by Laurence Yep
I’d heard a rumor that Jackie Sanchez was in D.C. and was coaching some of the HDC dancers, but I hadn’t expected her to be here today. It was amazing to see her again in person, yet as I watched her demonstrate a few arm movements for one of the company members, I felt my excitement slowly turn to dread. If I couldn’t pull off my pirouettes today, I would not only embarrass myself in front of the cast and Mr. Kosloff, but I would humiliate myself in front of my idol, too.
To make matters worse, I caught Renata’s eye as we pushed through the now-crowded studio. She smirked and whispered something to Emilio. I strained my ears, but I couldn’t hear what she said—though I was pretty sure it was about me.
When Jade, Luisa, and I found an empty space, we set our bags down and began to stretch and warm up with the rest of the cast. Mr. Kosloff and Jackie Sanchez took their seats to observe the dancers, and Bettina pulled up a chair next to them, occasionally calling out greetings to the dancers who would play her mice. Then Mr. Kosloff clapped his hands loudly and announced, “Attention, everyone. We’re going to take it from the top.”
The dancers who would play the partygoers stepped to the center of the room with their props—cell phones, handheld games, and tablets. As they danced, they busily interacted with their devices but hardly looked at one another. I watched the party scene play out, thinking about the envelope of costume designs tucked in my dance bag. Except for Clara, I knew that the other kids would be wearing drab colors like grays, browns, and dark blues. I think the idea was to show how boring their world was.
I’d spent most of the time last night working on the girls’ dresses, but now I pictured the boys’ costumes in my mind. In Mr. Kosloff’s designs, the boys were all wearing dress pants with long-sleeved sweaters or blazers. But suddenly those designs seemed too formal to me. Shouldn’t some of the boys be in button-down shirts or even T-shirts? I wondered.
I snuck the envelope out of my bag and scrunched down low so that I could make a quick note on a boy’s costume sketch.
The party scene picked up when the dancer playing Drosselmeyer the Toymaker arrived. He immediately got disgusted when he saw everyone ignoring one another. With a wave of his hand, all of their electronic devices went dead.
He quieted the protests by entertaining the partygoers with his magical dolls, which were actually played by adult dancers who moved their arms and legs stiffly, in a doll-like way. As I watched them dance, I wondered what costumes they would be wearing. If I were the designer, I would put the dolls in the brightest costumes possible so that they would stand out from the partygoers.
After the last doll performed, the partygoers finally began to dance and talk with one another. Drosselmeyer danced with my sister and then presented the Nutcracker to her. Cradling her gift, Jade seemed to glide above the stage as if dancing on air. I thought of how the flared skirt of her costume would twirl around her as she moved. Yet something still felt plain about it—too blah for Jade’s amazing dancing. The dress needed more than color to stand out and be worthy of the dancer wearing it. But what?
After the party scene, Bettina’s little mice arrived, and all thoughts of costumes flew out of my mind. Though the little dancers were wearing regular practice outfits today, I recognized Addison and the other two wandering mice from yesterday.
As the mice began to dance about the studio, they wagged their heads from side to side and swaggered, just as I had told them to do. They were mice with attitude. Addison even waved at me as she danced by. I felt a little proud that Mr. Kosloff had kept my suggestions for their routine.
When Jade came to get the Nutcracker she’d left behind, the mice began to play pranks on her. That’s when the Nutcracker came to life—played by a boy named Paul Sommers in a mask. The Nutcracker led the toy soldiers in defending Jade.
The battle went back and forth, but just when it seemed as if the mice were going to win, Jade threw her slipper at the Mouse King. She had practiced pitching shoes at home, so her aim was dead center. That distracted the Mouse King, and the Nutcracker was able to kill him. But the Mouse King managed to stab the Nutcracker, too, before he died.
As the mice and soldiers withdrew, Jade wept over the dying Nutcracker. But then Drosselmeyer the Toymaker appeared, and with magical passes of his hands, he healed the Nutcracker. When Paul sat up, he took off his mask to reveal a prince with brown hair.
