On Pointe

by Sheryl Berk

  “No way,” Liberty said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am not getting my butt kicked in a ballet.”

  “Oh, this is a dream come true!” Rochelle roared with laughter.

  Scarlett was enjoying every minute of the dance as well—especially when Liberty had to do a somersault and land facedown on the stage with her arms and legs wide apart.

  “Gingerbread go SPLAT!” Anya said, cracking up.

  “This is a riot!” Bria added. “I’m gonna post it on Instagram!”

  Liberty spotted her teammates laughing at her and stopped in her tracks.

  “It’s not funny!” she screamed at them.

  “No, it is funny,” Marcus insisted. “It’s brilliant. Liberty, you have great comic timing. I could see you playing Coppélia one day.”

  Liberty’s scowl softened. “Wait. Really?”

  “Absolutely,” he answered. “It’ll be even funnier when we get you in the big brown suit.”

  Liberty rolled her eyes. Even if Marcus thought she had prima ballerina potential, this was the most embarrassing role she had ever danced.

  “About the costume,” she said to Marcus. “Would you mind if I made a few tweaks? My mom just met Katy Perry at a party in Hollywood, and I know Katy would be totally cool with lending me some of her wardrobe …”

  “Yes,” Marcus huffed.

  “Yes, I can call Katy?”

  “Yes, I would mind if you tweaked your costume. I am the director and I am the only person who tweaks anything around here. Now, get your butt back on the floor—literally.”

  Gracie wasn’t paying much attention to Liberty’s tantrums. She and Olivier were getting along fabulously—thanks to an icebreaker that Miss Noreen insisted they play to get to know each other. While the others rehearsed, they sat in a corner, asking each other crazy questions.

  “What’s the grossest pizza you ever tasted?” Olivier challenged Gracie.

  “Oh, that’s an easy one: barbecue chicken with marshmallows.”

  “Eww!” Olivier cracked up. “Now you go.”

  “Funnest day ever?” Gracie asked.

  Olivier tapped his finger to his nose. “Give me a sec. I’m thinking …”

  “Ten seconds,” Gracie warned him. “Miss Noreen said ten seconds to answer.”

  “Catching a foul ball at the Wilmington Blue Rocks game and eating six hot dogs at Frawley Stadium. I could have gone for seven, but my mom worried I’d throw up.”

  Gracie’s eyes widened. “You like hot dogs?”

  Olivier nodded. “With ketchup, relish, onions, mustard … the works.”

  It was as if he had said the magic words. In Gracie’s mind, no food on the planet could top hot dogs. Her dad always made them for her on his backyard grill. She could eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and never get bored.

  “I love hot dogs,” she gushed. “My record is nine—but the last one had no bun, so I don’t think that really counts.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Olivier shook his head. “For the official count, it has to be bunned. Maybe we can have a dog eat-off sometime?”

  Gracie smiled and they pinky swore on it. Clearly, Mr. Minnelli had been right in casting them together. It was a match made in hot dog heaven.

  Chapter 6

  New Boy on the Block

  That night at dinner, Scarlett could hardly get a word in as Gracie told her mom all about the first rehearsal.

  “I get to do a dance with the dolls, Mommy,” she said. “And the Nutcracker eats hot dogs with ketchup!” She dipped a fish stick in a puddle of ketchup to illustrate.

  Their mom looked confused. “Aren’t nutcrackers supposed to eat nuts, honey? Isn’t that the point?”

  “She means Olivier, the boy who’s playing the Nutcracker,” Scarlett explained. “They’re two of a kind. He’s seven, short, and he’s a hot dog freak like Gracie.”

  “We are not freaks,” Gracie protested. “Plus, he said he’ll be eight in two weeks and he’s not short—he’s taller than me.”

  “By an inch maybe!” Scarlett chuckled. “It was absolutely hilarious, Mom! Marcus, the director, was shouting for them, and they were right there under his nose. He just had to look down to see them!”

  Her mom tried not to laugh. “It sounds adorable, Gracie. Really.”

  “You’re just making fun of us because you’re jealous,” Gracie fired back at her sister. “You wanted to be Clara, and I got the part because I’m better than you are!”

