head. She didn’t hear the music. Didn’t feel the air wash over her as the door opened beside her. Didn’t notice the man standing above her until he said, “Me-tie Johnson?”

  Tai’s eyes popped open. It was the same guy who had been in the ballet auditions. She instinctively corrected him.

  “It’s Tay, Me-tay.”

  He glanced down at the paper, squinting, like maybe she was the one who had it wrong. He held the door open. “Sorry about that. This way, Ms. Johnson,” he said, letting her march in ahead of him.

  The nerves that had run away as she imagined her routine were back.

  Two other judges sat at the table. One was a White woman with her hair in a tight dance bun. She held her head up, high and still. The other was a Black man with a head full of neat dreads. There was so much hair, Tai wondered what kept them back off his face.

  He looked familiar. Or maybe it was that he at least looked like he probably knew something about dancing, real dancing not just ballet. Not like the snotty-looking woman or the nerdy-looking guy.

  A chair sat in front of them. Tai assumed she was supposed to sit in it. No one instructed otherwise. She slid into the chair and sat her bag on her lap.

  “I’m Mr. Hudson,” the Black dude who walked her in said. “I’m president of the school board. To my left is Ms. Kirkland, director of the Romanov Ballet School and Mr. Sommers, founder of Hip-hop Heads.”

  Tai’s face lit up. Hip-hop Heads was the only hip-hop dance studio around. She watched their videos all the time. She knew she’d recognized him.

  As far as she was concerned, Mr. Sommers was her good luck charm. Having him in her interview had to be a sign. She doubted Ms. Romanov Ballet knew anything about jazz, and the other dude was just there from the school system so he definitely didn’t know boo about jazz. But Mr. Sommers would. He’d see how good Tai was.

  She sat up straight in the chair, praying they’d let her dance first.

  Mr. Hudson dashed that hope immediately. “You can place your dance bag on the floor. We’ll do the interview portion first.”

  Tai took her time putting the bag down, to get her face together. She hoped she didn’t look as disappointed as she felt. She breathed loud into the floor, letting the scrape of her bag on the floor hide it, then sat back up. She plastered what felt like a smile on her face.

  “Ready?” Mr. Hudson asked, throwing back his own smile. It looked fake.

  Tai forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Yes,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

  Mr. Hudson sat back. That was Mr. Sommers’s cue. His long dreads spilled over his shoulder and hung over the table as his eyes fixed on Tai. They were friendly eyes that didn’t quite match with his gravelly voice.

  “Miss Johnson, why do you want to be in the TAG program?”

  Tai’s mouth opened. Her lip hung in thought. It was the easiest question in the world. One she’d even expected, and still she didn’t know how to answer.

  “Take your time,” Mr. Sommers said.

  Why did she want to be in TAG?

  Because Rollie was excited about it and sometimes the enthusiasm jumped off him and stuck to her. Because it would mean they’d share a bus ride from school to TAG classes. Because if she didn’t make it, no way her and Bean would stay friends. She’d be left behind.

  She knew she couldn’t say that. Even if it was the truth.

  Mr. Hudson’s pen tapped softly on the table. Tai could see him fighting to look patient.

  Ms. Romanov Ballet sat up even taller. Her eyes went slightly to the left, as if she was trying to signal Mr. Sommers to make Tai say something, before settling on the paper in front of her. It made Tai mad.

  This was stupid. What did it matter why she wanted to get into TAG? Why couldn’t they just let her dance?

  Mr. Sommers’s voice guided her back. “It’s not a trick question, Metai.” He imitated looking under his sleeve then shaking his head to show there was nothing there. It made Tai smile. He smiled back. “You could be honest with us and say that your mother or father or auntie is makin
g you do it. We have about thirty more students to see and so probably a lot of the answers are going to sound the same. So honest answers are a nice break.”

  He flicked an eyebrow at his fellow judges. They chuckled, nodding.

  “We’re doing interviews because we want to hear from your mouth how you feel about your art or the program. Then when you dance for us, we get to see how you feel about it. Fair enough?” His gaze bore into Tai, pulling her head up and down in agreement. He folded his arms in front of him on the table. “So, why do you want to be in TAG?”

  Tai spilled her guts.

