Spin the Sky

by MacKenzie, Jill;

  My eyes are glued to the two of them, cemented, like it’s permanent. I mean, he’s touching her hair. With both hands. As I pry my stare away, I notice that a bunch of other contestants are kind of staring, too. And not just contestants. Cameras. There’s one right next to us, filming as George twines her hair in his fingers and Rio closes her eyes. My breathing gets heavy. Are they going to put this on TV? Is that the kind of thing people want to see? I’m not sure if it is or isn’t but all I know is that I don’t even want to see it. I reach over and pull on George’s shirt. “Stop it, G.”

  “Why? Jealous much?”

  “No.” I glance at the camera. It’s now filming me. I hide my face with my arm. “You’re making a scene,” I whisper. “You’re supposed to be thinking about your solo.”

  George rolls his eyes in my direction. He acts like he doesn’t know they’re watching him. Twenty eyes. Fifty. More. But he totally does. He’s putting on a show. He taps his temple. “Whatevs. It’s all up here. Once the audience sees me dance, it’s all over for everyone else.”

  Camilla waves her arms for the crowd to settle. “All right. Here’s the last thing on my agenda this morning. Everyone numbered one through one hundred will compete today. Anyone numbered one hundred and one through two hundred will compete tomorrow. After that, you may or may not get to try out for Season Six. That much will be up to the judges. Does everyone understand?” She glances at her assistant. “Okay, Billy, don’t keep them waiting out here a second longer than you need to. Give them their numbers already!”

  The crowd explodes in cheers while ten cameras fly toward her and Camilla makes this big show of doing some mock twirls and leaps with a few of the contestants. Billy walks down the line with his numbers and kids scrawl their home states underneath with Billy’s black marker. I see kids from places way across the country like North Dakota and Maine. Places I’ve never even considered until now. Every time a kid from a new state is noticed, that state flashes on the screen behind us in giant black letters. Wyoming. Utah. Mississippi. New Mexico. There are people here from everywhere. The only other state I’ve ever been to besides Oregon is Washington, the one right next to us. It makes me feel small. It makes me feel like they’ll never remember who I am and where I came from.

  When Billy’s about ten people in front of us, I turn to George. “Do you think they’re going to show our auditions on TV? I don’t know if I can do this in front of everyone.” I swallow. “In front of all these cameras.”

  George grabs my hand and squeezes, once, twice, three times. “You can,” he says. “You have to. You remember why you want everyone to see you, don’t you?”

  I study his fingers entwined with mine. I know I have to do this if I want to change things. But the crowd. The people. What if I make it all worse?

  Rio takes a step closer to me. “Hey. We all have our reasons for being here. Try to remember what yours is. Keep your eye on the prize, whatever your prize is, okay?”

  “Okay.” I exhale. I force a smile which makes me kind of smile for real. And then, just like that, I do feel better. A little. I can do this. I have to do this. I mean, without me we wouldn’t even be this far in line. We wouldn’t be trying out at all. And dancing. I think of the way I felt watching Giselle with George, my stomach filled with this mixture of wanting and needing and knowing that I could have everything up on that stage if I just kept working. The next day at Katina’s, I felt myself channel her, be her, feel the immobilizing pain she felt as her love left her for another. My legs lifted higher that day, my leaps reached higher than they ever had before. Katina’s eyes never left me. After class, she said that I looked like a star out there. Even if no one else said anything, I know they noticed, too. Dancing. If nothing else, I can do at least that.

  Camilla and her crew make their way down the line. They work fast, passing out numbers and firing off questions, while the cameras stop at every single person to record it all. Ten minutes later, they’re in front of us, handing us numbers thirty, thirty-one, and thirty-two. I scan the back of the line where we would have been if we hadn’t pulled my move. They’re so far back, I can hardly see them. No way they’re auditioning today.

  Camilla wraps her arms around George, Rio, and me at the same time, as though we’re a single unit. The cameramen wave everyone around us to stand back because they need to room to get it all. “I love it! You’re like the three musketeers,” Camilla says, and I can’t help but think of Abby and Quinn and Mark at home. They’re the three musketeers, not us. George and I have always only been two.