Jade rose and did a little dance, first of surprise and then of joy. She was as lovely as ever, every position perfect.
And then Paul stood up.
“I wonder how she likes looking at the top of his head?” I heard someone say from a cluster of dancers in the corner. I turned and saw a girl with a ponytail giggling with a boy wearing glasses standing next to her.
Looking back at the dance floor, I noticed for the first time that Paul was a couple of inches shorter than Jade.
It sounded to me as if someone was jealous of my sister. I shot an angry glance at the girl.
As Jade and the prince continued their dance, though, the boy with glasses snickered. “Paul, do you need a ladder?” he said, just loud enough for Jade and Paul to hear.
I instantly saw Jade’s reaction. Her shoulders hunched, as if she was trying to make herself appear smaller. With each step now, her legs and arms began to move unsteadily. Is this what has been bothering my sister? I wondered. Her height?
I saw Paul’s lips move. I’m pretty sure he was whispering to my sister to ignore the gigglers. But when one of them laughed again out loud, Jade stumbled. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out.
“Keep going,” Mr. Kosloff called from the other side of the room. “We’ve nearly finished Act One.”
So Jade kept on dancing, but she seemed stiff and awkward now. I was stunned. I’d never seen her dance this badly before. I might mess up a performance now and then, but my perfect sister never did.
As the piano played the last note, Jade stood still, looking like a prisoner waiting to be shot.
“Let’s take a break, everyone,” Mr. Kosloff announced. “I’ll give you all your notes after we finish the Mother Ginger scene.”
Jade immediately headed for the door, picking up her pace until she was running.
I ran after Jade, but by the time I reached the doorway, it was crowded with other dancers trying to get out. I managed to squeeze into the hallway. When I didn’t spot Jade, I went into the women’s restroom and found her crying in front of the sink.
A couple of girls whispered to each other as they left the restroom. I went over and stood by Jade, rubbing her back silently because I didn’t know what to say.
“I knew this would happen,” Jade sobbed. “Mr. Kosloff’s going to drop me because I’m too tall.”
So that was what had been bothering her.
“If Mr. Kosloff was going to replace you, he would have done it by now,” I reasoned. “He must really want you as his Clara.”
Jade squeezed her eyes shut and moaned, “But I was so, so awful.”
I got some paper towels and wet them under a faucet. “I know what a good dancer you are,” I said soothingly. “So does Mr. Kosloff.”
Jade shook her head. “I can’t go back into that studio,” she said.
“But you can’t quit dancing either,” I insisted as I held the damp towels out to her.
Jade wiped her face. She blew her nose and then said, “At least I’ll get to see you dance.”
When Jade mentioned my own dance routine, I felt as if she’d just dropped an ice cube down my back. I’d been so busy thinking about costumes—and then worrying about Jade—that I’d forgotten my own problems. I hadn’t even taken the time to visualize my routine, not that I was sure it would have done any good. But I couldn’t freak out now. I had to follow my own advice to Jade and march back into that studio.
When we entered the studio, Ms. Ferri waved her hand and said, “Come to Mama Ginger, Isabelle.” Tape had been placed on the floor to approximate the stage, and my stomach did flip-flops as I f
ollowed Ms. Ferri over to a place stage right.
“Try not to knock us all over, Bowling-Ball Belle,” Renata whispered to me as I lined up next to her.
That didn’t help my nerves any, but Luisa leaped to my defense. “You worry about yourself, Renata,” she snapped.
Renata glared at her but said nothing.
As we gathered around Ms. Ferri, my eyes searched for Jade. I found her leaning against the wall in the far corner of the studio. She still looked miserable. Even though she had said she wanted to see me dance, she couldn’t seem to shake the memory of her own mistakes. That scared me. If a great dancer like Jade had started to doubt herself, what chance did I have?
“Okay, crouch,” Ms. Ferri said.
I was in the front row, with Renata on my right and Luisa on my left. We all leaned forward with our hands on our knees.
All the other dancers were watching us. Even the company members had stayed. We’d never had an audience before.
