Carrie Steinfeld ran out of the room and returned in a flash with the kit. Madame took a white stick of smelling salts out of the box and waved it under Mary's nose. Mary's eyes fluttered, and she began to cough.
Madame asked for a chair and told Mary to sit on it with her head down between her knees. Just then, Mme Dupre stuck her head into the room. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Madame, call ze emergency rescue squad, s'il vous plait," Mme Noelle said to her.
"No!" Mary cried, her eyes now open wide. She sat up straight. "It's just a virus. I'll be fine. Please." Another virus? I thought. No way! Mme Noelle studied Mary, her sharp eyes boring into her. She put her hand on Mary's forehead. "No fever. Are you dizzy now, mademoiselle?" she asked.
Mary shook her head. "No, not at all," she replied.
Madame stood up. "Will you ask ze receptionist to call Mary's parents?" she asked Mme Dupre, who was waiting in the doorway. "Someone must come to get her." "Of course;" replied Mme Dupre.
"Mademoiselle Bramstedt, I wish you to dress and wait in ze lobby. But do not leave without speaking to me. I wish to talk wiss your fazzer or muzzer." "I'll go with her," I volunteered quickly. I needed to talk to Mary, and I couldn't wait a moment longer.
"Yes, a good idea," Madame agreed. "She should not be alone." Slowly, Mary got to her feet and we left the studio. I didn't say anything until we were alone in the dressing room. Truthfully, I wasn't sure what I was going to say until I opened my mouth.
"Mary, I think you should stop dieting," I said directly.
"What do you know about it? You're just a kid!" Mary snapped at me.
I was stunned. She'd never spoken to me like that before. I remembered that Mary Anne had said moodiness and irritability were a sign of anorexia, so I pushed on. "Do you know what anorexia is?" I asked.
Mary's eyes narrowed angrily. "Yes, I know what it is! And I am not anorexic." "Maybe not yet, but you're headed in that direction," I said, my voice rising. "You have all the symptoms." "I didn't know you were a medical authority," Mary scoffed as she slipped out of her leotard. I saw that she was even thinner than the week before.
"My friends and I looked it up in a book." "Why?" demanded Mary.
"Because I was telling them how worried I am about you." Mary's hands flew to her thin hips. "You told your friends I have anorexia?" she exploded. "How dare you! Besides, it's a lie." "Mary, I care about you, and you need help." As the words came out of my mouth, I knew beyond any doubt they were true.
Mary's face went bright red. In a rage, she threw her dance bag against the wall. "This is not your business!" she cried, stepping close to me. "I can handle it myself. Don't you talk to anyone else about this!" Suddenly, I realized my hands were trembling. No one had ever screamed in my face before. Tears were brimming in my eyes but I fought them back.
As Mary and I stood facing one another, Mme Dupre looked in. "Is there a problem?" she asked, her eyes darting from Mary to me.
"No. No problem," said Mary, quickly going back to her dressing.
Mme Dupre looked at me questioningly, but said nothing.
When she was gone, Mary turned to me. "I'm sorry, Jessi. I've been in a bad mood lately, but it's nothing for you to worry about. Sorry I got so bent out of shape." "Get some help, Mary," I repeated. "Please?" She turned her back to me and pulled on her jacket. After that, she ignored me as we walked to the lobby. When we got there a man was speaking with Mme Noelle. I assumed from the resemblance to Mary that he was her father. Both he and Madame seemed very serious.
"I suggested to your fazzer zat you consult a doctor about zis virus," Mme Noelle told Mary when we approached them.
"I just need to get to bed," Mary said.
"Perhaps some chicken soup," Madame suggested.
Mary nodded. I prayed she'd take Mme Noelle's advice - it was wiser than Madame probably realized.
Chapter 10.
I smiled as soon as I walked into the kids' class on the following Tuesday. Devon was back! He stood with two of his pals, laughing, as if he'd never been away.
Maybe he'd just been ill the week before. But I thought something else had happened. Maybe he had decided not to return to class, but then had missed it too much to stay away. Something very subtle had changed about him. For one thing, he wasn't running around the room like a maniac before class.
