Dream Chaser

by Angie Stanton

  “Yes, of course.” How could I forget? I practiced each number until I knew it inside out and backwards. And once I knew a routine I never forgot it. I was a freak that way.

  “Good. Now go home and work this number until you have it the best you can. You won’t be anywhere near your former skill level, but it should be enough.” She placed the case in my hand. “You have a lot of work to do, off you go. I will see you tomorrow.” She smiled with satisfaction.

  Dumbfounded, I left the studio. As much as I couldn’t imagine doing a dance audition after going cold turkey, the thought of having a concrete reason not to go back to cheer—ever—gave me a renewed determination. Plus, the idea of being part of something great kindled a tiny flame deep inside.

  * * *

  I sat in the cold car still in shock. Now I had the perfect out. Try out for the show and never go back to cheer. I turned the key. After a slow turnover, the engine rumbled to life. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? A guaranteed reason to never fly again. Just the thought of walking into the cheer practice gym scared me.

  But could I dance well enough to get a part? I used to dance four or five times a week and compete on the dance team. How much had I forgotten? Could I do those leaps anymore? Could I do a double switch leap or a quadruple fuette turn? Miss Ginny was right, I had the short tight muscles of a cheerleader. My long lean dance muscles disappeared soon after I quit.

  The air blasting out began to turn warm. I rubbed my hands together in front of it. Doing the show would solve some of my problems, but not my biggest one; convincing Jilly that I really had quit. The two of us had been tighter than the Kardashians ever since cheer camp that first summer. We roomed together, ate together, guy watched together, and harassed the underclassmen together.

  Her uncle owned a gymnastics gym, and we spent all our free time perfecting our tumbling and stunts. We even learned how to fly together. While Jilly could fly, she didn’t have the flair or fearlessness I did. Boy, had that changed. My dad calls us Thing 1 and Thing 2. Somehow I needed to soften the blow to Jilly. She wasn’t going to like this.

  I put the car in reverse and backed off the frozen mountain of snow. Once I was on level ground again, I left the Davis Dance Academy behind and headed toward Badger Twisters gymnastics school where I got to know Jilly that summer three years ago. Distraught after quitting dance, I gravitated to gymnastics, Jilly and I hit it off immediately. Because her uncle owns the place, we were able to spend every spare moment screwing around on the trampoline, learning cheer tricks, and jumping into the huge cushioned pit. Now Jilly works there.

  A few minutes later, I ran through the icy cold air to the warm inside lobby. I unzipped my coat. Chairs lined the sides of the room for waiting parents. Bright lights illuminated the cluttered lobby and the sound of kids working echoed off the high metal ceiling.

  One wall had dozens of cubbies to store street shoes, coats and gym bags. The other wall held a long counter for registration and concession sales. Jilly worked, selling red licorice to a couple of middle school girls.

  “Hey,” I walked over, not sure how to break the news.

  “Oh my god. What are you doing here?” Jilly lit up like the Las Vegas strip.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.” I leaned one arm on the counter.

  “Good thing. I’ve been so bored. I was about to hang myself with the climbing rope.”

  Jilly glowed with happiness. She always wore her feelings on her sleeve. There was no mystery in Jilly’s emotions. If she felt it, you knew it, which made being in a fight easier, or maybe not. Sometimes it would be nice if she’d hide her anger.

  “Good thing you didn’t. That would have scared the little kids.”

  “Probably. Popcorn?” Jilly asked.

  “Awesome.”

  Jilly opened the popcorn machine, filled two bags and handed me one.

  “Thanks.” I put a handful in my mouth.

  “So why are you here tonight? Oh my god!” Jilly dropped her popcorn on the counter. “You changed your mind. You’re coming back to cheer! I knew it!” She bounced up and down in her cheerleader way.

  I scrunched my face. “Well, actually no.”

  Jilly sobered. “What?”

  I took a breath and decided to just dive right in. “I was over talking to Miss Ginny, my old dance teacher.”

  Disbelief shown on Jilly’s face, as if I just violated some sacred oath.

