by Charis Marsh
“Not yet, Dad. I know what I’m going to put down, though.”
“Have you thought about what you are going to take in grade eleven and twelve yet?”
“Not really.”
“Do you have any idea what you would like to take in university if you go?”
“Nope.”
“You could always go to university to take dance, I suppose,” Jeff said, thinking.
“Dad, that’s totally stupid. You aren’t going to be dancing for a good ballet company if you are going to university for dance. If I ever went to university, it would definitely be for something academic.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
“It’s a while before I have to think about this, anyway.”
“It’s coming faster than you think, Kaitlyn. But okay. Have a good day.” She climbed out of his car and began walking up to the doors of McKinley Secondary. She was tired of thinking about her future. Discussions on the topic both scared and bored her. She pushed open the doors and walked toward a round table that had been taken over by a group of Super Achievers students.
“Hey guys.”
They ignored Kaitlyn, the decibel level of their conversation too high to even hear her. She sat down next to Cromwell Gilly. McKinley let him put on a fashion show each spring, a half-hour show where students wearing his work paraded down a long runway he created down the steps inside the school.
“Sweetie, just wait till you see her dress. Bright yellow to bring out her hair, bits of blue — sweetheart, there’s even a train.” He was talking to Sasha, a rhythmic gymnast, about Taylor’s dress. Of course he’s getting Taylor to model for him, Kaitlyn thought, jealous, but agreeing with his choice. If she was a designer she would want Taylor to model her stuff, too.
Keiko came up to them, looking perfect as always. Kaitlyn wasn’t sure how she always managed to look so calm and ordered. Her clothes always matched, she did her makeup perfectly, and she apparently had gotten up early enough this morning to bring a thermos of tea. “Keiko! Sweetheart, you’re still going to be in my show? Right? Right?”
“Of course,” Keiko said, smiling. “Be calm, Cromwell Gilly, I said I will do.”
“Okay, you are going to just die so dead when you see what I made for you. I have been working my fingers to the bone for it. At first, I was like, I can’t make you a kimono-themed dress. That’s racist. And then I was like, why is that racist? It’s fricking brilliant! You are going to love it.”
“Okay.”
Julian collapsed at the bench beside them, buried his head in his arms, and promptly had to lift his head again so that he could yawn.
“Good morning, sunshine! What have you been up to, sweetheart?”
“Dancing. Reading,” Julian mumbled from the depths of his elbow.
“Want to be a part of high fashion?”
“If I have to. Do I get to do my own makeup?” Julian suddenly sat up, an expression of unholy glee on his face. “I’ll do it if I can put on my makeup.”
“No. I don’t trust you.”
“Fine. Cromwell Gilly, do you know what would make your show even better?”
“Two of me?”
“No. One of you is enough. Imagine if instead of having your iPod playlist on while they’re coming down the runway, you played the drums.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll be way too busy.”
“Fine, fine … I still think it might be cool, though. And like, you could have everyone dance once they reached the bottom? It would be so sweet.”
“Jules. Look at me, sweetheart. Do I look like I want to put on musicals? No.”
“Oh! I didn’t even think of that. Of course you should have one of the opera singers join in too. They could be singing like … like … ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.’ Your dresses always remind me of that song. Are you okay, Cromwell Gilly?”
Cromwell Gilly gulped. “Jules, somewhere in that ocean of idiocy is a genius trying not to drown. That is the name of my show. It’s perfect.”
“What?”
“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. That’s the theme of this show. It’s so perfect!”
“Glad I could help.” Julian put his head back down and promptly fell asleep.
Kaitlyn was up and out of her seat the second the bell rang. She had thought that Taylor was annoying in class with her incessant talking, fidgeting, and texting, but the alternative was apparently absolute boredom. She had no one to talk with in class now, and nothing to do but doodle, which — because she was painfully bad at drawing — was extremely unsatisfactory. She hurried out into the hall, doing up her jacket, and was accosted by Jessica and Jonathon. “Hey, hey, stop, kid,” Jonathon said. “I heard that Mr. Angelo was handing out the yearbooks early to Super Achievers students. Come on, let’s go get ours.”
