by Laurence Yep
Gabriel went on determinedly. “Welcome to the Big Hart Party. Wel-come, wel-come, wel-come,” he said, clapping his hands to each syllable. “We’re so glad to be here with you. Now help me invite our talented performers onto the stage. Come on, everyone.” Some of the audience began to clap along.
Jackie picked up the rhythm. “Let’s go,” she said with a smile, nodding toward the door.
Heads swiveled as we made our entrance, the faces in our audience looking excited and hopeful. Renata was just ahead of me in line, but she was moving slowly and giving the people in the audience a wide berth. What was wrong with her? Was she afraid of catching something? That would be so like Renata—only worrying about herself. I nudged her from behind to keep going.
Once we had lined up in the space that was our stage, the music began and we started to dance. The special part came when we pivoted and our capes billowed up around us, forming a green kaleidoscope of constantly changing shapes.
After our grand entrance, the cast began to pass out the hats, costumes, and props in Dad’s fun box. The only one not helping was Renata—maybe because she was still worried about catching something. Too bad she can’t “catch” some good manners, I thought sourly, but then I forced myself to smile. Don’t let her ruin this.
As I handed a paper crown to a little five- or six-year-old boy, I saw the flash of disappointment on his face. “Would you rather have a different one?” I asked. “What’s your favorite color?”
He looked up at me with bright blue eyes. “I wanted a pig hat,” he said in a tiny voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I said, smothering a smile. “That was a mistake in the announcement. But”—I looked around for someone with a marker—“maybe I can draw a pig on your crown.”
Fortunately, a nearby nurse had a marker. I set the crown on an empty chair and carefully drew a picture of a smiling pig. “There you go,” I announced. “One special pig hat.”
When I set it on the boy’s head, his smile lit up the room. Renata didn’t know what she was missing.
We hurried back behind the screens and shed our capes, listening to Gabriel do a couple of card tricks. He was so good with the audience! Soon he had everyone laughing and clapping.
When Gabriel introduced “The Waltz of the Flowers,” though, the kitchen grew noisier. Bong! Bong! Bong! It sounded as if the staff were hammering pots out of metal rather than cleaning them.
Olivia and Renata might as well have been trying to dance in a bell tower. When I peeked around the screen, I saw Renata stumble.
She was in tears by the end of her routine. “This is crazy,” she muttered to me backstage. “How can anyone dance with all this noise?”
I’d like to say that things went smoothly after that, but they didn’t. The props for Jacob and Saafi’s act had just been dumped together in a box for the drive here, so it took a while to sort them out and put everything in its proper place onstage. Gabriel covered the delay with more card tricks and jokes—a lot better than the ones in Dad’s book.
Even so, a bad case of nerves spread through the rest of the cast. Even when the kitchen grew quiet again, everyone looked discouraged.
We all knew we were giving only a so-so performance, but I didn’t know how to turn things around. Jackie had invited me to be on the tour partly because she had seen me help a little dancer get over her stage fright before The Nutcracker. Maybe she thought that I could keep all of my castmates calm and on track, but today I sure was doing a crummy job of that.
When it was time for the pirate dance, I tried to focus on doing my very best dancing. So what if I had no theater or stage? No one had taken away my dance skills, and they had been good enough at the Autumn Festival and The Nutcracker to make people happy. I’d just have to rely on them here, too.
“To the stars?” I whispered the school motto to Luisa.
“To the stars,” she said, nodding.
Jackie had wanted Luisa and me to be the fireworks at the end of the show. “We need lots of dance juice. Think of Danny out there,” I said as I began to bob up and down on the balls of my feet to loosen up.
“And you think of Jade,” Luisa said, hopping up and down beside me. But today, the thought of Jade made me more sad than safe. I shrugged off the feeling and lifted my chin, waiting for our cue.
The wave makers went out with the cloth ocean, and as the recorded sounds of surf washed over our ears, I saw Luisa’s lips moving—counting the moments before she made her move. Just before the music began, she slipped around the screen and began dancing.
