If I had any last doubts about what had to be done, this class put them out of my head. During center work, Mary stumbled forward during an arabesque penché. I was watching her. It was as if her supporting leg just gave out from under her. Naturally, the class crowded around in concern. Mary got right up, though, and went on with her dancing.
Toward the end of class, Madame gave us a fairly basic chain of steps to work on. “Now, class, starting in fifth,” she commanded. “Jeté, changement, jeté, changement, plié, tour, jeté, changement, échappé, and tour en l’air.” On the second jeté (which is a jump from one leg to the other) Mary crumbled to the ground a second time.
Once again, the class surrounded her. This time, Mary sat with her arm draped over her knee, her head hanging. She didn’t try to stand or even look at anyone.
Mme Noelle came to her side and extended her hand to help Mary up. Madame is so commanding that there is no way to ignore her. Mary took her hand and got to her feet. “I’d like to speak to you after class, Madame,” Mary said in a small voice.
My heart leapt with happiness and relief. Thank goodness! Something would finally be done about Mary’s problem — and Mary had done it herself.
“Certainly,” Mme Noelle answered. “Sit over zere and rest your ankle for now.”
When class ended, I dawdled out in the hall while Mary stayed inside talking to Madame.
I wanted to be around in case she needed to talk. I didn’t have to dawdle long. Inside of two minutes, Mary came hurrying out of the room, her head down. She walked right past me without ever looking up.
Now I was confused. She couldn’t possibly have talked to Madame in that amount of time. I had to know what had happened.
“Mme Noelle,” I said, returning to the classroom, “I need to speak to you about Mary.”
“Yes?”
“I’m so worried about her. Did she tell you about her problem?”
Mme Noelle shook her head. “She began to and zen she ran from zhe room. What do you zink her problem is?”
“It’s her diet. She’s taken it too far and it’s ruining her health. You saw what happened today.”
There. I’d said it.
“Yes, I did see,” Mme Noelle replied. “I will tell you somesing, Mademoiselle Romsey, I have seen zis before. Many times. It is tricky because it sneaks up so gradually. I suspected zis about Mary but I was not sure. Zat is why I suggested to her fazzer zat she go to a doctor.”
“I don’t think she did,” I said.
“Nor do I.” Mme Noelle began walking toward the door. “I believe you and I should talk to Mary together. Come.”
I followed Mme Noelle to the dressing room. But Mary wasn’t there. The girls said she had never come in. Next we checked the ladies’ room. Soft sobs were coming from the last stall.
I went to the door and knocked. “Mary,” I said.
The door opened and Mary stepped out. Her eyes were puffy. She gasped when she saw Mme Noelle. “You did it!” she whispered to me.
“I did,” I said. “But Madame had almost figured it out.”
Mary’s shoulders sagged and she seemed to realize that she had no choice but to talk about this.
Mme Noelle approached us. “Mary, dear,” she said kindly. “Why is zis diet so important?”
A tear rolled down Mary’s cheek. She pounded her thighs with balled-up fists. “I can’t lose enough weight,” she whispered through her tears. “I try and I try, but it’s not enough. I’ll never get to be a ballerina and it’s the only thing that matters to me.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. It was so sad to see her like this.
“Ozzer zings must matter to you, mademoiselle,” said Madame. “A great ballerina is more zan mere technique. A ballerina must bring passion to her dancing. To know passion you must care about ozzer people and you must love yourself, too.”
Mary wiped her eyes. “But I love ballet! What if I get too fat to dance?”
“What if you get too zin to dance?” Madame countered.
Mary started to sob. I guess she was finally ready to admit to herself that she had a problem. Madame put her arm around Mary. “Come,” she said. “You will dance again after you sort zis out. For now you need to rest and to talk wiss someone who can help you understand better how you are feeling. Who is coming to pick you up today?”
“My mother,” Mary told her.
“Zen we will talk more when she comes,” Madame told Mary.
I pulled some toilet paper from the roll and handed it to Mary.
“Yes, dry your eyes,” said Madame. “Zis is not such a disaster as it seems right now. Zis is somesing zat will make life better. Life is full of many such times, you will learn zat.”
Madame kept her arm around Mary and guided her out of the bathroom. I walked out behind them. “Sank you for your help, Mademoiselle Romsey,” Mme Noelle said to me as she walked back toward the classroom with Mary.
I guess she wanted to talk with Mary some more. Or perhaps she wanted to spare Mary the embarrassment of being seen by the other girls when she was all teary-eyed and upset.
I was glad it was over, yet sad for Mary. She had worked so hard. I hoped she would be able to dance again soon.
It seems to me that most problems that are difficult take a long time to solve. (Deciding what to do about Mary was one of those things.) And others are solved with a snap of the fingers.
For instance, the scholarship seemed like an impossible project — but it turned out to be a breeze.
When I arrived at the Brewers to baby-sit on Saturday, Kristy was grinning from ear to ear. “Watson is at his office right now,” she told me as she got ready to leave. “He’s talking to his accountant about the scholarship! He and Mom were going to go to this luncheon but he cancelled and Mom went by herself.”
“I’m confused!” I said.
