My legs weigh me down. Heeled boots cover my feet and I can’t get any traction. I look over my shoulder. The guy is gaining.…
The pneumatic hiss of the closing bus doors gets my attention.
“No!” I wail. “Don’t leave! Wait!”
The driver sees me through the side window. Gives an evil smile. A cloud of noxious smoke spurts out of the tailpipe as the bus pulls into traffic. The old man sitting in the backseat looks at me. His toothless grin mouths, “Dancergirl…”
I wake up fighting for air. It’s 2:00 a.m.
“Mom? You home?” I yell, even though I know she doesn’t get out of work until 6:00. It’s just that it feels like someone’s in the apartment. Someone who only seconds before stood beside my bed, watching me sleep—
I snap on the light. No one’s here.
A metal three-hole punch sits on my desk. It’s all I have for protection as I tiptoe into the living room. The apartment is empty, silent except for the occasional creak of a wooden floorboard. I pad into the kitchen. Check the locks on the front door. Everything is exactly the way I left it when I went to bed.
I don’t know what I expected. Some dancergirl freak sneaking into the apartment in the middle of the night? Mom installed a “guaranteed burglar-proof” lock on the door when we moved in, so it should be impossible for anyone to break in.
Still, I cannot get back to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, that creepy feeling returns.
Chapter 12
In Choreography, everyone warms up on their own. Eva puts on whatever piece of music she feels like and we stretch however we want. She must be feeling particularly nostalgic because today it’s the Beatles. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” segueing into “Norwegian Wood” is like comfort food for a modern dancer. Exactly what I need. I’m so tired from being awake half the night that I thought about skipping class to go home and nap. But then I’d have to answer a million Mom questions. Why are you home so early? Are you sick?Did something happen at school? I figured it was easier to go to class.
I’m doing simple stretches, butt firmly on floor. Blake slides over. He tilts his head toward Samantha. She’s at the barre, one leg hooked gracefully over the rounded wood. With the other securely on the ground, she pliés over and over, back straight, right arm arched royally over her head.
“Did you hear?” he whispers. “She’s got her Juilliard audition next month.”
A cloud of fear drifts over my heart. Next year, it’ll be me praying night and day just to get an audition, never mind actually performing in front of judges.
“I heard her mom’s paying Quentin for private coaching,” Blake adds. “Rich bitch.”
Before I can respond, Eva turns off the music. “Everyone warmed up?” Without waiting for a reply, she nods. “Excellent. Solos are due today so let’s not waste time. Who’s first?”
Samantha’s arm immediately hits the air. “I’ll go!” As one, we all turn. She’s not only a rich bitch—she’s a show-offy one, too.
Sam shrugs defensively. “I just want to get it over with.”
“Certainly, Samantha. That’s one way to approach it.” Eva gives the rest of us a raised eyebrow. “Since no one else is volunteering, the floor is yours. CD?”
CD versus iPod is a huge issue at Moving Arts, although no one in class knows except for Eva and me. For months, the staff lobbied for new sound systems in each of the studios. State-of-the-art docks, better speakers. Just before fall classes started, Lynette called an emergency meeting.
“Enrollment is down, folks. Rent is up. I can either not cut salaries or buy new sound equipment. Your choice.”
Which is why Eva’s now holding out her hand for Sam’s CD.
Blake and the rest of us settle along the back wall. Samantha rustles through her dance bag. She laughs nervously. “It’s here somewhere. I’m sure I dropped it in last night.…”
“Maybe if you didn’t have so many leotards—” Blake snickers. I smack him in the arm. For once, I’m on Sam’s side. I’d be a perfect mess, too, if I were about to present.
She waves her arm in triumph. “Here it is, everyone!”
“Oh, goody,” Blake mutters. Eva bites her lip as she drops the CD into the player. I swear she’s trying not to laugh.
“Tell me when you’re ready to begin, Sam.”
Samantha moves stage right. She takes a couple of dramatic breaths and does a few deep pliés before she nods.
The opening bars of a famous piece of classical music catch my attention. I know the name of it but my brain feels like the peas the cafeteria ladies dish out on the hot-lunch line. Soft, mushy and puke-green.
Suddenly, it’s Blake who’s nudging me. “Wake up. Sam’s about to cross in.”
I try not to yawn. “Got up early. Couldn’t get back to sleep—”
Jacqui, who’s taken Choreography for the past two years, leans over to shush me. Sam runs into the center of the room. She flings out her arms and does a strange series of twisting motions, which leads into a sort of hunched arabesque.
It wouldn’t have mattered one bit if I’d yawned. Everyone’s mouth opens in astonishment. Samantha couldn’t have picked a worse piece of music to go with her choreography. Or maybe she just chose awful movements. Either way, the display in front of us is pretty gruesome.
After what seems like an eternity, she freezes. The music, however, keeps playing. Sam looks up. “That’s it.”
Startled, Eva shuts off the player and begins to applaud. The rest of us eventually follow her lead. Sam takes a graceful, though nervous, bow.
“Comments?” Eva asks.
The hush is epic.
“Then I’ll begin,” Eva says cheerfully. “It was very brave of you to present first, Samantha. I liked the opening phrase but wondered why you chose that particular piece of music. Perhaps you can tell us what you’re going for?”
That’s all Sam needs. She starts in about wood nymphs and fauns in the afternoon and the quintessential beauty of the forest—yes, she uses the q word. After twenty seconds of her mumbly-gook explanation, I space out. I didn’t like her solo but who am I to judge? I haven’t even begun mine.
I jerk back to earth when I hear my name.
“Alicia?” Eva asks. “How about you?”
“Oh, uh, it was pretty good. The music was pretty.”
Eva looks amused. “It should be. It was written by Claude Debussy. But we’ve moved on from Samantha. Pay attention, Ali. I asked if you want to present next.”
“Sorry. Mine still isn’t finished.”
Eva runs a hand through her spiky hair. “As long as it’s started.”
Chapter 13
Charlie calls during dinner.
“I’ve got a list of this week’s locations,” he says. “We just have to figure out when we can meet.”
“Hold on.” I take the cell into the living room. “I can’t do anything for a few days. I’m drowning. There was a choreography solo due today that I haven’t even started. And if I tank another math quiz, it’s straight to remedial.”
“Screw school. This is the big time.”