After a short break, the ten of us are taken to have our pointe shoes checked and get new shoes if we need them. Mrs. Hoffman, who is friendlier now than she seemed earlier, takes us into a small room lined from floor to ceiling with shelves and filled with more ballet shoes than I’ve seen in my life.
We sit on a long bench to wait our turn. I’m sitting in the middle, and Mrs. Hoffman is slowly working her way down the line. On my left are all the girls who just voted against Iako. Danika is holding out a foot for Mrs. Hoffman to inspect, Anya and Zoe are watching, and Edie is whispering with Melissa, her back turned toward me. On my right are Iako and the three other new girls. The short-haired girl, Cam, grins at me. I start to smile back. Then I remember that she’s going to be next on Melissa’s list, and a wave of hot shame makes me drop my eyes.
Mrs. Hoffman has moved on to Anya and is fussing over her shoes. “Tch, tch. These are getting worn out. You’re not getting much support from this box anymore.”
Anya groans. “I’ve only had them three weeks.”
The teacher nods. “You can use some jet glue to stiffen it, maybe get a little more use from them, but you really need new ones.” She hands the shoe back and moves on to Zoe. “Ah yes, this foot I remember.”
Zoe makes a face. “Why do I feel like that isn’t a good thing?”
“Your second toe’s longer than your big toe. Looks like you’ve been getting blisters on that middle joint, yes?”
“Always. Well, for the last two years anyway. Since I started on pointe.”
I look down at Zoe’s foot and notice that her middle toes are wrapped in white tape. I started on pointe two years ago, but for the first year I didn’t do much at all. Anya’s worn-out shoes and Zoe’s taped toes make me wonder if the other girls all have more experience than I do.
Mrs. Hoffman moves on down the line, commenting on Melissa’s feet. “Beautiful, beautiful. Lovely flexible feet, and look at that instep!” She pushes down on Melissa’s foot, increasing the curve, and I can’t help agreeing that it’s beautiful. “Take care of these high arches, dear. You’ll have to work to keep them strong. Remind me to give you some exercises.”
“You’ve given me them before,” Melissa says.
“And are you doing them?”
“Yes. Well…sometimes.”
“Every day,” Mrs. Hoffman says firmly. “A beautiful foot is no use if you cannot dance on it, and without strong feet, you cannot dance.”
She checks Edie’s shoes and nods approval, and then stands in front of me. “Now for the new girls. Let’s see your feet, dears, and make sure your shoes are fitting properly.”
I lift my right foot, and she takes it in her cool hands, flexing my arch, pushing down on my toes, feeling my ankle and heel. “A lovely neat foot,” she says and glances at my name tag. “See this, girls? Cassandra’s big toe and the next two toes are all the same length. Very square, this foot. This means that when she goes on pointe, her weight will be distributed across the three toes.”
My cheeks warm with both pleasure and embarrassment—I hear Melissa whisper something, and a couple of the other girls snicker. Mrs. Hoffman doesn’t seem to notice. “Put these back on and let’s see you on pointe.”
I slip my shoes back on, lace them around my ankles, stand up and rise onto my toes.
Mrs. Hoffman squats, inspecting my feet. “Your shoes fit nicely, dear, but keep your feet straight. See this? You’re a little out on your baby toes. We call that sickling, and you don’t want to do that. The space between your feet needs to stay equal, yes?” She rests her fingers on the outsides of my heels, pressing lightly. “Like so. You must have nice straight feet.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
She smiles at me as I sit back down, then moves on to Iako. “May I see your foot, dear?”
Iako holds out her foot silently. I watch her, feeling uncomfortable. “A beautiful foot,” Mrs. Hoffman says, and Iako smiles uncertainly. “Very flexible,” Mrs. Hoffman continues. “That’s good. Now put the shoes on and let’s check the fit.”
“Sorry? I don’t…can you…” Iako’s cheeks are pink. “My English…”
I can hear Edie and Melissa whispering.
“Put on the shoes,” Mrs. Hoffman says again. “And stand up, dear.”
Iako nods, puts her shoes on and goes on pointe so smoothly and quickly that it appears as natural as standing flat-footed. She has long thin legs and looks like she was born on her toes.
“These shoes are a little too big for you, yes? The shank extends slightly beyond your heel.”
Iako nods and sits back down, but I’m not sure she understood. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her—she is as far from home as I am, and on top of that, she has to communicate in a foreign language. I feel a flash of anger—at Melissa, for targeting someone who probably could use some friends, and at myself, for going along with it.
“Try these,” Mrs. Hoffman says, passing her another pair, which Iako puts on. “Stand again.” She holds out a hand, gesturing for Iako to rise onto her toes again. “Yes, yes. Better.” She pats Iako on the shoulder. “Very good. Make sure you break them in properly. You know how, yes?” She demonstrates, kneading the box with her fingers and flexing the shank. Iako nods, gives her a grateful smile and sits back down.
Edie nudges me. “She can’t even speak English.”
“So?” I say. “We can’t speak Japanese.”
“Of course not. But we’re not trying to go to a ballet school in Japan, are we?”
“I think she’s brave,” I say. “Don’t you?”
She hesitates. “I guess so. Sort of.”
I watch as Mrs. Hoffman nods approval over Cam’s feet and the fit of her shoes and fusses a little over Julie’s. “Tch, tch. Not the most flexible foot, is it, dear? You can’t do much about the height of your arch, but I’ll give you some exercises to do.”
“I know,” Julie says ruefully. She looks younger than the rest of the group and has curly fair hair that keeps springing free of her bun. “My teacher back home says I have flat feet.”
“Well, yes, but flat feet can be strong feet. You work with what you have. Margot Fonteyn didn’t have high arches and it didn’t hinder her career, did it?”
Julie laughs. “Exactly what my teacher always says.”
“It’s quite true. Feet like Melissa’s, with a high instep and high arch, create beautiful lines and have the flexibility for great jumps, but if you don’t work hard and do your exercises”—she shoots Melissa a look—“they can also be prone to injury.” And with that she moves on to the last girl in the line, Mackenzie, who is a light-skinned black girl, small but very strong.
Edie nudges me again. “Have lunch with me and Melissa, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Melissa overheard some of the teachers talking,” she says. “There’s going to be an audition coming up.”
“An audition?” I lower my voice. “For what?”
“The Nutcracker,” she whispers. “Guess what role.”
“Not Clara.”
“Yup. Clara. Actually, they’re looking for two Claras.”
I blow out a long slow breath. The Nutcracker. I fell in love with ballet as a four-year-old after I saw The Nutcracker on television. I’ve even had small parts in it back home, once as a mouse and once as a soldier. To dance the part of Clara would be a dream come true. But...“That’s not until Christmas, though, right?”
“Yeah. So I guess you won’t be here.”
“I might be here,” I say. “I mean, I’d kind of like to stay.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’d kind of like to?”
“I want to stay,” I say, meaning it. “I do.”
“Well, we’ll see,” she says, frowning slightly. “I’ll talk to Melissa.”
I think of what my dad always says—you get out what you put in. I’ve always believed that my success depends entirely on me—my courage, my passion, my determination to dance—but Edie’s words and tone of voice scare me.
She makes it sound as if my fate rests entirely in someone else’s hands.