Attitude

by Robin Stevenson

  “You’re so flexible,” I say. “That’s awesome.”

  “I used to do a lot of gymnastics,” she says. “I loved it, actually, but it was hard to do both. Too much time, you know? Mom said I had to pick one or the other.”

  “Was it hard to choose?”

  “Not really. I miss gymnastics, but giving up ballet wasn’t an option, you know?”

  “Yeah. I know. Ballet’s my whole life.” And I remember Iako saying the same thing earlier today: It is my life. I swallow hard and force myself to look at Edie. “You know what happened today with Iako?”

  “Oh my god, I know. I guess Melissa was right about her.” She brings her foot back to the ground and slides to the floor into the splits. “I mean, who shows up for a pointe class without pointe shoes?”

  I hesitate. “So Melissa didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  Edie stares at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I just wondered. I thought maybe, because of voting her off…”

  “What, that she took her shoes or something?” She looks horrified. “Of course not. It’s just a game, right? The voting thing.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course. She wouldn’t actually steal someone’s shoes.” She swings her legs together and stands up. “I can’t believe you’d think that, Cassandra. I mean, she’s my best friend.”

  “I didn’t really think she’d do that,” I say quickly. “It was just a weird coincidence.” I feel a wave of relief. Iako had told me she was jet-lagged and exhausted. She must have just misplaced the shoes. I grin at Edie. “Today was awesome. Tough, but awesome. I loved it.”

  She grins back. “Good. Because tomorrow’s going to be even more awesome. And even tougher.”

  Seven

  As soon as I get out of bed, I can feel the soreness in my muscles from yesterday’s dancing. I limp downstairs for breakfast, calf muscles and thighs aching, and eat my cereal across the table from Edie. “Are you stiff today?” I ask her.

  “No. Are you?”

  Edie’s hair is already pinned up, and she is clear-eyed and wide awake. I’m still in my pajamas and feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. Maybe it’s the jet lag. “Not too bad,” I say, wondering how on earth I am going to get through today’s classes.

  After breakfast, I dress and do some stretching in my bedroom. It helps, a little, and my muscles loosen up as the day goes on. By the end of the first class—modern dance, which I haven’t done much of before but which is totally fun—I’m feeling almost back to normal.

  “Nice work, girls,” Diana says. “And now I have an announcement for you—some news I think you will all find rather exciting. I was speaking this morning with Andrew Kingsley, from our very own Pacific Coast Ballet.”

  There is a hum of excitement all around me as girls whisper to each other.

  “As some of you know, our local ballet company does a number of productions every year. Most of the dancers are from within the company, but sometimes they need child dancers. They’ll be holding open auditions—”

  “The Nutcracker!” Julie bursts out. “Is it? Are they doing The Nutcracker?”

  Diana holds up a hand for silence, but she is laughing. “Yes, Julie. That’s exactly what they are doing. They’re looking for young kids to play the parts of the mice, the party girls, the angels and the soldiers. I imagine lots of our beginners will be auditioning.”

  We all wait, holding our breath.

  She smiles. “And they also have something for you girls in our intermediate classes. Because of the number of performances and the amount of dancing required—they’ll be doing the show in two locations—they’re looking for two girls to play the part of Clara. They want girls aged twelve to fifteen who are dancing on pointe. We’ll take you all down for the audition next week.”

  I look around the room. Edie’s biting her lower lip, chin set determinedly. Iako’s smiling and hugging herself. Julie is bouncing on her toes. Cam is grinning widely.

  We all want it. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. But, of course, most of us will be disappointed. That’s the nature of ballet, I guess—only a very few will make it all the way to the top.

  It sucks.

  I look at Melissa. She is standing very still, her shoulders back and her head held high. She looks every inch a dancer. If I had to guess, right now, I’d say she’s got a better shot at Clara than anyone else here.

  But I have every intention of dancing my heart out.

  * * *

  At break, Melissa gathers her group of friends around her. Actually, they all just seem to gravitate to her, like moons orbiting a planet. I follow, because I don’t know what else to do and because Edie is grabbing my elbow.