“I guess you would be. Okay, here’s the deal. When I asked Watson about corporations, he got all excited and said we didn’t have to bother with a corporation.”
“Why not?” I asked, still confused.
“Because he’s thinking about offering the scholarship himself!”
“You’re kidding!” I cried.
“It’s not definite,” Kristy said quickly. “I shouldn’t even have told you. So don’t be too disappointed if it falls through.”
“Why would it fall through?” I asked.
“He has to talk to his accountant first,” Kristy explained. “Watson never makes a move without him.”
“I hope his accountant likes ballet.”
“I don’t think that matters,” Kristy said as she grabbed her jacket. “It just has to do with money.” She pulled up the zipper. “Well, I’m off. Karen and Andrew are over at the Papadakises’, so it’s just you and Emily for now. Unless Shannon stops over. She does seem to do that a lot lately.”
At the mention of Shannon, a tense, unhappy look swept over Kristy. I decided this might be a good time to speak up. “Kristy, are you … uh … okay?” I asked.
“Sure,” Kristy said, looking down.
“You know, we all like Shannon, but we really love you, too. I mean, Shannon is fun, but you’re — you’re Kristy.”
Kristy laughed. “I’m Kristy, all right.” She looked up at me. “Thanks, Jessi. I know what you’re trying to say and … just thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Kristy left for her meeting and I was left to play with Emily. I had been warned by Stacey about Emily’s “puway” game so I watched her like a hawk and managed to keep track of everyone’s possessions. Mostly we sat in the family room and played Emily Michelle’s version of Shark Attack.
Kristy’s mom came home first. “How was your luncheon?” I asked, putting away the game pieces.
“Oh, you know how those things are,” she said. (I had no idea how they were.) “The same old warmed-over chicken and boring speeches, but it was for the Children’s Hospital so I suppose it was worth it.”
Just then I heard the
front door close. A moment later Watson walked in. “Hi, honey,” Mrs. Brewer greeted him. “What did Stewart have to say?”
“He says we can do it right away!” Watson looked at me and a beaming smile crossed his face. “I can offer your school two full scholarships,” he told me happily. “The money is available as soon as you need it and it will be there every year.”
My jaw dropped, but no sound came out. This was so amazing! So awesomely wonderful!
“Thank you so much!” I finally said when I found my voice. “Thank you so, so, sooooo much.”
“You are very welcome,” Watson replied. He pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and, for a moment, I thought he was going to hand me the money there and then. But instead he gave me his business card. “Have someone from the school call me. That’s my office number, and you know the home number, of course.”
I wanted to hug Watson, but I didn’t feel that I really knew him well enough for that. Instead, I just stood there grinning like crazy.
“Well, I have some work to do in my study, so if you’ll excuse me,” said Watson. He left the room with a bounce in his step. From down the hall I heard him begin to whistle “The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairies,” from The Nutcracker Suite.
“He seems very pleased,” Mrs. Brewer said happily.
“He’s not the only one,” I told her.
“We’re glad to help, Jessi. And thanks for taking care of Emily.”
Mrs. Brewer drove me home. I couldn’t stop thinking about the scholarships. What kids would get them? Who would decide? What would Mme Noelle say when I gave her the news? It was all so exciting!
I hadn’t been home a half hour when Kristy called. “You’ve really made Watson happy,” she told me. “He’s been whistling ballet tunes since I came back.”
“This is so wonderful of him and your mom,” I said.
“Hey, what’s the fun of having money if you can’t spread it around a little?”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t brought it up to them. Thanks a million, Kristy.”
“All I did was ask. See you Monday.”
On Monday, Kristy seemed much more like her old self. (Nothing cheers Kristy up like accomplishing something.)
On Tuesday I reached my dance class early. I was bursting to tell Mme Noelle that Watson was willing to donate two scholarships. When I did, Madame smiled and clapped her hands together. “You are a mind reader!” she cried. “I had ze same idea and I have been contacting company after company looking for a corporate sponsorship. I had given up totally.”
“Well, now you have it,” I said.
“Come, let us tell Mme Dupre the happy news.” We went down to the practice room and met up with Mme Dupre as she was going in the door.
Her hands flew to her cheeks when we told her. “This is too amazing!” she said. “Oh, this makes me so happy.”
“Me, too,” I agreed.
I gave Watson’s business card to Mme Noelle and she hurried off to call him. When Mme Dupre and I went into class I looked around for Mary. I wasn’t too surprised that she wasn’t there.
At the sight of Mme Dupre, the class quieted down. “I have a wonderful announcement,” she told the kids. “We have scholarships available for two students. The assistants and I will choose the students based on our evaluation. The ones we feel have the most potential will be given the scholarships. It will be a difficult choice, I assure you. If you wish to be considered to study further, please write your name on a list as you leave today. I will send a notice home to your parents, as well. You will have until next week to put your name on the list.”
A murmur of excitement spread through the class. I wondered which kids would sign up.
“And now, today after warm-up we will begin work on a recital,” Mme Dupre continued. “We will be putting on a dance program at the end of our classes. I have worked out an original dance for you. Let’s begin. We have much to do in a short time.”
