No One's Watching

by Sandy Green

  There won’t be a next time. “Okay.” Poodle socks? Ghillies? This was getting weirder and weirder. Mom would be horrified to see me in this folk dance class.

  I plunged my hand into the bag and pulled out a black, leather shoe with loops along the top. Long, skinny, black laces dangled from it. I frowned and jammed it back in. No way would I wear that strange thing.

  “Do you want me to show her how to tie the ghillies?” asked the dark-haired girl who bumped into me.

  “Thanks, Megan.” Mr. Sean shuffled through CDs.

  Megan overturned the bag and dumped everything on the floor. “My ballet teacher also teaches Irish dance. I’m so lucky.” She sorted through the shoes, holding the soles up to my discarded ballet slippers to compare the size. “These ought to work. Now for poodle socks.”

  Megan and the rest of the little girls wore bumpy, white socks landing halfway between their knees and their ankles. She handed me a pair. “Since you’re wearing your ballet tights, you can save the socks for tomorrow. They’re regulation.” She stood and snapped the hem of her spandex shorts. “Do you have a pair like these?’

  I had several black pairs in my room. I nodded.

  “Wear them tomorrow, too.” She squatted and gave me a pair of the funny black shoes. “Try these on.”

  “I thought you wore something like tap shoes.” I held the shoes by their laces as if they were dead rabbits.

  “They’re called hard shoes and only for more advanced students, like Lindy and me. I’m twelve. You get them after you study Irish dance for a couple of years. With hard shoes, the steps are quick.” Megan nodded toward the others. “The rest of the girls have only had a little Irish dance.”

  My mind went numb as I fit black shoes on my feet. The supple leather was softer than ballet slippers. Megan untied her shoe and showed me how to pull the laces so they tightened along the top of my foot.

  “Some Irish dancers wrap the rest of the laces around their ankles and tie it off. I like to wrap it first under my arch and then around my ankle. The shoe doesn’t gap that way. And don’t forget to make a double knot.”

  I copied her until the laces resembled a black web against my foot.

  “Start over.” She frowned. “If you pull them too tightly, you’ll strangle your foot. If the laces are too loose, your shoe will flop and you’ll trip.”

  I tried it again and showed Megan. She tested the laces by picking at them as they lay across the tops of my feet. It stung where she snapped them. Her four-leaf clover green eyes shone approval.

  “About ready?” Mr. Sean rubbed his hands together.

  Megan brushed her hands off. “That’s as good as it’s going to be for now. Stand up.”

  I blinked dumbly and stood. Yesterday I was in the advanced ballet class. Today I was taking orders from a twelve-year-old. Could I sink any lower?

  Apparently, yes. I stood at the barre in the middle of the pack of future middle schoolers, my head poking above them as if I were Snow White. Blake was by himself at the barre facing the mirror. So much for us sticking together.

  Mr. Sean spoke from the front of the room. “Today, we’ll have an introductory class so Kitri and Blake can get used to moving in a new way. We’ll be doing something I choreographed for my students. We’ll learn the choreography for our piece sometime next week which should give us plenty of time for rehearsals.”

  Megan exchanged a glance with a blond ponytailed girl and shook her head.

  “Let’s start with basic posture.” Mr. Sean stood straight in first position, with his arms against his sides so no light shone through. “Nice and tall, even the neck is long. Relaxed, yet completely pulled up.”

  We mimicked him.

  “Relax. Not so stiff. It’s dancing more under yourself. I’ll try to give you the French ballet terms for steps similar to the Irish steps, although it’s a style all its own. Irish dance isn’t ballet with stiff costumes and curled hair.”

  Curled hair? Were we expected to curl our hair for the performance? This morning I used a gallon of hairspray trying to keep the wisps from poking straight up on my head. Lucky this was my first and last exposure to this form of dance.

  “Keep your arms flat against you. They always remain at your sides.” He demonstrated.

  Irish dancers keep their arms at their sides?

  “Always?” I blurted. Considering my ballet teachers never relented on my flailing arms, that was the first good news since I arrived at camp.

