I Forgot to Tell You

by Charis Marsh

  Alexandra shrugged. “It’s really just me and Aiko,” she said quickly, stepping forward before anyone could protest. “We can try on the costumes if you want, and the rest can try the Friends costumes.”

  Cromwell Gilly eyed her, knowing exactly how full of rot she was. But he liked Alexandra, so he replied, “All right then. I just hope no one comes crying to me when they’re missing a costume. That’s a sob story that you’ll have to take directly to the Demidovskis.” With that he swigged some water like it was the something stronger that he wished he had, and got to work. “Children! Order. These are the Villagers costumes, these are the Friends …”

  Grace left the room. Kaitlyn didn’t know what to do. Should she disobey Alexandra and try to get a costume? No, she did not want to risk Alexandra’s wrath. She turned and followed Grace out of the door, down to the change rooms. She found Grace crying at her lockers. “What’s wrong?” Kaitlyn asked awkwardly. She was never very good with other people’s emotions; they always seemed to get upset about things that she didn’t care about.

  “Like you don’t know,” Grace snapped. “This whole stupid school has been gossiping about it for weeks. I am this close to following Anna to a different school.”

  “That would be stupid,” Kaitlyn said bluntly. “Then you’ll never be a ballet dancer. I think you should just suck it up.”

  Grace raised her rather red face and glared at her. “Who asked you? You should go eat something so your butt can get a little bigger.”

  Kaitlyn was at a loss for words. She could take jokes about her weight from Taylor, or from Alexandra, but from Grace? Grace was practically at normal weight herself. She did the only thing that she could; she turned around and walked off. The clock said that it was almost time for ballet class.

  Upstairs, Mr. Yu was trying to kick Cromwell Gilly out of the studio so that he could teach, but Cromwell Gilly just kept flitting out of his reach, ignoring him as he tried to organize everyone’s costumes. Finally Mr. Yu had had enough. He reached out and picked Cromwell Gilly up, carrying him easily out of the studio and setting him in the hall. “I said out!”

  Cromwell Gilly sighed. “Fine. But I won’t be doing any last-minute fittings this year. Do you hear me?” he called as Mr. Yu disappeared into the studio, closing the door behind him. “I won’t!”

  Mr. Yu walked to the centre of the classroom. “Boys, take trunks to side,” he commanded, annoyed. “This is class time, not costume time. Girls, take costume off.” He turned to the piano to tell George what to play, but to his confusion there was no George. He looked around like the pianist might suddenly emerge from the walls. “Where is George? Go look outside, see if he is smoking,” Mr. Yu said to Kaitlyn. She nodded and went to the side door of the building. There was a small alleyway full of old metal staircases and garbage bins where most of the academy instructors went to smoke. The wind made her cold as she opened the door in her uniform. There was no George. She looked down the street to the north — there was an old homeless man walking by eating a hamburger. She looked south — there was George, pedalling fast on his old rickety bike. If George had been thirty years younger he would have made the perfect hipster, with his pianist hands, collection of plaid shirts, and old jeans that always seemed to have the left leg rolled up to show a thick woollen sock.

  “George,” she said as he parked his bike at the side of the building, “Mr. Yu wants you.”

  George snorted. He dug a cigarette out of his sock and lit it, his hands purple from holding the handlebars in the wind. In the enclosed alleyway it was calmer, but outside the branches kept whipping and Kaitlyn saw a branch lying on the sidewalk. “He does, does he? He wants me. Well, it’s nice to be needed.” As he smoked, Kaitlyn watched him, worried. In a school full of dramatic, overemotional people, George was the calm one, the one who had seen everything and let nothing faze him.

  “What’s wrong, George?”

  George shook his head, sitting down on the metal steps beside where he stood. Kaitlyn crouched beside him, not wanting to sit in her body suit on the dirty steps. “Young people don’t want to hear the troubles of the old,” he said bitterly.

  Kaitlyn shook her head. “I want to hear,” she protested. George wavered. “Tell me, George, please?”

