Authors: Sandy Green
No One's Watching (24 page)
I was too afraid to check the mirror. Did the voice with the accent belong to Mr. Sean or Mr. Jarenko? Or was Jupiter mocking me?
Whoever it was shuffled his feet but didn't leave. I couldn't pose there forever.
I filled my lungs with air along with the last of the notes from the Irish music, swiped my hand at the tear on my cheek and slowly swiveled.
Blake stood in the doorway.
“Ahh!” I flung myself at him.
“Whoa.” He laughed and staggered backward, grasping me around my waist.
My eyes bugged out, and I hopped away from him. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
He thrust his arms to each side in a big ta-da move. “I'm fine. They made me stay overnight. I had the wind knocked out of me when the tent collapsed and have a big bruise on the top of my thigh.”
I touched his forehead where his bangs hid a moth-shaped bandage. “Did you get stitches?”
He caught my wrist and interlaced his fingers with mine. “Just a couple.”
“You're lucky you weren't badly hurt. What an awful storm.”
He drew me closer. “I know I'm lucky. I get to be the boyfriend of the most beautiful dancer in the camp. If that's all right with you.”
Was he kidding? Blake and me, boyfriend and girlfriend? My head slanted toward my shoulder.
He kissed me right there in the studio. My favorite place on Earth. It was perfect. My insides melted. I'm not sure how much time passed or why I didn't drip from his arms into a puddle on the floor. All I knew was how intensely happy I was and sure of everything. Certain this feeling would last forever.
****
On Monday, I prepared myself for a week of twice-daily ballet classes, twice-daily Irish dance rehearsals, music appreciation lectures, repertory class, and Labanotation thrown in for good measure.
I avoided Shelly as best I could, considering we had all meals, Labanotation, and repertory class together. It was easy to track her when she was with Amy. When Amy wasn't in class and wasn't wearing her bucket hat, she wore a turban. With a pink feather. She had found it when she sneaked into the flamingo area at a zoo.
In repertory class Monday afternoon, Mr. Jarenko said we'd had enough of perfecting
Swanilda's Variation
and switched to teaching us Shelly's solo from
Les Sylphides
. Perfect. Maybe Mrs. Ricardo would stop by and see they'd given it to the wrong girl, but it was too late for her to switch me. I was way too excited for Irish dance classes and rehearsals.
Not to be mean or anything, but since I knew the
Les Sylphides
solo so well, I was going to prove I was born to dance it. Even the older girls, like Olivia, told me afterward I did a good job. Mr. Jarenko lifted his eyebrows in admiration. At least, I hoped it was admiration and not surprise. I caught Mrs. Sykes peeking in the studio. She didn't actually throw up. Shelly sneered.
During our Irish dance classes, Mr. Sean strung chunks of steps for our performance piece. “Remember these combinations. You'll dance them again soon. I'm trying to get a feel for what works best for all of you.” After Irish dance rehearsal that evening, Megan showed us DVDs of Irish dance performances on a portable player Mr. Sean loaned us.
By Tuesday I couldn't stop myself from asking him after class about the dance we'd perform. “I like the DVDs you gave us to watch. Especially the story ballet choreography you did for your Irish dance students.”
Mr. Sean beamed. “Thanks. I like to push the art. Ballet choreographers often make abstract pieces, so I thought I'd try to convey a story in what is traditionally a competitive dance form.”
“Will you do that with our piece? Choreograph an Irish version of a ballet? Like
Les Sylphides
?” Maybe it would satisfy Mom. If not, it was still a cool idea.
Mr. Sean rubbed the stubble on his chin.
Blake swung a towel over his shoulder. “Awesome idea.”
Megan scooted over to us. “What's awesome?”
“I heard.” Lindy flapped her hand like she wanted to be called on but couldn't wait. “Mr. Sean is going to set our Irish dance piece as
Les Sylphides
.” She clapped. “What will our costumes be?”
“What a minute.” Mr. Sean held up his hands. “Kit just suggested it.”
“Don't you think it's a good idea?” Megan asked. “What's wrong with a story to go with the dancing?”
