Being Hartley

by Rushby, Allison

  "Oh, it is," I say, with a grin. "It is."

  And, with that, I get another weird look as I tap my way to the bathroom and out of sight.

  * * *

  "So, agenda?" I glance around the dining table after I've scarfed down two pancakes with whipped butter and maple syrup and am about to start on my third.

  Rory answers me first. "I have to be downstairs at ten for the show at eleven."

  Next to her, my mom puts her fork down. "I'm sorry, Rory, but I won't be able to make it to this one. I've got a couple of phone interviews lined up this morning."

  Rory spears another piece of pancake. "Don't be crazy. I hardly expect you to come to every show! One was more than enough. Really."

  "One was more than enough for me, too," Allie pipes up, beside me. "I'm trying out the sauna."

  "Allie!" I shoot her a look and nudge her with my elbow.

  "Don't worry about it," Rory tells me. "I don't blame her. She's only seen about a hundred live shows now, and they're all pretty much the same."

  "Well, I haven't," I say, "and I'm coming. Both this morning and to tonight's show. Except, this time, I'm going to try the audience side of things." I glance at my mom as I say this, expecting her to freak out about me being in the audience, but surprisingly, she doesn't.

  "Great!" Rory says. "That'd be fun."

  "Rory booked a private poolside cabana for after the first show," Allie says. "So we can hang out, drink mocktails, and read trashy magazines. They even have WiFi and cable. We can check out if there's been any celebrity hoodie malfunctions in TMZ. I heard it through the grapevine that some celebrity's daughter had one at LAX the other day."

  My mom groans. "No. TMZ. Really?"

  Allie grins. "Really."

  I try and hide my glee that TMZ thinks I'm worthy. "Oh, no. Oh, dear," I say.

  Allie, who's taking a sip of orange juice at the time, explodes with laughter at this, then gets a look of shock on her face, jumps up, and runs toward one of the bathrooms. After a second or two, she yells out, "Orange juice! Nose!"

  At the table, Rory sighs, shaking her head. "Princess O.J. She's all class."

  * * *

  Mom leaves to meet up with Deb and Allie, and I hang out until ten thirty or so, when my escort arrives to take me downstairs. "See you at the pool!" I say to Allie as the elevator closes shut. When it does, the escort I'm with turns to me.

  "So, looking forward to this? It should be a great show." It's not the guy Mom and I had yesterday, but a girl with a blond swingy ponytail.

  "I am!" I say, trying to sound cool and relaxed, but the words come out with a squeak, probably completely giving away the fact that my heart is racing like I'm on some kind of illegal substance and not just super-sugary maple syrup and the thought of seeing Noah again. Me? Looking forward to this? Looking forward to seeing Noah? Oh, yes. Maybe just a little bit. Still, every so often, I make sure to bring myself down a little. Tell myself this is all nice and everything—to be living my dream—but that I'll be going home soon. Wherever home is.

  The escort guides me into the already buzzing ballroom, and I'm taken right up to the very front row where my seat is located, and then left on my own. I entertain myself by checking the messages on my cell (not that there really are any other than a couple of ones from Dad in Rome) and I delete some old ones. Before too long, I start to notice people noticing me. Self-consciously, I pull my ponytail back a bit tighter and wind my hair into a loose bun, securing it back with the hair band I've already got on. It's as I'm doing this that someone in the row behind me leans forward.

  "Excuse me," she says, and I twist around slightly in my seat to look at her—a mom with two little girls beside her. "I know it's nosey, but I have to ask. Are you Rory Hartley's sister?"

  "Um, no." I pause for a second, actually quite pleased with the question she asked me. I don't even have to lie.

  "Oh," she says, a bit disappointed. "It's just…your hair. It's very Hartley-esque."

  “Yeah, I get that a lot," I tell her. "But my last name is Wallis. Hope you guys enjoy the show!" I say to the two little girls before turning around again. And then I sit back and wait for the real fun to start.

  * * *

  This time around, I experience another kind of show entirely. Being in the SMD audience is so much fun I can't believe I let myself catch the first show backstage. The audience really does go nuts, as I'd witnessed at the first show. They're up and dancing to the music even before the cast hits the stage and the air around me has this charge of excitement running through it like a current.

