Friday Night Stage Lights

by Rachele Alpine

  I cleared my throat—the loud, obnoxious way that teachers do when you’re talking and they want you to be quiet.

  A few people glanced in my direction but then turned back and continued to carry on as if everyone was the best of friends.

  I cleared my throat again even louder and clapped my hands together like Mary Rose does to start class.

  “I don’t know about all of you, but I’m ready to get to class,” I announced.

  “Funny, because I was about to say that I’m ready to get some pizza,” Randy said, and the girls laughed as if that was the funniest joke in the world.

  News flash—it wasn’t.

  I grabbed Adeline’s arm and pulled her with me, but she shook it off.

  “It’s time for class,” I told her.

  “Geez, relax, we’re welcoming the new students. Mary Rose wanted us to make them feel like they belong.”

  “Are you wearing makeup?” I asked, even though it was obvious. Adeline had on bright red lipstick and a little too much blush on her cheeks. I know for a fact that she isn’t allowed to wear makeup, because her mom always makes her wipe it off right after a performance.

  “A little. Is there something wrong with that?” she asked, and I thought maybe I was living in some kind of alternate universe where things didn’t make sense. A world where all my friends suddenly couldn’t care less about ballet and had turned boy crazy. That had to be the case. My friends couldn’t have turned this boy crazy so fast, right?

  “Yeah, why don’t you go back into the classroom and twirl some more?” Randy spoke up. And I thought I was going to cry. And not a little sniffle, but a full-out sob fest, complete with a snotty nose and tons of tissues. Because this so wasn’t right and no one could see it but me. My lip trembled like it does before the tears fall, and I didn’t think I could keep it together. But as I was about to fall apart, Jayden spoke up.

  “Brooklyn is right; it’s time break this huddle up. We have new steps to learn, and I’m pretty sure you boys have football plays to memorize.”

  I don’t know how he did it, but the group moved toward the door and said their good-byes. The dancers moved toward the studio and the team headed outside.

  “I have no idea what kind of magic that was, but you saved the day,” I told Jayden.

  Jayden took an exaggerated deep bow. “Of course. Anything for my amazing dance partner. And the secret is to talk in a language they understand. I learned that from my brother a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, Mary Rose seems to think the same thing. You two might be on to something, and in this case, you knew just the right thing to say, so thanks.”

  “It’s all in a day’s work,” Jayden said. “And now, I don’t know about you, but someone said it was time to start class, so that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  I followed him into the room with a grin on my face because life was back to normal, and it was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

  The girls settled down and, thankfully, there was no mention of the boys. I threw myself into the movements, and we danced for over an hour without stopping. No one complained or goofed off or tried to make it into a big joke. In fact, it was the opposite. Jayden and I went over our piece for the Showcase and did such a good job that the rest of the class gave us a round of applause at the end.

  “Dance like that at the All-City Showcase, and you are both sure to catch the recruiter’s eye for one of the six spots that are open at TSOTA,” Mary Rose said as she clapped along with everyone else.

  “Six spots?” I asked.

  Mary Rose nodded. “I got word that they’re only taking six dancers this year. They took twelve last year, but said they wanted to keep the group a bit smaller. You have nothing to worry about, though. I have confidence both of you will take two of those spots. You’re doing amazing things with the choreography, and your lifts are perfection.”

  I really wish I could have focused on the good things Mary Rose was saying, but it was impossible not to worry. How could I not when there were only six spots? Half of what they’d had the year before. That meant competition would be even tougher.

  Jayden and I were the only ones from our studio trying to get into TSOTA, but how many other kids wanted a spot? For all I knew, it could be hundreds. The school was open to anyone from the entire state. Some students even traveled over an hour each way every day to get there. After all, if you loved to dance, why wouldn’t you want to go to a school where you got to do that for half the day?

  Six spots meant I really had to stand out at the Showcase and on my application. In a matter of minutes, my chances of getting into TSOTA seemed to have gotten a lot harder, which meant that I needed every advantage I could get. Translation: I had to continue to volunteer with the football team. There was no way I could escape them.

  Chapter 10

  Tanner was waiting outside in his truck for me after practice. Mom and Stephen had made a deal with him that they would buy him a used truck if he helped with taking me to and from my classes when Mom or Stephen couldn’t. That seemed like a pretty great deal. For Tanner. I, on the other hand, was held hostage in a truck that usually smelled like a locker room and had to listen to him talk football, football, football.

  Today when I climbed in, he was watching a football video on his phone.

  “Check out the size of the guys on the team we’re playing next week. They’re beasts,” he told me and turned the screen so I could see too.

  “Wow, they’re huge,” I said to try to be polite, even though the last thing I wanted right now was to hear more about football.

  “I know. I’m usually not nervous about a game, but these guys are going to make us work for a win.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Wait a minute, should I call all of the news stations? Is Tanner Kratus really saying that he’s nervous about a game?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t always as easy as I make it look,” he joked as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Speaking of football players. How did the middle school team do today? Coach Trentanelli mentioned that they were going to start working at the studio.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call what they did ‘work.’ ” I thought about Randy and how awful he was.

