Showtime!

by Sheryl Berk

  As she took her seat next to Rochelle, she heard Liberty laughing hysterically. “I cannot believe you did that! Toni must think you’re crazy!”

  Scarlett bit her tongue. She was not about to take the bait again and talk back to Liberty. Her dad always told her there were certain people that enjoyed “getting you all fired up.” Liberty was one of them.

  “Ignore them,” he advised. “If you do, they can’t win.”

  So Scarlett said nothing as Liberty continued to crack up. Besides, the bus was pulling into the Millennium Broadway Hotel in Times Square.

  “Check it out!” Rock pointed out the window. There was a huge neon marquee flashing, “WELCOME, CITY LIGHTS DANCERS!”

  “We’re here! We’re here!” Bria bounced up and down in her seat. “This is awesome!”

  Toni stood at the front of the bus and cleared her throat.

  “Ladies and moms,” she began. “Welcome to Times Square, New York City. The heart of Broadway theater, the center of the dance universe, where some of the most famous dancers in the world have performed.”

  The girls cheered and started naming their favorite Broadway shows: Annie, Wicked, The Phantom of the Opera.

  Toni clapped her hands above her head, demanding full attention. Even the mothers became silent. “I want to remind you that from the minute you step off this bus and into that hotel, you represent Dance Divas Studio and you represent me. My reputation. You are proud, you are strong, and you let no one intimidate you. Is that clear?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “There are studios coming here whose goal is to beat us. Especially City Feet Dance Studio.”

  Scarlett raised her hand. “But they don’t even know us. We’ve never competed against them.”

  “Well, we’ve never had a state title. Now we do, and trust me, they know us,” Miss Toni said.

  Bria was already searching for City Feet on her laptop. “I found their website. It says the studio is in Long Island, run by someone named Justine Chase, a former prima ballerina at American Ballet Company.”

  “Wait a sec; Miss Toni went to ABC,” Scarlett said, grabbing the computer out of her hand. She looked at the photo of City Feet’s dance coach: she was blond and petite, with a tiny beauty mark above her lip. Then she found a YouTube video of Toni’s performance in La Sylphide. “Aha!” she cried. “I thought I remembered her. Look familiar?”

  The girls squinted to watch the delicate dancer move right beside Miss Toni in a forest scene. She had the same platinum-blond hair, and there it was: the telltale mark above her lip.

  “So you’re saying Toni and Justine were ballerinas together way back when?” Liberty snickered. “Isn’t that a co-inky-dink?”

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I think they want to beat each other,” Scarlett concluded. “I think they’re archenemies.”

  “Oooh.” Bria giggled. “That sounds evil.”

  “Miss Toni can handle evil,” Rochelle piped up. “I don’t think we should be worrying about City Feet or Justine Chase.”

  Toni overheard the last part of the conversation. “Oh yes, you should be worried about City Feet. You know why? Because they’re good. They’re very good. We need to be better.”

  She checked her watch. “Okay, girls, we have three hours to practice before the competition. I reserved us a dressing room, and I want to run the group number and all the solos till they’re perfect. I want everyone warmed up and ready to go in ten minutes.”

  And with that, the girls were off.

  Chapter 7

  Not-So-Lucky Stars

  Those last three hours of rehearsal before a competition were the only time the girls had to iron out any wrinkles in a routine. It was also when Miss Toni liked to throw them a curve ball.

  “I’m thinking we need to switch this up a little,” she said, tapping her foot on the floor as she watched the group number. “Scarlett, I want you to start with a rond de jambe attitude. The rest of you follow. And a one and a two . . .”

  Scarlett glanced over at Bria, who looked totally lost.

  “It’s too fast!” Bria whispered when they took a water break. “I can’t learn it this quick! And I hate when she talks in French! Why can’t ballet be in English?”

  As they tried the number again, Bria did her best to keep up—to turn when Toni said pirouette; to jump when she said sauté. She kept her back foot on the ground and her shoulders down. But her head was spinning as Toni called out: “Sharper! Sharper! Knees straight! Bria, you can do better than this! Focus!”

