You're So Sweet

by Charis Marsh

  “Just a moment everybody,” she could hear Mr. Grant say into the microphone as the music turned off.

  A teacher came up to Taylor, and she quickly explained what was wrong.

  “Let’s try again, everybody. Taylor Audley.”

  Taylor took a breath, and then walked on, slowly, confidently, trying to take her time. She’d told everyone that she’d gotten a contemporary teacher outside of the academy to do her solo, but in truth Julian had choreographed it. She’d promised him that she’d do his choreography if she liked it, and she really liked this solo. He’d originally choreographed it for himself, but it worked well as a girl’s solo, too. Taylor looked out into the audience and saw Julian sitting with Tristan and Alexandra in the second row. Julian was sitting forward, twisting his hands nervously on his lap like somehow it was him about to go on stage, not Taylor. Which in a way was true, but only Julian and Taylor knew that. She met his eyes, trying to tell him that it was all good. The music began to play, and Taylor forgot about Julian, about herself, about not messing up, and began to dance.

  It was odd dancing on this stage. Taylor felt almost like she was dancing in the studio, everyone was so close. The lights were blinding, though; she didn’t know what the tech club thought they were doing. As she chained in diagonal, she noticed that there was a spotlight following her. She stepped into a penche, kicked herself into a handstand, rolled out into a dramatic huddle of pain, flicked up in a sudden motion, and ran into one of the highest jetés she had ever done on stage.

  “Whoot!” she heard someone call from the audience, and she would have grinned if the dance hadn’t been tragic. Instead she channelled that energy into her grand pirouette, turning in attitude, chaine, chaine, and then a coupe jeté en tourne to fall to the ground and up. She felt as if her solo were over too fast, but she could hear the applause as she stood up to take a bow and now she let herself grin. They had liked it; a high school audience was not the sort to fake enthusiasm, at least for a grade nine girl who was unknown to most. She ran off the stage and almost ran into Zack. “Hey,” he said, grinning. “Did you like the spotlight?”

  Taylor shook her head, giggling. “You guys are nuts.” She started to run off: she’d have to hurry to get to the academy on time.

  “But, the right kind of nuts, right?” Zack called after her.

  Taylor got changed into her jeans and shirt, pulled on her shiny new Vans and walked over to the mirror, rubbing off the blush and some of the lipstick. Not all of the lipstick would come off, so she put some pale pink lip gloss over top to cover it up, and then she slung her bag over her shoulder. Her counsellor was outside the door, and Taylor frowned, surprised. “Hi, Mr. Briggs,” she said politely.

  “Hi, Taylor,” Mr. Briggs said, smiling at her. He seemed to have something on his mind, and Taylor ran through what she had done lately, getting worried. “Excellent job today. You really make us proud.”

  “Thanks.” Taylor shifted her feet, confused.

  “Do you mind if I talk to you in my office for a moment?” Mr. Briggs asked.

  “Um, yeah. Sure,” Taylor agreed. They walked to the counselling suite in almost silence. Taylor didn’t mind. Even though she was worried about what Mr. Briggs wanted to say to her, she always found his presence very soothing. He was that sort of person. He didn’t tell you what to do, he just placed information in your hands in such a way that you came to the right conclusion by yourself and then he praised you for your admirable grasp of life.

  Mr. Briggs opened the door and let Taylor in. “After you. Have a seat.”

  Taylor set down her backpack and sat in the comfortable armchair Mr. Briggs kept in his office. Mr. Briggs sat down at his desk and pulled up her student profile on his computer screen. “How are your classes going, Taylor?” he asked absently as he did this.

  “Good, good,” Taylor said, feeling herself about to babble. “I mean, I’m doing okay, but not great —”

  “You’ve been working hard at dance, though?” Mr. Briggs looked at her.

  “Yes,” Taylor said, suddenly reminded of the fact that she had skipped contemporary class the other day because her ankle had been hurting and she hadn’t wanted to watch at the side.

  “Good then. Now, Taylor, I called you in here because as you know, the Super Achievers program requires a B+ average, yes?”

