Chapter 5

Finally, Mr. Lester and Mr. Tonetti stop talking. Mr. Lester comes over to us. Mr. Tonetti puts his papers back into his bag and takes off, without even saying good-bye.

“You all did a really good job, ladies,” Mr. Lester tells us. “Especially since I imagine that for most of you, this was your first audition. They can be pretty nerve-racking, huh?”

Jerzey Mae nods violently.

“I wish we could use all of you in the show, but we’ve decided that six is the right number for the chorus. We’ve chosen JoAnn, Jessica, Jerzey Mae, Al, Terrel, and Brenda.”

All my friends—but wait a minute. He didn’t say my name! My face starts to get hot. This is crazy! I know I danced just as well as they did. Jessica touches my arm, but I pull away from her. It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of my lungs, and I’ve been flattened by a steamroller.

“And the girl we’ve chosen to have the bigger part…”

Air floods back into my lungs. There’s still hope!

“…is Epatha.” Yes! JoAnn grins and punches my arm.

Mr. Lester continues, “And Terrel, we’d like you to learn that part as well, so you can be Epatha’s understudy. Are you willing to do that?”

Terrel looks over at me a little grudgingly. She nods.

“The rest of you, I’m sorry,” Mr. Lester says. Martha’s face turns even more red. She picks up her stuff and runs out of the room. The other girl who didn’t get a part doesn’t look too happy, either.

“That’s it for today, girls,” he says. “We’ll be learning the dance here and then moving to the theater to start rehearsing there a few weeks before the show. So we’ll get started after class Tuesday, yes? See you then.”

We all gather our things. “Nice, Epatha!” Al says.

“Yeah—congratulations,” JoAnn says. “You did great.”

“You guys did, too,” I say.

“I’m so glad we’re all in the show together!” Jessica says.

Mr. Lester interrupts us. “Epatha, can I see you for a minute?”

“Sure,” I say. He must have some special how-to-be-a-big-star tips for me.

“We’ll wait for you downstairs,” Al says. My friends go out, to the waiting room, leaving Mr. Lester and me alone in the studio.

“Have a seat,” he says, rearranging the folding chairs so they face each other.

I sit.

“You did a great job today, Epatha,” Mr. Lester says.

I glow.

“Mr. Tonetti and I were both impressed with the energy and the emotion in your dancing.”

I knew it! I knew they’d want someone who was an expressive dancer. That’s what dancing is all about: showing what’s inside you.

He continues, “But—”

There’s a but? I was fabulous. That’s all I want to hear.

“Mr. Tonetti was also concerned that you might not follow the choreography you’re given. I know you like to change things up and have a good time when you’re dancing—”

“Well, yeah,” I interrupt. “What’s the point of dancing if you’re not having a good time?”

He holds up his hand to silence me. “However,” he says, “if you’re going to dance in a professional ballet, you have to do what the choreographer has planned. Choreographing the dance is her job, not yours. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” I say. I don’t want to choreograph the whole dance. But once I get the steps down, I’m sure the choreographer won’t mind if I spice things up a little. I’m sure she’ll want the dance to be as good as it can be—and that might mean throwing in a few Epatha touches.

“Good,” he says, standing up. “Congratulations again. I’m sure your family will be very proud of you.”

The proud-family thing? Mr. Lester got that right.

I make the announcement as soon as I get home. It’s a slow time in the restaurant, so I call Abuela and Nonna down from our apartment upstairs. My family hardly ever sits together in a booth—everyone’s usually too busy—but this time I make them. Having them fuss over me all at once will be more fun than having them each make little individual fusses.

I stand at the end of the booth and clear my throat. “We had the auditions for Springtime in Harlem today,” I say, “and…”

Mama and Abuela lean forward at the same moment. Nonna scrunches up her face, as if daring anyone not to give her granddaughter a role. Papa sweeps back what little is left of his hair, which he always does when he’s nervous.

“Well? Well?” he asks.

“I got the main part!” I say. “Well, the main part for kids.”

Nonna jumps up much more quickly than you’d expect someone her size to be able to jump. She squeezes my face in her hands. “Our little star! Our stella piccola!” she says, kissing me enthusiastically on both cheeks.

“That’s wonderful, darling!” my mother says, standing up to hug me.

“¡Fabuloso! You must get your talent from me,” Abuela says.

Dad’s eyes shine. “Well,” he says. “Well. Tonight we celebrate!”

“Tickets!” Mom says. “We need lots of tickets. We’ll invite the Mitchells, and the Smiths, and the Browns, and the Harringtons…and of course, your cousin Reece.…”

“Mom!” I say. “The show’s not for weeks. I’m sure there will be time to get tickets.”

“This isn’t just a school ballet show, Epatha,” Mom says. “This is the big time! The Harlem Ballet!”

That’s when it all sinks in. It is the big time! I feel like a star, even when Mom sends me upstairs to do my homework. I try to focus on my math problems, but adding fractions is hard when your head’s filled with sparkling costumes and spotlights.

That night I dream I’m dancing across the stage of the Harlem Ballet theater in a bright red tutu. My friends are onstage with me, but they’re in the background. I do a stunning series of pirouettes, then take a bow. A woman rushes onstage. She’s a big Broadway producer. She wants me to drop out of school and star in a show! I guess this means I don’t need to learn how to add fractions after all, I think as I sign the contract.