Having Genevieve as my assistant coach is almost as bad as having her as my rival.
She’s bossy and stubborn—and she doesn’t listen.
“It’s not enough for Mandy to do cool moves on the rope,” she tells Terence. Genevieve has two chairs now: one for sitting, the other for resting her foot. “She needs a story, a narrative, a choreography. I was thinking Tarzana. A female Tarzan. Strong, yet feminine.”
“Hey, you looking to take over my job here?” Terence asks.
Genevieve misses Terence’s joke. She is still babbling about the Tarzana choreography. “We’d have to give it a jungle feel,” she says. “I was thinking Mandy could wear a leopard-print leotard…”
It bothers me that she’s talking about me as if I’m not there. “I don’t think so,” I say, but neither Genevieve nor Terence seems to notice that I’ve said something.
I clear my throat. “I don’t think so.” This time I raise my voice, and the two of them look at me.
Genevieve looks like she’s surprised to see me in la palestre. “What don’t you think?”
“Genevieve is right,” Terence says. “I was planning to talk to you about choreography ideas this morning, Mandy. The Tarzana theme isn’t a bad—”
“Tarzana, the jungle, the leopard-print leotard…none of it is me,” I tell them. “Besides, I have my own idea.”
“What?” Genevieve and Terence ask at the same time.
“I was thinking spider. I could use the rope for my web.”
Genevieve does not give up easily. “I planned out your whole Tarzana routine. You could start by swinging on the rope, the way Tarzan—”
Luckily, Terence cuts her off. “I’m liking the spider,” he says. “I’m liking it a lot.”
There is only one day before the final performance. Genevieve thinks the background music should be dark and haunting. But I want something lighter, more fun. “I’ve got it—‘Itsy Bitsy Spider,’ ” I tell Genevieve and Terence.
Genevieve rolls her eyes. “Let me get this straight. You’re fifteen years old and you want to perform your number to a nursery rhyme?”
“Yup. Ever heard of Carly Simon? She does a great version. My parents had the CD. ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ is still one of my all-time favorite songs.”
Terence closes his eyes, then opens them again. “I think you’re on to something, Mandy.” He hands Genevieve a pen and notepad. “Why don’t you take notes while we brainstorm? So we don’t forget anything important.”
I think it’s Terence’s way to keep Genevieve busy—and quiet. Temporarily anyway.
We discuss my routine and how we can tie it into the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song. Terence gets his laptop from his office, and we listen to Carly Simon’s version.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Genevieve asks.
I didn’t realize I was smiling. “I was just remembering how my dad used to tickle my arm when the spider went up the water spout. Then he’d wave when the sun came out.”
We decide that I’ll do my basic climb matching my pace to Carly Simon’s rhythm. Then I’ll straddle the rope, do splits and go into the starfish when the sun comes out in the song.
Genevieve looks up from her notepad. “I just thought of something! What about flowerpots and a garden hose on the ground, to tie into the garden theme? We could get the maintenance crew to bring in some of the flowerpots from the terrace. I saw a hose out there too.”
Terence and I like those ideas. Terence tells us that his girlfriend is a set designer and that he’ll ask for her input too.
I agree with Terence that the performance shouldn’t end with me doing the starfish. “At the end of the song, the spider goes up the rope again. Maybe I should end with my toes spread in a toe climb, or one knee bent sideways for the knee hook climb.”
Terence’s cell phone rings. It must be his girlfriend, because he asks her opinion about the stage setup for my performance. “Girls,” he tells us, “I need a few minutes.” He walks to his office, holding his cell phone to his ear.
“I was thinking…” Genevieve says when Terence is out of earshot.
“What were you thinking?”
“That if you really want your performance to pop…if you really want it to be the part of the show the audience never forgets, you should end your act with—” Genevieve stops, as if she’s decided it isn’t a good idea to say whatever she was about to say.
“With what?”
“Nah, nothing.”
“Come on, Genevieve! Tell me!”
“Nah, forget it.”
“Genevieve!”
“I was going to say you should end your act with a triple star roll.”
“A triple star roll? The move where you spiral down the rope three times? I don’t think I could do that.”
Genevieve smiles. It’s a small, knowing smile. “You’re probably right,” she says. “You couldn’t do it.”
The smug way Genevieve says it makes me decide something right then and there. Not only do I want to learn the triple star roll, but I want to use it for the finale of my performance tomorrow.