  Scarlett was about to toss back an insult, when she considered what Gracie had said. Was it possible that she was right? That she was, in fact, a better dancer? In all these years, she’d always been the better one, but now Gracie was getting good—very good. Didn’t landing this lead role in The Nutcracker prove it?

  “See! You’re not saying anything because you know it’s true,” Gracie said, pushing her plate away from her. “Can I be done, Mom? I have to go practice my tree-growing scene.”

  “Homework first,” her mom warned her. “And I don’t want you girls fighting over this. I’m very proud of you both.”

  Scarlett shrugged. She didn’t feel very proud of herself. So far, her routine consisted of pretending to “fall” around the stage and look graceful doing it. She was one of fifteen snowflakes—just a face in the crowd.

  “This is her moment, Scarlett,” her mom said, clearing the plates. “You have to let her shine. It’s only fair. You’ve had a lot of moments over the years. Now it’s Gracie’s turn.”

  Scarlett knew that was true, but it still didn’t make her feel any better.

  When Scarlett got to Dance Divas Studio the next day, Anya was waiting for her in the dressing room and looked equally frustrated.

  “Whiskers,” she told her friend. “I seriously have to wear whiskers! And there’s like a gazillion other mice racing around onstage. In those ears and that furry gray suit, you can’t tell one of us from the other.”

  Scarlett peeled off her layers of coat, scarf, and sweater, and nodded. “I know. I feel the same way. But both my mom and Miss Toni keep saying to just make the most of it and do my best.”

  Anya shook her head. “How am I supposed to do my best when I feel like I should have been given another part? I’ve had Sugar Plum dreams my whole life. Addison squashed them.”

  “But there’s nothing that says that dream is over.” Scarlett tried to sound optimistic. “There’s always next year.”

  “I can’t even think about tomorrow, much less next year.” Anya sighed. “We rehearsed the battle scene yesterday, and I’m the first mouse to die. I have to lie on my back with my legs twitching while the others carry me off the stage. They might as well list me in the program as ‘Dead Mouse Number One’!”

  Scarlett giggled. “Okay, that is just a little funny, don’t you think?”

  “I see nothing amusing in mouse murder,” Anya replied. “And what’s worse is that Rochelle is the one that kills me with her sword.”

  As if on cue, Rochelle burst into the dressing room. “Straight through the heart!” she said, brandishing her umbrella like a sword. “Take that Mickey—you’re going down!”

  “I prefer Minnie, thank you,” Anya said. “And could you not enjoy it so much?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Mope around because I didn’t get a big part like Gracie or Addison?”

  Anya nodded. “Moping works for me.”

  “I can’t be sad, especially when there’s a huge chance of a snow day tomorrow. No school! No rehearsals!” Rochelle exclaimed.

  “A snow day in early November?” Bria said, overhearing the conversation as she walked in. “When’s the last time that happened?” She searched on her computer and came up with one ten years ago in her school district. “It has to be a foot of snow for them to even consider it. And all they’re predicting is some flurries.”

  “Maybe you and Scarlett can do your snowflake dance for us and bring it on,” Rochelle teased.

  “I’ve never heard of a snowfl
ake dance,” Bria replied. “I think you mean a Native American rain dance.”

  “What I think is that you all take things way too seriously,” Rochelle replied. “Look on the bright side: Gracie will probably freeze onstage like she always does, and they’ll know better than to put a little kid in a big part next year.”

  Scarlett, Bria, and Anya laughed alongside Rochelle.

  But suddenly Rochelle noticed Gracie standing behind her. Gracie’s cheeks were bright red, and she looked like she was about to cry.

  “Gracie! I’m so sorry!” Rochelle apologized. “I didn’t know you were standing there.”

  “I am not going to freeze onstage,” Gracie said slowly, choking back tears. “I am going to be an amazing Clara. I’ll show you!” Then she looked at Scarlett. “I thought you were happy for me.”

  “Gracie! Wait!” Scarlett tried to run after her but it was no use. Gracie felt like they had all betrayed her.

  “She’s right,” Scarlett told the girls. “We aren’t acting like teammates or friends. We’re only feeling sorry for ourselves. We should be cheering Gracie on.”