As the music started, Ms. Ferri began to stamp her feet. On the fifth count, she took a step to the side. When she brought her feet together again, I moved my foot to the side with the rest of the cast.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Stride by stride, we moved slowly across the floor. Something felt off, though. Then I realized we had a different pianist today: a man named Phil, who provided the music for the party rehearsals. Though the score was the same, he played some of the notes a little differently than Claude did.
Everyone managed to adjust so that we didn’t bump into one another. But I breathed a sigh of relief when Ms. Ferri finally found her place and stopped.
“Up goes the flap,” she murmured.
Still crouching, I took two steps away from her, but I was so afraid of making a mistake that I was a little stiff. I did more of a series of hops than real leaps.
“Smile, Isabelle,” Ms. Ferri whispered. “Remember: July Fourth, Christmas, Arbor Day.”
I pulled up the corners of my mouth, but I don’t think I fooled anyone.
As I neared Emilio, I imagined the toy top in my mind and got ready to spin. It worked! I pirouetted away from his hands. Everything went smoothly with Agnes, too.
As I neared Renata, though, she whispered. “Mr. Kosloff’s watching. Don’t screw this up.”
I didn’t need her to tell me that. You are a top, you are a top, I told myself, trying to block out Renata’s words. Spin, spin, spin.
But all of my muscles were tense now, and even as I started my pirouette, I could feel myself losing my balance.
“Watch out!” Renata protested as I rammed into her, and we both fell to the floor.
I heard the audience gasp, and Ms. Ferri quickly asked, “Are you okay, girls?”
I nodded as I bounced to my feet. I couldn’t even look at Renata—I didn’t want to see the expression on her face.
As I moved on, I heard a boy in the audience say, “I thought this was a ballet, not a wrestling match.”
“Best two falls out of three?” another boy called.
By the time I reached Luisa, I just wanted to hide in the restroom and cry like my sister. I managed to pull off some sort of pirouette, and then returned to Ms. Ferri and crouched low, my cheeks burning. I felt Ms. Ferri squeeze my shoulder encouragingly as we lurched offstage.
All I wanted to do was get back to Jade. Right now, she was the only one who would understand how I felt. Tears stung the corners of my eyes as Luisa and I wove our way through the crowd of dancers and made our way over to my sister.
As I passed by Jackie Sanchez, I looked away. I didn’t want to see what she thought of me.
Jade was sitting down cross-legged now. As I dropped down beside her, she took my hand sympathetically. Luisa sat down on my other side, nudging my shoulder with hers.
We sat there, listening as Mr. Kosloff gave his notes to the other dancers. Jade and I tightened our grip, waiting for our turn, but it never came. I guessed that Mr. Kosloff didn’t want to waste his time. Why bother if he was going to dump us?
But as rehearsal started to break up, Mr. Kosloff called us over to him. My stomach did full-on somersaults as I rose to my feet.
“Good luck,” Luisa whispered, giving me an anxious look.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’re going to need it.”
As the others streamed out of the studio, Jade and I walked over to Mr. Kosloff, who was standing with Jackie Sanchez. I still couldn’t look at her.
Mr. Kosloff ran a hand over his head. “What happened, Jade, Isabelle?” he asked.
Neither Jade nor I knew where to begin, so we kept quiet. I stared at my feet, waiting for the axe to fall. But I couldn’t help sneaking a sideways peek at Jade. In my wildest nightmares, I had never thought anyone would be disappointed with her dancing.
“You’ve been fine in rehearsals, Jade, so I know you’ve managed to adjust for your growth spurt,” Mr. Kosloff said. “But things are going to happen onstage and off and with the audience. You can’t let it get to you.” He gave a chuckle. “Once, during a show, the elastic on my tights broke. So I had to dance with one hand holding them up.”
I giggled in spite of myself and looked up at Mr. Kosloff. I even stole a glance at Jackie Sanchez, who gave me a warm, encouraging smile.
Mr. Kosloff tapped a fingertip against his forehead. “The point is to stay focused, Jade, okay?” he said.