For that matter, something had changed in all the kids. They no longer seemed as wild as when we'd first met. Now when Mme Dupre walked into class she didn't need to dim the lights. Her presence was enough to quiet the kids down.
Mr. Tsuji began to play a lively melody and Madame asked me to lead the warm-ups. The kids had come to know the stretching and bending exercises well.
As I worked with the class, I looked over at Mary. Her baggy Tuesday dance wear seemed even baggier. Her eyes appeared larger and her cheekbones higher. I guess getting thinner made her features stand out more. I wondered if she'd been to the doctor as Mme Noelle had suggested. Perhaps a doctor would catch on to what was happening and could talk some sense into Mary.
I hadn't spoken to her since the other day. And today, in the dressing room, she hadn't made eye contact with me even once. I was sure she was avoiding me.
When the warm-ups were finished, Mme Dupre taught the class some small jumps called echappe (which means "escape"). These jumps can be done from several ballet positions. Madame asked the kids to stand in second position and jump straight up, pointing their toes, then land again in second position.
The room exploded with thuds as the kids jumped and landed. It seemed to me that even the windows shook.
After awhile Mme Dupre broke the class into groups. These groups were different than the ones they'd been in before. I wasn't surprised to see that Madame had separated Nora from Jane, and that Devon was nowhere near his friends.
Today the kids were really going to learn to do a pas de chat correctly. Each of us volunteers was assigned a group. Mary worked with Devon's group. This was a switch because up until this time Mme Dupre had always paired him with Raul. That was Mme Dupre for you, forever watching, making adjustments, and thinking.
Martha was in my group. I couldn't believe how shy she was even after all this time. I never saw her speak to any other kid. She barely even looked at anyone.
But she could dance! Although a pas de chat is one of the first jumps that children learn, I thought it was ambitious of Madame [to try to teach it in this class. In a way, I understood why she chose it. It doesn't require a lot of strength, and kids like the idea of a jumping cat. And they love to jump.
A pas de chat does require a certain amount of experience, though. At least if you want it to look right.
Which brings me back to Martha. By only her third try, her jump was very close to being exactly right. She was a natural - from the way she held her arms, to her posture, to the way she lifted her chin. And she Jumped higher than any of the other kids. "Are you sure you never took lessons?" I asked after she came down lightly from her jump.
"Five," she said in her soft voice.
"What?" I asked.
"I took five lessons once." "But why did you stop? You're so good." She smiled, then looked away and shrugged. "I just stopped, that's all." "Well, you should start again. You have a real gift," I told her.
Martha ducked her head and wouldn't look at me, but she was smiling. It was the very first time I'd seen her smile.
As I worked with the other kids I glanced over to Mary's group - in time to see Devon leap into the air. His movements were way too large and uncontrolled. He had great energy and dramatic flair, though. When he was done, Mary walked him slowly through the proper positions.
It occurred to me that each one had something to offer the other. Devon needed Mary's technical knowledge, and Mary needed some of Devon's fire in her dancing.
What a change in Devon, too. He listened to Mary, absorbing her every word. It was clear he'd made up his mind to get serious.
Class went by so qu
ickly that when the first mother arrived, I thought she had come extra early. She hadn't. It was actually time to leave.
"Wonderful work," Mme Dupre told the class. "I will see you next week." "Good going, kids," I said to my group. They smiled at me and then headed for the door. "Especially you," I whispered into Martha's ear when the others were a little distance away.
What she did then took me by surprise. She turned and wrapped me in a quick, tight hug. Then she ran off to the doorway where her mother was waiting for her.
Want to hear something funny? I got this big lump in my throat and felt like I was going to cry.
What a weird feeling. I was really happy, but fighting back tears at the same time. Until that moment, only certain parts of some ballets and the end of the movie It's a Wonderful Life had made me feel that way. This was the first time real life had given me that crying-happy feeling.
Again, I saw Martha's regal-looking mother staring at me. I wanted to speak to her, but the lump was still in my throat. I wasn't sure I could talk. I looked at the ceiling and tried to pull myself together. When I looked back, Martha and her mother were gone.
"Good class, huh?" said Sue, joining me.
"It sure was," I agreed, clearing my throat.
"Want to go to the King for a snack?" she asked me.