  Bria spun out of control, right into Scarlett, who lost her balance and toppled out of a split handstand.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bria said, her eyes welling up. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “You can do it,” Scarlett whispered. “We have to get through this.”

  “I guess it’s not a competition until someone cries,” Rochelle said.

  Toni stopped the music and took Bria aside. “The judges are expecting flawless technique and precision,” she said calmly. “I need to know that you are willing to work for that. No mishaps. No thoughts about anything except winning. Clear?”

  Bria nodded and took her place once again behind Scarlett. This time, when Toni counted—“five-six-seven-eight”—she did a perfect arabesque.

  At the end of the routine, Miss Toni applauded. “You girls nailed it. That was crisp, that was clean—that was a first-place win if I ever saw one!”

  Backstage at the City Lights dance competition, the halls were packed with girls running their dances.

  “Did you see some of those costumes?” Liberty asked her mom.

  “I know.” Her mother chuckled. “So tacky!”

  Scarlett looked down at her blue chiffon dress. Her mother had sewn silver sequins all along the neckline. Was it tacky, too?

  Rochelle read her thoughts. “It’s beautiful, and your solo is amazing,” she said, squeezing her friend’s hand. “Go out there and win another title. For both of us, okay?”

  “I’m sorry you don’t get to perform your solo,” Scarlett told her. “I know how hard you worked on it.”

  Rochelle shrugged. If there was one thing she had learned to do well from Toni, it was to “Toughen up.” There would be other competitions, other chances to prove herself. The only thing that burned her was that Liberty got a solo this time.

  “Just look at her. So full of herself!” Rochelle said.

  “But that costume is gorgeous!” Bria sighed.

  Liberty’s mom had asked a friend—who just happened to be a designer for Lady Gaga—to create a one-of-a-kind blue-and-green-sequin leotard with real peacock feathers for a skirt.

  “Stand still, Liberty!” her mom mumbled. Her mouth was filled with bobby pins to secure the headpiece, an emerald and sapphire tiara. “Stop fidgeting!”

  Liberty’s number was a contemporary jazz routine called “Wings.” Scarlett had watched her do it over and over in rehearsals. There were tricks; there were splits; there were thirty fouetté pirouettes with perfectly pointed toes (Liberty’s specialty). It was what Toni called an “eyepopper showstopper,” meaning the judges would be wowed.

  By comparison, Scarlett’s solo was mellower. The music was slow and gentle, like a soothing lullaby. Miss Toni told her it was about someone going to heaven, and she should dig deep and feel the emotion of it: the loss and the sadness as well as the beauty and the peace. So every time she danced it, she thought of the saddest day she could remember in her family: the day her grandpa Papa Eli—her dad’s father—died on her eighth birthday. She missed him all the time—he was always in the front row at all of her dance recitals, and now she thought of him as her guardian angel. So standing backstage, waiting in the wings for her turn to dance, Scarlett said a little prayer: “Please, oh, please, let this be a great performance!”

  Liberty’s mom was fluffing one last feather when a voice boomed over the microphone: “And now, dancing a contemporary jazz routine entitled ‘Wing
s,’ please welcome from Dance Divas Studio . . . Liberty!”

  Scarlett watched as her teammate strutted like a peacock out onto the stage. She nodded to the judges, then began her routine. If there was one thing Scarlett had to give her credit for, it was showmanship. She waved, she winked, she shook her hips, and shimmied her shoulders. By the end of the number, she had the entire audience on their feet for a standing ovation.

  “That’s my girl!” her mother squealed, hugging her as she came offstage. “You rocked it, baby!”

  Scarlett gulped. Beating Liberty was not going to be easy.

  “Okay, sugar muffin,” her mom said. “Two more girls and then it’s your turn. Time to get ready.”

  Scarlett made sure the straps of her dress were secure and that the delicate white lace bow in her hair was pinned in place.

  “Do you have my lucky ballet shoes, Mom?” she asked, straightening the seams on her tights.

  “I thought you had them, honey,” her mom replied. “They’re not with me. You must have left them in the dressing room.”