  “She called me,” I defended. “She asked me to come see her.”

  “What for?” Jilly sounded innocent enough, but I was pretty sure she knew I hadn’t met my former dance teacher just to catch up on old times.

  “Well, she heard I quit cheer.”

  Jilly gave me a pissed off glare.

  “Don’t look at me, I didn’t tell her. Heck, I didn’t tell anyone, but the whole world seems to know.”

  “So?” Jilly asked, waiting for the bad news.

  “So, she wants me to try out for that pilot project. It’s called Dream Chaser. There’s a spot in the chorus since Jessica got the boot.”

  Jilly’s jaw stiffened and her lips pinched tight. She grabbed a dishrag and began to wash off the scratched countertop.

  “I told you. I didn’t call her. She called me.” But I knew Jilly didn’t care.

  Jilly scrubbed harder. Finally she tossed the rag aside and crossed her arms. She turned to me, her shoulders set. “Just say it.”

  “What?”

  “Just say what you came here to tell me.” She glared.

  Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Jilly interrupted. “But let me point out that you promised to take some time before you made it final.”

  I started to talk.

  She interrupted again with her hands firmly on the counter. “You promised.”

  Jilly was acting unreasonable, but still I felt like a jerk. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I have to.”

  Jilly turned away in a huff. “Oh please.”

  “Miss Ginny is really important to me, and she asked me to try out.” I realized I was just making up excuses for Jilly, trying to avoid the real reason I quit, but I was too scared to keep flying.

  “I don’t know if I’ll even make it. I haven’t danced in forever. I’ll probably suck.” I prayed I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to embarrass Miss Ginny or myself.

  “Not likely. You’re good at everything.” Jilly cocked her head to the side. “This is so crappy. You aren’t even giving me a chance. You’re scared. You fell. That’s fine, but give yourself some time to get over it. It’ll go away.”

  “Scared because I fell? That’s a little mild, don’t you think?” I glared at Jilly.

  “It felt more like a full body slam into the gym floor head first. You may not think that’s a big deal, but when you’re free falling from twenty feet in the air, it hurts! A lot!” I pushed my hand through my hair as I recalled the horrible memory. Suddenly I felt out of breath, and my pulse raced from thinking about it.

  Jilly had the decency to look guilty. “I know. It’s just that I don’t want you to quit. You’re half the reason I love cheer so much. Plus, without you it won’t be fun anymore.” She looked at me with the saddest eyes.

  “Sure it will. You and Anna will become BFFs.” I teased, trying to make Jilly lighten up. And it worked, a least a little.

  “You’re such a jerk.” She tossed popcorn at me and grinned.

  “And we’ll still see each other all the time; just not at cheer. Like I said, I don’t even know if I’ll make it, but I have to give it a shot.” I drew circles on the surface with my finger. The more we talked about the tryout and show, the more I realized I really wanted it.

  “This rots big time. You shouldn’t run away just because you’re scared.”

  “I’m not.”

  Jilly pierced me with a look that said she knew otherwise.

  I squirmed. A group of kids came with money in their hands. “Well, I should get going.” I pushed away. “I�
�ll see you in the morning.”

  Jilly didn’t say anything. She just shrugged, then turned to scoop more popcorn.

  Chapter 6

  The next day, all through fourth block, I was freakin’ out. The history teacher droned on about the Vietnam War, then left us time to work on the next day’s homework. I drummed my pencil on the table to the beat of my erratic nerves.

  On the way to school, Jilly made it clear that if I went out for the show it would be slamming the cheer door closed forever. But that was exactly what I wanted. During lunch everyone in the atrium barely spoke to me. It’s like I became some evil traitor just because I refused to cheer. Okay, fly. An involuntary shiver shook me at the thought of it. No. I needed to make sure no one asked me to cheer again. That door needed to be locked, barricaded, and welded shut.