  Mr. Sean tipped his head side to side. “I guess not always. Occasionally, your arms are here.” He put them on his hips like in character class. “Sometimes you might hold another dancer’s hand.”

  I forced my eyes not to stray from Mr. Sean and spy on Blake’s reaction to all this.

  Mr. Sean waved us into the center of the room. “Don’t forget. Your arms may appear to do nothing, but they help your back support all of your legwork.” He rubbed his hands together and sat on the floor without using them to help him down. “Let’s sit and start with ab work.” He patted his stomach. “To strengthen our core.”

  Mr. Sean demonstrated a bazillion ways he wanted us to do crunches. Two bent knees, both feet on the floor or one foot across the other knee. Legs straight in the air. Curling your body around your legs or over them. Tucking one leg behind your ear. Ha ha. I made that one up. I’d no idea there were so many ways to torture yourself.

  My backbone ground into the floor. I was sore from yesterday, and this wasn’t helping.

  After we repeated each side ninety-seven times, Mr. Sean sprang to his feet. “Good job. Everyone stand at the barre. In Irish dance, we turn our legs and feet out when they’re on the floor. Not when they’re in the air.”

  I scratched my head and dragged myself to my feet. My spine was an apostrophe. I clung to the barre and rubbed my back with my free hand.

  Mr. Sean used Megan to demonstrate a grand battement leg kick, Irish dance style. Such long legs for a little girl. I straightened as we crowded around her. Megan held onto the barre with one hand. She turned out in first position with her heels together and toes pointing outward. Everything was okay. So far. When she kicked her leg in front of her face, her knee faced the ceiling. It wasn’t to the side, like in ballet.

  Mr. Sean propped his hands on his waist. “It might seem confusing at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

  My head hurt. This wasn’t going to work for me on so many levels. I took a deep breath. Then an aroma filled my nose. A lovely, delicious, woodsy smell.

  Someone drew close to my ear. “This is a lot harder than it looks.” Blake’s voice rolled into my ear like waves on a shell-free beach.

  I slid my eyes toward him. His nose brushed my cheek, and I nodded. I pretended we were characters in a graphic novel. I didn’t want to turn the page.

  Mr. Sean nodded at Megan. “One more time, please.”

  Yes, take your time, Megan. Please do. I’d like to freeze this moment while we all watch you, and Blake’s cheek warms mine.

  “We’re the only two people in this whole, entire place who will ever understand how hard it is to go from ballet to Irish dance. Maybe we should practice extra on our own. After dinner.” Blake rubbed his chin.

  Blake and me, alone in the studio? Was that a date? My heart fluttered. Last year he didn’t notice me. He didn’t know my name and, most certainly, he didn’t smell like a senior in high school. This year I was “Kit” to him, and we were planning, for the first time, when we’d get together.

  Alone.

  Chapter Ten

  I mentally shook my head like my mind had fleas. This is insane. Why would I need to rehearse Irish dance with Blake when I was certain I’d be joining Candace in character class? Or did he just want me to practice with him? Like a dance buddy? Still I was always willing to help another dancer. Even if I knew Mrs. Ricardo would bend to my mental will and get me out of this class. Sure, I’d practice with him. Besides, he was so cute.

  I expected Blak
e to gaze dreamily at me. Instead, he glued his stare to Megan. He pinched his brow and squinted his eyes as if someone dropped a piano on his foot.

  Mr. Sean hurried to the CD player. “Let’s try it with music. Four times with the standing foot flat on the floor and four times raised on the ball of your foot. Ready?”

  Blake stepped behind me as we all moved to the wall and grasped the barre with our left hands. At least I would be able to show off my extreme flexibility to Blake. If I weren’t so stiff.

  As an Irish jig intro played on the CD, Mr. Sean told us to get high on the balls of our feet. When I kicked, my leg barely reached my waist. So much for showing off.

  Mr. Sean counted out the exercise. “Now in fifth position. Same thing.”

  We crossed our feet with the left toe touching the right heel and the left heel to right toe. This was actually fun. The music was so much more lively than the dull classical piano music played during ballet class. I forgot I was sore.