The other munchkins crowded around and cheered.
“Hold on.” He pressed both palms toward them like holding back a tide. “Nothing's wrong with the idea. Let me think about it.”
Megan crossed her arms. “All the performance pieces should be a version of a ballet.”
“The same ballet?” Lindy asked.
Megan nodded. “The whole show would be more cohesive instead of being like a talent show.”
“Even hip-hop dancers?” Lindy gasped.
“Yeah.”
“How about character and modern?” Blake asked.
“Those, too.” Megan picked up her dance bag. “It would be so, so fun. My girlfriend's dance school at home did an alternate version of
Swan Lake
. Everybody danced in it. Hip-hop classes, jazz, even break dancers.”
“Wait a minute, guys.” Mr. Sean frowned. “The other teachers have probably set their pieces on their dancers already.”
Ms. Jen had started the character piece, according to Candace. I wasn't sure about the hip-hop class or the modern class.
“What about the music?” Lindy lifted her shoulders.
Blake hung his towel on the
barre
. “You remix it on a computer. I do that at home all the time.”
Jupiter called to Blake from the hallway and, after saying good-bye, we left Mr. Sean to sift through his CDs.
“Do you think he'll set our dance as an alternative
Les Sylphides
?” Blake asked.
“No way.” Jupiter slapped two caps on his head. “That would rock.”
“Of course, the ballet solos would stay the way they were, I guess. I'd think he'd just group all the non-ballet dances together.” I peeked down the hall for Shelly.
Blake pressed the button on the elevator. “If he can get everyone to agree.”
“If.” I nodded.
A big if.
I'd buried my anxiety about Mom's inevitable disappointment at my not clinching a ballet solo and about lying to her that I got one. A little worry finger wiggled to the surface reminding me I'd have to face her and explain why I was happy in the dance form that gave her hives and so much distress. Like grinding rosin in an open wound. Instead, I fantasized Mom's delight as I danced an Irish dance interpretation of a ballet.
I hoped Mr. Sean could and would pull it off.
On Wednesday, the next day at Irish dance class, Mr. Sean clapped his hands in the same way he had when he announced his musician buddies were going to play live for us. “I spoke with some of the other teachers, more specifically the non-ballet teachers about doing an adaptation of a ballet. They thought⦔ a drum roll pounded in my head, “â¦it was a good idea, but didn't have enough time to prepare for it. Maybe next year.”
“Oh,” the whole class moaned.
He tilted his head. “That was the other teachers. I didn't say anything about my class.” We cheered. He patted his hands at us like he was tamping an invisible quilt. “Quiet, please. You don't want everyone to think we're having too much fun.” We laughed. “I think it's a fine idea and had been tinkering with translating something from a well-known ballet to Irish dance for my studio back home. There's no reason not to try it here. After all, we're all artists and this summer dance camp is an opportunity for us to stretch our artistic wings.“
I liked the part about stretching our artistic wings. Would that reason fly when Mom saw me in an Irish interpretation of
Les Sylphides
? I sighed and gazed at Blake flicking his hair from his eyes. So perfect.
“Ireland has a rich folklore history full of dragons, spellbound swans, fairies, and magical lands. An adaptation of
Les Sylphides
would fit in nicely.” Mr. Sean beamed.
My shoulders relaxed.
Yes.
After our warm-ups and cardio work, Mr. Sean directed us to stand against the
barre
in the back of the room. He paced in front of us, muttering to himself, one finger pressed to his upper lip. He pointed to the center of the floor. “Kit and Blake, stand here please.” He arranged us side-by-side, Blake facing the audience, or in this case, the mirror. Mr. Sean positioned me slightly toward Blake and looped Blake's arm around my waist. I rested my right hand on Blake's left shoulder.
Take your time, Mr. Sean. I can get used to posing with Blake.
Then Mr. Sean pulled Lindy and two other munchkins from the
barre
and settled them to my left, posing on one knee or sitting. He did a similar pose for three other little girls to Blake's right as a near mirror image. The set-up was what I'd had in mind on Sunday. Was this a dream? Or another one of those “great minds think alike” episodes Grandma talked about when we said the same thing? Mr. Sean had arranged us in the same positions as when the curtain rose for
Les Sylphides
. Only Irish-style.