  But to do that, I needed to get that open spot in the show. All the best performers from the entire city were in the show, and Madison has some awesome dance schools. I grew up dancing with a lot of them, and then turned my back on all of them when I took up cheer. I didn’t relish the idea of trying to rejoin their clique. I didn’t even know who the understudy was for Jessica. Probably McKenna or Chloe. They were the next best dancers that I knew of. At least they were three years ago.

  With any luck I could join the chorus. But my dance skills had rusted with lack of use. Last night, when I dug through the back of the closet for dance shoes, I came across the box packed with my old dance trophies and awards. At one time I’d been an awesome dancer for Davis Dance Academy. Last night, that box mocked me.

  After pushing all the living room furniture out of the way, I stayed up past midnight working my old routine. By the time I went to bed, I could do it as well as I used to do a triple flip.

  The bell rang and startled me. The pencil I’d been drumming flew across the row and hit a kid on the head. He turned and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Sorry.” I scrambled out of my chair and picked up the accidental weapon. I gathered my books and stuffed the pencil down the wire spiral of my notebook.

  The crowded hallways suffocated me as I fought the combination of dread and adrenaline for my audition with the famed director. After I stuffed my books in my locker, I grabbed my old dance bag with the frayed sides.

  Unsure of where the kids in the show changed, and not wanting to run into any cheer kids in the locker room, I used the girls’ bathroom closest to the auditorium. In the handicapped stall, I stepped out of my street clothes and pulled on tights and a leotard. The lycra snapped tight against my skin, making me aware of every muscle. It reminded me to suck in my gut and stand straighter.

  Afraid to step out of the stall as a few girls still moved in and out of the bathroom, I did a few pliés and stretches in the confines of the space. I felt like an idiot, but it was better than trying to warm up and have someone see me. What a fraud I was—hiding in the bathroom.

  I checked my phone; it was almost time. I pulled on a pair of soft workout shorts and rolled down the waistband. Then I pulled on a pair of loose sweats and a t-shirt and put my shoes back on. The bathroom became eerily quiet as most kids left for the day.

  I went to the sink and looked at the scared pale face in the mirror with long brown wavy hair pulled back tight. This would not work. I slapped my cheeks and bounced on the balls of my feet a few times. Better. I could do this. It was this or cheer; and cheer was not an option. It would be like riding a bike.

  I hoped.

  I took a deep breath. Shut up, suck it up, and go deliver the goods. With a nod to the mirror, I went to the auditorium.

  From the main doors at the back a sea of darkened seats led to the empty, brightly lit stage. I performed on this stage for choir plenty of times, but never dancing and certainly never alone illuminated by all these bright lights.

  At the front of the room, a man, who must be the director, spoke to Miss Ginny. Cripes! Miss Ginny must have wanted to make sure I showed up. I stood a little taller and forced an easy smile on my face as I approached.

  “Ah, there she is,” said Miss Ginny. Kindness shone in her eyes. She reached for my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze; she felt like a lifeboat in a storm.

  “Tyson Scott, I’d like you to meet Miss Willow Thomas.”

  He seemed way too young to be a Broadway director. A shadow of dark beard covered his chiseled face and his expertly styled hair came right off a magazine cover. He looked like New York. He smiled wide and friendly. He was hands-down the hottest guy I had ever seen.

  “Hello, Mr. Scott. Nice to meet you.” I found it hard not to stare.

  “Please, call me Tyson. My father was Mr. Scott.” He held out his hand and we shook; his firm reassuring grip matched his intelligent sapphire eyes. I noticed his quick assessment and wondered if I measured up.

  “Nice to meet you, Willow. What a great name.”

  “Thanks. My parents like to be different. They’re kind of modern day hippies. They named my little sister Breezy.”

  “They sound like people I’d like to meet.”

  He watched my posture with an expert eye. I stood straighter.

  “Your name has come up from a couple of different sources, and I’ve been hearing great things about you.”

  “Really?” I felt lost in the presence of this hugely charismatic man.

  Miss Ginny beamed with pride as if I were some sort of prized show dog.

  “Why, of course,” Miss Ginny said. “You were always my star pupil. I had so much hope for you, and then you abandoned me and quit dancing.”

