I’m late and have to run to catch the school bus the next morning, plunking down in the empty seat in front of Cam and Jeremy just before the bus lumbers away from the curb. That’s what happens when you stay up half the night reading a play.
“You missed breakfast,” says Cam. “Here.” He hands me a greasy fried-egg sandwich, still warm.
“Thanks,” I say, licking the ketchup that’s already running down my hand. “I think.”
“Where were you?”
“Slept in,” I mumble, up to my elbows in drippy sandwich. “Up late.”
“Got your English essay?” asks Jeremy.
“Darn! I forgot.”
Odette’s sitting in the seat across from me, alone and studying, as usual. Without taking her eyes from her book, she says, “So, big stars don’t have to do homework anymore?” Then she looks up and makes a face at my sloppy sandwich. “You are so disgusting!”
I ignore her and lick my fingers. “Thanks, Cam. Listen, company rehearsal is amazing. It’s so different from ours. Everybody’s allowed to do their own warm-ups, and there’s no uniform. And it’s all about interpretation, not the steps. We haven’t even learned any of the choreography yet, but everybody’s already getting into character.”
“You’re in the big leagues now, buddy,” Cam says, grinning. “Not like us poor suckers! Do you think Mrs. Montgomery will give you detention?”
“No way she’ll ever let one of the dreaded ballet students have an extension,” replies Jeremy curtly. “You’re toast.”
I shrug my shoulders and turn around in my seat. Who cares about an English essay? Or Mrs. Montgomery’s crazy hatred of the half-day ballet students who mess up her approach to teaching? We’re ballet dancers, not novelists. I turn around again to tell them more about the rehearsal, but they both have their noses buried in books. It’s not like we have a lot of time to do homework, I get that, but how can they not be interested? I turn around once more, sigh and pull out my science textbook.
I can’t actually do detention because I have rehearsal, so Mrs. Montgomery gleefully assigns me an extra essay on top of the one that’s already not done. As if that’s going to work. I get most of my math done on the bus ride back to the ballet school. First up this afternoon is pas de deux class. Dancing a duet is new to us, and it involves working on lifts with the girls, which will be cool. After that is supper, then company rehearsal. I can’t wait.
* * *
Everybody stares when I walk into class. I mean, I knew they would, since I’m wearing my torn sweats over my uniform.
“The company takes warming up really seriously,” I explain. “I think Mr. Colson should let us layer up a little more.”
“You think?” Odette sneers. “One rehearsal and you’re an expert now?”
“Well, it works! I feel looser when I’m warmer. We’re here to learn new things, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” she shoots back, “but I trust my teachers to know what’s best for me, not you. You’re a real dork, you know that, Robin?”
That’s the cue for Cam and Jeremy to get my back. Cam gives me a sheepish half smile but says nothing. Jeremy studiously concentrates on his warm-up. Odette raises her eyebrows and smirks at me, then gets to her warm-up as well. Fine.
Mr. Colson comes in then and finishes off our warm-up with some group exercises. Then he pairs us up for the pas de deux.
“Ladies, you’ll have to take turns with the men,” says Mr. Colson. “Use the barre to practice the positions until your turn.”
Cam lets out this big sigh, then says just loudly enough for everybody to hear, “Another class where the boys have to work harder than the girls.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “And yet the audience will never look past the tutu to see the crane that does the heavy lifting.”
Odette spins around with a glare, prepared to defend the girls, but we’re already laughing. Even Mr. Colson is hiding a smile. It’s my chance to get back at her.
“Mr. Colson, I’ve been watching weight lifters on TV. Do we lift the girls like that? You know, with a snatch and jerk? Can we make faces and grunt, then drop them when they get too heavy?” Even Jeremy can’t help busting a gut at that one.
“Enough nonsense!” says Mr. Colson firmly. He starts to show us the lifting positions, and Jer whispers, “Weight lifters have it so easy compared to us!”
I grin. It feels like old times, horsing around in class. But the moment doesn’t last.
“Odette, you start with Jeremy,” orders Mr. Colson. “Mavis, you’re with Cam, and Johanna, you go with Robin.” As Mr. Colson continues matching girls with boys, Johanna makes her way over toward me. But talk about attitude! She’s rolling her eyes and grimacing as if partnering with me is the worst thing that could ever happen to her. Gee, thanks, Johanna. I love you too. I feel like dropping her accidentally-on-purpose, but I’m better than that.
Mr. Colson goes over correct hand position for the gazillionth time. “Cup your hands, men, no splayed fingers. If you lift with your fingertips, your partner will have five little bruises on each side of her waist tomorrow, and you do not want that to happen! Men, it is simply not worth the aggravation!”
It isn’t easy to get a grip with a cupped hand, so we’re only lifting the girls four inches or so off the floor. But Cam and Jer and I have been hitting the gym—well, except for yesterday—and I feel strong. Johanna and I try a little higher, a little higher, and I’m almost to the point where I can lift her right over my head, but Mr. Colson says no, not yet. But it’s coming, I know it. By the end of the afternoon, lifting with cupped hands feels almost normal.
Between classes, I grab Charis’s arm. “Wait up! I wanted to tell you—the company dancers use these little pink balls to roll out their feet. And they dance with toe spacers—Charis, you should really watch the company warm-up. It’s so cool, and I know you’d learn a lot.”
Charis raises her eyebrows. “Thanks for the tip. And here I thought I’d learned everything already.”
“I was only trying to help. Just because I’m the one that got the part doesn’t mean we can’t all get something out of it.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t need to rub it in.”
Rolling my eyes, I go over to the corner and slump down on the floor beside Cam and Jer. I brought my water bottle today, and I start rolling out my calves with it. They stare. “This is how the company guys do it,” I explain.
“Ah,” says Cam. “Probably not a technique us poor students will be able to master then.”
“Give me a break!” I explode. “I am not trying to rub it in! Can I help it if I’m learning new things? What, you want me to pretend I’m not part of the company?”
“Yeah, that might be an idea,” says Jeremy. They both get up and walk to the barre together.
I don’t believe it. All of a sudden my friends think I’m too good for them? Well, stuff them. I’m part of the company, at least for now, and if they don’t like it, tough.