  When they got to class, Liberty and Gracie were already lined up and stretching in front of the mirrors. Scarlett tapped her sister on the shoulder. “Gracie, we’re really sorry,” she whispered. “Please don’t be upset!”

  Gracie ignored her and stared straight ahead.

  “Gracie told me what you all said,” Liberty defended her. “I think it’s just dreadful and we don’t wish to speak with you at this time.”

  Rochelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Hold on a Sugar Plum second! Are you actually being nice to Gracie? Since when are you nice to anyone?”

  Liberty put her arm around Gracie. “Of course I’m being nice. What are friends for?” She smiled sweetly. “Right, bestie?” She escorted Gracie to a corner where they could stretch in private.

  “Okay, that’s weird,” Bria said, watching Liberty flex and point Gracie’s toes for her on the floor.

  “Very weird,” Rochelle added. “I smell a rat.”

  Anya groaned. “I’m a mouse, not a rat.”

  “I’m not talking about you,” Rochelle explained. “I mean Liberty. Why is she cozying up to Gracie all of a sudden?”

  “Maybe she really does feel bad that we were mean about her getting Clara?” Scarlett suggested. “I mean, I feel bad.”

  Rochelle shook her head. “No way. Liberty’s got something up her sleeve, I can feel it.”

  Just then, Miss Toni came into the room. She was shadowed by a small boy in a bright blue fedora. “You all know Olivier,” she said without glancing up from her clipboard. “He’s going to be taking some classes with us while he’s doing A New Jersey Nutcracker.” She pointed to a spot on the floor and Olivier raced to fill it.

  “I thought you live in Delaware,” Bria asked him. “Isn’t it far for you to come to our studio every day?”

  “I do live in Delaware, but I’m staying with my uncle Marcus while I do the show.” He began doing deep pliés.

  Rochelle’s mouth dropped. “What? Your uncle is Marcus Sanzobar? No wonder you got the lead.”

  “Rock!” Scarlett hushed her. “That isn’t nice.”

  “No, it’s not,” Rochelle replied. “It isn’t nice to cast someone just because they’re family! That’s called nepotism. Google it on Bria’s computer if you don’t believe me.”

  She was shouting and now had everyone’s attention—even Miss Toni’s.

  “It’s called talent,” her teacher said firmly. “Have you seen Olivier dance? He’s far better than his uncle was as a teenager—and he’s only seven years old.”

  Olivier raised his hand. “I’ll be eight soon.”

  Toni walked over to Rochelle. “That is the last nasty comment I want to hear in this studio. Is that clear?”

  Rochelle stared down at her feet. “Yeah.”

  “We may not be competing as a dance team at the moment, but the cast of any show is a team as well,” Toni added. “You support each other and you applaud each other.”

  Scarlett looked over at Gracie, who was still ignoring her. Miss Toni’s scolding made her feel even worse for putting her little sister down.

  Liberty raised her hand. “Miss Toni, I think we should have a birthday and ‘Welcome to the Divas’ party for Olivier. I’d be happy to throw it at my house.”

  “Yay! A party!” Gracie jumped up and down. “Can I come?”

  “You can all come,” Liberty said, smiling. “The more, the merrier! We have a huge house, so we can invite the whole Nutcracker cast and crew.”

  Rochelle was about to say something when Scarlett gave her a light kick. “Remember what Toni said,” she whispered. “No more nasty comments.”

  “I think that would be a lovely gesture,” Toni told Liberty. “Olivier, is it all right with you?”

  The boy mulled it over. “Can we have hot dogs? And an ice cream cake with those chocolate crunchies in the middle?”

  Liberty nodded. “Gracie and I will do all the planning and make sure it’s absolutely perfect.”

  Gracie hugged Liberty, and Scarlett sighed. The only thing she could do now was hope the party didn’t turn out to be a perfect disaster.

  Chapter 7

  Spaced Out

  Gracie insisted that the theme of Olivier’s eighth birthday party be something that he loved.

  “He’s really into space and astronauts,” she informed Liberty. “He’s been to the planetarium in New York City a gazillion times. And he loves freeze-dried astronaut ice cream.”

  Liberty rubbed her temples. “I am not serving freeze-dried food at my par—I mean Olivier’s party,” she said. “We’ll have to come up with a better menu. But I’m okay with the outer space thing. It’s kinda retro.”