  Star pupil? She sure knew how to lay it on thick.

  Miss Ginny nodded. “Tyson, you will see. She is a fabulous dancer.”

  “I have no doubt,” he said. “In all these years, you have never steered me wrong. No, that’s not entirely true. There were a couple costumes you forced me to wear that had no place on a young impressionable boy.”

  “Ha, you were never a boy. You were always a man struggling to break out into the world.”

  Suddenly, I recognized him as the boy in many of the old photos in Miss Ginny’s office. One of the costumes made him look like a life-size piñata.

  Tyson hugged her. “Miss Ginny taught me everything I know.”

  “Nonsense, I taught you everything I know. You took your skills to New York and became an icon.”

  He smiled and shook his head; the admiration they shared for each other was clear. “You took all my bouncing-off-the-wall energy and channeled it into something great.” He smiled at her, and Miss Ginny blushed. It touched my heart.

  “Having the lead removed from the show by school officials wasn’t in my game plan. You aren’t in the habit of creative baking are you?” he asked me as his eyes danced.

  “Me? No way. I definitely do not bake.” I was practically flunking Foods class. My dad on the other hand, might very well bake special brownies now and then, but I didn’t think this was a good time to mention it.

  “I’m down a dancer, and, from what I hear, you know a thing or two about dance.”

  “Yes,” I hesitated. “To be truthful, I haven’t danced in a long time.” I didn’t want him to be disappointed. Dance was a discipline, and I’d ignored it for so long.

  “And why was that?” he asked.

  “I took up cheerleading.”

  “Really? Did you like it?”

  “Actually, I did.” His sincere interest surprised me.

  “She was a flyer, the girl they toss in the air. She helped them win a national title last year,” Miss Ginny said.

  “That’s great! Quite an accomplishment.”

  “Willow doesn’t do anything half way,” Miss Ginny added.

  “I understand you left cheerleading? What happened there?” Tyson asked finally getting down to the dirt.

  I took a deep breath and figured I might as well put it all on the table. “There was an accident. I fell and got hurt. My heart just isn’t in it anymore.”

  “I see.” Tyson nodded, his e
yes met mine, and I wondered if he knew that fear made me quit. “How are you feeling? Has the doctor cleared you for activities?”

  “I’m good. It’s all good.”

  “Glad to hear it. So what do you think of our little show?”

  “I don’t really know much, other than it’s a lot of dance.”

  He laughed, revealing straight bright teeth. “Yes, it is that and so much more. I like to think of it as a fusion of art, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s see if you still know how to dance, shall we?”

  “Okay.”

  Here we go. It’s now or never.

  “Did you bring something to dance in?”

  “Yes, under my sweats.”

  “Do you need time to warm up?” he asked.

  “No, I’m already.”

  “Willow is always prepared. You will see,” Miss Ginny chimed in. “I brought the music from your last competition solo. You remember it.”

  She wasn’t giving me any chance to back out.

  “I hope so.” I glanced at Tyson, worried. He grinned, amused by Miss Ginny’s subtle manipulation. “I’ll give it a try,” I said.

  I took off my sweats and t-shirt then squeezed into my ballet slippers. My feet had grown since I last wore them. Miss Ginny spoke in soft tones to Tyson as I took the stage front and center and waited for the music to begin. I took a couple of breaths to relax, and then said a silent prayer. Please let me be good enough to get in and not embarrass myself in the process.

  I stood alone. Solo. The way I’d felt since the fall.

  Moments later, the sound of music filled the air. With no time to think, I began. At first I felt stiff from nerves as I struggled to remember the dance, but then muscle memory set in and I got lost with the music. I danced and twirled, my body moving to the music as fluid as water in a spring stream. With my back arched and toes pointed, I let the past week dissolve and lived for this moment. I worked to make every turn tight and straight. I pushed each leap higher and made the floor rolls as smooth and effortless as possible. I let my tensions go and felt the grace and power of the moment. The more I danced, the more the memories flooded back. My love of movement and art returned like an old friend.