Mme Dupre had come up with a really great program to teach the kids. It would be easy for them to learn since it was a combination of the steps they’d been taught and even some of the warm-up exercises. Madame called it, “Morning in the City.” Mr. Tsuji played lively musical pieces by an American composer named George Gershwin. Gershwin had composed the music of an old movie called An American in Paris. His music is really uplifting.
The dance began with the class sitting in their separate groups, bent over touching their toes. Then group by group, they “awakened” each doing a different stretching exercise.
The groups continued to dance together as units. One group jetéd into an imaginary subway and then did small échappé jumps as they held their hands up like subway riders holding the straps. Another group performed arabesques as they pretended to greet one another on the street.
Madame singled out Devon to execute a series of pas de chat jumps as he pretended to cross a busy street. Martha was selected to dance a short solo. At a certain beat, everyone was to freeze in place while she performed a bourée, followed by a pas de chat, and end with a single pirouette, which is a spin on one leg. (Martha was the only student in class who was ready for it.)
“Will we have costumes?” asked Yvonne, who was featured as a crossing guard.
“Next week I want you to bring in hats, as many different kinds of hats as you can find,” she told the kids.
The class was over all too soon. While the other volunteers and I finished up, I saw Mme Dupre talk to the parents who had gathered at the door. I assumed she was telling them about the recital and the scholarships.
At the end of class, Martha ran to her mother. Her eyes were bright and excited as she spoke to her. Once again, I noticed that her mother was looking at me.
Since I was into speaking up these days, I decided to introduce myself. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jessi. I just wanted to find out if Martha will be applying for the scholarship.”
“Do you think she should?” the woman asked, speaking with that great accent that comes from the Caribbean islands.
“I definitely do!”
Martha’s mother pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “I know Martha is talented,” she said after a moment. “I worked very hard for the extra money to enroll her in ballet classes.”
“She seems to have remembered everything she learned,” I commented. “Why did you stop?”
“A neighbor told me I was wasting my money. She said there is no room for people of color in the ballet. I don’t want Martha to set her heart on a dream which cannot be.”
“Is that why you’ve been watching me?” I guessed.
The woman seemed embarrassed. “Forgive me if I have been rude. You are the only black student I have seen in this school. I was wondering how you feel about your future.”
“I feel good about it,” I told her. “Classical ballet is changing. It’s changed a lot already. And some companies, like the Alvin Ailey dancers, are mostly non-white. Judith Jamison is a very respected dancer from that company, even though she’s not a classical ballerina. I just think there’s a lot of opportunity. I can’t let other people stop me from doing what I want, and I don’t think they’ll be able to. I’ve already danced in several professional productions.”
“You have?” she asked.
“I was one of the swan maidens in Swan Lake,” I told her proudly. “And I’ve danced in other productions.”
“I’m glad we talked,” the woman said. “Martha loves this class. She speaks of you all the time.”
“She’s very special,” I told her mother. “And she’s really talented.”
At that, I saw Martha’s beautiful smile once again. It warmed me as much as any room full of applause.
Our Wednesday BSC meeting was almost as busy as the one on Monday. And because we were getting booked up fast, I knew we were going to have to call on our associate members — Logan and Shannon.
By now all of us were aware that Shannon had become a touchy subject.
So a big silence followed Mary Anne’s announcement that no one was free to sit for Charlotte Johanssen on Friday. Not even Logan.
“We’ll have to call Shannon,” said Claudia, breaking the deadly quiet. “Want me to call her, Kristy?”
“No, I’ll call.” Kristy took the phone and punched in Shannon’s number. “Hi, it’s me, Kristy,” she said into the phone. “Listen, I want to apologize for the other day. I was wrong and I had no reason to talk to you like that. I just felt left out and sort of jealous, I guess.”
I had to give Kristy credit. That took guts — especially saying it in front of a room full of people.
Shannon must have told her it was all right, because Kristy went on to ask her about the baby-sitting job. She was free to take it and Kristy hung up, looking relieved.
“We still have a problem,” Claudia said. “We’d still like to keep seeing Shannon, Kristy, but we don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“I like Shannon, too,” Kristy told us. “I wish I could hang out with her, but I don’t seem able to with my schedule. When you all spent so much time with her I began to feel she was replacing me. I didn’t like it.”
“Replacing you?” Dawn cried with a laugh. “I don’t think anyone could!”
There was a general murmur of agreement, which I’m sure made Kristy feel good.
“I have an idea,” said Mary Anne. “Why don’t we ask Shannon to attend our regular meetings every now and then? She has the time now. And she could drive over and back with you, Kristy. That way the two of you could have some time together.”
“Hey, great!” Kristy agreed. “I should have thought of that.”
“You’re not the only one who has great ideas!” Mary Anne said, pretending to be insulted.
“Speaking of great ideas, I heard about the scholarships,” said Stacey. “Way to go, Watson!”
“Would any of you guys like to come to the recital? It’s not this Saturday, but next Saturday at the school,” I said.
“I’ll be there with my parents,” Kristy told me. “I wouldn’t miss the awarding of the first Watson and Elizabeth Brewer Dance Scholarships.”
Jessi and the Awful Secret Page 8