  “So,” Melissa says, “we need to talk.”

  “We need to vote,” Anya says, giggling.

  “Yeah! Who’s next, Melissa? No-bun Cam?” Zoe makes a face, showing two rows of braces with blue bands.

  Melissa nods. “Definitely.”

  “Just because of her hair?” I ask. “She’s actually really friendly, Melissa. She seems super nice.”

  “Nice isn’t the point,” Melissa snaps. “Nice doesn’t make you a dancer.”

  “She’s a good dancer too,” I say.

  Melissa snorts. “She looks more like a wrestler.”

  I know what she means. Cam has broad shoulders and an athletic build. She’s solid muscle, and although she dances well, she doesn’t have the leggy elegance of Iako, Melissa and Mackenzie. “She kicked butt in modern this morning,” I say.

  “Yeah. In modern,” Melissa says. “But ballet? Come on.”

  Edie nods. “Melissa’s right, Cassandra. Cam doesn’t really have the body type you need for a career in ballet. Her neck’s too short, for one thing. And maybe that’s not fair, but that’s the way it is.”

  Across the grass, Cam and the other new girls are standing and talking together. Cam has an arm across Iako’s shoulders, and as I watch, she throws her head back and laughs.

  “So,” Melissa says. “Hands up for voting Cam off.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Zoe’s, Anya’s, Danika’s and Edie’s hands all fly up.

  I hate being a part of this. I hate it.

  “Cassandra?” Melissa’s voice is cold.

  I stand there for a moment, my heart beating fast. I can see my dad’s face and I know exactly what he’d say. Just do what you know is right, Cassie, and everything else will fall into place.

  “Come on, Cassie.” Edie nudges me, her forehead creased with worry lines.

  “Are you in?” Melissa puts her hands on her hips. “Or out?”

  “Out,” I say. “I’m out.” My stomach is tight, and something is fluttering in my chest. I head back into the school alone and wait outside the studio door for our next class to begin.

  A few minutes later I am joined by Cam and the other new girls. Cam is smiling as she does a temps levé in arabesque across the hallway.

  If she knew what Melissa and the others were saying about her…I manage to force a grin, despite my anxiety. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “Just looking forward to the next class.”

  I’d almost forgotten. All this drama with Melissa and Edie…it has actually made me lose sight of what is important: my dancing. “Let’s just go in there and dance our hearts out,” I say.

  Cam holds up a fist, and I bump my knuckles against hers. Over her shoulder, I see Melissa, Edie and the others heading toward us. Melissa’s chin is lifted, her gaze straight, and one hand rests on an angled hip. Every line of her body expresses her fury.

  * * *

  I do my best to push away thoughts about what happened at the break and focus on my dancing. Diana walks around as usual, correcting our positions, lifting our legs higher, reminding us to soften our arms, to keep our shoulders down and back. I don’t think I am dancing my best. In fact, I know I’m not. I’m concentrating as hard as I can, and I know my positions are technically c
orrect, but when we all go into the center to dance, I can’t feel the music in my body like I usually do. All I can feel is the cold clutch of anxiety in my belly.

  If I dance like this at the audition, I won’t have a chance of getting the part of Clara. Clara should be playful, lighthearted. Diana tells us to stop and shake it out, and I take a moment to look around at the others and wonder who will be chosen. Much as I hate to admit it, Melissa’s dancing is always magical. Almost flawless, though of course Diana can usually find something to criticize in every one of us. Edie isn’t as dazzling as Melissa, but she’s neat and capable in an all-round way. Mackenzie is good too, and Anya. It’s hard to compare, because we all have different weaknesses. Iako is by far the most flexible—when Diana lifted her leg above her head during the barre exercises, it was unbelievable how high she could go—but Diana says she needs to work more on strength. And none of us have the powerful jumps that Cam does.

  Finally, class is over. We stretch out our muscles and unlace our shoes. I slip on a hoodie, put my pointe shoes back in my bag and take a drink from my water bottle. My heart is beating fast, and it isn’t just from the dancing.