  “Yeah?” Taylor giggled nervously. She hadn’t had a B+ average since grade two when her mother had bought her teacher a fruit-dehydrating machine. She assumed that the B+ average requirement at McKinley was just one of those things that wasn’t a real rule.

  “Now, I just want you to take a look over here —” Mr. Briggs swivelled his chair around to look at his computer, and Taylor stood up to peer over his shoulder.

  Taylor’s grades appeared on the screen next to her school photo. She looked at her photo: she had worn her yellow tank top and straightened her hair, and the blond and yellow looked really good with her blue eyes and the mottled blue-grey photo background. She didn’t remember where she had put that necklace, though — it was a silver chain with a heart pendant in it that her aunt had given to her. She’d better find it before her aunt came to visit again …

  “Taylor, look here,” said Mr. Briggs, pointing at her grades, “do you see a problem?” He adjusted his glasses and pointed at the first class. “Social Studies. 19 percent.”

  Taylor nodded, trying to focus. “I might do better after our project?” she tried.

  “Math. You’re getting seventeen percent here.”

  “I’m going to just retake it online or something.”

  “English. Twenty-nine percent.”

  “I forgot to hand a story in. I’ll give it to her reeeeeaaaalllly soon.”

  “Science. It says here that Mr. Barrie wants to talk to you before gives you an interim mark.”

  “Yeah — um, he thinks I was cheating on a test. But it totally wasn’t my fault, this guy, Brandon? He was whispering all the answers to me, but I didn’t ask him to.”

  “That’s it, of course your PE and fine arts credits are being covered by dance …” Mr. Briggs turned around to face Taylor again, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “High school — it’s great. It’s educational, it’s an opportunity to make friends, have new experiences, it can be a home away from home, but it’s only all these things if you want it to be. So, Taylor, what are you doing here? What do you want to get out of sitting in class?”

  “Um …” Taylor shrugged.

  “What do you think you are here for?”

  “To graduate? Like, to get a high school diploma.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to.”

  “Do you really want to? Look at these grades, Taylor. I want you to do something for me. I want you to go home, and think long and hard about why you’re here. And if you think your time would be better spent doing something else, if you have something more productive that you could be doing instead of going to school, then maybe you should be doing that. Because, you sitting here learning nothing — it’s not good for anybody, especially not you.”

  Taylor stared at Mr. Briggs, completely confused. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Like … drop out?”

  Mr. Briggs sighed. “Sometimes in life we are pushed into doing things at a certain time, in a certain way, just because everyone else is. It’s not always the right thing to do. If you think that you could be spending your time better working at something else, Taylor, then I think you should do it. Dropping out of high school doesn’t mean you aren’t ever going to go back to school.”

  “Yeah.” Taylor digested this slowly. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. “And like — I could go back? If I wanted to?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Briggs said. “You could come back here next year, or work online, or take adult education classes when you are older. There are so many options.”

  Taylor thought. Inside her, hope rose. It would be so awesome. To n
ot think about homework, and not worry about failing everything all the time. And then I could work harder at dance, and I would be really good …”

  “You should talk to your mother about it. Tell her to give me a call.”

  “Okay.” Taylor got up to leave.

  “If you have any ideas, or just want to talk, come and see me or give me a call, all right?”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Taylor left. She had a lot to think about.

  Taylor walked around to the bus stop. Everyone else was already waiting there, and Michael and Chloe ran up to tell her how awesome her performance had been.

  “Good job,” Alexandra said, nodding at her. Taylor smiled. A “good job” from Alexandra meant it really had been good. She rose up on demi pointe and back down again, blushing.

  Julian came running up late, and gave her a hug. “Good job, Tay,” he said.

  “Thanks!” said Taylor.

  Taylor lay on the floor as she waited for class to start, listening to her iPod with her sweat towel spread over her face. She could feel the heat of her face, and exhaled, pushing the towel away from her mouth. “Are you dead?” Keiko asked above her.

  “Yes, yes I am,” Taylor answered. She could feel her back bones press into the studio floor, the grains of dirt sticking to her back. If I didn’t go to school, maybe I could take more classes in the morning with the Youth Company students.