  When the cast finally runs onto the stage and are introduced, it takes Rory only one-tenth of a second to spot me and grin and Noah only nanoseconds longer to find me as well and smile that amazing smile of his.

  Oh.

  Oh, wow, oh, yep, oh, yeah. It's going to be a good show.

  * * *

  The show seems to speed by today—much faster than things seemed to go when I watched from backstage. Seeing as I had a decent practice at yesterday's show, today I get the dances down easily and even add a few embellishments of my own. I watched a couple of clips on YouTube this morning of Madonna, live, singing "Lucky Star", and now I copy a few of her moves that aren't in the original video clip. Finally, the show starts to wind up, and we get to audience participation time. I can't wait to see who Rory picks out today and if she'll find anyone as good as her six-year-old wunderkind partner from yesterday. I seriously doubt it. That kid was like nothing I've ever seen before.

  Once again, Valentina is asked to choose first. I crane my neck so I can see over the heads in the audience to who she's pointing at. When I follow her finger, I think she's aiming for this teenage girl, but I must have been seeing what was going on from an angle, because it's someone else entirely that Sonja, the producer, has brought up onto the stage. Cooper picks out another grandfather (they must be his specialty!). Lucia decides on a boy of about eight. Tobias's turn sees another boy of about the same age on the stage. Mara chooses a guy of about my age, one row to my right, who I'd noticed before seems like a really good dancer. José goes for a mom. It's Rory's turn then, and she whispers to Noah for a moment, then nods and points toward me.

  Every single cell in my body freezes.

  I shake my head, no.

  But then Rory shakes her head back and points sort of around me.

  There's a sudden whoosh of relief as I realize she's not trying to freak me out. It's the mom behind me, the one who'd spoken to me before, that she's pointing at.

  Immediately, her two girls go crazy. "Go on, Mom!" they yell at her, whooping and clapping. They push her toward the aisle where an escort is waiting to take her up onto the stage. As I watch her go, I catch her eye and smile at her. She tries to smile back, but the look she comes out with is more "lamb to the slaughter" than "mom to the stage." My eyes stick to the poor mom like glue as she makes her way up in front of the audience. It's only as the host calls out Noah's name that I remember it's his turn to choose a partner now, and I move my attention back to the stage.

  Phew, I think as I face forward again. Close call. Mom would kill me if I went up there. I mean, it would be amazing and all, but no. It can't happen.

  There's only one thing I don't get as my eyes move to Noah on the stage, waiting to see who he'll pick. He's pointing at the mom's spot now, the mom Rory had pointed at and chosen, but she's not there anymore. I swivel on the spot to glimpse her empty seat, not understanding.

  Then, as I slowly face forward once more, I get it. As, it seems, did everyone else about five minutes ago.

  This time, I'm really being pointed at.

  My eyes move to Rory's, on stage, but she simply gives me a "Hey, I didn't know he was going to ask you" shrug.

  "Are you crazy?" The girl sitting beside me grabs my right arm in a vise-like grip, breaking my eye contact with Rory and making me look over at her. "You can't say no to Noah Hoffman! Don't just stand there. Go, already! Or I will! It's
my dream to dance with Noah Hoffman!"

  "Me too," I say, my mouth forming the words before my brain can even register them. My eyes are fixated on the girl’s sparkly purple nails, digging into my arm.

  "Thea?" a voice says from the aisle then, and I look left to see it's Sonja herself come to escort me. She's standing in the aisle, one hand on her hip and grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Would you like to come up on stage?" she asks me. "Would you like to dance with Noah?"

  Ear-piercing whistle! Time out!

  Okay, so you know that whole thing you see quite a bit in cartoons where a character has a devil sitting on one shoulder, whispering into his or her ear and an angel on the other shoulder whispering into the other ear? That's me in this moment.

  Devil (aka Sonja): Would you like to dance with Noah?

  Angel (aka Mom): Don't go up on the stage! You'll be outed. And you could be kidnapped (or worse!).

  Devil (aka Sonja): It's your dream to dance with Noah Hoffman on SMD! Your dream!

