“I suppose.” Mary gave in, still sounding doubtful. “One time would probably be all right.”
I could tell Darcy was put off by Mary’s lack of enthusiasm. “Well, come if you want. You’re invited,” she said. “See ya Tuesday.”
Darcy waved as she hurried down the hall. “It will be good to get to know the other volunteers, don’t you think?” I said to Mary.
“I already know Vince and he’s no prize,” Mary grumbled.
“What about Raul? I thought you wanted to get to know him better,” I reminded her.
“What chance do I have with Darcy around? She’s so pretty and there’s not a drop of fat anywhere on her.”
“There’s not a drop of fat on you, either,” I pointed out.
Mary laughed bitterly. “Don’t I wish.”
I didn’t have any more time to talk. It was Friday — and that meant I needed to get my derrière into high gear. (Derrière is French for behind.) I had to do my amazing Friday sprint to the BSC meeting.
Once again I managed to slide into the meeting on time. Aside from hearing about Kristy’s funny day with the Papadakises, the meeting was pretty quiet. (Kristy seemed unusually quiet, too, come to think of it. I wondered if something was on her mind.)
I didn’t take any baby-sitting jobs at that meeting and the weekend turned out to be mostly boring. I didn’t mind, though. I was really looking forward to going to Burger King on Tuesday.
Usually I’m not super fashion conscious, but I found myself thinking about clothing. Since I would be free from my regular leotard on Tuesday, I had to decide what to wear. After a lot of thought, I settled on a neon-green leotard and a pair of deep blue work-out pants with heavy yellow slouchy socks. It was important to me not to look babyish. Even though I was younger than the other volunteers, I wanted them to think of me as their age.
That Tuesday, the kids’ class was a zoo once again. There were simply too many kids in the class. At least that was my opinion. But Mme Dupre calmly divided the class into six groups and assigned each volunteer to one group.
I was glad when she gave Raul the group which included Devon Ramirez and two of his buddies. I certainly didn’t want to have to keep them in line. But I got stuck with Nora and Jane. Those two were determined not to participate any more than was absolutely required. When we worked on pliés they bent their knees so slightly you’d think they were little old ladies instead of eight-year-olds. (However, from the corner of my eye, I saw Devon bouncing up and down as if he had springs on his feet. I guess I preferred Nora and Jane — in a way.)
Mary was working with the group that included the shy girl named Martha. (That day Mary wore a big white shirt and a pair of gray sweats. You couldn’t tell what her body looked like in that outfit. Maybe that was why she wore it.) Anyway, Martha didn’t look at Mary or anyone the whole time. She kept entirely to herself.
After showing the kids the pliés, each volunteer took his or her group to the barre to practice. At the barre, Mme Dupre showed them how to do a grand battement. The kids seemed to like that because swinging their legs up to the barre was the first really balletlike thing they had learned.
For the last fifteen minutes of class, Mme Dupre put on the Fantasia soundtrack again. She told the kids to dance around using only pliés and grand battements as the basis for their dance steps. The results were funny. I had to look hard to find a real plié or grand battement anywhere.
Despite the silly-looking dancing, Mme Dupre appeared very pleased by the time class ended. “First we break them of old habits,” she said to us volunteers, “then we rebuild them into ballet dancers.”
“If you say so,” Darcy whispered under her breath as Mme Dupre walked away.
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
“This is the screwiest teaching method I’ve ever seen,” Darcy commented. “I mean, I was taking class when I was as young as these kids. Younger. And I was never in a class like this.”
“Me neither,” I admitted. “My classes were much more disciplined.”
“Of course they were,” said Sue who stood nearby. “I’m not sure what Mme Dupre is getting at.”
“I don’t think she’s taking them seriously,” Raul said. “They’re just a bunch of poor, minority kids to her.”
“A lot of them are white,” I reminded him.
“Even so, they’re inner city kids, so to her they don’t count,” he insisted.
“I don’t think that’s fair,” Mary objected in a soft voice. “She’s here teaching them, isn’t she?”