  “Are they not taking it seriously? Because I’ll let Coach know right away.”

  “No, no,” I said quickly. I didn’t want the team at my studio, but I wasn’t about to get them in trouble.

  “This will be good for them,” Tanner said. “They need this.”

  “What about me? What do I get out of this?”

  “You get to be the one who single-handedly saved Leighton football.”

  “Um, what?”

  “You’re our city’s last hope. Only you can fix the team and get them straightened out, or we’re doomed. You hold the power, Brooklyn,” he said jokingly, like I was some sort of football superhero.

  “Well, when you put it that way . . .”

  “Right now you’re the most important person in the entire town. Don’t let us down. All hope depends on you.”

  “Okay, now you’re taking it a little too far,” I said, but I had to admit it was pretty funny. Who would have thought that ballet was what would save our football team?

  “I’m serious,” he insisted. “You’re the chosen one. Can you do it?”

  “It’s going to be hard, but I’m up for the challenge.” I said, playing along. I wrinkled my nose as I thought about Randy. “Well, there are a few obstacles in the way, but no pain, no gain, right?”

  “Exactly. Thanks again for your service,” Tanner said.

  “Anytime,” I said. And while it didn’t fix the problem of having the team at the studio, it was fun to joke with Tanner.

  Chapter 11

  Mia got to lunch early the next day and nabbed one of the best tables by the windows that faced the outside playing fields. When you’re stuck at school for seven hours a day, there is nothing better than being able to look outside. An
d as a bonus, this table was near the end of the lunch line, where they put out the desserts. Mia loved that she could see the exact moment the chocolate chip cookies were out and grab one while they were still hot and gooey.

  She waved me over, no doubt dying to hear all about the football team at the dance studio. Sure enough, she didn’t even let me get a word in before I sat down.

  “I can’t believe my mom wouldn’t let me text you last night,” Mia complained. “She’s so unfair.”

  “She never lets you text me after eight p.m.,” I reminded her. Mia’s mom firmly believed that nothing good happened with technology in the evening hours. She didn’t want Mia stimulated by the screen and most certainly didn’t want her texting late into the night, so Mia had to hand over her phone and didn’t get it back until the morning. It usually wasn’t that big a deal to me, since after I got home from dance classes I ate, finished my homework, showered, and fell into bed from exhaustion, but sometimes there were those moments like last night when you needed to talk to your BFF and you couldn’t. And those moments were the worst.

  “I told her it was a life-or-death situation, but she wouldn’t budge.” Mia picked the pepperonis off her slice of pizza and popped them into her mouth one by one.

  “Parents just don’t understand,” I said in solidarity, thinking about Mom, who hadn’t come home from work last night until late, and when she had, she hadn’t even asked how class with the team had gone.

  “You’ve got that right. But we’re together now, so spill it. I need the scoop on the class. Was it everything you thought it would be and more?”

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Most of them actually took it pretty seriously, but still. That’s my space. I hated having the team invade it.”

  “Could you avoid them? Pretend they aren’t there? You could tell your teacher you don’t want to help with them.” Mia was always telling me that life is too short to do something you don’t want to do.

  “I wish,” I said. “But I have to. The competition is really tough for TSOTA this year. Only six people are going to get into the freshman class, so I need to make sure my application stands out.”

  “I have a solution to that,” Mia said. “You could go to Leighton High School with me. You don’t have to go to Texas School of the Arts.”

  “But I want to go there. More than anything,” I said.

  “More than going to school with your best friend. We just found each other and now you’re already planning on leaving me,” Mia said in a half-joking, half-serious way that always made me get that awful tug in my stomach whenever we talked about this. I hated that going to TSOTA meant not being with Mia, and I understood why she was upset, but ballet was my passion. It was where I was the most like myself. Where I belonged.

  “It’s not about leaving you,” I told her for the millionth time. “It’s about doing what I love. And we’ll still see each other. We can have weekly breakfast dates at Locos Tacos and sleepovers every weekend. You might not see me around school, but you’ll be so sick of seeing me so much outside of school that it won’t matter.”

  “It won’t be the same.” Mia sighed, and I couldn’t help but agree. She was my first friend here, and it stunk to think that I might separate the two of us. But she had to understand why I wanted to go to that school so bad; it was the same as her drive to become a sportscaster and why she did her vlog.

  “What if we start a Web series where we make videos for each other? We could post them every day,” I suggested, and Mia perked up a bit.

  “That would be so cool! Like virtual pen pals!”

  The idea did sound fun and something I could totally see us doing. We were about to launch into a planning session about how it would work when there was a ton of noise from the front of the cafeteria.

  A group of boys had entered, tossing a football back and forth and acting as if they owned the place.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Even when I try to get away from the team, it’s impossible. It’s like they’re lurking around every corner waiting to jump out at me.”

  “That’s a bit much,” Mia said. “My guess is they’re here to eat lunch.”