  “All right. It’s not that interesting. There was a man — let’s call him Dick.”

  “Dick. Got it.”

  “Yeah. Now, Dick, he was really good at playing the piano — not brilliant, but good. When he was a kid his parents were proud of him for that, you know? And then when he got older he learned how to play the guitar, because girls think guitarists are sexier, but he always loved something about the piano.” George smoked, and Kaitlyn was silent. “This guy, he thought that maybe he would become a great pianist, one of those guys that has their own CD and everyone dresses up to go and see, right? Or maybe he would play the piano in a famous rock and roll band.”

  Kaitlyn waited, but that seemed to be the end of the story. “What happened next?”

  “Well, then his girlfriend got pregnant, and he had to get a job, and he started playing the piano for dance classes around the city. He was good at that, all the schools wanted him, and soon he was mostly playing for one good school that paid him well, and guesting around at others. Dick liked that, because he could see all the young dancers growing up and following their dreams. Then he turned fifty, and that kid he had? He’s grown up, and he plays the guitar, and he wants to make a living off of that.”

  “Isn’t that good?” Kaitlyn asked. “Your son is probably really good at playing the guitar, like you’re really good at the piano.”

  George smiled as he thought about that. “Yeah. He’s really good. I just want something better for him.”

  “You want him to make more money.”

  George was silent for a moment. “I guess it does all come down to that, doesn’t it?” He sighed. “I feel old. And I don’t like it. Anybody who tells you they like getting old? Don’t believe a word of it. Sure, there are good things about getting old — maturity, better taste in wine — but Dylan Thomas had it right, Kaitlyn. Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, I’d better go in before Yu is forced to do his raging tiger imitation.”

  Chapter Eight

  Taylor Audley

  Going to Seattle tommorow! Cross you’re fingers for me everyone :D :D

  Taylor woke up early, trying to remember why on earth her alarm would be set for such a hideous time of day. Oh. She had auditions today. She sat up, accidentally kicking Keiko. She’d forgotten that Keiko was sleeping over. She hopped out of bed and put her yellow bunny slippers on, walking to the kitchen. Charlize was already in the kitchen. “Good, you’re up. I was just going to go get you — where’s Keiko?”

  “She’s still asleep.” Taylor dug in the fridge for some chocolate milk and began to sip it. “Mom, can you make pancakes?”

  “Taylor, we have to leave in an hour.”

  “So?”

  “Okay, I’ll make pancakes if you are completely ready, everything in the car, hair done, by the time that they are made.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go wake up Keiko.” Taylor padded along back to her room. “Keiko! Keiko, Keiko, Keiko —” Keiko merely turned over. Taylor considered the situation. She reached out and took one of Keiko’s hairs and stuck it in her nostril, tickling it.

  “Ah!” Keiko sat up, annoyed. She rubbed her nose. “What are you doing, Taylor?”

  Taylor jumped up on her bed. “You wouldn’t get up. My dad used to do that to me when I was little.”

  “Your dad is a crazy man.” Keiko grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it. “Agh, agh, agh.” She finally got up and went over to her bag of toiletries, digging out a small box of pills. She took two and swallowed.

  “What are those for?” Taylor asked.

  Keiko frowned at her. “Just medicine.”

  “For what?” />
  “My people allergy.”

  “What do you mean your people allergy?”

  “Don’t you know that it is rude to ask people about pills? It is for my people allergy.”

  “Um, okay? My mom says that she will make us pancakes if we get completely ready really fast.”

  “Okay.” Keiko went into the bathroom and started to brush her teeth. Taylor followed her, and began to do her hair. She took some parts of her ponytail out to twist and make coiled lines on top of the smooth regular ponytail.

  “Keiko, what is a people allergy?”

  Keiko looked at her. “It is something I take a pill for. The pill makes me calm, and then I don’t hate people.”

  “Oh.” Taylor considered this. “I don’t think we have people allergies in Canada. It must be just a thing that is in Japan.”