  If I can’t shake off my fear—or at least keep it from affecting my performance—I won’t even need Melissa to sabotage my chances.

  Eight

  That evening at the Harrisons’ is uncomfortable, to say the least. I try to act normal, but it is hard, since Edie is doing her best to avoid talking to me.

  “Everything okay, girls?” Mrs. Harrison asks us over dinner.

  “Fine,” we both say.

  “Anything interesting happen today?”

  I’ve just taken a huge bite of my chicken burger, so I can only nod vigorously.

  “There’re going to be auditions next week, for The Nutcracker,” Edie says. She drizzles Italian dressing onto her salad. “Our class is going to try out.” She puts the bottle down and presses her hands together like she’s praying. “I want to be Clara so bad.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Harrison exchange looks across the dinner table. “Ah,” Mrs. Harrison says.

  “Probably it’ll be one of the new girls,” Edie says. “Seems like the teachers are mostly paying attention to them.”

  “Well, they have to. They don’t know them like they know you lot. Besides, I’m sure the school wants to attract new students,” Mr. Harrison says. “Can you pass the ketchup, Cassandra?”

  I pass him the ketchup. “I haven’t noticed that,” I say. “Seems to me that they pay plenty of attention to everyone. Besides, I doubt whoever judges the audition will know who’s new and who isn’t.”

  Edie snorts rudely, and Mr. and Mrs. Harrison exchange looks again.

  Mrs. Harrison leans toward her daughter, her forehead creasing. “Edie, what is it? Did something happen? What’s wrong?”

  Edie shrugs her off. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Edie’s used to getting quite a bit of fuss made over her at the school,” Mr. Harrison says. “You and Melissa, you’re their rising stars, aren’t you?”

  “Dad!” Edie rolls her eyes. “Please.”

  He looks at me. “Edie gets jealous sometimes. Only child, you know? It’ll be good for her to have you here. She’s a bit too used to having the world revolve around her.”

  My cheeks burn, and I stare at the table’s shiny wooden surface, wishing he’d just stop talking. He’s making everything a thousand times worse. Edie pushes her chair back, stands up and storms out of the dining room.

  Mrs. Harrison gives me an apologetic look. “Well, maybe you two both need some alone time,” she says.

  So I spend the rest of the evening reading in my room while Edie watches television downstairs. I can’t concentrate on my book though. I keep replaying the day in my head—the girls voting Cam off, Melissa’s anger when I refused to take part, my lousy dancing in class—and it’s hard not to feel a little sorry for myself.

  I wish I was home in Australia with my own family.

  * * *

  Mrs. Harrison drives us back to the academy the next morning. Edie doesn’t say much in the car, but as soon as we are out of her mom’s earshot, she turns to me. “I can’t believe you did that. Why couldn’t you just vote Cam off with the rest of us?”

  I look at her. “It was mean,” I say. “I don’t get it. Melissa’s an amazing dancer—she doesn’t need to be scared of competition.”

  “She isn’t,” Edie says. “She just doesn’t want to see the teachers making the wrong decisions.”

  I shrug. “I’m pretty sure they know what they’re doing.”

  “Well, it isn’t what you think that matters.” Edie’s eyes are suddenly shining with tears. “She was willing to let you be part of our group because you’re staying with me. And now you’ve wrecked everything by being so stupid.”

  “Just because I wouldn’t take part in her mean little games?”

  “You don’t get it.” Edie wipes a hand roughly across her eyes. “It isn’t a game, Cassandra. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but no one’s even talking to Iako since the vote.”

  “I am,” I say. “And so are the other new girls.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She shrugs as if to say that the new girls don’t count.

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of mean?” I ask her. “Honestly, Edie?” She isn’t meeting my gaze, and I think that deep down she knows it isn’t okay. A cluster of girls is standing just ahead of us on the front steps, and I stop walking and lightly touch Edie’s arm. “If you didn’t go along with it, she couldn’t do the stuff she does. Why don’t you stand up to her?”

  She shakes my hand off. “Because,” she says, “Melissa is my best friend. Besides, I’m not stupid.”