  “Because all of my friends are trying out. I think they think TAG is going to change their lives.” She couldn’t hold back a snort. “I don’t think it will. I’ve been in other programs that were fun but didn’t change anything. It seem sort of stupid to think TAG will.”

  Ms. Romanov Ballet’s eyes widened. She wrote something down on Mr. Sommers’s paper, not even hiding that she was talking about Tai right in front of her. Tai’s throat clenched. She started to stop right there. Let them ask her what she wanted; it didn’t matter. Then Mr. Sommers, without ever looking at the note, nodded for her to go on.

  Tai kept her eyes on him as she talked. “I don’t think TAG is going to change my life, but I don’t want to be the only one not in it, either.”

  “Then is it fair to say it only matters to you if your friends make it?” Mr. Sommers asked calmly.

  “I . . . I guess,” Tai said, locked into answering honestly.

  “That puts us in an odd position, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  Ms. Romanov Ballet forgot they were sitting behind an open table. She kicked Mr. Sommers lightly on the foot. “Jim, you’re getting off course,” she whispered.

  “Maybe,” Mr. Sommers said, never taking his eye off Tai. “But Metai had the courage to answer us honestly. I think it’s only fair that we talk straight back.”

  As if knowing his place, Mr. Hudson remained silent. Ms. Romanov Ballet sighed and put her pen down.

  Mr. Sommers looked down at the paper for a second, searching. “Look, Metai, there are one hundred students trying out for the dance program. That’s more than any of the other disciplines. And we can only choose thirty. Do you understand that?”

  Tai’s head felt like it weighed a ton as she nodded.

  “What I’m saying is, honesty aside, we could cut you just based on you not caring. It would actually make our jobs easier. But something tells me that there must be something else that’s making you sit here besides peer pressure or not wanting to be left out.” He crossed his legs. “One more chance to share.”

  “I’m good at jazz,” Tai mumbled. His eyebrow went up, a hook pulling the answer out of her. “And I love hip-hop. I’m a good dancer. But I’m not that great at ballet.” She paused as Ms. Romanov Ballet glanced down at her paper as if looking for something. Tai couldn’t read her expression. She didn’t care what she thought anyway. She went on, talking to Mr. Sommers. “Sometimes it seems like you not a real dancer if you not good at ballet.” The smug look on Romanov Ballet’s face fueled her. “There gotta be other people trying out who not that great at ballet but good at other types of dancing. For real, if TAG is just for ballerina wannabes then it’s not for me. And that’s fine. But the packet said it was about all types of dance styles. And I’m down for that.”

  Finally there was silence.

  If the other two were supposed to ask her questions, they’d either run out of time or didn’t care to anymore. Mr. Sommers scribbled something as he said, “Thank you. Anytime you’re ready, cue the music and show us how you feel about TAG.”

  Tai felt like she’d lost a ton. She could have floated up to the ceiling, she was so light. She was going to kill this audition. She felt it.

  Chapter

  19

  The aroma of mozzarella and sausage met Mila at the door. Her mouth watered and her stomach rejoiced. Her dad had made lasagna. Her favorite and a special treat considering it was a Wednesday. Anything that took over thirty minutes to make was usually reserved for Sunday since the boys acted like they were starving as soon as they stepped off the school bus.

  “What are we celebrating?” she asked, stepping through the door and startling Jeremy.

  He raced into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s home.”

  Mila drew the smell of the bubbling pasta deeper into her nose. She hadn’t eaten much the last few days—audition anxiety and arguing with Tai had killed her appetite. Her stomach reminded her how good food could be.

  A bouquet of balloons floated in the middle of the room. A small fish bowl sat in the middle of the coffee table full of water and pink flowers.

  Her dad came out of the kitchen. His smile was a mile wide. Jeremy was behind him holding a big You Rock Mylar balloon. He shyly thrust it at her. “Here you go.”

  “Aww, thank you, Nut,” Mila said. She rubbed his head.

  Her dad wrapped her in a bear hug. “You’re early. I knew I should have left work at noon.” He pulled her toward the sofa. “We’re making you a ‘congratulations on surviving auditions’ dinner. Tell us all about ’em.”