Crouching low, I followed her and scurried under the billowing cloth. As it rose and fell overhead, I felt as if I really were beneath the surface of a sea.
When I stood up at my cue, though, I’d misjudged the distance. Instead of bobbing up between the two lengths of cloth, I stood up underneath one of them. The cloth bulged as I pushed against it. Hailey lost her grip, and her end of the ocean fluttered to the stage.
The audience started to laugh as I pulled the cloth away from my head. I wished the audience were laughing with us instead of at us, but at least it was a start. Only how do you make people feel joy when you don’t feel joyful yourself?
I stretched my cheek muscles to pull up the corners of my mouth, but it was more of a scowl than a smile. And I felt like a robot going through programmed motions, not a dancer. So much for making anyone feel happy. I couldn’t even do it for myself.
Our big finale with the capes didn’t go much better. The cast swirled and clapped their hands with the audience, but nobody’s heart was in it. We all seemed glad when the performance was finally over.
As the audience was leaving the cafeteria, we gathered up the hats and other props and put them back into Dad’s fun box. Then Jackie rounded us up for a pep talk. “You did very well in a difficult situation,” she said. “Everyplace we perform is going to be different, and so are the problems. You just have to learn to shake them off and go on.”
That was the advice she had given me that had gotten me through The Nutcracker, so I knew it worked. But I think I was the only one here who believed her.
My dance bag felt as heavy as a bag of rocks as I trudged up the steps to our house. I felt as if I’d let Jackie down big-time. Not only had my dancing lacked joy, but I hadn’t kept any of my castmates from getting nervous—including myself.
I just wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and not come out for a week. But when I opened our front door, I heard a steady thwack-thwack-thwack from the living room. That sound meant Jade was working on a new pair of ballet shoes.
Pointe shoes have a kind of stiff box inside the toe to support a dancer’s weight. The boxlike part of new shoes has to be softened before a dancer can wear them.
I dropped my dance bag in the hallway and scooped up Tutu. Cradling her in my arms, I hesitated in the hallway by the living room, wondering if I should go inside. Would Jade feel like talking with me? Was she too busy?
Finally, I made up my mind to step into the room. I was feeling awful, and I knew that Jade was the only one who could make me feel better.
Jade was sitting with her legs spread as she hit her shoe against the floor. She glanced up at me and then back down at her shoes, not saying anything at first. But after a moment she asked, “How was the show?”
I didn’t even know where to start. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d just start crying. I plopped onto the sofa and began scratching Tutu under her chin.
Jade took one look at my face and lowered the shoe. “What’s wrong?”
I took a deep breath and shook my head, discouraged. “Everything,” I was finally able to say. “We were in this awful cafeteria, with no room to move. And the kitchen was so noisy that it threw everyone off. And…” I thought for a moment, trying to figure out what the worst part had been. Then it hit me. “And you weren’t there, Jade. When everything bad was happening, I really needed to talk to you.”
Jade’s face softened. Then
she said with a half smile, “That’s funny, Isabelle, because I was pretty sure you didn’t need me for much of anything anymore.”
“What?” I said, sitting up. “Why would you say that?”
Jade shrugged. “Ever since you started dancing with Jackie, it’s been ‘Jackie this’ and ‘Jackie that.’ She gave you tips about dancing that I never knew. And if you don’t need me to help with your dancing, then what do you need me for?” Jade laughed halfheartedly as she added, “Definitely not for help with your capes or your costumes.”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from Jade. I mean, I’d suspected that she was a little jealous of my time with Jackie, but how could she ever think I didn’t need her anymore? I didn’t know whether to hug her or get down on the floor and shake some sense into her.
“Jade!” I exclaimed. “Of course I need you. I’ll always need you. You’re my person.”
Jade gave me a questioning look. “Your person?”