  “Well, they don’t need to make a racket about it,” I told her and pointed at the football. “Besides, that’s so dangerous. I can’t believe no one is stopping them.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “Okay, cafeteria cop. Lighten up. What’s the worst that could happen? Someone gets hit with the football?”

  “Um, they could poke an eye out, break someone’s nose, knock one of the cafeteria monitors down, give you a concussion—”

  Mia held up her hand at me to stop and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe how ridiculous I truly was, which, okay, maybe I was being a little over-the-top.

  The boys continued to make their way through the tables as they tossed the ball around. I waited for one of the adults to say something, but instead, my classmates clapped and cheered them on.

  “This is a bad dream, right?” I asked when the boys sat at the table right next to us. Suddenly, our awesome table by the windows turned into the worst table in the cafeteria. In fact, I’d rather be at the dreaded table next to the line of garbage cans than stay here.

  “Let’s sit somewhere else,” I told Mia and stood up. I began to gather my stuff, but she placed her hand on my tray.

  “You’re being ridiculous. We’re staying here. Ignore them. Besides, I need to eavesdrop and see if I can get the scoop for my next vlog.”

  I reluctantly sat down. The boys had pulled out their lunches and were debating who had the best food and what kind of swaps could be made.

  “Do you think I can record them on my phone?” Mia whispered.

  “What’s there to record? Right now, their conversation pretty much revolves around the best flavor of Doritos.”

  “Cool Ranch,” Mia said without missing a beat. “Definitely Cool Ranch.”

  “You’re hopeless,” I told her.

  I tried my best to tune out the group and focus on my lunch, which was a giant salad with quinoa and sunflower seeds on it. I thought I’d done a good job at ignoring the boys until I heard the word “ballet.”

  “Turn on your recorder,” I said to Mia. “Quick!”

  “Oh, I see how it is. Now, when you want it, it’s suddenly okay,” she said, but recorded them nonetheless. “What are they talking about?”

  “Ballet,” I said and held my finger to my lips to get her to be quiet. I needed to hear the conversation.

  Randy turned to Jimmy. “Did your mom buy you a tutu yet for class? I think pink will look good on you.”

  I bit my lip to keep from saying anything. What a ridiculous question! You don’t even wear a tutu to class. In fact, there were tons of ballets where no one wore them at all. What he was saying was a big, huge stereotype repeated by people who didn’t know anything about the world of dance, but Jimmy didn’t seem to care. He laughed as if Randy had said the funniest thing in the world.

  “I can’t believe Coach is making us go back,” Randy complained.

  “It’s pretty dumb,” Anthony agreed, which stung a bit because at practice, he’d been into things and I’d thought he wasn’t that bad. “Like, we could be doing much more important things on the field.”

  “I’m pretty sure Coach Konarski knows what he’s doing. After all, the Cowboys use ballet as part of their training,” Logan said. I thought back to how he had said ballet was hard work and was thankful again for his support.

  “I don’t care who does it; it’s a waste of our time,” Randy argued.

  Mia listened to them as if they were having the most fascinating conversation in the world. I, on the other hand, could hardly sit still. With each silly comment Randy and some of the other boys on the team made, I got angrier and angrier, and I was pretty sure if you took my temperature, it would show that my blood had reached a boiling point. I grabbed the edge of the table so hard my knuckles were white.

  “
Ignore him. He’s being stupid,” Mia told me, which was easy for her to say. I bet she’d get upset if he made fun of her vlogs.

  “I can’t,” I told her. “Mary Rose let him come into the studio; the least he could do is respect that.”

  I pushed my chair back with so much force that it fell to the floor. But I didn’t care. I stormed over to their table and stopped at the head of it with my hands on my hips. It was all very angry and dramatic, but no one noticed me at first.

  “Could you please be quiet for one minute?” I shouted and banged my fist down on the table. I did it so hard a few of the trays rattled and everyone stopped talking.

  “Geez, calm down, twinkle toes,” Randy said, which made me even more mad.

  “My name is Brooklyn,” I told him and gave him the meanest look I could muster. “Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once. No one asked you to come to our studio. I didn’t want you to come to our studio. But you did! You showed up smelling like dirty old gym socks and making jokes out of everything. Well, guess what? Ballet isn’t a joke. Not one little bit. How would you feel if I showed up on the football field when you were trying to practice and made fun of everything you did?”

  The boys simply sat there with their eyes on me and mouths hanging open. It felt good to tell them exactly what I thought, so I continued with my tirade.

  “If you don’t want to come to class, don’t, because no one wants you there! Do us all a favor and stay home!”

  I was out of breath and my heart raced, almost as if I had finished an intense dance routine, but it felt good. It was amazing to tell Randy exactly what I thought about how rude he’d been at my studio. And to his credit, he simply stared at me for a moment and I thought I’d finally, finally, gotten through to him.

  But then he began to laugh. It was loud and echoing, and other people in the cafeteria turned to see what the fuss was about.

  “What we do on the field is so different from what you do in the studio, you wouldn’t be able to last a minute,” he said.