  She turns to Rio. “Did you all come here together?”

  Rio motions to me and George and the word OREGON scrawled underneath our numbers. “No. They did. I met them here.”

  “Love at first sight. I just adore that!” Camilla removes her fedora and smoothes a strand of her glossy hair across her forehead. She smiles for her cameras and turns to George and pouts out her lips. “Okay, you first. What’s your name?”

  George puffs his chest out. “George Moutsous.”

  “George. What a great name! I might just call you Georgie Porgie, if that’s okay with you.”

  Rio and I can’t help but bust out laughing at Camilla’s ability to make everything sound sexy. Even Georgie Porgie.

  “Georgie Porgie,” Camilla says. “Tell us something about you. What’s your favorite activity? When you’re not dancing, of course?”

  George digs his hands in the front pocket of his ripped jeans and bows his head. He looks up at her, just with his eyes. It’s pretty hilarious. George has, like, no shyness in him whatsoever, but he sure as hell does a good job acting the part when the cameras are on and rolling.

  “I like to just hang with Mags here, you know?”

  “Oh, absolutely!” Camilla nods, satisfied. “Who wouldn’t want to hang with beauties like these two.” She turns to me. “And you, young lady, what’s your name?”

  I tell her my name but I leave out the last part and she squeals and says how it’s the sweetest name she’s ever heard. She shoves the microphone in my face. “Tell me, Magnolia, who inspired you to be a dancer?”

  My own gaze drops to my feet. There’s just no way I’m going to tell Camilla Sky that Mom put me in dancing to get me out of the house and give herself a break from me always wanting something. And on some level, I guess she knew I needed the break from her always taking. I clear my throat. “Nobody did.”

  Camilla stares at me, deep and unblinking. Her burning stare reminds me of the people in Summerland. Always looking. Always searching for some kind of sordid truth behind my eyes. “Come on,” she says. “There must be someone out there who made you want to dance.”

  George pulls me tighter toward him. “Mags doesn’t need role models. She’s always found her own way. We both have.” He grins at Camilla’s crew. “You can write that down if you want to.”

  Camilla turns to Rio. “So. You’ve seen a lot of kids practicing out here today, right?”

  “Right,” Rio says. “It’s hard not to eye your competition.”

  Camilla’s eyes light up. “Well then, here’s my question for you.” She motions for the three of us to come closer to her, which we do. The cameras slide closer too, and I feel their lenses all over me, like they’re drilling holes through my cheek. “Who do you think is the one to beat out here?” Camilla says.

  Rio’s smile fades. Her face drops and her eyes seem to actually dim. “I don’t know. I’ve only seen everyone warming up.”

  “But if you had to guess,” Camilla says, tapping her foot. “If you had to pick someone that just shone. Who would you say that person is?”

  Rio’s eyebrows gather. She pauses for a full three seconds. “These two. George and Magnolia. I’d say they’re the ones to beat.”

  Camilla throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, you two are lucky ones! You seemed to have found yourselves a true friend in this pretty little thing. What did you say your name was?”

  “Rio.” />
  Camilla straightens, suddenly serious. “I know, sweetheart. Rio what?”

  “Bonnet,” Rio whispers.

  I turn to her. “What did you just say?”

  A cameraman flips his machine off his shoulder. “She said it too quietly. I didn’t get that.” He turns to Rio, his eyebrows furrowed. “We need to get that again.”

  Camilla rewinds herself as if on autopilot. “Rio what?”

  “Bonnet.” Rio pushes her shoulders back.

  “Rio Bonnet,” Camilla says. “Granddaughter of the original prima ballerina. One of the greatest ballet dancers of all time.”

  Camilla flutters her eyelashes for the millionth time and the screen at the front of the stage switches to show Rio’s face, big and blushing. Which is how I know that we’ve been set up. Rio’s been set up. Camilla’s known who she is the whole time, while George and I carried on with her like she was a normal person. Like we’re all in the same league.