“Yeah, you know how at the start of a show when you’re nervous—or at the end of a show when you’re starting to get tired—and you need something that makes you feel better?” I said.
Jade nodded slowly.
“Well, Jackie says…”—as soon as I said the name “Jackie,” I saw Jade’s face fall, but I went on quickly—“she says that I should picture someone special, someone who supports me and gives me energy. And I think of you, Jade. I always think of you.”
Jade was silent then for such a long time. But when she came to sit beside me, I could tell by the look on her face that we were going to be okay. “That makes me feel good, Isabelle,” she said, and then she leaned in and said the magic words: “And you know what might make us both feel even better? Ice cream.”
I laughed out loud. “Before dinner?” I asked.
“Before dinner,” said Jade, grinning. “Mom will understand.” She threw her arm around me and squeezed me close.
I leaned my head on Jade’s shoulder. I’d really, really missed her.
Then I remembered we had a show to do again tomorrow, and I sat up straight. “Jade,” I said, “there’s something I need even more than ice cream.”
Jade sat up, too. “No way,” she said, mocking me.
“No, really,” I said, turning to face her. “I have another show tomorrow, and…well…would you do my makeup?”
Jade smiled. She nodded her head slowly. “You got it, sis,” she said softly.
I smiled, too, and gave Jade another hug. I had my sister back, and suddenly tomorrow looked a whole lot brighter.
The next morning, as we gathered by the bus at school, my castmates tried to act cheerful, but I could tell they were pretending. They laughed too loud and too quickly, their smiles flashing on and off like lamps short-circuiting.
As for me? I was determined to do my job today—to spread joy with my dancing and to help my castmates feel less nervous. But after a few minutes with Jackie, my determination faded. She seemed strangely quiet. After sacrificing so much to organize the tour, including turning down the role of Odette in Swan Lake, I wondered if she was sorry she’d done it. Was it too late for me to help turn things around?
When we boarded the bus, I sat down beside Luisa. Renata was sitting in front of us, and she turned around and looked pointedly at me as she said, “It’s important that you don’t mess up today.”
“Hey,” Luisa said indignantly, “you made plenty of mistakes yourself, Renata.”
I put a hand on Luisa’s wrist to stop her before she said anything else. “I know we’re all going to try our best,” I said.
“You can’t just try. You’ve got to be your best,” Renata insisted. “My parents and brother, Ben, are coming to see us today.”
“Really?” I said with genuine interest. I’d never seen Renata’s family at a performance before, and I was surprised they’d come to an “on the road” show like this one. “That’s great,” I started to say, but Renata had already turned back around.
When we reached the grounds of the nursing home, Gabriel let out a whistle and said, “Fancy.”
“Very fancy,” Renata agreed, gazing out the window at the ten-story brick building built in a U shape around a fountain. “It must cost a fortune to stay here.” She was always talking about how much things cost, especially the expensive ballet costumes her family bought for her.
The director, a small man with wire-rimmed glasses and a fringe of hair around his bald head, met us out front. “We’re honored to have you, Ms. Sanchez,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“Thank you,” Jackie said, and then she whispered something to him.
“Yes, of course,” the director said, nodding.
Jackie turned to us. “You’ll have to excuse me for a little while, kids,” she said. “Someone from the home will show you where to set up, and Ms. Hawken will supervise.”
“I’ll send my secretary, Ms. Perl, to take care of you,” the director told us over his shoulder. And the next moment, he and Jackie disappeared inside. Where were they going? How were we going to set things up without Jackie? Beside me, Luisa looked just as worried as I felt.
Ms. Hawken didn’t waste any time, though, putting us to work. We were unloading the bus when a pleasant, gray-haired woman came out of the home. “I’m Ms. Perl,” she said, introducing herself to Ms. Hawken. “Would you kindly follow me?”
Each of us picked up something to carry and followed her into the lobby. Giant tapestries with colorful abstract designs hung on the wood-paneled walls. This looked like the lobby of an expensive hotel. Renata was beaming with approval.