“I agree,” said Vince. “I think we should withhold judgment at this point.”
I clamped down on my smile as Mary (who was standing behind him) rolled her eyes. Vince had a particularly superior and old-mannish way of speaking.
“Let’s discuss this over burgers,” said Darcy, pulling the elastic out of her thick red hair. “I’m starving.”
We changed quickly and met in front of the school. It had already grown dark and a bitter wind was blowing. We walked toward the Burger King with our collars turned up and our heads down against the icy blast.
“I don’t know about you guys,” said Sue as she pushed open the glass-and-metal door to the Burger King, “but I wouldn’t want to walk one more step. I’m freezing.”
“It is frigid,” agreed Vince. (Again I had to avoid smiling. Vince just cracked me up.)
I knew I was going to eat supper soon, so I only ordered fries and a Coke. “Maybe that’s what I should have,” Mary fretted from behind me. “Why did we have to come here, anyway? Everything is loaded with calories.”
“Have a salad,” I suggested.
“Do you know how fattening salad dressing is?” Mary gasped.
“You don’t have to order anything,” I said.
Mary’s eyes darted over to Raul who was at the head of the line to our right. The attendant was busy loading his tray with a large order of fries, a giant burger, and a huge soda. “No, it would look strange if I didn’t order,” Mary decided. “I’ll have a small fries and a small soda,” she told the girl behind the counter.
We sat together at a long table. “I wonder if the groups we worked with today will be our permanent assignments,” said Sue, unwrapping her cheeseburger.
“Oh, I hope not,” said Vince. “I have that little butterball, Yvonne. No matter what I tell her to do, she bounces. I say, ‘plié,’ she bounces. I say ‘swing your leg back,’ she bounces.”
“I’ll trade her for do-nothing Nora and her friend, Jane,” I said. “They are just not interested in the class at all.”
“Tell me about it.” Darcy laughed. “I was amazed that you got them to do anything. I wouldn’t want them in my group.”
“How are you doing with Devon?” Mary asked Raul.
Raul held up his hand while he finished chewing. “He thinks he’s a smart guy. I can handle him,” he answered finally. “If he gets out of line I’ll clobber him.”
“You can’t do that!” Sue objected.
“Yeah, I know,” Raul admitted. “I don’t really know what to do with him. He’s pretty disorderly, too. He distracts the other kids.”
“This shouldn’t be our problem,” said Vince with a French fry poised in his hand. “Mme Dupre is the one in charge.”
“That’s true,” Darcy agreed. She turned to Raul. “Do you really think Mme Dupre doesn’t expect anything from these kids? Could that be why she’s so loose with the program?”
“I guess so,” he said. “I’m not sure.”
“Perhaps she shouldn’t expect too much,” said Vince. “The children are there for fun, not to become ballet dancers.”
“They should be given a chance like anybody else,” Raul insisted hotly.
“I think they are being given a chance,” Mary said.
“Only if this program is done right.” Raul shook his head sadly. “Sorry if I seem too sensitive about this. But being a minority you become used to getting a raw deal. You get defensive.
Haven’t you found that, Jessi?”
“No … not especially,” I answered slowly. “I mean, I know what you’re saying, but that hasn’t been my experience. In some ways I’ve been very lucky.”
“Well, I’ve experienced it and I sure hope that’s not what’s happening here,” he said, biting into his burger.
“It’s something to keep an eye out for,” I said in a way I thought was very diplomatic.
As I bit into my fry I realized I was having a good time. These kids were talking to me as if I were as old as they were and their equal in every way. I glanced at Mary to see if she was having fun.
All I could read from her expression was nervousness. She’d barely eaten one fry. Instead, she’d broken them in half and was moving them around on her tray. If you weren’t paying attention, you might think she’d eaten more than she actually had. Occasionally, she sipped on her soda, but the level hadn’t gone down much.