"Yeah, is everyone going?" "I think so. Hey, Mary," Sue called to her. "Are you coming to Burger King?" "Thanks, but I can't," Mary said, avoiding my eyes. "I have to go running." "In this cold weather!" Sue yelped.
"You don't feel it when you run," Mary replied.
"I'd feel it," said Sue, laughing. "See you in the dressing room, Jessi," she told me as she left.
"Aren't you supposed to be taking it easy?" I asked Mary before she could get away from me.
"I'm all better," Mary said. "Stop worrying about me, okay? You sound like my mother and it's really starting to bug me." "Sorry," I said. "But why don't you come with us?" "Jessi!" Mary snapped. "Chill out! All right?" "All right," I said.
"Come on, Jessi," Darcy called to me from the doorway.
"I'm coming," I said, walking away from Mary.
Maybe Mary was right. Maybe I was making a big deal over nothing. Maybe Mary was doing what was necessary to keep her ballet career going, and she didn't need me hassling her about it. Besides, it wasn't my problem or any of my business.
That's what I told myself as I headed for the dressing room. But I didn't believe it.
Chapter 11.
On Tuesday, when I got home from my class, a letter was waiting for me from Quint. I tore it open, hoping he'd have some advice about Mary.
After a few words about what was happening with him (school, ballet class, that sort of thing) he plunged right into the topic. "Dieting!" he wrote in capital letters. "That's the number one topic among a certain group of girls in my ballet class. It drives me crazy, but I feel sorry for them, too. They think they're under a lot of pressure to look a certain way. It's not half as bad for a guy. In ballet guys don't have to look as uniform as girls. Some girls wind up with only two choices - diet like mad, or drop out. I can't imagine having to make that choice, not after spending my whole life involved in ballet. Those girls wouldn't have to quit dancing altogether, of course. A lot of them go into theatrical dancing, like on Broadway and in traveling shows. Others become teachers." Quint's letter made me feel better. At least Mary wasn't the only person with this problem. "Weight can be a big problem in dancing," Quint went on. "A lot of people say that the physical standard for ballerinas isn't realistic. If you look at pictures of old-time dancers - ones that were stars - you see that they're not nearly as thin as dancers today. I think the trend now is for dancers to be a little heavier than they have been recently. It's happening slowly, but you can notice it when you go to the ballet." (I'm really envious that Quint lives in the city and goes to see the top ballets all the time!) "Maybe if you tell this to Mary, she'll feel better." I was definitely going to tell that to Mary. If she would talk to me, that was! "Oh, I had a great idea the other day," Quint wrote in the next paragraph. "You made me think of it when you asked about the minority thing. Yeah, it is rougher if you're a minority. There's no sense saying it's not. And in ballet it's for the same reason that some girls find themselves dieting like crazy. There's this idea that everyone in the corps de ballet should look alike. People used to be (and sometimes still are) afraid to pair a non-white guy with a white ballerina (or vice versa) in a pas de deux. That's changing, though. There are non-white dancers in the corps de ballet now, and more and more mixed couples dancing - especially in the modern pieces." This was all very interesting, but I was getting impatient to hear Quint's great idea. Finally he came to it.
"Here's my idea. Why don't you talk to Mme Dupre about offering a scholarship to a couple of the kids who seem very gifted. They might be white or not, but the point is, they would be kids who otherwise couldn't afford class. The school probably won't go for it, but it's an idea, anyway." Quint finished his letter with some encouraging thoughts about spring break and how we could arrange to meet. He writes such great letters. This one was a little more formal than most of them, but that might have been because of the serious subject.
His scholarship idea was pretty awesome. Did I have the nerve to suggest it? I wasn't sure. Mama always tells me just to speak up. "The worst that can happen is that someone will say no," she tells me. Which is true. But sometimes shyness gets the best of me. I'm not shy with kids my own age. With adults sometimes my tongue ties up into a knot. I couldn't exactly picture myself walking up to Mme Dupre and suggesting the school donate thousands of dollars worth of scholarship money. Besides, Mme Dupre would probably tell me to discuss it with Mme Noelle. Now there was an intimidating thought! I really didn't think the school would give out scholarships just because an eleven-year-old told them to.
Or would they? I had to think about it some more.
