Spin the Sky

by MacKenzie, Jill;

  Olivia squeezes my hand and bounces up and down. “You’re finally dancing contemporary.”

  “I know. But I shouldn’t be.”

  Olivia stops bouncing. “If anyone deserves it, you do. If it was classical ballet, they probably would have given it to me again. But it’s contemporary. Everyone knows you’re the best at that.”

  “Being the best at something doesn’t make you deserve it.”

  I think of the days that followed Colleen’s death. I was so mad at Mom. Not only for what happened to Colleen, but I was mad at her for us. For Rose and me. I knew our lives would always be different, and it was the kind of different that would be hard—no, impossible—to fix. I wished my mom would go. I wished she’d leave us alone and never come back. I wished it so hard and then, one day, my wish came true. This isn’t any different. I’m the one making the things happen. Even if Rio and I weren’t exactly friends, I still wished for her to be off the show. “I wanted her gone,” I say. “You heard me. Now I have the style she was supposed to dance.”

  “We all wished she was gone,” Olivia says. “The same way we all wished you were gone, too. And George. And Jacks. And everyone else who stands a chance in this whole thing. It’s a competition, Magnolia. Hoping for the best and silently praying the others will be knocked out. It’s all part of it.” She places one hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t mean what you said about Rio. I know you didn’t. You aren’t any different from the rest of us. All you’ve done every day since this started is show up and dance your heart out.” She shrugs. “You’ve probably worked harder than anyone else here.”

  I look at the list where Rio’s name used to be. Where her name still is, now crossed out by one very permanent marker. Rio Bonnet. Crossed out. Contemporary. Crossed out. Thick black marker. Bulldozing over her name. Over and over.

  “Hey, check it out,” Olivia says. She elbows me in the ribs and then nods to the far side of the room. There, huddled up in a corner by the complimentary coffee station, is Rio. She’s got her head down between her knees and her arms up, like she’s doing her best to hide from the world.

  “What’s she still doing here?” Olivia says. “I thought they were supposed to send her home like right away.” She grabs my arm and takes a couple of steps toward Rio’s crumpled frame. “Come on. We’re going over there.”

  “What? No. I’m sure she wants to be alone.”

  “She might have lied about her age,” Olivia says. “She might have been our competition, but she’s still one of us. She danced hard, too. She never complained when things got tough. She supported everyone and she stood up for people when she thought they were right.” Olivia shrugs. “She’s one of us.”

  I know what she’s talking about. But Rio didn’t stand up for people, she stood up for one person. My person. George. It feels like it was years ago since my fight with George happened. Looking at Rio now, so small and so very sad, it’s hard to believe she could stand up to anyone. But Olivia’s right. Rio might not be the bestie I’d pegged her for when we first met, but she’s still one of us. Struggling, fighting, reaching for our dreams that seem so far from reach sometimes, and yet other times feel so close.

  “You’re right. I need to go talk to her.”

  “Oh, now you want to go talk to her. I thought you hated her,” Olivia says.

  “I never said I hated her.”

  “You did. I heard you. Twice.”

  My eyes bug out.

  “You were in the bathroom.” Olivia shrugs. “The walls are thin.” She reaches over and gives my hand a little squeeze. “I’ll stay here.” She sits down on the faux leather chair, opens up a magazine, and flips through it. Which is when I realize that it’s a Men’s Health magazine. And that it’s upside down.

  Right away, I can tell there’s something different about Rio. When I get close, I realize it’s that she’s crying. Hayden had just told us that Rio was crying, but seeing her slight frame, crippled by shaking shoulders, just seems so off. I guess it’s because the Rio I’ve secretly watched for three weeks has always seemed so full of confidence. Which makes me wonder if I’ve ever known her. Which also makes me wonder how the others here see me. I mean, we’ve been here, doing this thing together for what seems like forever. But how much time have we really spent getting to know who we are?

  Rio wipes her eyes and then peers behind me at a cameraman trailing close. She frowns. “What do you want?”

  I sit down on the floor next to her. But I don’t put my arm around her or tell her not to cry or that it’ll be okay because I know that she can’t and that it won’t. “I don’t know.”

  “You must be thrilled to finally have me out of here.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  It sounds strange, but it’s true. Yes, I was practically stabbing Rio with voodoo pins up until a few hours ago. But now, I don’t want Rio out of here. Not this way, I don’t. I want her to dance next to me in the semifinal. I want to kick her ass fair and square.

  “I know it was hard for you because of your grandma.”

  “Dead grandma.” She flicks her head to the camera. “You’re just saying all that because of them.”

  I shift in my seat. I’m not going to lie; I’m getting more used to them than I ever thought I could. Sometimes I don’t even notice them anymore, and I don’t check YouTube for videos either. But this isn’t like that. “Why didn’t you tell me you were underage?”

  “I couldn’t. You were my competition.” She sticks her hands in her hair and rubs. I think about Olivia’s words. How she said we all felt—feel—that way about each other because we’re meant to. How she said that she’s wished I’d go home before, too, though I know she never meant it. I stare at Rio and try to figure out if I meant it about her or not. The answer comes quickly. No. I didn’t mean I wanted her gone this way. I was just mad. Mad that she didn’t turn out like I thought she would. Mad at myself for letting this get to me. And mostly, mad at George for choosing her over me.