In one corner, a few plush couches had been arranged around a large-screen television. A dozen elderly people sat watching a soap opera, with the volume turned way up. Most of them wore everyday clothes. But one woman had dressed up in a formal blue dress and pearl necklace, as if she were dining at a fancy restaurant. She turned to look at us excitedly.
A place as ritzy as this might even have its own theater and stage, I thought. So I was surprised when Ms. Perl led us to another narrow sitting area just beyond the information desk. “We thought this would be the most suitable spot,” she said.
I looked around at the staff, visitors, and nursing home residents passing through the area. This spot was so public that we might as well be performing out on the sidewalk. And we would be competing with the noise from the TV. As I glanced backward, a man in a green cardigan turned up the volume even louder.
Where is Jackie? I wondered. We need her!
After Ms. Perl excused herself, Ms. Hawken clapped her hands to get our attention. “Okay, let’s start setting up,” she said.
Renata looked around sourly. “Why bother, Ms. Hawken?” she asked. “This ‘stage’ is the size of a postage stamp. This is going to be a disaster, just like yesterday.”
I could tell from the way everyone else’s shoulders were slumping that they felt the same way. But I wasn’t going to stand by and let things fall apart this time. “So what if this isn’t the best spot?” I said brightly. “If I weren’t dancing here today, I’d probably be dancing at home in my living room—which is a lot smaller than this.” I turned to Hailey. “What about you, Hailey?”
Hailey smiled and tucked her brown hair behind one ear. “I guess I’d be practicing my singing,” she agreed.
“Sure,” Luisa chimed in. “Think about this as the dress rehearsal we never had.” I could always count on my friend to back me up.
Gabriel pointed to an area on one side of the room. “Ms. Hawken, look at those curtains,” he said. “Don’t they look like theater curtains?”
The wine-colored velvet curtains hung from tall windows and had gold cords pulling them away from the glass panes. When Ms. Hawken unhooked the cords, the curtains swept down in front of the windows, making the perfect backdrop for our performance. “Let’s place our ‘backstage’ screens beside them,” Ms. Hawken said, sounding pleased.
When we were done setting up, the rich window curtains and
fancy screens really did look like the backdrop of a theater. The stage space, though, was a lot smaller than we were used to. Luisa and I practiced some dance moves to see how far we could travel across the floor. As we danced, I noticed the well-dressed woman watching us from across the lobby.
“I hope I remember everything,” Luisa sighed when we were done.
“I hope Jackie shows up soon,” I said, scanning the hallway.
But when the start time for our show came and went, there was still no sign of Jackie. People passing by looked at our stage setup curiously but didn’t stop. When was Jackie going to come back and tell us to start? And how were we going to find an audience then?
Finally, Ms. Hawken couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going to look for Jackie,” she said, hurrying away.
We stared at one another. Even the parent chaperones whispered nervously. Renata kept looking at her phone. Was her family running late?
I started getting just as discouraged as my castmates, but then I remembered the advice that Jackie had given me at The Nutcracker: “Things are going to happen that you can’t control. You can’t let it bother you. You have to try your best.”
Remembering Jackie’s words made me feel better. After all, we couldn’t control whether we had an audience, right? Or…could we?
From all the times my dad’s band had played at fairs and markets, I knew it was hard to gather an audience at the start of a show. But I also knew that all it took was one person—that if the band started to play for just one person, others would hear the music and come.
Maybe that would work here, too. I glanced toward the TV area. Then I took a deep breath and motioned to Luisa to follow me.
“Excuse me,” I said loudly enough so that I would be heard over the TV. “We’re from the Anna Hart School of the Arts, and we’ve come here to put on a show. We call it the Big Hart Party. Would any of you like to join us?”
Some of the residents didn’t seem to hear me, but the woman in the blue dress smiled and rose stiffly from the sofa. “I was hoping you would begin soon,” she said. She reached for the walker beside her.