  Keiko ignored this and began doing her makeup. She did the best eyes of anybody in the school, by the end whichever eyes she had been working on looked 50 percent larger.

  Taylor watched her. “Can you do my eyes, Keiko?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want pancakes.” This was a valid reason, so Taylor turned around to the mirror and started to work.

  “You girls ready?” Charlize called up to them.

  “Coming.” They went downstairs with their large overflowing bags.

  “I am sure that you guys don’t actually need that much stuff,” Charlize protested. Alison was already sitting at the table, and there was a large stack of pancakes in the centre of the table.

  “Yes, we do,” Taylor said firmly. “I haven’t decided which bodysuits and which pointe shoes I am going to wear yet.” She took the fork and pulled three pancakes off of the plate, organizing them in a triangular shape so that the maximum surface area was available for butter and maple syrup.

  Keiko eyed Taylor’s plate disgustedly and then pulled three pancakes out for herself, stacking them precisely on top of each other and pouring a small amount of maple syrup onto the side of her plate so that she could dip bits of the pancakes in it. Beside Taylor, Alison was too busy playing games on Charlize’s iPhone to eat. Charlize watched her youngest daughter. “Alison, eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Alison met Charlize’s eyes with a firm stare. If Taylor was easy for Charlize to manipulate, Alison was the stubborn opposite.

  “That’s what you said at dinner last night.”

  “It’s the truth.” Alison shrugged.

  Taylor looked at her, slightly confused. She was pretty sure she had not been this annoying when she had been eight. “Alison, eat it. It’s, like, really good. There are chocolate chips in it.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Fine.” Charlize took Alison’s plate away, giving up. Alison got up and left the table, going into the living room to watch TV.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Taylor whispered to Keiko. “She keeps doing that.”

  Keiko stared at her. “Are you stupid? She’s dieting.”

  Taylor frowned. “No. She’s eight.”

  Keiko shook her head. “But her tummy is maybe same size as yours. She doesn’t look like you and your mother.”

  “Yeah, she looks like Dad. So?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t like that.” Keiko finally finished her breakfast and took it to the sink, washing it and putting it on the drying rack. Taylor dumped hers in the sink. They went and got their coats, and everyone got into the car.

  “Oh, guys,” Charlize said as she pulled out of the driveway, “your dad is going to meet us for dinner in Seattle after the audition, all right?”

  “Yay!” Taylor shrieked. She hadn’t seen her dad since he had come to see her Nutcracker performance, and she had really missed him. He wasn’t very good at talking on the phone, so she hadn’t talked to him much, either; they’d had one conversation when Charlize had angrily forced him to call her after she dropped out of school, but that was it.

  “Are we going to pick up Julian?” Alison asked hopefully. Julian was her favourite of Taylor’s friends, a fact that she had no problem repeating incessantly.

  “No, Julian is getting a ride with Tristan.” They continued on to Seattle, Taylor curling up into a ball and trying to fall asleep using her Lululemon hoodie as a pillow.

  As they pushed open the doors of Pacific Northwest Ballet’s studios, Charlize groaned. There was a long line-up to sign in at the audition. “I’ll wait, you guys go get changed,” she said.

  Keiko and Taylor ran to the back, knowing where the bathrooms were from previous auditions. Taylor changed into a nice purple bodysuit, Keiko into a black one. Taylor frowned, looking at the two of them in the mirror. “Don’t you want to wear something that will make you stand out more?”

  “No,” Keiko said firmly. “Black looks nice and professional.”

  “Okay …” Taylor’s phone went off, and she checked it. She had a text from Julian.

  Are you there yet?

  Yup. U?

  No. There was drama. Tell you about in a few — can u try to get our numbers/sign us in?

  Kk, see ya.

  Taylor turned to Keiko. “I have to go tell Mom to get Julian and Tristan’s numbers, something’s wrong, they might be late.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go stretch in the hallway.”

