Stepping Up

by Maggie M. Larche

  It wasn’t a bad start. She probably wouldn’t even have to teach many lessons to earn what she needed.

  Next, she opened the family laptop and pulled up the Step It Up webpage. She’d never bothered to do much on the website beyond checking the class schedules, but now she navigated for the first time to the “Tuition and Fees” tab.

  Surely the classes couldn’t cost much more than the $17 that she already had. She might have to raise an additional twenty bucks or so, but she could handle that.

  Then she saw the numbers. Big numbers.

  She gasped. Did her parents really pay this much for her to attend Step It Up?

  First there was a general fee just to enroll in the school. Then you paid tuition for each individual class. Jenna was currently enrolled in four different dance classes – jazz, ballet, tap, and hip-hop. She swallowed as she roughly multiplied the per-class tuition by four. There was a slight discount if you took more than one class, but it was nothing compared to the total bill.

  Jenna needed pencil and paper to work out the final number. She swallowed when she finished her calculations.

  Her parents paid well over $2,000 for her to dance each year. Per month, she’d have to earn at least $200 to cover her tuition.

  Jenna leaned back in her chair, despair creeping in.

  That was a lot of money. Jenna wasn’t sure that she’d ever even seen $200 at one time before, much less earned that much on her own. And, now, somehow she had to do it month after month.

  She sighed as she realized that the movie with her friends was definitely out. Every last cent had to go towards dance. Perhaps it was just as well. It would be hard to hang out and pretend that everything was fine.

  With a weight in her stomach, she quickly texted her friends that she couldn’t go to the Eleanor Finley movie. She turned her phone off after that. She didn’t think her morale could stand up to their replies.

  Everything is so not fine.

  She shook herself and sat up straight. She had to fight off the cold feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. Sitting back and moping wouldn’t do any good.

  She could do this.

  Jenna tapped her chin and brought her thoughts back to the present. She needed to make $200 in the next three weeks to cover her upcoming tuition bill. No, she corrected herself, as she remembered the money she already had saved. $183. At least it was something to start with.

  $183 in three weeks. How many lessons should she give?

  She figured she could probably get by with charging $10 a lesson. If ten students came at least twice, then that would cover the next month’s bill.

  Ten students. That was manageable. Right?

  Jenna started at the neighborhood playground. She carried a stack of handwritten flyers in her hand. Each announced the date, time, and place of the first dance lesson as well as the price. She stole the idea of the flyers from Steven and Edward, but she figured they wouldn’t mind. Jenna decided to hold her first dance class on Sunday afternoon. She hoped most kids would be free then, and she really didn’t have any time to waste. She’d hold the lessons in her basement. It wasn’t ideal, but she could make do.

  Even in the grey weather, the playground was a popular destination that Friday afternoon. Kids swarmed everywhere, filled with the excitement that always comes at the brink of a new weekend. Jenna began her search for students.

  The playground was typically delineated into very clear social groups. First, there was a covered pavilion lined with benches where most of the fourth and fifth-graders played. They might be too cool for playground equipment, but they still all flocked to the neighborhood playground to find each other.

  The mid-elementary school kids usually claimed the swings. A few would park it there and not give up the swings for an hour. It was prime real estate.

  The little kids, however, could be found in the less exciting sections of the playground, within sight of their older brothers and sisters but still easily ignored as well. Jenna headed straight for one of these areas – the sandbox.

  She found a group of young girls and one boy building lumpy castles and digging holes. They looked to be kindergarteners, possibly even preschoolers. Just the right age for her lessons.

  Jenna marveled that they weren’t freezing. She knew the cold sand would practically feel like snow this time of year, yet the kids seemed unconcerned as they dug their hands into the dirt.

  “Hi, guys,” she said to the group. “How are you doing today?”

  She got a few “goods” in reply, though most of the kids kept their attention trained on their work. Their actions seemed to say, “This sand’s not gonna scoop itself.”