“Okay,” Kaitlyn said. They ran up the next flight of stairs to where the English classrooms were and down the hall to Mr. Angelo’s classroom.
Somebody was already there, talking to Mr. Angelo. They stopped outside, realizing that it was Alexandra. He was talking quietly and they couldn’t hear what he was saying. “Let’s just go in,” Kaitlyn said impatiently. “Come on, we’re going to miss the bus.” Kaitlyn walked into the classroom and Jessica and Jonathon followed her. “Oh.” Crap. Alexandra was holding a pile of journals and her yearbook, and she looked like she had been crying.
“Be with you in minute, guys,” Mr. Angelo said quickly. “So, Alexandra, you can handle this for me? It’s a bit out of the proper procedure — if there is a procedure for this sort of thing — but I think it would be better coming from you.”
Alexandra nodded.
“Okay then. I should probably put them in a sealed envelope —” Mr. Angelo dug around on his messy desk and found a large brown envelope. He put one of the journals that Alexandra was holding inside, carefully licked it and closed it. On the outside he wrote FOR MRS. CASTILLO in Sharpie, and then marked the date. He paused and looked at Alexandra. “Do you think I should also put my phone number? In case she wants to ask me something?”
“Yes,” Alexandra said decisively.
“All right. Thank you for handling this for me, Lexi. And if you ever change your mind about helping out with the newsletter, or just want to contribute to a small section of it, let me know.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Angelo.”
“Now, you guys, here for yearbooks, am I right? All of you are in Super Achievers, no fakers? Last year I got in trouble with Mr. Murray because I let some regular students get theirs early, and that apparently led to anarchy.” Mr. Angelo chuckled at his own wit and gave Kaitlyn, Jessica, and Jonathon their yearbooks.
They took them quickly and ran for the bus; just as they ran up to the stop, the bus pulled out. “Really? Really?” Jonathon complained. “He totally saw us. That bus driver hates us.”
“Jonathon, the bus driver does not hate you,” Jessica sighed.
“What was that about?” Kaitlyn asked Alexandra quietly as Jessica and Jonathon continued to argue.
Alexandra shook her head. “Mr. Angelo wanted to talk to me about writing an article that focuses on things that the Super Achievers students were doing. I haven’t decided yet if I have time to do it, though.”
“What about the envelope?”
“You know those journals that they make us keep at the beginning of class?”
“Yes …?” Kaitlyn said, not sure where Alexandra was going with this.
“Well, I’d forgotten to pick up my journals from grade ten, so I went by to pick them up.”
“What? They were still there? Alexandra, that’s, like, a year.”
“Yeah, he has a whole filing cabinet of old journals that people had left. Like, really old ones. And he found mine, and then he found one left by Mrs. Castillo’s daughter.”
“Mrs. Castillo had a daughter?” Kaitlyn exclaimed. She had never thought of Mrs. Castillo having a daughter. She didn’t seem like the sort of person who would have children. “I didn
’t even know she was married.”
“What do you think the Mrs. is for?” Alexandra said sarcastically.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But where is her husband, then?”
“Still in Cuba, I think. Mrs. Castillo came over here with her daughter when the Demidovskis gave her a job, and her husband couldn’t come. I’m not sure why.”
“So … where is her daughter?”
“Um … she was in a car accident in England, several years ago. She died.”
Kaitlyn stared at her, realizing now why that journal was such a big deal. “Oh, geez.”
“Exactly.” The next bus pulled up to the bus stop, and they got on.
“Sign my yearbook?” Jessica asked Alexandra.
“Later,” Alexandra snapped. “We can all sign at the academy.” Kaitlyn stared out the window. She couldn’t picture having Mrs. Castillo as a mother.
The academy was suffering the effects of a full year with not enough sun, and when the sun finally came out, it highlighted all of the dirt and grime coating the building, inside and out.
“Seriously, has anyone found out if they have a janitor yet?” Kaitlyn complained.
“Just clean it yourself if it bothers you so much,” Jonathon said, irritated.
Taylor came up to Kaitlyn, a huge smile on her face. “Sign mine?”