  “Can we make some invitations and put little gold star stickers on them?” Gracie suggested.

  Again, Liberty shot her idea down. “Stickers? What are we, first graders?”

  Gracie shook her head. “No, I’m in second grade!”

  “What I mean is that we need to do something for Olivier that is more special. I’ll call my mom’s party planner and get back to you.”

  The next day at Dance Divas Studio, Gracie was still not talking to any of her teammates except Liberty.

  “I like your new leotard,” Anya said, complimenting Gracie. “What do you call that color? Robin’s egg blue?”

  Gracie ignored her and continued putting on her jazz shoes.

  “My mom made me a strawberry-mango-banana smoothie,” Bria said. “Want some, Gracie?”

  Again, nothing.

  It was as if they were talking to a brick wall.

  Liberty skipped into the dressing room, red envelopes in hand. “Here ya go,” she said, distributing them. “RSVPs required.” She took Gracie’s hand as they strolled out of the dressing room together.

  Anya opened the envelope. Inside was a formal invitation printed in gold type:

  3-2-1-BLASTOFF for

  OLIVIER’S 8th BIRTHDAY!

  WHEN: Saturday, November 15, 3:00 p.m.

  WHERE: Chez Liberty,

  1 Rattlesnake Road, Alpine, New Jersey

  ATTIRE: Space Chic!

  Luncheon will be served

  Rochelle read the invitation a second time. “Does anyone else find it fitting that Liberty lives on Rattlesnake Road? She’s such a snake!”

  “What’s ‘space chic’?” Bria asked. “Do I have to dress like Chewbacca?”

  Scarlett didn’t know what to say or think. On the one hand, it was very generous of Liberty to throw such an extravagant party for Olivier. On the other hand, she probably had other motives.

  “I think we should go as the Divanauts,” she said.

  “You mean matching astronaut costumes?” Bria asked.

  “We are a team aren’t we?” Anya asked. “I like that idea a lot, and I volunteer to help make them.”

  “Maybe we can even put together a dance to perfor
m for Olivier at the party,” Rochelle suggested.

  Scarlett checked the calendar on her phone. “We have no Nutcracker rehearsal tomorrow night. So everybody come over to my place and we’ll get sewing and dancing.”

  Scarlett put a bag of popcorn into the microwave. “The girls are gonna be here any minute, Mom!” she called into the living room. “Are we ready?”

  Her mother was busy fishing her sewing machine out of the closet. “I think so.”

  Gracie was watching her favorite TV show, Extreme Fast Food, on the Travel Channel when Scarlett came in carrying a large bowl of hot buttered popcorn.

  “Help yourself, Gracie.” She tried to make peace with her sister. “Do you want to be a Divanaut with us?”

  Gracie shook her head. “Liberty and I are going as Martian twins,” she said. “Lady Gaga’s costume designer is making us red, glittery alien outfits.”

  Scarlett tried to sound enthusiastic. “Cool! You and Liberty are, uh, twins.” She looked at her mom and mouthed, “HELP!”

  “Honey, I know you like Liberty,” her mom began, “but don’t you think it would be nice to do something with all the girls on the team, not just her?”

  Gracie got up and started walking toward her bedroom. “I wanna be a Martian,” she said, calling back. “Divanauts are dumb.”

  Just then the doorbell rang. “Got it!” Scarlett said, racing to let her friends in. “Who’s feeling spacey?” she asked as she opened the door.

  “ME!” Anya, Rochelle, and Bria all shouted in unison. The girls set up camp on the couch.

  “I found these cool USA flag patches at the craft store,” Bria said, opening her purse. “How awesome would these look on our space suits?”

  “Love it!” Scarlett replied. “Bria, did you do the research?”

  Bria pulled out a folder filled with photos of authentic astronaut uniforms and gear. “I think we should have white jumpsuits with silver pockets and a big zipper down the front,” she said.

  “Let’s make the jumpsuits short—like shorts we’d wear for a dance class,” Rochelle suggested. She had a pile of their old group costumes she found in the studio storage closet—white shorts and crop tops they’d worn for a “Going to the Chapel” wedding routine. “If we stitch them together and put on some trim and embellishments, I think it’ll work.”