  “Well, Mrs. Demidovski wants you in her office, so you’d better get undead.”

  Taylor jolted up. “Why? What? Why does she need me?”

  Keiko shrugged. “I don’t know. She just told me to get you.”

  Taylor got up and threw her sweat towel on the place on the floor that she wanted to stand to save her place, and walked quickly to the office. It wasn’t just Mrs. Demidovski there, there was also Mr. Demidovski, and Julian. Gabriel ushered her in and closed the door behind her. She met Julian’s eyes, but he shook his head slightly. He had no idea why they were there, either.

  “Sit down,” Gabriel instructed.

  Taylor sat. Behind her, Gabriel tapped on his computer and pretended he wasn’t there.

  “You like Mr. Demidovski to coach you?” Mrs. Demidovski asked finally.

  “Um, yeah, of course,” Julian said quickly. Taylor nodded.

  “You not maybe want someone else to coach you?” Mr. Demidovski asked.

  “It is a great honour!” Mrs. Demidovski hissed at them. “Mr. Demidovski was one of the great dancers, and then he is the great teacher. He coached so many in the good companies now, so many they say: ‘Thank you Mr. Demidovski, I cannot do without you’.”

  Mr. Demidovski stared directly at Taylor. She could see her face reflected in his large brown eyes. “We give you so much at the academy,” he said.

  “Why you hate Mr. Demidovski?” Mrs. Demidovski snapped at her. “We give you every opportunity.”

  Taylor leaned back as the Demidovski’s leaned forward, focusing on her. Of course it’s my fault, she thought. Couldn’t possibly be the perfect Julian’s fault.

  “I’m sorry,” she said politely. “I don’t understand. Me and Julian do want to be coached by you, Mr. Demidovski.”

  “Yeah,” Julian chimed in. “We for sure do.”

  Mrs. Demidovski silently handed Julian a letter, and he and Taylor read it together.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Demidovski,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. I have always greatly admired the fine training that Vancouver International Ballet Academy gives its students, and in the recent Spring Seminar that several of your students attended, two in particular caught my eye. I am writing to ask your permission to coach them on their variations for competition, since I of course do not want to interfere with any training they are currently receiving. The students I am inquiring about are Taylor Audley and Julian Reese, who have both also expressed an interest in studying with me. Please get back to me at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely, Theresa Bachman

  Oh crap. Taylor looked up, her cheeks flushed slightly with guilt. “Well, you see, she like asked us, and then we said, ‘maybe,’ you know? We didn’t mean we didn’t want to study with you.”

  “Yeah,” Julian nodded. “Don’t worry, we really want to study with you —”

  “Mrs. Demidovski does not worry!” Mrs. Demidovski snapped. “If you want to waste much money studying with teacher who does not know how to teach, is your business. We do not care.”

  Gabriel opened the door of the office, and Julian and Taylor exited, both making their way downstairs instinctively, away from the upstairs studios. They could hear the piano music start, and Mrs. Castillo begin to lead class in the right studio. Mr. Yu was shouting something at the younger students in the left studio. Taylor walked down the hallway with its many mirrors, and through to the stairs of the change room, Julian following her. She went into the girls’ bathroom, and wiped her eyes which had already teared up, trying not to mess up her eyeliner. She felt someone watch her, and looked up. It was Julian. “This is the girl’s bathroom,” she informed him, hearing her voice break. “And you should get to class.”

  “Sorry,” Julian said automatically. He came farther inside and sat on the sink counter. “So, what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Taylor said honestly, also climbing up onto the counter. “What do you want to do?”

  “Have privates with Theresa,” Julian said without thinking.

  “Well, the Demidovskis can’t stop us from studying with one of the greatest ballet dancers in Canadian history.”

  “Yeah.”

  Taylor added more sparkles to her eyelids and fixed the clip in her hair. “I wonder how much she charges.”

  “Oh!” Julian said, slapping his forehead. “I never even thought about that!”

  “Well, we can just ask her,” Taylor pointed out. “So, you want to do this?”

  “Yeah,” said Julian. “I’m in.”