  Jeremy sat on the coffee table. His eyes ping-ponged between Mila and their dad. It filled Mila’s heart. Being the only girl, still at home, made her the center of attention a lot, but not always in a good way.

  JJ sauntered down the stairs. He leaned on the back of a chair. “So did you merc it or what?” he asked in greeting.

  Mila collapsed onto the sofa. She folded her legs beneath her as she wondered where to start. The thought of being good enough to beat out a hundred other people sat on her confidence. “I mean, I think I did good,” she said.

  She replayed the day in her head. There had only been two other questions in the interview. The kind you could easily figure out what they probably wanted to hear. It had been the first time anyone had asked Mila why she wanted to be in TAG. She knew they were asking everybody the same thing, but the question had freed something inside of her. For the first time she shared her dreams of using dance to see the world outside of Del Rio Bay and it felt totally possible.

  When it came time to dance, her nerves had finally calmed. They had a choice—make up their own or use a combination taught on day one of the auditions. She’d never been good at making up her own stuff and gladly used their choreo. Imagining herself in the La May dance room, she’d lost herself in the short routine. When it was over, Mademoiselle looked pleased. That was enough for Mila.

  She shared as much with her family. Her dad’s smile was so big Mila could count all his teeth.

  “So quick, no thinking . . . you think you made it?” he asked.

  It was one of his favorite tricks, making them answer on the spot without thinking. He said the first answer was usually the honest one.

  “One minute yes and then the next minute no,” Mila said with an apologetic shrug. It wasn’t the kind of answer that usually went over well with her dad. His laugh reassured her.

  He settled in, ready for every detail. “I think it’s normal to feel that way. Did a lot of Black kids try out?”

  Mila was happy to oblige every question he had. She was enjoying reliving it. But when JJ’s eyes wandered to the kitchen, she let him off the hook by asking what she knew he was thinking. “How long before dinner is done, Daddy?”

  JJ rewarded her with a grateful look.

  “Another twenty minutes,” her dad said.

  “Can I go finish my game?” JJ asked.

  “Your sister isn’t done,” her dad said, ready to get lecture-y. “Are you?”

  “No, I am,” Mila said. She stood up, giving JJ permission to roll out. “Plus I need to take a shower.”

  “Can I play?” Jeremy asked, following JJ. He pleaded the entire way up the stairs, JJ growling no all the way.

  “Jamila, wait,” her dad said before she could get up the stairs. “I’m very proud of you.”

  She beamed back at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
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br />   “No, not just for doing well at the audition. You do good at whatever you put your mind to. That’s just who you are.” He walked over to her. His hand stroked her shoulder. “Once I said no to moving to the Woods, I wondered if maybe it could hurt your audition. I wasn’t sure you even still wanted to try out.” He cradled her head, turning it up to him. The gold flecks in his brown eyes twinkled at her. “You know, after we talked about it, I talked to Cinny.” A ghost smile passed over his face. “She read me a little.” He laughed. “Okay she put me on blast, as y’all kids say.”

  Cinny had never been afraid to speak her mind even to their dad. Mila wished she had the same courage.

  “I have to admit, I was surprised you wanted to move with your aunt, but mostly I was hurt.” He guided her so she was standing in front of him. He sat down on the bottom step. “When I let Cinny move, I knew I’d made the right decision and it was like a weight had lifted off me. Then once she was actually gone, that weight came back ten times heavier. It’s not right to let somebody else raise your kids. And that’s why I stepped it up because I didn’t want to ever do that again. Then you come to me assuming I was going to let my only other baby girl go. And that thing shook me.” He exhaled then gave her a fake smile. “Cinny said that I should let you move with them.”

  Mila’s eyes lit up with hopeful curiosity. It instantly killed her dad’s smile.

  “And you still want to go even though you made it into TAG?” he said.

  Mila frowned. “I don’t know if I made it, Daddy.”

  His mouth twisted, half smile, half grimace. “What if I told you that you made it?”

  Mila’s mouth dropped open. Questions blazed across her mind. She’d made it? How would he know? When did he find out? Did everyone else make it, too?

  Her dad’s finger went to his lip, shushing her stunned silence. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. You look so shocked, baby girl. Did you really not think you were good enough to get in?”