“Wait, how did you get a yearbook? You don’t even go to McKinley anymore.”
“Yeah, but I paid my school fees. I got Angela to bring mine for me.”
“Okay …” Kaitlyn sat down on the floor and traded yearbooks with Taylor.
Taylor handed her a sparkly green gel pen to write her message. “I’m getting everyone to write in a different colour,” she explained.
“Um, okay …”
“What colour do you want me to write for yours?”
“Um, up to you.”
“I’m going to do it in this pink one then. I call one of the blank pages in the back.”
“Okay.” Kaitlyn started to write. Hey, Tay, it’s been great dancing with you this year! HAGS, love you. Kaitlyn. She looked up; Taylor was still writing. And writing. And writing. “Hey, when do you think you will be finished, Taylor? I want to get other people to sign, too, before class starts.”
“‘I’ll be done soon,” Taylor said absently. “I’m trying to describe our year so that you can remember it. How do you spell ‘oranges’?”
“O-R-A-N-G-E-S, I think. Okay, you can keep my book for a bit, I’m going to go get changed.”
“Okay.” Kaitlyn left Taylor and went downstairs. There was a commotion in the girl’s change room, and she began to walk faster, not wanting to miss whatever was happening.
There was a circle around Mao, who was sitting on the bench, crying. “What’s wrong?” Kaitlyn asked.
“She has to go home,” Keiko said sadly. “And she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to work in Japanese ballet company, she wants to work in Canadian ballet company, and if she leaves, where will she go?”
“Oh.” Kaitlyn stood there awkwardly. She wasn’t close to Mao. “Aren’t they at least going to let her finish up the year?”
“Yes, but she can’t come back in September.”
“Mao, I’m sorry. Maybe you can still get a job in Canada.”
Mao shook her head, tears rolling down her face. “Not easy,” she said. Kaitlyn got changed quickly and headed upstairs, wanting to get away from the awkwardness.
Upstairs, Aiko had dropped by and was being hugged to death in the hallway by everyone along with Leon. Mr. Yu was going to give her a ride to the airport later, she was telling Alexandra. Kaitlyn was surprised to see that Alexandra looked extremely choked up about Aiko leaving.
“I remember when you first came to Canada,” Dimitri said, sprawled out on one of the chairs, laughing at the fuss. “You were so cute, but you got lost all the time!”
“Oh … I forget that,” Aiko laughed. “Yes, I always used to get lost, ‘where is bathroom?’ ‘where is bus stop?’, ‘help, how I get home?’”
Dimitri laughed. “Yup. That’s how I’m going to remember you.”
“Please, no,” Aiko said firmly. “Now I don’t get lost … so much. Now I can read English!”
Kaitlyn giggled. “When did you come here, Aiko?” she asked, curious.
“When I was thirteen,” Aiko said, smiling. “Now I am eighteen — I am old.”
“You came here when you were thirteen? Wow, I didn’t know that.” Kaitlyn thought about that. She couldn’t picture going to Japan by herself when she was thirteen and not being able to read the signs or understand the other students. She also couldn’t picture her mother ever letting her try.
“Good luck,” Tristan said, hugging her and Leon.
“Time to go, time to go,” Mr. Yu said impatiently, walking over. “You want to miss plane?” He looked at Tristan and winked. “When you get job, uh? Soon? You getting old …”
“Er … working on it,” Tristan said uncomfortably. Aiko and Leon disappeared out the door.
But Aiko suddenly ran back. She handed Alexandra a hair pin shaped like a flower. “Here, a present,” she said, smiling. “You are the best at the academy now. Ganbate!”
“Ganbate,” Alexandra said, in shock, as Aiko ran out. She looked down at the pin in her hand, and Kaitlyn gulped. She would have given a whole lot to have been the one that Aiko said that to. What about Grace …? Kaitlyn looked across the room; Grace’s expression as she stared at Alexandra looked as upset as Kaitlyn felt.
“Everyone, are you coming to class today? Or is this a Canadian holiday somebody forgot to tell me about?” Mr. Moretti said impatiently, standing in the doorway. They all quickly went into the studio.