  But when they searched her bags, they were nowhere to be found.

  “Rock, Bria—help me find them!” Scarlett began to panic. They looked in every bag, in every corner, under every pile of costumes.

  “I don’t get what the big deal is. Just wear another pair. You have at least six in your dance bag,” Liberty said.

  “No, it has to be this pair!” Scarlett answered. “You don’t understand! I need my Lucky Stars shoes to win!”

  Bria nodded. “Seriously, she does. She wore them last year when she won the National Junior Solo title.”

  “We put a little gold star sticker inside each of them—so we’d always know which ones were the Lucky Stars,” Rochelle added.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Liberty insisted. “You’re going to miss your cue for a stupid pair of ballet shoes?”

  “Here, honey.” Scarlett’s mom handed her another pair. “Just put these on. You’ll be fine.”

  Scarlett raced to the wings just as the girl before her was taking her bows. It just didn’t feel right without her lucky shoes! But she didn’t have a choice. It was these or nothing. She flexed and pointed her toes, trying to will this pair to obey. She couldn’t understand why her Lucky Stars had disappeared. She was sure she had tucked them into her dance bag after rehearsal. Maybe they’d fallen out?

  “Next, we have a lyrical routine entitled ‘In the Clouds,’” the announcer began.

  “Wait! Wait!” Rochelle called. “Scarlett, I found them! They were under a bench in the hallway!”

  She tossed the shoes to her friend, and Scarlett slipped them on just as her name was called: “Please welcome Scarlett from Dance Divas!”

  Scarlett’s heart was pounding as she stepped onto the stage. She felt the spotlight’s warm glow as she took her position on the floor. She heard Miss Toni’s words echo in her head as she danced : “Straight legs . . . arms wide . . . head high, and shoulders down!” She felt like a wave on the beach, ebbing and flowing with the swelling music, until suddenly, something went very wrong.

  As Scarlett leaped and landed on the ball of her foot, she felt herself sliding across the stage.

  There was a gasp from the audience as she came crashing down on the wood floor. She was facedown on the stage for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Get up! Get up!” she heard Rock and Bria calling from the wings. So that’s what she did. She pulled herself up and continued dancing from where she left off, struggling to keep with the music. The crowd cheered, but Scarlett could feel her cheeks burning. She was mortified. How could this have happened? She was so humiliated she could barely look the judges in the eye.

  After the routine ended, she took a quick bow and raced offstage into her mom’s arms. She burst into tears.

  “It’s okay, honey,” her mom said, trying to comfort her. “Are you hurt?”

  Scarlett touched her hip gingerly. It throbbed, and she was sure it was already turning black and blue. But her ego was bruised worse.

  “I don’t understand.” She sobbed, looking at Rochelle and Bria. “It was going so well, then I just—”

  “Wiped out.” Miss Toni finished her sentence. “Let me see your ballet shoes.”

  On the bottom of the left slipper was a strange blue stain.

  “What is that?” Scarlett sniffled.

  Miss Toni rubbed her fingers across the sole. It felt slick and slippery. “If I had to guess, I’d say hair gel.”

  “How did hair gel get on your ballet shoe?” Bria asked.

  “Maybe someone put it there,” Liberty suddenly said. “Let’s see . . . Who was it that found your lucky shoes?” All eyes turned to Rochelle. Liberty pointed a finger in her face. “So much for best friends. Just sayin’ . . .”

  Rochelle suddenly remembered she had been using gel to do her bun moments before finding the shoes. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Scarlett! I might have had gel on my fingers! I didn’t think—I just saw your shoes and tossed them out to you as fast as I could.”

  “It was an accident, Rock,” Scarlett assured her. “You didn’t mean to. It’s okay.”

  Miss Toni clapped her hands. “Right now, we have a group number to do, and there’d better be no more mishaps. Clear?” Toni barked. “If there are, someone’s head is going to be on the chopping block.”