  “What does that mean?” I’m a little annoyed that she’s called me stupid twice in about two minutes.

  “You’ll see,” she says and runs off ahead of me into the school.

  * * *

  Inside, a crowd of girls is jostling in front of the bulletin board.

  “It’s about the auditions!” Cam calls out when she sees me.

  “It is?” I push closer to double-check. Sure enough, there is a flyer posted from the Pacific Coast Ballet, with the times and location for the Nutcracker auditions. I turn to look at her. “Oh my god, Cam. Can you imagine being Clara? I’m not going to be able to think about anything else.”

  Cam runs her fingers through her hair, making it stick up. “Yeah, tell me about it. I dreamed about The Nutcracker last night. Only, in my dream, the Sugar Plum Fairy was chasing Clara around on a broomstick.” She shakes her head. “Guess I shouldn’t read Harry Potter right before bed.”

  Melissa’s sharp voice speaks up from behind me. “Cam, you’re not really expecting to be Clara, are you? I mean, you can’t help it, but…well, let’s just say you don’t really have the body type for ballet.”

  “I made it here, didn’t I?” Cam says. She is shorter than Melissa and tilts her chin up to meet her eyes. “I got accepted for the summer program.”

  “Cam has the best jumps of any of us,” I say.

  They both ignore me. They look like two dogs staring each other down, waiting to see who will give way first. To my surprise, it’s Melissa who looks away.

  “Girls! I realize this is exciting, but I still expect you to be in class on time,” Mrs. Hoffman says.

  The chatter subsides and we all make our way into the studio for the day’s first session, which is jazz—something I love almost as much as ballet. The music is alive inside me, filling me with energy and lightness—motion and emotion. Every part of my body wants to dance.

  But my brain won’t switch off. I can’t stop thinking about the audition. Can I dance well enough to get the part of Clara?

  Nine

  At lunch, I head outside alone. Edie and Melissa have been ignoring me all morning, and I don’t think I’m welcome in their little group anymore. Not that I want to be. They’re being totally mean to Cam, making snotty comments about her hair, laughing behi
nd her back. I cross the grass and find a spot to sit, alone, on a bench under the trees.

  I need to think. I need to stay focused on why I am here. I close my eyes for a moment and concentrate on the feel of the sun on my face, the sound of the distant traffic, my breath going in and out. My mom went through a meditation phase a year or so ago, and I used to meditate with her, the two of us in zazen, as she called it, cross-legged in our living room, listening to some guided visualization she’d downloaded. The guy who led the meditation had a strong accent that Dad liked to imitate. Mom got annoyed at him for it, but he was just trying to make me laugh.

  The memory loosens an avalanche of emotion and a homesickness so strong I’m scared I might start bawling. Focus. Focus. You’re here to dance. I grit my teeth and open my eyes.

  Cam is walking toward me. I wave. “Hey.”

  “You’re not with your friends today?” She stops in front of me.

  “No. Well, they’re not really my friends. It’s just that I’m staying with Edie, you know? Her folks are my homestay family.”

  “Ah.” She relaxes a little. “That makes sense. I wondered why you were always with them—I mean, instead of with the other homestay girls.”

  “Where are you all staying?” I ask, curious.

  “I’m staying with some old friends of my parents, actually. Julie and Mackenzie are staying with a family that has two young boys who do ballet. Eight-year-old twins. I think it’s pretty crazy over there.”

  “And Iako?”

  “She’s staying with an older couple, two women who always take students from Japan. She’s helping them learn Japanese, and they help her with her English.” She sits down on the bench beside me and opens her lunch bag. “So is it okay for you? I mean, staying with Edie?”

  “Yeah. Her parents are nice. I’m just a bit homesick, I guess.” My throat closes up on the last words, and I have to look away.

  “Aw. Yeah, I have it easy, staying with people I know.” She takes an apple out of her bag and crunches into it loudly. “Do you know what’s up with Edie and Melissa and their friends? I mean, I get that they don’t like me, but the stuff they were saying this morning…”