  We faced the opposite way, held onto the barre with our right hands and repeated everything with our left legs. Blake’s arm jerked away from his side a few times. I breathed deeply, trying to find his cologne with my nose. That messed me up and caused me to lose my concentration. My free hand floated up as if I were asking a question in algebra class.

  “Careful with your arms.” Mr. Sean paced along the room.

  I pulled mine to my side.

  “Time for cardio work.” Mr. Sean had us face the barre and hold on lightly with both hands. We alternated hopping on each foot in a confusing combination. I sneaked another peek at Blake, and we cracked up. Mr. Sean sped up the music. By the fourth time we repeated the exercise, I was sucking down air like it would make me weightless. Blake’s hand brushed the side of mine as we held onto the barre. I was going to die.

  More jumps at the barre, this time in fifth position switching feet as we landed. Finally, something like a ballet step. We even did entrechat quatre jumps — jumping in the air, beating the heels around each other back to front and landing with the same foot we started with. Blake gave me a thumbs-up. I was sure the overlap between ballet and Irish dance wouldn’t last long. Mr. Sean must’ve been giving us these similar steps to lull us into thinking it wouldn’t be so difficult to learn Irish dance. I had to stick to my convictions.

  We stretched at the barre and on the floor.

  “It’s vital to keep your upper bodies quiet. Think of swans.” Mr. Sean paddled his hands in the air. “They’re working like mad under the water, but their bodies are calm. Our legs work underneath, but we’re drinking a cup of tea on top.” His face was serene as he pantomimed sipping from a teacup. “Irish tea, of course.”

  My stomach, sore from all the crunches, hurt as I joined everybody laughing at Mr. Sean’s illustration. He sure was a different teacher from Mr. Jarenko. I didn’t want to be rude to Mr. Sean and act like I hated Irish dance, and I didn’t so far. I had to keep my ultimate goals in front of my brain. I doubted this detour into Irish dance would achieve my target.

  “We have time for a little circle work and then something from the corner.” Mr. Sean demonstrated running steps to the side, three alternating hops starting with the right foot and a cut to switch sides. “I want you to hold hands so you get the feel of pulling upward and outward. Take up space. Move expansively. In Irish dance, there isn’t much sideward movement.” He waved everyone to their feet. “Let’s stand and hold hands.”

  Blake offered his hand to me. I clasped it, curling my thumb around his like it was something I did every day. I died again. Thank heaven I had perfected my ballet dancer’s face, thanks to practicing in the mirror. Raised eyebrows. Alert and attentive. Not a whole lot of expression.

  I came back to life and held out my left hand to the girl with blond, curly hair who was on the other side of me. She grasped it as if it were made of china. Or a favorite stuffed toy. My insides twisted as she whispered to the girl next to her, “I get to hold Kitri’s hand.” Like that was a good thing. Something special.

  Mr. Sean selected a song on the CD player and rushed back to join the group, holding the hands of two other twelve-year-old girls. “Make your circle wide. No letting go.”

  With Blake holding my right hand, I didn’t worry about that.

  “Try to maintain your distance and not tug on each other.” He tapped his foot as he counted the rhythm. “Ready. One-two-three-four and one-two-three-four.”

  The circle moved to the right with wide running steps, like pas de bourrée couru in ballet, only wide open. Blake and I moved in small steps. Wrong. Mr. Sean corrected us. Then we hopped and pointed our feet, made a quick cut and started to the left.

  “Bigger.” Mr. Sean gestured with his open arms. “Open your steps more.”

  We switched to the right again. My feet fumbled. It was like learning a new language with your body.

  “Don’t bounce. Not in this particular step. Glide more.”

  It reminded me of square dancing. Only with a lot more class. Elegant, sweeping. The music ended, and we dropped hands. I swept mine to my face and detected the faint remnants of Blake’s cologne. How long could I go without washing my hand?

  “I know it’s a lot for Kitri and Blake to absorb, but we have to move quickly so you’ll be ready to perform your duet.” Mr. Sean pointed to the corner. “Let’s do some under-overs. Lindy, why don’t you demonstrate?”

  The curly, blond-haired girl stood in the corner and waited for the music. When she danced, it was like a step in ballet we do in the center of the room. Only snappier. Lindy darted down the diagonal with a slight pop instead of skimming from side to side.