  “Aimee Bonnet was your grandma?” I say.

  Rio shrugs. “So they say. I never actually met her. I’m from the States. That side of my family’s all in Paris. Anyway, I think she died before I was born.”

  “But you’re still blood,” George says. He cocks his head and stares all around her face, her hair, her body, like he’s seeing her in a whole new light. A darker one. Scarier one. The cameras zoom in all around us, but for the first time, George seems oblivious to them. “Why didn’t you tell us who you are?”

  “Because it’s not important. Like I said, I never met her.”

  Camilla gives Rio’s cheek a little cheek pinch. “Or maybe she was just too modest to tell you that Rio Bonnet is exactly like her Parisian grandma. From what I’ve heard, there’s no one here that you need to worry about more than her.”

  ELEVEN

  Rio follows on George’s heels, her arms dangling by her sides. “I told you, it’s no big deal, okay?”

  “Not okay,” George says. “That’s the kind of detail you should have told us the second you met us.”

  I put myself between them to keep them moving, walking toward the auditorium, in time with the other ninety-seven kids auditioning today. Fact is, I don’t want them to gouge each other’s eyes out before we even get in there.

  “Right,” Rio says. “I should have said ‘by the way, I’m awesome and it’s because of my dead grandmother who I’ve never even met’?”

  “That’s exactly what you should have said.” He glares at her. “If I would have known you’re a Bonnet and could actually dance worth shit then I never would have—”

  “Never would have what? Made friends with me? What does that say for Mags here?” She pushes her way into the third row and takes an aisle seat. George skips the seat beside her and slumps down in the next one. I slide in the middle. The tension between their seats is electric; I’m not kidding. Little neurons are actually firing from George through me to get to Rio.

  Mercifully, the lights dim, and Camilla Sky flits on stage. She fumbles around with her microphone but when she can’t get it to work, she drops it to the ground and stamps her foot until one of her assistants climbs on the stage and pins it to the neck of her tank top for her. “I need numbers one through ten to go backstage,” she says. Her lips are thin and her eyes seem much smaller than before. Not exactly the bubbly cheerleader we saw when the cameras were on us. A cameraman slides his equipment to the front of the stage and gives Camilla a we’re rolling hand signal. She fluffs herself and brightens. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome judge number one, Executive Producer Elliot Townsend!”

  On all sides of me, people clap and hoot while reality TV mogul and creator of the show, Elliot Townsend, queen-waves from his seat.

  Next to me, Rio elbows me in the ribs. “Magnolia, did you hear me? I said, is he always this much of a baby?”

  “Who? Elliot? I don’t know. He seems okay and the last time I saw him on TV—”

  “No. George.” Rio’s eyebrows smoosh together like one long caterpillar, inching its way across her forehead.

  “Oh.” I shift in my seat, the picture of George pulling me from that cop’s car swarming my head. I mean, I know George can be kind of righteous from time to time, but he’s still my George. I might have gotten us into this audition, but I might never have left Summerland without him.

  Instead of answering, I point to the judges’ table, where four cameras are filming them from the back, front, and both sides. Elliot Townsend adjusts his leather jacket. He must be used to all these cameras all the time. They all must be. “Don’t you guys think he looks shorter in person?” I wipe the sweatiness of my palms on my lap. “I heard someone say that he wears shoes with three-inch soles on them, you know, to appear taller on film. You think that’s true?”

  Rio snorts and totally skips over my Elliot-plus-heels comment. “You know what, Magnolia? I really thought you were going to be cooler than this.”

  Cooler than this? This girl doesn’t know me—doesn’t know either of us—at all. If she did, she’d know that I’m the least cool person that ever came from Summerland. Next to Rose, of course. And my mom. We’ve always known that. Everyone’s always made sure of it.

  In front of us, Elliot Townsend writes something down on his notepad while I study his leather-clad back. When you first look at the guy, you can’t help but assume he’s a royal pain in the butt. But actually, I have to admit, he’s got some swag. But something’s different about him this season—different from the last time I saw him, nearly three seasons ago, when Mom and I were still watching, still together. I squint my eyes.