  Ok, so she’d have to work a little harder to get their attention. Jenna conjured up what she hoped was a winning smile.

  “I’ve got something exciting to talk to you all about,” she said. She sat gingerly in the sand beside them. Some instinct told her to get down on the kids’ level, but she still shivered when the chill of the cold ground hit her through her pants.

  A few of the kids lifted their eyes in mild interest. Clearly they’d had their fair share of adults who had something “exciting” to tell them, that turned out to be not so exciting after all.

  “Have any of you ever wanted to take a dance class?” asked Jenna.

  That got a response. Jenna received the most exuberant answer she could have hoped for. Five children began to talk at once, informing her of how much they liked to dance, how good they were at it, and what kind of music they liked to dance to.

  Jenna laughed and held up her hands. “Whoa, there. You guys sound like you are good dancers.”

  The children pumped their heads up and down eagerly. Before they could begin talking over one another again, Jenna continued.

  “Maybe you would be interested in something new that I’m going to start. I’ll be giving dance classes for little girls,” she said. Seeing the disappointed look on the boy’s face, she quickly added, “And boys.” No point in excluding a paying customer, after all.

  “Would you guys like to take dance classes with me?” she asked.

  “Yes!” they all shouted.

  “Great.” Jenna stood up. She handed each kid a flyer. “Then be sure to bring this home to your mommies and daddies.”

  Each child took a flyer with the air of having received a sacred treasure.

  Jenna loved their enthusiasm. “I’ll see everybody at the first class.”

  She departed to find more kids. She felt so invigorated that she almost could have skipped along. She counted up in her head – if every one of those kids came to dance, that was $50 earned right there, and just for one lesson!

  This was going to be simple.

  She returned to the house an hour later and found Steven and Edward laughing in the kitchen. Steven poured out two cups of Coke.

  “Get me some, too,” said Jenna. “My head hurts.” She’d canvassed the entire playground and identified several interested kids. Now she was worn out, though it was less from any physical reason and more from the constant chatter from each of the children. She was coming to realize that three, four, and five-year-olds really loved to talk.

  “Fine,” said Steven. “But only because I’m in such a good mood.”

  “Thanks,” said Jenna as she sank into a chair and accepted the drink from her brother. “So what are you guys so pumped about?”

  “We’ve got our first gig lined up,” said Steven.

  “Already? Wow. What is it?”

  Steven pointed at Edward. “You do the honors.”

  Edward leaned back against the kitchen counter and stretched out his long legs. “Ok. It sounds weird. But a job’s a job.”

  Jenna grinned. “What is it?” she repeated.

  “Mrs. Carter wants us to trim all the monkey grass in her yard.”

  “That doesn’t sound weird.”

  “With scissors.”

  Jenna snorted. Mrs. Carter’s yard was filled with row
after row of monkey grass. The idea of Steven and Edward crawling around the entire lawn, clipping away, struck her as extremely funny.

  “Hey!” said Edward, but he laughed, too. “I don’t know why it has to be with scissors.”

  Steven answered. “She thinks it looks nicer than using a trimmer.”

  “Or maybe,” said Jenna, “she doesn’t trust you with power equipment in her garden.”

  “Possibly,” said Steven, unconcerned, “but, money’s money.” He started executing ninja moves. “Karate, here I come.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Congrats. I’m sure you’ll make a fortune.”

  “That’s the plan, sis. Be nice to me, and I might help you pay those dance fees.”

  “There’s no need.” Jenna sat up straight. “I’m starting my own dance school. I won’t need your money.”

  Edward looked impressed, and even Steven stopped karate chopping.

  “For real?” asked her brother.

  “For real.”

  Steven whistled. “Look at you. Little girl’s all grown up.”

  “Shut up,” said Jenna, but she was smiling. “My first lesson is Sunday.”

  “Good for you,” said Edward.

  Jenna felt a little glow of pride. “Thanks.” She stood up. “Anyways, back to work for me. I’ve got to go get the basement cleaned out.”