I came up with several reasons why she wasn’t eating. Maybe she was nervous. Or maybe she didn’t want to spoil her dinner. Or maybe she truly hated fast food. (Dawn would consider eating this kind of food inhuman torture.) Or maybe she was on a diet.
The last reason worried me. It was so out of touch with reality. And here was another puzzling question. Why didn’t she just say she wasn’t going to eat? No one would have cared. Why try to hide the fact that she wasn’t eating?
Before I could worry about it much more, my father walked into the Burger King. I had told him to meet me outside. Nothing against my father. I’m proud of him. But there’s nothing like having your father show up to remind everyone that you’re only eleven. “ ‘Bye,” I said, quickly gathering up my coat and dance bag. “My … uh … ride is here.”
Everyone waved. “So long, Jessi,” said Darcy.
“See you again Tuesday,” added Raul.
“Those kids are a bit older than you, aren’t they?” said my father as we got into the car. (He is so overprotective!)
“Yeah, but they’re real nice,” I told him. It was true. All of them were nice. Even Vince was okay. And I was especially getting to like Mary. I admired the way she disagreed with Raul, even though she had a crush on him. But I was concerned about Mary’s problem with food. I just hoped she was okay.
People are so hard to figure out sometimes. I couldn’t understand why Mary was so worried about her looks. And I really didn’t know what Mme Dupre was thinking.
I couldn’t believe that she didn’t care about the kids in the class. People in ballet tend to be very intense and serious about whatever they do. Mme Dupre certainly fit into that mold. Her gray eyes were constantly moving, taking in everything. I always had the sense that behind her broad forehead was a brain that was thinking … thinking … thinking, all the time.
Yet, what the other volunteers said was true. So far, her classes had been very undemanding.
Well, if I thought I was confused before, the next class confused me even more. Mme Dupre suddenly shifted gears.
The first change was that a piano was wheeled into the room and a pianist I’d never seen before — a man in his twenties — came in with it. Mme Dupre clapped her hands sharply for attention. “This is our pianist, Mr. Jon Tsuji,” she announced. “He has volunteered to play for our classes.” The man smiled and waved as he took his seat behind the piano.
Then Mme Dupre instructed the class to form the groups they had worked in the week before, but she asked each group to get into a line. “Now we will stretch and warm up,” she said.
While Mr. Tsuji played a simple, upbeat piece of music, she led the class in a series of warm-up exercises. When that was done, she began a class on the five basic positions for the feet. We volunteers walked up and down each line helping the students.
I was shocked to see Nora and Jane concentrating on placing their feet correctly. I think Mme Dupre had taken them by surprise. (As she had me.)
On the other hand, Devon was still goofing around. He was doing exaggerated, silly versions of the positions, while crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. Of course, all the kids around him were giggling and not paying attention.
“Devon!” Mme Dupre said. “Up front. I want you to demonstrate the five positions to the class.”
Now all eyes were on Devon. With his chin held up defiantly, he came to the front of the class. “First position,” said Mme Dupre.
Devon put his feet together with his heels touching.
“No! No!” Madame said. “Toes out. Much further out.” (In first position, the feet are completely turned out, like Charlie Chaplin’s in his old movies.)
Devon turned his feet out further. “Second position,” Mme Dupre demanded.
Devon looked at her helplessly. He’d forgotten how to do that. “Feet apart,” Madame snapped.
He pushed his feet apart, but lost the proper out-turned position. “No, not right,” said Madame. “I suggest you get back in line and pay better attention.”
Casting her an angry glance, Devon returned to his place on line.
Mme Dupre then asked the entire class to go to the barre. It was really crowded, but for pliés it wasn’t too bad. (No one was kicking anyone else, at least.) Madame instructed them to do pliés in all five positions. These pliés give your tendons and all the inside leg muscles a good workout. Kids are naturally very flexible. Still, they were in positions that were strange to them. There was a lot of toppling into one another as they lost their balance. This sometimes had a domino effect as one kid knocked over the next, who knocked over the next, who knocked over the kid beside her.