  Now his hair is longer. And sun-kissed. And his eyes seem less tired, like maybe he’s had some work done. I glance at George to see if he’s looking. But it seems as if he hasn’t noticed any of this. Which for George, is so not normal.

  As if he’s heard my thoughts, Elliot Townsend swivels around in his seat and stares right at me. The cameras zoom in on his face and it flashes up on the large screen on stage. It doesn’t show me, show who he’s staring at, but I know and it’s enough. My heart thuds with the power of a thousand clam guns. Maybe he heard what my mind said about the heels and the hair and the tan and the work. Or maybe. Maybe he’s looking at me because he knows I’ve got something special. Something to prove. Something that’s going to make me shine right here, right now, like Camilla said.

  But then other thoughts follow. Like maybe he knows who I am. Colleen’s death made news all over the state of Oregon, in papers and on TV. In each one, Mom’s name. Our name. Maybe the news made its way to California, too. I scan the other contestants, their numbers, states, pinned to their leotards. Georgia. New Jersey. Rhode Island. Maybe it even made it further than California.

  I close my eyes again. But when I open them, Elliot’s not looking at me at all.

  Onstage, Camilla adjusts her fedora and the screen flashes with her face instead of Elliot’s. I feel myself relax. I’d hate to be him and on that screen all the time. It’s no way to live. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Camilla says. “Please welcome our second judge, Astrid Scott!”

  The rooms blows up with more cheers and whoops. Astrid leans forward to accept her applause and then it’s her face that’s on that screen. Although every single one of us can see down her blouse at the two melons she probably paid darn good money for, it’s kind of okay. Sure, that screen makes them seem bigger than they are, but I mean, she is the one and only Astrid Scott, awesome pop star turned slightly over-the-hill mother of some cute little baby from Uganda.

  At first, the paparazzi was all over her “transformation.” I saw it all over the tabloids in the Pic ’N’ Pay and at the gas station. They said she had a fat ass and called her a has-been. But when she came up with the concept for Live to Dance, all her sins were forgiven. That’s how it is when you’re a star, I guess. They only hate you till they find someone new to hate instead.

  “You can’t be mad at me for this,” Rio says, leaning over me to George. “You have no right.�
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  “Come on, Mags.” George pulls the shoulder strap of my leotard. “Let’s sit somewhere else. We came here to throw down, not get played by the competition.”

  “Fine, go,” Rio says. She flicks her head at me. “I should have predicted you’d be loyal to him like that, the way you’re always hanging off him. Loyal like a lapdog.”

  That’s it. That’s so it. I’ve got real reasons to be here, yet these two are acting like Rio’s family tree is the biggest newsflash we’ve ever seen. But newsflash to both of them: it isn’t. And Rio? Where does she get off acting like she knows me, knows anything about me and George when the only people that knows us—me and him, not her and him—is us. Fact is, I may love George through and through, but I’m not his labradoodle. I flick George’s hand off my leotard. “You’re both acting like babies.”

  Rio blinks.

  George stares at me like I’m missing a limb.

  “G. Rio’s right. It shouldn’t matter who her grandmother was or how awesome she is because of it. And it definitely shouldn’t make us hate her.”

  Rio leans across me again. “I’ve worked hard for what I am, regardless of what he seems to think.”

  I hold up a hand. “And Rio. I get where George is coming from. It’s kind of like, knowing who you are changes things. Whether you want to admit it or not, it just does.”

  Rio turns her head and, with one hand cupped against her cheek, hides her face from me. But even though I can’t see her—see those eyes that somehow say so much—I know that she’s crying. Her shoulders are trembling. She’s breathing so fast, in and out, like she’s struggling to breathe at all.

  And then I feel like I’m going to cry, too.

  My hand goes up to feel my pillowcase piece, still tucked under my bra strap, molding into my shoulder blade. I try to refocus on Astrid, but my eyes are blurry. I try to go over each and every step in my solo, but it’s like I can’t even picture one single sissonne or chassé.