I was folding Quint's letter when the phone rang. "It's for you, Jessi," Aunt Cecelia called from the kitchen. I picked up the extension in the living room.
"Hi," Kristy said. "How's it going?" "Okay." "Listen, are you free to sit at my house this Saturday?" she asked. "Or are you going to the fair at Shannon's school, like everybody else?" "Oh, yeah, they asked me to come but I have some studying to do," I said. "I could sit for a couple of hours, though." "Good, because I promised to go to a planning meeting at school for the spring dance. I'll only be gone a few hours myself. Can you come over at two?" "No problem," I said.
"Thanks, 'bye." " 'Bye." I laid the phone down gently as Aunt Cecelia came in.
"You look pretty faraway," she commented. "What's on your mind?" "Aunt Cecelia, what would you do if someone you knew was hurting herself and she didn't even realize it?" I asked.
Aunt Cecelia sat on the chair across from me. "Does this have to do with drugs?" she asked.
"No, dieting," I told her. "Too much dieting." "Hmmm." Aunt Cecelia sat back in the chair thoughtfully. "You might have to tell an adult who knows this person about what's happening with her." "Isn't that tattling, though?" "Not if your friend's health is at stake. Doesn't anyone else around her notice this?" "So far, no one seems to think anything of it," I told her. "My friend is pretty good at hiding it. She pretends to eat and she wears big clothes." "Are you sure there's a problem?" Aunt Cecelia questioned.
I thought about this. "Eighty percent sure," I estimated.
"You have good instincts, Jessi. Go with your gut," said Aunt Cecelia. "I think you should tell someone." "Thanks. That's what I was thinking. I was just hoping there was another way." "There's an expression," said Aunt Cecelia. "You have to be cruel to be kind." "What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means that the best thing to do for a person you care about isn't always the easiest thing. It might even make the person mad at you." "Oh, it will!" I assured her. "She will be super mad at me. That's for sure." "Someday she'll realize you were being a true friend," said Aunt Cecelia.
"I hope so," I re
plied. Somehow I had my doubts about that.
Chapter 12.
Snow! That was the good news when Claudia sat for the Kormans before our Wednesday BSC meeting. The Korman kids have lots of energy, so taking them outside to play in the snow is a terrific way to keep them busy (and also tire them out a little).
They were already bundled up and ready when Claudia arrived. One-and-a-half-year-old Skylar was so excited about going out that she didn't even cry when Mrs. Korman left. (She did yell, "Mommy!" and look pitiful for awhile, but that's much better than usual.) Snow had been falling all day. Now it was just flurrying and almost four inches of crisp, feathery snow lay on the ground - ,the perfect kind for packing.
Nine-year-old Bill and seven-year-old Melody immediately began rolling a ball for a snowman in their large front yard. (The Kormans live in Kristy's neighborhood where the houses all have huge front and back yards.) They hadn't gotten very far when a snowball came skidding past them.
"War!" Bill cried gleefully as he began packing a snowball for his retaliation on this unseen attacker.
Linny and Hannie Papadakis came laughing into the yard, their arms loaded with snow- balls. Linny and Bill didn't waste a minute. They began bombarding one another with snowballs, ducking and shouting all the while.
"Hey! Hey! Be careful," Claudia cautioned, half laughing as a snowball flew past her shoulder.
"Ow!" Melody cried. A snowball had hit her smack in the chest.
"Take this!" yelled Hannie, hurling a snowball at Linny. Her snowball flew high into the air and crumbled before it dropped to the ground. Hannie isn't exactly the world's greatest snowball maker, or much of a pitcher.
"Girls against boys!" Bill cried, joining forces with Linny. They lobbed a hail of snowballs at the girls, packing them as quickly as they threw them.
Melody and Hannie knew a losing battle when they saw one. They fought back for about two minutes and then ran for cover behind Claudia. "No fair!" Claudia protested as she held up her arms to ward off the shower of snowballs the boys were now directing her way. "I'm not a human fort." "Are you building a fort?" cried eight-year-old Maria Kilbourne who had come running into the yard. "Can I help? I'm good at it!" "That's a great idea," said Claudia as a snowball flew past her ear.
Baby-Sitters Club 061 Page 6