“I know everyone is very excited for summer,” Mr. Moretti said, cracking his back against the barres. “But this is not summer yet. You will have to put up with me for a few more weeks yet, babies. Come on, to work.”
Kaitlyn sighed and began to work. The summer sun was just teasing them, shining through the windows and illuminating the dust in the air. Mr. Yu came inside the studio, dragging a piece of the prop house. He walked back outside the door and came back with a large bucket of paint. He loudly dragged the house over to the wall so that it was propped up, and began to paint, whistling noiselessly.
“Do you really have to always do this here?” Mr. Moretti said, annoyed. “Always? Really, it is enough!”
“This is the biggest studio,” Mr. Yu explained.
“I don’t see your point. You fail to make sense, my little man.” Kaitlyn was a little confused by this comment, because it was so blatantly untrue. Mr. Yu was very tall.
They were working on an adagio exercise, when Kaitlyn felt a sharp jab in her back. “Ow! What …?”
It was Taylor. “Look,” she said, pointing toward the corner of the group that was currently dancing.
In the left corner, in the front, Angela was crying as she danced. As in, red face, tears streaming down face, snot, the entire Broadway production. “Oh dear,” Kaitlyn said, dismayed. There wasn’t really anything much else to say. Angela kept dancing. Kaitlyn looked over at Mr. Moretti; she distinctly saw him notice (he could hardly miss it) and look away. I don’t blame him; I think I’d do the same. Wtf?! Angela finished the exercise and stood in the corner, continuing to cry. A couple of the dancers looked over and then quickly looked away; but nobody was friends with Angela, not particularly, and she was not in a very attractive state.
“Why doesn’t she just go downstairs to the bathroom if she wants to cry?” Kaitlyn whispered to Taylor. “Like any normal person?”
Taylor shrugged. “I don’t know. Come on; let’s go ask her what’s wrong.” Kaitlyn followed Taylor over to Angela. “Angela, let’s go outside,” Taylor said bossily, taking her by the arm. She led her out into the hall, Mr. Moretti making no comment on them leaving. He’s probably just glad that we are taking care of it, Kaitlyn thought.
“Here,” Kaitlyn said, handing
Angela a Kleenex. Angela took it and blew her nose, loudly. Kaitlyn couldn’t help looking revolted. Angela did not have one of those rare faces that looked charming when crying; she had the kind that turned red and swollen, plus her mascara had started to run.
“What’s wrong?” Taylor asked gently. Taylor liked it when someone else was having a breakdown; it gave her a rare chance to look confident and give advice.
“It’s just … everything!” Angela wailed.
“Well, what is ‘everything’?” Kaitlyn asked impatiently.
“Um, well, my parents are coming to see Coppelia, and they’ve invited all their friends, and I don’t even know if I am actually going to be in the show.”
“What do you mean?” Taylor asked, frowning. “Everyone’s in the show.”
“I’m just understudying. Understudying one cast.” Angela started to cry again, and Kaitlyn passed her another Kleenex. She was starting to get the hang of her new role of Kleenex dispenser. She felt like one of those old nobles during King Louis XIV’s reign that Alexandra had been babbling about on the bus, the ones that had jobs like holding the king’s wig in the morning. Alexandra had liked him because she said that he was into ballet, and that his most famous mistress, Madame Pompadour, was very, very pretty.
“Oh. Well, I am sure that you will be in it,” Taylor reassured her, basing this comment on absolutely nothing. “What else is wrong?”
“I came here to get better at ballet,” Angela said through her tears, “but I haven’t gotten one single correction since before Christmas.”
Taylor and Kaitlyn looked at each other. “That can’t possibly be true,” Kaitlyn said quickly. “They must’ve corrected you.”
“No,” Angela wailed. “Not. One. Single. Correction. How am I supposed to get better that way?”
Taylor and Kaitlyn both sat down on the floor in front of Angela, trying to think of when was the last time that they had heard or seen Angela receive a correction. After a few seconds of thinking, Kaitlyn was forced to concede that what Angela had said might be true. “Oh, wow.”
“Exactly,” Angela said, wiping her eyes and spreading the mascara a little farther down her face.