Perfectly Prima

by Whoopi Goldberg

  “Did you have a good time?” she asks, turning to Mason.

  “Mostly,” he says. “Except the leggings itch.”

  “Your family is full of surprises,” Miss Camilla tells Mom and Dad.

  Mom looks from Mason to me. “It sure is,” she replies.

  Ms. Debbé joins us, along with the other Sugar Plums. “So, Mr. Mason,” she says. “I wonder, do you think you might want to join a ballet class?”

  Mason thinks about this. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “We perhaps could have a special class for boys,” she says.

  “Then forget it,” says Mason, looking at Epatha. “I’d rather dance with girls.”

  Chapter 20

  After the show, we all go to Epatha’s family’s restaurant, where they’ve set up a huge table for us.

  Epatha’s parents have cooked up a pre-Thanksgiving feast. We eat spaghetti and stuffing, cannoli and cranberry sauce, eggplant parmigiana and pumpkin pie. It is weird but delicious.

  Mom sits on one side of me and Mason on the other. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how good you were, honey,” Mom says to me. “You did everything just right.”

  “Well, not really,” I say. “I missed a step in the second part.” I scoop up another bite of pie. “But that’s okay. I had fun, and that’s what counts.”

  Mom and Dad exchange a look. I’ll bet they’re wondering if the real Jerzey was kidnapped by aliens and replaced by a robot.

  “Jerzey did really good,” Mason says, between bites of cannoli. “She’s a good student.”

  “You’re a good teacher,” I tell him.

  “And a good dancer,” Al says from across the table.

  Dad leans back in his chair. “I think, given Mason’s dancing and teaching prowess, he might deserve an early birthday present.”

  Mason jumps up. “Can I have my very own rat?”

  “Yes,” Dad replies. The rest of us groan. We didn’t tell Mom and Dad about the rat incident. There are some things parents are just happier not knowing.

  Epatha’s mom, who looks like a movie star with her glossy black hair and bright red dress, stands up. “Since it’s almost Thanksgiving, I would like to say that I am thankful you all could come and share this meal with us.” She smiles and raises her glass. “To good friends.”

  Everyone joins in the toast, the grown-ups with their wineglasses and us kids with our sodas.

  “I’m thankful for something, too,” says Mason.

  “What, cannoli?” asks JoAnn. “You’ve eaten about ten already.”

  “No, I’m thankful Jerzey made me do that dance, because it was fun. I’m glad she’s my big sister. I’m even going to name my new rat after her.”

  My eyes start to prickle, but this time they’re good tears. I manage to blink them away and say, “Thanks, Mason.”

  Mason picks up another cannoli. “And now Epatha knows I’m a good dancer, so she’ll marry me.”

  Epatha watches the cannoli disappearing into Mason’s mouth. She squints skeptically at him. “Do you want to marry me because I’m nice, or because my mom makes good cannoli?” she asks.

  Mason considers this. “Both,” he says.

  Epatha laughs.

  “How about we see those dances again?” Epatha’s dad asks.

  I’m so full I can barely move. But he announces to the customers in the restaurant that we’re going to do a show, and the customers start clapping. So we all stand up. Epatha’s dad sings in a rich tenor voice, while the Rainbow girls dance with imaginary banners, and then Mason, Jessica, and I do our dance.

  After we’re all done, we line up to take a bow. I notice the line’s not perfectly straight—I’m a little too far back.

  It doesn’t matter at all.

  I join hands with my friends. “Another triumphant moment for the Sugar Plum Sisters,” Terrel says. “And the Sugar Plum Brother,” I add. Then we sit back down and eat, till there are no more cannoli in sight.

  Jerzey Mae’s Guide to Ballet Terms (With help from Mason)

  barre—long railing that runs along the wall of a ballet studio. When no one is looking, it’s fun to hang upside down from it and pretend you’re a bat.

  celery—crunchy green vegetable. Eating four stalks every day may improve ballet performance; however, this has not been tested, because all our celery got turned blue, by a certain person whose name I won’t mention. Jerzey, I had to! For school! How was I supposed to know you wanted that stupid old celery?

  chassé—sideways, galloping movement across the dance floor. Or the basketball court.

  Epatha—the girl I am going to marry when I’m old, like, at least eleven.

  (That was Mason, not me. Obviously.)

  Freeman, Miss Camilla—a very important ballerina who is elegant, talented, and refined. And her purse makes a good hiding place if you’re a rat.

  grand battement—large kicking movement.

  Why can’t dancers just say “big kick”?

  grand jeté—big jump. But not exactly like a jump-shot jump. See? That’s why we need proper French terminology. How do you say, “whatever,” in French?

  plié—knee-bend. Miss Camilla did five hundred of these every day. Not recommended unless you like having spaghetti legs. Did you say spaghetti? I’m hungry.

  pirouette—complete turn of the body on one leg. Jerzey used to be really bad at these until she went to Mason’s Magnificent School of Ballet.

  No comment.

  scarf, lucky—what Miss Camilla Freeman wore during all her ballet classes. Most effective if not previously used as a parachute for a toy soldier who landed in a mud puddle. Well, I couldn’t just let him fall a million feet, could I?

  sibling rivalry—when two kids in the same family (who have to, for instance, go to dance class together) fight a lot. Which Mason and I don’t do anymore.

  Right. Even when I leave the cap off of your green felt-tipped pen and it dries out. What?