  Taylor ran out of the bathroom and to the front of the line where Charlize was about to sign them in. “Can you get Julian and Tristan’s stuff too?” she asked. “They’re going to be late.”

  “Okay.” Charlize shrugged. “Go stretch please, okay, Taylor?”

  “Fine! I was just about to go do it. You don’t have to tell me to do everything, you know.” Taylor went grumpily off and found Keiko, who had found Kaitlyn. “Oh, hey … I didn’t know that you were auditioning for American Ballet Theatre.”

  “I didn’t know you didn’t know.” Kaitlyn shrugged. “We’re even.” She began to stretch feet with Keiko.

  “Which location do you want to go to?” Taylor asked, curious.

  “I haven’t decided,” Kaitlyn lied. Before Taylor could question her further, they were interrupted by Alexandra coming to sit down beside them.

  “You’re auditioning, too?” Taylor asked.

  Alexandra shrugged. “Why not? It’s good to have a backup summer intensive.”

  Taylor gulped. ABT was definitely not her “backup” summer intensive, she really wanted to go.

  “Look, there are Julian and Tristan!” Keiko said, pointing through the dancers sprawled on the floor. Tristan and Julian were getting their numbers and forms from Charlize. They made their way over to the girls. Julian had a huge dopey grin on his face, and Tristan looked like he was about to skip.

  “What?” Taylor said impatiently. “Come on, what happened? Why were you late?”

  “So,” Tristan said slowly, sitting down in a chair beside them and looking down on them. “We — me and Julian — decided to go take class before we came here, with the Youth Company.”

  “Can Julian tell this story?” Alexandra said impatiently. “He speaks faster than you.”

  Tristan glared at her. “Do you want to hear what happened, or not?”

  “Kk, so,” Julian said quickly. “We were taking class, and then Aiko comes in — she’s a little bit late, which Aiko never is, right? So Mr. Moretti asked ‘Why are you late?’ and she said ‘I had to talk to the Demidovskis,’ and he was like ‘Why? Or is it personal?’ and she said, ‘No, I have to tell you too — I cannot dance Swanhilda, because I got a job with Het Nationale Ballet,’ and Mr. Moretti, he was in shock, I think? He was very confused, he just stood there, and then he was like, ‘You can’t dance Swanhilda? My congratulations, of course, but you can’t dance Swanhilda?’ and then she was just like ‘… no.’” Julian took a deep breath.

  “And that is why Julian should never be allowed to tell stories,” Tristan said bitterly. “But, that is just the first half.”

  “Wait, slow down,”
Alexandra stopped him. “So, Aiko is moving to Holland before she can dance Swanhilda?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, go on …”

  “And then Leon said that he was going with her, to dance in a very small contemporary company, and everyone was like ‘Whaaaaaaat?’ Inception, mind blown, Leon isn’t going to be here? So he’s leaving, too.”

  “There’s going to be no one left soon,” Kaitlyn said sadly.

  “This happens every year,” Tristan said impatiently. “You just don’t know because you only came last September. But then, then, guess who showed up to audition?”

  “Me?” Nat said dryly from behind them. Tristan screamed and fell out of his chair. Around them, other dancers shot them dirty looks. Nat wasn’t dressed in dance clothes; he was in his normal street clothes. Taylor had seen him dance at YAGP, but she’d never met him in real life. He was much better-looking in his street clothes.

  “Er, hi, Nat,” Tristan said, embarrassed. “What’s up?”

  “I thought your sister said that you were going to Royal Ballet School in the fall?” Alexandra said accusingly.

  “Yes,” Nat agreed. “But the parentals are making a fuss lately — they don’t think that I am mature enough to survive all by my wee infant self in England. They wanted me to audition for the Vancouver … Vancouver …”

  “Vancouver International Ballet Academy,” Tristan supplied helpfully.

  “Yes, that. Why ever did they name it such an atrocious thing?”

  “Vanity,” Alexandra answered. “You can just call it the academy. That’s what we do.”