Chapter 3
Big Apple Bound

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Just as Miss Toni had promised, the Dance Divas’ bus pulled up in front of the studio at 8:00 a.m. sharp. It was hard to miss the studio, even from a mile away. There was a bright gold sign on the roof and a giant pair of pink ballet slippers in a star. Miss Toni had personally designed the logo.

Scarlett’s dance bag weighed a ton and was digging into her shoulder. Meanwhile, her mom had both hands full, lugging a duffel filled with costumes, makeup, and hair tools outside to the curb.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” her mom, Hillary, said to Bria’s mother, Aimi. “I know I packed the curling iron and the blow-dryer, but did I bring the flat iron?”

“I have an extra one if you need it,” Aimi assured her. “I always bring two in case one breaks.”

“Or someone like me forgets,” Hillary said with a chuckle. “I swear, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t bobby-pinned to my shoulders!”

Bria rolled her eyes. “My mom, she is so perfect,” she whispered to Scarlett. “She never forgets anything. Not the capital of Wisconsin. Not the formula for finding the area of a trapezoid . . .”

“I guess your math test didn’t go so well?” Scarlett tried to sympathize.

“I won’t get the grade until Monday. Which is probably the only reason I am allowed to compete this weekend.” Bria sighed. “She doesn’t care about my dancing. She just wants me to get straight As like she did her whole life. She was so smart that she skipped two grades and went to college when she was sixteen!”

“I bet your mom could never do a dive front walkover like you!” Scarlett reminded her. “Or twenty-five pirouettes in a row. You’re amazing!”

Bria shrugged. “My older sister, Lily, is amazing. She got to go to the New Jersey state senate last year and read an essay she wrote about serving chocolate milk in school cafeterias. When she grows up, she wants to be a journalist like my dad, covering wars and politics and stuff. It’s not easy being in my family!” She held a stack of textbooks in her left arm and her laptop in her right. “I have two hours till we get to New York. I have to study.”

Scarlett glanced over at Mrs. Chang. She didn’t seem “bossy” like Bria said. In fact, she was smiling sweetly and helping Scarlett’s mom double-check their bags.

Scarlett was glad her mom didn’t pressure her—not to get perfect grades and not to win dance titles. She was anything but a stage mom. “You do your very best—that is all I can ever ask for,” she told her and her little sister, Gracie. “I’ll always be proud of you if you try your hardest.”

Her parents were divorced, which Scarlett knew made things difficult for them as a family. Her dad now lived in Manhattan, so her mom had to juggle a full-time job as a teacher and fulltime parenting. Scarlett liked to think that she was pretty independent. She could take care of herself, even make her own breakfast (Eggo waffles in the toaster) if her mom was too busy.

But Gracie was a whole other story. Ever since the divorce, she was super clingy and super annoying.

“Scoot, can you play Barbies with me?” she’d plead, right as Scarlett was trying to get her social studies homework done before dance class. She always called her Scoot—ever since she was a baby and couldn’t pronounce her full name. Scarlett hated the nickname, but it stuck.

“Not now—I have to finish this.” She tried to close her bedroom door, but Gracie pushed back in. “Mama’s busy. I wanna play Olympics with the Barbies. Pleeeeeeeease?”

Scarlett was sorry whenever she gave in. It meant an hour of tossing Barbies in the air and watching Gracie pose them in splits and handstands.

“This is the front pike somersault my coach showed us last week!” Gracie said. She kept the doll’s legs straight and flipped her over. “Put your arm out—you’re the beam!” she instructed Scarlett.

“Uh-huh.” Scarlett yawned. She knew Gracie loved being on the Mini Sparklers in her gymnastics school, but to her, it was playtime. Gracie loved the shiny red, white, and blue leotards and swinging on the rings. At every gymnastics class, she would race around the mats, tumbling and flipping every which way. Her coach called her “the Jumping Bean” because Gracie could never stand still.

“She’s a diamond in the rough,” Coach Maggie told her mom. “She has so much natural talent and ability. But she doesn’t want it badly enough to take it seriously.”

Scarlett understood what that meant. She knew lots of girls at Dance Divas who were naturally graceful and talented. Some had beautiful turnouts, pointed toes, and straight legs. But that was only part of it. To be on a competition team, to work with Miss Toni, you had to want it badly. You had to eat, sleep, and breathe Dance Divas. It took so much dedication, determination, and concentration that everything else faded into the background. Sometimes Scarlett was exhausted and fed up, but she pushed herself to nail a routine or take an extra stretch class. Miss Toni expected only the best, and Scarlett expected it from herself.

“I am as good as those big girls on the Elite Sparklers team,” Gracie told Scarlett. “Better! I could win a gold medal if they just gave me a chance. I can even do this . . .” She twisted her Barbie’s leg into a wide split until it accidentally popped out of the socket.

“I hope you don’t do a split like that,” Scarlett teased. “Ouch!”

Gracie’s face turned bright red. “You broke my favorite Barbie!” she wailed, sending her mom racing into the room to referee.

“Did not!” Scarlett countered. “You broke her. I was just sitting here—”

“Mama, she’s so mean!” her little sister sobbed, cradling the legless doll in her arms. “Look what she did!”

Her mom scooped Gracie up in her lap and gently stroked her hair. “Shhhh,” she whispered. “It’s okay. We can put a Band-Aid on Barbie and she’ll be all better.”

As she was searching through the first-aid kit in the medicine cabinet for bandages, she scolded Scarlett. “You’re eleven and your little sister is only seven. Can’t you just play nicely?” Her mom sighed.

It was no use trying to explain or defend herself. Gracie always won.

“Just imagine how hard it must be to be your kid sister,” her mother told her. “You’re a hard act to follow, honey.” She pointed to a shelf in her bedroom, lined with crowns and trophies from dance competitions over the years. “Try and understand that Gracie just wants some attention, too. She wants to be you, Scarlett.”