Jade blinked. “You’re not dropping me?” she asked in a small voice.
Mr. Kosloff looked surprised. “No, of course not,” he said. “When you auditioned, you were so graceful that I said ‘Wow!’ I know you can make our audiences say the same thing.”
I saw my sister relax beside me. Then it was my turn for Mr. Kosloff’s notes. “And when I saw you the first time, Isabelle, your leaps were so strong and powerful. You were a regular dynamo. Today, though, you let your mistakes get to you.”
I let Renata get to me, too, I thought.
Mr. Kosloff went on. “You just hopped around like a tired little frog. As for your pirouettes, well”—he shrugged—“they were fine during the audition. So I’d say go back to basics. Really practice them at home.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” I said gratefully.
And then Jackie spoke up. “And don’t be afraid to make mistakes, Isabelle.”
I felt another shot of anxiety. My idol was speaking directly to me, and I couldn’t process her words. Was she encouraging me to make mistakes?
“Dancers are human beings, not machines,” Jackie went on. “We all make errors. So instead of focusing on perfection, try to focus on the joy of dance. Dancing is supposed to be fun, right?”
I nodded. Dancing had always been fun for me. I remembered how it had been when I was very little. Mom had said I never stopped dancing around the house. My parents had to put everything breakable out of reach of my hands and feet.
“So when something goes wrong onstage, you’ve got to have a short memory,” Jackie said firmly. “Shake it off and keep going. Concentrate on having fun. You can do that, can’t you?”
Jackie paused then, waiting for my response. I had never expected to get this close to my idol—let alone have her give me advice. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was, “Uh…”
Say something, I told myself. Say anything. But the words had drained out of my brain. All I could do was nod again.
Clasping his hands behind him, Mr. Kosloff leaned toward me. “Now I think it’s your turn to give me notes, Isabelle,” he said.
Huh? Then it hit me: the costume sketches. “Yes, sir,” I said quickly. Feeling as if I were dreaming, I pulled the envelope from my bag and handed it to Mr. Kosloff.
As he took it, Mr. Kosloff smiled. “You weren’t too brutal on these designs, were you?” he asked.
Jade spoke up from beside me. “My sister will definitely tell you what she thinks,” she said, grinning at me. And then she added, “But when it comes to fashion, she does know what’s good.”
Mr. Kosloff pretended to shiver. “I can’t wait for the verdict,” he joked.
“Excuse me, Mr. Kosloff,” Bettina interrupted, tapping her watch. “The next cast will be coming in for their rehearsals in a half hour, and we have things to discuss.”
Mr. Kosloff clutched the envelope. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. There’s no time to talk,” he said. “But did you write your comments on the designs?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “And there are pictures, too,” I added nervously, wondering again if I had gone too far in my critique.
Mr. Kosloff saluted me with the envelope. “Excellent!” he said. “Thank you, Isabelle.”
I smiled and started to turn away, but Jackie wasn’t finished with me yet. “You seem to be a girl of many talents,” she said to me.
First, advice from Jackie Sanchez—and now compliments. I felt as if fireworks were going off inside my head. I fought the urge to break into a happy dance, and from the joyful bounce in my sister’s step as she led me back toward the hallway, I could tell she felt the same way.
When we got home, Dad had already left for his wedding gig, but Mom had made lasagna and left it in the fridge, along with a salad. As Jade pulled out the pan of lasagna, she asked, “When did you start having problems with your pirouettes?”
I cracked open a can of cat food for Tutu. “I’ve been having trouble since rehearsals started,” I admitted.
Jade cut two squares of lasagna, put them on a large plate, and slid it into the microwave. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked as she turned around and leaned against the counter.
I shrugged. I scooped the cat food into a bowl and set it in front of Tutu. “You’ve been sort of touchy lately,” I said, without meeting Jade’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me what was bugging you?”
Jade’s face fell. She turned to pull silverware out of a drawer. “There wasn’t anything you could do about it, Isabelle,” she said.
I wanted to argue with that, but I couldn’t. Jade’s height was definitely out of my control.