Megan leaned against the
barre
with her arms crossed and her face like thunder. Finally, he drew her around the semi-circle, right in front of Blake and me.
“Where do I go?” Steam flowed from her ears.
“The place of honor for my most devoted student.” He pressed her shoulders down and lowered her to a sitting position with one leg wrapped around her bottom. Her front leg bent so her knee was close to her beaming face. She melted into a pleased leprechaun who'd found her pot of gold.
Mr. Sean squinted and frowned, adjusting an arm here, or the angle of a dancer. When his face relaxed, it was like the sun shone in the windowless studio. “There. Look at yourselves in the mirror and remember your places. Let's begin the piece.”
It was
Les Sylphides
, and it wasn't. The music, although not the original score by Chopin, was haunting. I could totally imagine the confused poet â Blake â wandering around the misty woods and dancing with the beautiful sprites â that would be the munchkins and me.
But mostly me.
Sigh.
By the time class ended, Mr. Sean had set about three minutes of the whole piece on us, an amazing amount of time. Considering we had between seven and eight minutes to perform, we learned roughly half and that's how we danced it. Rough. Next class, Mr. Sean would teach the duet to Blake and me. I was bursting to tell Candace. Would we have enough time to get it right? And by right I meant perfect. If I were to impress Mom, it would have to be flawless.
****
On Friday evening during supper, a dance student from the college handed me a note to meet Mrs. Ricardo in twenty minutes in the room where we viewed dance movies.
“Are you okay?” Candace asked.
After I showed it to her and Blake, I fingered the note. “I'm not exactly sure what she wants.”
“Do you think it's because of what happened at Sweet Hearth's?” I folded and unfolded the paper.
“What happened at Sweet Hearth's?” Blake asked. “Isn't it a couple blocks away?”
I glanced at the wall clock.
Blake laid down his fork and wiped his mouth on a napkin.
Candace bit her lip.
I melted at Blake's cuteness spilling all over the table in the form of concern. He was so squee. “I'll tell you later.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” He pushed his chair back.
I picked up my tray. “Thanks. I'll be okay.”
“I'll see you at Irish dance rehearsal tonight, right?”
“Sure.” I left the room feeling two pairs of eyes on me. Not the friendly kind like Blake's and Candace's. The hateful kind like Shelly's and Amy's. When I tipped my tray in the trash bin, I caught Shelly stroking Jupiter's fringe of hair poking from his double caps. Why did she think I cared?
The door to the large conference room was ajar. Should I knock? I peeked in the room. Mrs. Ricardo stood behind a long table at the front of the room and shuffled papers into a folder. She stuffed the folder into a briefcase and laid it on the table.
Had Mrs. Ricardo finally decided to send me home after I saw her with Mr. Jarenko? Was her guilt too much? She pushed her cotton candy hair behind her ears as I pushed the door open.
“There you are.” She pulled her cell phone from the pocket in her full skirt and set it on the table. “I'm afraid you'll need to call your mother.”
I wanted to scream and throw myself across the table. Instead I gulped and made my way down the rows of chairs to the front of the room. My hands trembled as I reached across the table for Mrs. Ricardo's cell phone. “Are you sure this is what you want me to do?”
“Of course.” She frowned and pushed the phone closer to me.
Had someone blabbed about seeing her and Mr. Jarenko at Sweet Hearth's? I never told Nicki or Dira anything more than Mrs. Ricardo was there and we'd better sneak out before we were kicked out. Candace would never betray me.
Right?
My arm refused to budge from my side. “What do I tell her?”
“It's not what you say to her, it's what she has to tell you.”
It was my turn to frown.
Grandma.
Of course, she was to have her operation at the end of the week. Had that happened already? Was she okay?
Mrs. Ricardo picked up the cell phone and placed it in my hand. “I'll give you some privacy. I'll be in the TV lounge on this floor when you're through.”
I ran my hand over the screen of the cell phone and caught my fingernail in a tiny nick on the face.