  Angel (aka Mom): And when you wake up from that dream, it'll be your worst nightmare. I'll send you to military school.

  Devil (aka Sonja): Your mom isn't here. Erik isn't here. What have you got to lose? It's only one tiny dance. Nothing, really. You may never get this chance again!

  Angel (aka Mom): Once you go out there, there's no going back. The entire world will know who you are.

  The thing is, in situations like this, it's the devil who usually wins.

  And today?

  Well, today, it seems is no different. Because, with a gulp, I step left into the aisle toward Sonja and take my first step toward my dancing debut.

  -

  18 -

  Sonja practically frog-marches me toward the stage, and oddly, tugs roughly at my hair band as we go, telling me, "No hair bands on stage!" It pulls out, and my hair, of course, goes flying, springing out everywhere, as if it has a life of its own (which it does).

  "Ow!" I say, rubbing at the spot where she pulled more than a few hairs out.

  "Oh, dear. So sorry!" she chirps, then is gone, ducking behind a black curtain.

  An escort then guides me up the steps. As I climb them, I'm torn between not being able to wait to take my place beside Noah, where I've imagined myself for so long, and wanting to turn around, run back down the steps, hide underneath my seat, and quiver like a gelatin-based dessert.

  "Looks like we have ourselves an undiscovered Hartley!" the host says to the audience when she registers my hair. And my face must absolutely fall when she says this, because I think she gets instantly that this is the worst possible thing she could have said, that I am, actually, a Hartley, and that she's made a huge, huge gaffe.

  As the audience calms down, the host holds one hand to her ear, and I realize someone's speaking into her earpiece. When there's enough quiet for her to speak again, she asks me, "Your surname isn't Hartley by any chance, is it?"

  "No," I tell her, shaking my head hard.

  "And your first name, sweetie?"

  "Thea," I tell her.

  "Well, Thea, I'd say you're one of the luckiest young ladies on the face of the planet, because today you're dancing with Noah Hoffman!"

  With this, Noah steps forward to retrieve me from the emcee, grinning the biggest grin I've ever seen on his face. He offers me his hand, and in that moment of standing there, on stage, under the bright lights, Noah in front of me, arm outstretched and waiting to dance with me, the audience going nuts at the mention of Noah's name, I realize something…

  There's no going back now. I'm up here, the spotlight's shining upon me. I may as well enjoy myself.

  So, I reach out, accept Noah's hand for a second time, and then we take our place on the SMD stage.

  Together.

  Military school, here I come.

  * * *

  I totally mess up the first bit of "Lucky Star" because I'm so incredibly nervous, I just kind of lose all control over my body. There're so many people out there, all staring at me, waiting for me to trip over my own feet and laugh and…

  Noah circles me, making it look like he's doing some super-cool impromptu move, rather than, well, you know…circling me to check out what on earth I'm doing. "Thea," he says, staring me straight in the eye as he passes by, "stop thinking so hard." He circles around the back of me and then meets my eye again as he passes in front of me. "You can do this. I know you can. Rory told me how much you practice. Just pretend you're at home. Okay, you ready? We're going to hit it this time. You and me. Side by side. Five, six, seven, eight and…"

  I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. But then Noah's words actually enter my brain. "Just pretend you're at home." It's the most perfect thing he could have said to me at exactly the right time. Because this is what I love to do best at home—practice along with SMD. Now, with the sequence starting over again, I try my best to block out the audience and do what I do every week in front of the TV, instead. Because Noah's right. I can do this. I know I can, because I do it all the time. I do it every single week.

  And, this time around, with Noah by my side, I defeat "Lucky Star."

  I even go one step further and teach Noah the few extra moves I picked up from Madonna herself on YouTube.

  Next to me, Noah's eyes slide sideways to meet mine with a twinkle. "Looking good, partner! Show me again with the arms, and I'll try and pick it up."

  "You'll try and pick it up. Nice one. Okay, ready?" I take him through the arm work, and of course, he gets it in no time. In fact, he has it down even before I'm all the way through, having seen what I was doing the first time around. "Looks like you've got it, then," I tell him. "Ready for some more?"