  Chapter 8

  The Tiny Terror

  The competitive team from City Feet was up first in the Junior Small Group category. They marched through the halls backstage, chanting: “Move left! Move right! Move to the beat and make way for City Feet!” They were all dressed in silver sequin leotards and black tights studded with rhinestones.

  “Big-time bling,” Rochelle whispered in Scarlett’s ear.

  “Remember what I told you: game faces,” Miss Toni warned the Divas as the girls marched by. “They can’t scare us.”

  “Are you sure about that?” said a voice behind them. It was Justine Chase. Scarlett recognized her from the photo.

  “Justine . . . It’s been ages,” Toni answered with a forced smile.

  “And you certainly look your age, Toni,” Justine shot back. “Aww, is that a frown line I see? You should smile more! Then again, you were always so, so serious!”

  Rochelle elbowed Scarlett in the ribs. “This is worse than we thought!” she whispered.

  Toni took a deep breath. “And as I recall, you were always so, so sloppy, which I’m sure is still true.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Justine grinned. “Why don’t you watch and find out?”

  Just then, the announcer summoned the City Feet dancers to take their places.

  “Pigs and crickets!” Justine called after them.

  “Pigs and what?” Bria scratched her head.

  “It means good luck.” Toni groaned. “I do not like pigs and crickets—and I do not like Justine Chase.” She went out to the audience to watch the performance unfold.

  “Phew.” Rochelle whistled. “I’m glad she’s mad at Justine and not me for a change!”

  Scarlett peeked out from behind the curtain to catch a glimpse of Miss Toni. To say she looked angry was putting it mildly. She hadn’t seen Toni this furious since Rochelle tossed her ballet shoes in the toilet and flooded the dressing room.

  “I think Justine knows how to get under her skin,” Scarlett said. It reminded her a lot of how Gracie knew exactly when and how to push her buttons. To be that good at bugging someone, you truly had to know her inside and out.

  “You think they were enemies in ballet school, too?” Rochelle asked. “Maybe Mean Justine was a mean girl back then, too.”

  “She may be mean, but she’s right. They look pretty fierce,” Liberty said. She motioned to the five City Feet girls onstage. The lead dancer was a tiny girl—no more than Gracie’s age—who took her position in a chin stand as the music began to play. She then exploded across the floor, tumbling and leaping in a breathless array of acrobatic moves. Their rou
tine was called “Hyperactive”—which pretty much described it perfectly. The number ended with a blast of fireworks and a spray of silver confetti on the audience.

  “Sick! That is just sick!” Rochelle exclaimed.

  “What is that gymnast—like five years old?” Liberty added.

  Bria pulled out her phone and searched for City Feet again. “She’s seven. Her name is Mandy Hammond . . . and her nickname is ‘the Tiny Terror,’” she read. “She’s been the National Petite champion three years in a row. Undefeated.”

  “Sick!” was all Rochelle could say again.

  Scarlett watched as they dazzled the judges and the crowd. She could see Toni taking it all in from the back row. If she was as impressed as the Divas were, no one would be able to tell. She showed absolutely no emotion—not even when the crowd leaped to their feet in a standing ovation.

  “We can’t do that. We don’t have anyone who can do that,” Bria said, and sighed.

  “I can do a better scissor leap!” Liberty insisted.

  Rochelle glared. “You’re not bad, but this girl has some serious acro moves. She’s like an Olympic gymnast or something!”

  Olympic gymnast? Scarlett suddenly thought of someone who might also be able to land many of those moves. She scanned the audience and found who she was looking for. There, front and center, was her little sister, Gracie, with their dad and grandparents. She was holding a bouquet of flowers on her lap, which Scarlett guessed were for her. Especially since Gracie was plucking the petals and tossing them on the floor, one by one.

  “Gracie could do it,” she said. “She’s really good for her age. You should see her cartwheels.”

  “Gracie? As in your crazy little sister, Grace Face?” Liberty asked.

  “She’s not crazy! And if she is, well, you’re not her sister, so you can’t say that!” Scarlett exclaimed. The floor around Gracie’s seat was now covered in red rose petals.

  “But she’s seven!” Liberty protested.