We volunteers worked hard, pushing feet into the right position and encouraging the students to bend lower, to keep their chins up, and to straighten their postures. Nora and Jane tried to get away with their little old lady pliés but Madame came along and gently, but firmly, put her hands on their shoulders and pushed down.
One thing I noticed was that the girl named Martha was doing everything perfectly. Even her arm was stretched out gracefully. “Nice work,” Darcy told her. In response, Martha just looked down at her feet, almost as if she’d been scolded.
Raul gave Devon some extra attention, but he seemed determined not to cooperate. The minute Raul walked away, Devon would tug on the long black braid of a girl named Cherisse who stood in front of him. “Hey!” she would cry as she whirled around. Devon would smile angelically and look up to the ceiling. But, as soon as she turned back, he’d tug the braid again.
After a few minutes, Mme Dupre spotted this. “Devon,” she said. “I want you to sit over there by the door.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” he protested.
“By the door. Now,” she said calmly.
Devon did as Madame said, making a face at her when she turned back to the class. The class giggled. I’m pretty sure Mme Dupre knew what he’d done, but she didn’t turn around. “Continue, class,” she said.
Devon slid sullenly to the floor by the door and watched the class, his arms crossed, his body slumped against the wall. I expected Madame to call him back after a few minutes, but she didn’t. She seemed to forget about him altogether as she worked with the class on demi pliés in fifth position. (Demi means half in French. In fifth position, your feet are so close together you can’t bend as much as in the other positions.)
As Vince had said, plump little Yvonne bounced through all the pliés. Mme Dupre smiled as she held her shoulders and guided her up and down more slowly. “The bounce is fine, but it must be controlled,” she told Yvonne kindly.
I was busy working with a boy named Alphonse when I saw Mary stop and push her bangs back off her forehead. She was flushed and sweaty. She bent forward, resting her hands against her knees.
I left Alphonse and went to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I feel weak. I think I’m getting a virus or something,” she answered in a shaky voice.
Mme Dupre joined us. “She feels sick,” I told her.
Mary straightened up and
stepped back unsteadily. “Could I go home?” she asked Madame.
“Of course,” Mme Dupre replied. “Can someone come get you?”
“I’ll call my mother,” said Mary.
“All right,” Madame agreed. “Jessi, stay with her until her mother comes.”
I walked Mary to the dressing room. “Do you have a fever?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” she said, opening her dance bag. She dressed slowly and had to stop a couple of times to rest. During one of those times she sat there in her underwear holding her head in her hands. I couldn’t help but notice that she was even thinner than I had remembered. I could see the outline of her bottom rib clearly.
“Would it help to eat something?” I asked. “I have a bag of potato chips with me.”
Mary looked up at me. I was sure she was about to say yes, but instead she shook her head. “I’m not really hungry,” she said.
I called Mary’s mother for her while she finished dressing. Then I waited out in the lobby with her until Mrs. Bramstedt arrived.
When I returned to the practice studio, Sue was demonstrating a simple pas de chat, while Mr. Tsuji played a lively piece. (I knew that piece. It was the “Dance of the Cats,” from Act III of Sleeping Beauty, in case you’re interested.)
Devon was still in his spot by the door, but the pas de chat had caught his interest. He was no longer slumped. Now he sat forward attentively, as if he were trying to memorize the movements.
Mme Dupre let every kid take a turn trying it. Once again, this was like something out of America’s Funniest Home Videos. But, no matter how incorrect they were, most of the kids threw themselves into the exercise. Yvonne, the bouncer, jumped very high off the ground. And Martha almost got the step right. She had natural talent.
I glanced at Devon. He was watching with his head in his hands. I could tell he was dying to try the exercise.
Nora and Jane had kept moving to the back of the line, until they were the last two left. Then they shuffled through the steps, red with embarrassment.
As Jane was finishing up, Madame approached Devon. “Devon, if you can’t behave next week, I will have to ask you not to come back to class anymore,” she said in a gentle voice.
Jessi and the Awful Secret Page 4