  “By yourself?”

  “You see anybody else with me?” Jenna asked over her shoulder as she left the room.

  Steven gave a low whistle. “Glad it’s not me. Good luck.”

  The basement was a mess.

  A year ago, her parents installed the ballet barre and mirror for Jenna to use while practicing at home. Unfortunately, since then, family life slowly reclaimed most of the dance space. Boxes of Christmas decorations were scattered along one wall. The family’s old couch sat on the other wall, piled high with spare quilts, her mom’s craft supplies, and a few empty suitcases. Though the room didn’t look dusty, Jenna’s nose detected traces of allergens in the air almost immediately.

  “Ahh-choo.”

  Jenna scratched her nose. This was a big job. But no matter. She tried to channel Eleanor Finley. The adventurer would tackle this mess no problem and probably save an ancient civilization while she was at it. Surely Jenna could clean up a few boxes.

  She decided to start with the Christmas decorations. Slowly, she shifted boxes away from the dance area. There wasn’t much space to work with, so she did the only thing she could think of: She built up.

  One by one, she stacked the boxes in two tall towers, finally using a stepladder to reach the highest levels. Stopping only to sneeze every few seconds, she kept moving boxes. More than once she wished Rita were with her. Her friend’s height would have come in handy near the top of the stacks.

  When Jenna finally finished, she was sore and thirsty, but she was pleased with her work.

  “There,” she said to herself as she stood back and surveyed the soaring tower of boxes. “That takes up less space. And I did it all by myself.”

  Just then, she noticed that one box near the top was crooked. Frowning, she climbed back up the ladder to straighten it out.

  The task proved more difficult than she had expected. It was hard to shift the box because of the weight of the others on top of it. Grunting, she shoved the container harder and harder until it finally budged. Only, it didn’t just budge. When the box moved, it flew.

  “No, no, no!” said Jenna in a panic as the two towers of boxes started to crazily tip. She reached out from the ladder to steady them but lost her balance in the process. Before she knew what was happening, she half-jumped/half-fell into her handiwork.

  All the boxes tumbled down with a huge crash. Christmas decorations were strewn across the floor. Tinsel mixed with shards of broken ornaments. A snowman lost an arm, and a roll of ribbon unraveled straight across the basement. And Jenna sat in the middle of it all, a set of jingle bells hanging off her ear.

  “Ahh-choo,” she sneezed, and the bells tinkled as her head jerked forward.

  It was possible that this was going to be more work than she thought.

  Chapter 5

  At dinner, Jenna broached the subject of running dance lessons out of their home. It occurred to her during her basement cleanup that she should probably get her parents’ permission. It was their house, after all.

  Her mother looked surprised. “Goodness, I didn’t know you were planning anything like this.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Jenna. “I just got the idea last night.”

  Steven broke in. “From my awesome Y.M.A.W. idea, you did.”

  “Y.M.A.W.?” asked their dad.

  “Young Men at Work,” said Jenna and Steven together.

  “Oh, my,” said their mom. “Clearly you two have been busy.”

  “I’ll say.” Jenna reached for the peas and groaned. She felt as sore as if she’d spent all day in the studio, instead of hauling, sweeping, and straightening the basement. Her nose still itched as well. She felt like she was constantly on the verge of a sneeze that just wouldn’t come out.

  “So you want to give dance lessons in our house?” asked her dad. “Last time I checked, that basement was wrecked. I’m not sure you could fit anyone down there.”

  “Not anymore,” said Jenna. “I’ve been cleaning all afternoon.”

  Jenna’s mother looked delighted. “Really?”

  “Really. It’s not perfect, but I think I’ve got it set up pretty good. I managed to clear some floor space.” She rubbed her nose. “And I vacuumed.”

  “So that’s where you’ve been,” said her mom.

  “It took hours.” She took a bite. “We might need to replace some Christmas decorations, by the way. I had an incident.”