  "Hit me with it," Noah laughs.

  So, this time, I add a little more again (must remember to email Madonna and say thanks). And, this time, Noah follows along with me. "Oh, one more thing," I tell him, as we keep dancing. "Some flashy star-like jazz hands. Let's not forget those."

  Noah cracks up, but adds in the flashy jazz hands. "Like this?"

  "Please. A bit more effort! What would Madonna say?"

  He ramps it up. "Enough for you?"

  "Just," I puff. And I thought I was in some kind of shape. I guess not.

  "Okay," Noah says, glancing over at me. "This is the last time around before we move on, so make it good. Add it all in. And, here we go…"

  I completely lose myself as Noah counts us in and we start over. In a good way, I mean. This time, I forget to be nervous, I forget to count, I forget about the audience, I forget about my mom, I forget…everything. Instead, I dance. With Noah.

  I live my SMD dream.

  And, as "Lucky Star" winds up and Noah and I laugh ourselves sick going jazz-hand crazy, I can barely believe how happy I am, or how much fun I'm having. I guess the audience is, too, because they go crazy when the song ends and the emcee laughs, "It looks like Noah's learning a thing or two about dancing out there today!"

  Noah moves to face me, smiles, and then reaches over and pulls me in beside him, raising one of my arms alongside his in victory.

  The crowd goes even wilder.

  "I think they liked it," Noah says, letting our arms slide back down.

  "Urp," I end up saying, which I think is a strange combination of "um" and "yep." And I know it's not cool, but I can't quit grinning from ear to ear. Seriously, my face actually hurts I'm grinning so hard. Maybe that's a good enough reply?

  The rest of the participation segment goes by so quickly it's like I'm living it in fast-forward. But I manage to stay in the moment and enjoy myself, because I know that if I don't, I'll kick myself forever. This is my one chance—to dance on stage, on SMD, on TV, in front of millions of people, with my dream partner Noah Hoffman.

  It doesn't get any better than this.

  It is, without a doubt, easily the best twelve minutes of my life. And even if I do have to go to military school, it will have been worth it to dance with Noah and the SMD team for those sweet, sweet twelve mi
nutes on stage. By the end, I'm practically crying, and I don't know whether it's with happiness, relief, or something else entirely.

  At the end of the segment, the emcee asks each of the SMD dancers to step forward along with their chosen partner, and the audience claps.

  As Noah and I were up front, stage left, I hadn't really been able to see the other dancers much at all, so it's interesting to see who gets cheered the most. Mara's guy must have been good after all, because he gets a huge round of applause, and Rory's mom must have been funny, because everyone laughs and claps when Rory brings her out front.

  Noah and I are last to come forward. He grasps my hand and as we walk, he asks me, "Know anything about West Coast swing?"

  "Er, no," I say, sounding more than slightly worried.

  "Oh, well. I'll keep it easy for you, then. Left-side underarm turn with dip, okay?"

  "Not okay!" I squeak, thinking this is one dip-happy guy I have on my hands, but as he starts pulling my right hand, I go with it, spin and fall into the dip.

  And then, I gaze out at the audience and watch them go absolutely, completely, crazy. There's screaming, there's yelling, there's whistling, there are kids jumping up and down on their seats. There's even a rumble that gets louder and louder as more and more people join in the stamping that's going on on the floor.

  "You're a natural." Noah looks down at me, before lifting me up again. "I get the feeling they like you."

  "No," I tell him, my eyes meeting his. Suddenly, I feel brave enough in the moment to say what I'm thinking. "I think they like us."

  * * *

  The problem is, as soon as my twelve minutes of fame are up and I get off the stage, my new reality hits me like a plank of wood to the head.

  I just totally embarrassed myself in front of Noah Hoffman. Like a total groupie, I practically told him I think we're going out together or something. I told him there's an "us." An "us"! What am I doing? There is no "us." There's Noah wanting to get to know me better because I'm Rory's cousin and that's it. Well, maybe there's a little more to it. Sure, we get along great, but so what? Like I keep trying to remind myself, I'm out of here in five minutes. My mom will make sure of that.