  I studied the little girls as they moved across the floor, marking the steps in my head. When it was my turn, I stood in the corner and pointed my left toe. In the mirror, the black ghillies looked strange on my feet, but since everyone wore them it wasn’t weird.

  So many things to remember. Turn out on the floor, but not in the air. Count one-two-three and one-two-three. I started off and sailed across the floor.

  “Good.” Mr. Sean followed me across the studio. “Keep those arms quiet.”

  It was just as hard to do nothing with my arms as to use them in ballet. I scowled.

  Blake followed me, his steps stuttering. When he reached the other side, he scratched his head. “You’re getting the hang of this Irish dance stuff. You’ll learn it in no time. You don’t need extra rehearsal.”

  Oh, no. Even though I wasn’t going to continue with Irish dance, I’d love to help him out. Did that mean he didn’t want to meet with me after supper?

  Chapter Eleven

  I pushed a few stray hairs behind my ears. “It was just luck I figured it out.”

  We lined up along the back of the room and waited for another turn.

  “It’s like Pas de Basque.” A ballet step I knew Blake would know. One of the girls leaped across the floor. “Only moving forward the whole time.”

  Blake marked it with his feet as we stood in line. “Yeah, you’re right.” His delighted face resembled a toothpaste model’s. “Thanks.”

  Class ran overtime. Mr. Sean dismissed us with a little speech about the lyrical dance we’d be learning for the performance — a slip jig, the ballet of Irish dance and, even though boys didn’t compete in slip jig in popular Irish dance competitions, we’d both have the easiest time learning. “Blake and Kit, you may be wondering why I selected you for this performance class. Both of you are excellent dancers who pick up steps quickly. You have great posture and leaps, clean feet, and know how to interpret the music. All important in Irish dance.” He waved. “See you tomorrow.”

  I sat stunned. When I finally untied my ghillies, little furrows dug in my skin from the round shoelaces snaking over the tops of my feet. I rubbed them.

  “You’ll get used to that—” Megan plopped next to me, crumpling her legs under her, “—once you figure out how tight or loose to pull the laces.”

  Blake strode over. “What did
you think of what Mr. Sean said?”

  My mind replayed his words — “excellent dancers.” “Nice.”

  “Cool. It would still be a good idea if we ran through some of this new stuff.” He held up a shiny CD. “Mr. Sean loaned me this so we can get used to the music, too.”

  My heart leapt to my throat, and I covered my lips with my hand so it wouldn’t jump out of my mouth. “Good idea.” Another page from a graphic novel materialized in my mind. Two figures. Blake and me, our heads touching, as we sat on the floor listening to the sad strains of Irish music. A flute solo drifted from the CD player.

  I bundled the shoes in my bag, too nervous to wrap the laces neatly around the soles, like I always did with my pointe shoes. I couldn’t wait to tell Candace about getting to be alone with Blake.

  Megan planted herself in front of me. “What time should we meet?”

  “We?” I blinked.

  “How about seven?” she suggested.

  Blake shrugged. “You don’t have to practice with us. You guys already know this stuff. You’ll be bored.”

  Yay, Blake. And so thoughtful of others’ time.

  Megan shook her head. “You both need help from experienced Irish dancers. Just because you’ve taken ballet classes doesn’t mean you can miraculously learn Irish dance in a couple of weeks.”

  “Irish dance isn’t so different from ballet. Weren’t you listening to Mr. Sean? He wouldn’t have picked Blake and me if he didn’t think we could cross over.”

  Megan shook her head. “From what I saw in class today, you two need all the help you can get.”

  I stood next to Blake. Two five-foot-eight towers. Sorry, Megan, three’s a crowd.

  Lindy sidled up to us, her eyes the color of Sleeping Beauty’s blue tutu. “Can I come, too? I can help. I compete in Prizewinner.”

  “Prizewinner? Are you talking about boxing?” Blake huffed a laugh.

  Megan ignored him. “I’m in Prizewinner, too. Good idea. You should come, Lindy. Even if I’m in the corps, I don’t want to be embarrassed on stage by a couple of newbies.”