  Her mom frowned, but Jenna’s dad jumped in. “And what’s this ‘young men working’ thing?”

  “That’s our club,” said Steven. “Me and Edward’s. I figured with you out of a job, a little extra cash couldn’t hurt. We’re going to do odd jobs around the neighborhood.”

  Their father leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be. I don’t know where we got such entrepreneurial children, dear.”

  Their mother smiled. “Me either. They’re really something.”

  “What’s entrepreneurial?” Jenna asked her dad.

  “It means having to do with starting a business. You two are each entrepreneurs. Our own little tycoons.”

  Jenna gave him a grudging smile and felt some of the strain of the afternoon fade away. It had been hard work, but she still knew she could do it.

  After dinner she excused herself to check her phone. She wondered why she hadn’t heard from her friends all afternoon before she remembered that she’d turned it off.

  She switched it on and found 12 texts waiting for her.

  First was her text from that afternoon. Jenna marveled that it had only been a few hours earlier. It felt like a week.

  Guys, definitely can’t make the movie. Family time. Sorry!

  Mary had replied first. What?? But it’s Eleanor Finley! You saw the last one four times! Don’t think we don’t know.

  Rita: Oh no! Can you at least come to milkshakes afterward?

  Pam: We’ll miss ya!

  Mary: Seriously, this is serious. Seriously serious.

  Pam: Maybe we could go another time.

  Rita: I don’t know if I can wait. Love me some EF.

  Rita: Oh, ok. We can resched. I guess.

  Mary: What do you say, Jen?

  Rita: Hello?

  Pam: Jenna?

  Mary: ???

  Rita: Guess she’s MIA. Stick with the original plan. Movie tomorrow.

  Jenna sighed and replaced her phone. Even though her friends were probably a little peeved with her for disappearing on them, she was relieved that she missed the conversation. Now she didn’t have to think of another excuse for why she couldn’t do the movie on another day.

  Everything would be so much easier if she cou
ld tell her friends the truth. But she just couldn’t.

  ***

  Jenna flew through her hip-hop class on Saturday morning. She always enjoyed it as a great way to start the weekend. The only downside to the class was that Pam wasn’t in it, and Moira was. Without Pam’s calming presence, Jenna always got more worked up about Moira than she did the rest of the time.

  It was a hard workout, but hip-hop usually worked beautifully to clear her mind. That day, however, one recurring thought ran through her head for the entire routine. Should she tell Ms. Colette about her new dance lessons?

  On the one hand, Jenna didn’t want her teacher to think that she was stepping all over her territory. Jenna wouldn’t actually be in competition with Step It Up, because her classes would be for a younger age range, but it still kind of felt like it.

  On the other hand, she worried that news of her class might lead to some uncomfortable questions. Like why she suddenly needed money. And the last thing Jenna wanted was for Ms. Colette to find out her secret. It was too embarrassing.

  In the end, however, Jenna decided she’d have to tell Ms. Colette about the lessons. It would seem too weird if her teacher somehow found out on her own.

  After class, she tentatively walked up to Ms. Colette. The teacher was clearing her gear from the class. Jenna waited until she was noticed.

  Ms. Colette turned and found her. “Hi, dear. What can I do for you?”

  “Good morning,” said Jenna, who suddenly felt tongue-tied. “I was… If you’re not busy, I wanted to tell you something.”

  Ms. Colette smiled, her pulled-back hair glistening under the studio lights. “Certainly.”

  Jenna plunged in. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to teach some dance classes.” If Ms. Colette felt surprise, she didn’t show it. “Not for kids who are old enough to go to Step It Up,” continued Jenna, “but for little kids. Like, four and five.”

  “What a great idea. Kids that age love to dance.”

  Jenna breathed in relief. “That’s what I thought, too.”

  “You know,” said her teacher, “occasionally I have students with younger siblings who might like to dance as well. If I hear of any, I’ll be sure to recommend you.”