  “Let’s go to class then.” Taylor jumped off of the sink counter.

  “So, you agree with me?” Julian clarified. “You want to have privates with her?”

  “Yes,” Taylor said, starting to smile. “Want to shake on it?”

  “Yes,” Julian said, grinning. They shook: slap Taylor on top, slap Julian on top, side, side, fist clasp, jazz hand. “We are sooo cool.” They headed upstairs to class.

  After class, Taylor walked out with Julian, Tristan, Kageki, and Keiko. “Let’s go get bubble tea,” Julian said suddenly. “We haven’t done that since summer.”

  “That’s because it’s cold out,” Tristan pointed out. But they started heading in the direction of Daun’s anyway.

  “Chinese buns …” Taylor said, walking faster. “Good idea, Jules.” They walked to Duan’s and sat down in a booth, getting Kageki to order for them because it always came faster if he did it. The owners of Duan’s didn’t like the Caucasian students at the academy, always serving them last and trying to give them “good deals” that cost more than the original price.

  “Smile,” said Keiko, digging out her camera. Taylor grinned and flashed two peace signs at the camera, and then Keiko took a picture of everyone’s food. Taylor started to giggle.

  “What?” Keiko asked.

  “This was a fun day,” Taylor explained. “Oh, geez, do you realize it’s almost time for auditions?”

  Tristan nodded. “Me and Alexandra have planned which ones we are doing and everything,” he explained. “We’re carpooling.” He looked at Julian. “You decided if you want to come with yet?”

  Taylor thought quickly. “Or he can just come with us,” she said quickly. “Cause we’ll probably have more room.”

  “I’m not sure,” Julian answered. “We can probably just wing it a little closer to the time, hey? I mean, it’s not like it’s tomorrow, they’re mostly after YAGP, right? I don’t even know if I’m doing any auditions.”

  “Let me know soon, though,” Tristan prodded warningly. “Otherwise we might e
nd up taking other people and not have a seat for you.”

  “Well, you could still just come with me,” Taylor repeated.

  “Guess what?” Keiko whispered to Taylor as the boys began to discuss something Mr. Yu had said during men’s technique class. “Look.”

  Taylor looked over to where Keiko was looking. “Where?”

  “Outside the window.”

  Taylor looked. Outside the window, Angela was walking, alone. Taylor giggled.

  “What?” Tristan asked, suddenly paying attention.

  Keiko pointed.

  “Why does she even go to the academy?” Tristan said, disgusted. “She’s so bad. Like, how did she even get accepted?”

  “I heard the Demidovskis made her pay International fees,” Kageki said, coming back with the bubble teas and buns. “Even though she’s Canadian — because her parents are in Romania?”

  Taylor sipped her strawberry bubble tea happily, chasing the tapioca balls with her hot pink straw. “I don’t think Mr. Yu’s corrected her, like, once,” she said. She felt the cold chill her body, but the sugar made her happy. She lay her head on Keiko’s shoulder, and they all sat quietly finishing their bubble teas and buns.

  Chapter Eight

  Alexandra Dunstan

  No, I can’t go see Marianas Trench perform today, I do ballet therefore I do not have a life :(

  Alexandra liked a lot of things that tended to disturb normal people: Catholicism (especially during the inquisition), William the Conqueror, MCR, the smell of sweat, and fixing her messed-up feet were a few. Particularly when they had huge water blisters. She sat on her quilt, a project she and her best friend at the time had made the summer before they had entered grade seven. She still loved the quilt, but hadn’t talked to the friend in years. She couldn’t remember how it was that she had ended up with the quilt. She stuck a disinfected needle through the skin of her toe and let the not-water seep out, dabbing it away with a Kleenex. There, that’s the last one. She stuck her feet off the side of the bed into a large bowl of salt water to disinfect them and turned back to the book she was reading. In a quite matter-of-fact way it was called The Pointe Book. Which it was. Alexandra liked to read casually, she found it comforting reading about the different makes of pointe shoes and the short anecdotes from the dancers who wore them. Without this book, she might never have known that Pavlova’s shoes were Capezio, or that the Royal Ballet liked their students to wear Freeds.