  “I tried to tell you, once,” Rio says. “Not when we first met but later. When you finished that tap routine in Week One. I told you I needed to talk to you but then that guy pulled me away and after that, I don’t know, you seemed like you were trying so hard to avoid me all the time. I thought you hated me.”

  I take a big breath. “I never hated you.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I guess I thought I did for a while. I was mad. And madness makes people do crazy things.” I take a deep breath. “I thought you were going to tell me to stay away from George.”

  “Why would I do that? You guys have been friends forever.”

  “I thought you were jealous that he was watching me or something. Thomas said—” I stop short. It sounds so stupid. All of it. Why would Rio want me to stay away from George? She knew there was nothing between us. She knew it, even before there was something between them.

  “I wanted to tell you.”

  “Don’t say anything you don’t want aired.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’d already told George how old I was. Man, he was so pissed. He wanted me to go to the judges and tell them and beg for mercy so they’d let me stay but I just couldn’t.” Rio stares into her lap. “It all felt so wrong. I couldn’t picture myself begging for something I earned. We’ve been fighting about it ever since.” She sighs and then presses her fists into her temples. “I didn’t know what to do. I told him I was going to ask you for advice, which is when he flipped out. He said that if I couldn’t find it in me to do the right thing, he still could.”

  “He was going to rat you out?”

  She shakes her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “The weird thing is, I don’t think he was. I mean, he could have, two weeks ago, but he didn’t. Anyway, it didn’t seem like that’s what he was talking about. He just kept saying he needed to make things right. It was all so strange.” Rio exhales, huge, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “But the judges found out about my age on
their own, and made this big scene about it all, with the cameras rolling and everything.” She glares at the cameras and then turns to me, wide-eyed. “Did you know they had people that do that kind of stuff for them? Like, dig for information?”

  I smile, just a little. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”

  “I don’t get why they didn’t do that before I came all the way out here and made it through three weeks of this crap.” She flips the camera off. “Only to look like a total fool on national television.”

  “For ratings, I guess. They’ve got to amp the drama when things get slow, right? I bet they planned this one all along. Let Aimee Bonnet’s granddaughter on the show so everyone sees how great she is, then kick her off right when the going gets good. Think about it. I bet this is all going to be really good for their ratings.” The cameraman behind us rolls his eyes, but he knows we’re right. I elbow Rio, which makes her kind of smile.

  “Yeah. That’s one thing I did right, I guess.”

  “You did a lot right.” I stand up. “You were good, you know. Really good. That’s why you made it through every round. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently. Especially no dead grandmothers.”

  Rio smiles. It’s not a thank you, but it’s enough.

  I turn around and take a few steps back toward Olivia.

  “Hey, Mags,” Rio calls.

  “Yeah?”

  “Break a leg out there tomorrow. I heard you got contemporary. There’s no stopping you now.”

  When I reach Olivia, she lets the magazine fall into her lap. “So?”

  I shrug. “Done and dusted.”

  She gives me a little smile. “Aren’t you even going to ask me what style I got?”

  My mouth drops open. It makes her laugh.

  “You’re not the only one on this show that has things to worry about, Magnolia Woodson.”

  “I know I’m not. I never thought—”

  Olivia holds up one hand. I shut my mouth and don’t tell her how sorry I am that I’ve been so wrapped up in my own drama with George and Rio and my mom and everything, everything, but her. I don’t tell her, because I know I don’t need to. Since the day I walked into Olivia’s room and saw her for who she really is—sweatpants, M&Ms, chipping nails, and all—I’ve known that Olivia isn’t the kind of girl that values sorries, but she does value friendship. The kind that takes the good with the bad because only good friendships come with both good and bad.

  I pull her off her butt and toward the board, never letting go of her hand. I scan the page for her name. And, admittedly, for his. “Jacks got Bollywood,” I say. “Hayden got hip-hop. George got tap. Again.” I turn to her. “You got jazz!”

  Olivia shrugs. “It’s no contemporary, but I’m happy. To tell you the truth, I don’t even care that much. I’m glad to still be here at all.”

  “Say what?” I nudge her side. “What about this competition being a life-or-death situation and all that?”

  Olivia waves one hand in front of her, like she’s clearing the air. “Oh that. Yeah, well. I told my alpha mom to leave me alone. And for once, she actually listened. Said she’s going to stay with her sister in Oregon for a while. Should be on her way there by now.” She chuckles. “To Salem. With the other witches.”

  “I thought it was so important that she knew you weren’t a nobody.”

  “Not anymore it’s not.” Olivia reaches into her back pocket and uncrumples a piece of paper. She hands it to me. “I told her that I’m not my father—not the deadbeat loser he was—and no matter what she says to me, no matter how she drags his name through the dirt, I’ll never be like him.” She points to the paper. “It’s from Julliard. I guess them telling me I’m not a nobody turned out to be just as good as my mom saying it herself. I’m in, next year, on a full scholarship. Julliard’s a whole coast away, you know.”

  I can’t believe it. A few weeks ago, I thought Olivia had the perfect life, the kind no one would ever want to run away from.

  She reaches up and touches the names on the board, one last time. “When I told her I’d rather be like him than the heartless woman she is, she actually left.” She shakes her head. At first I think it’s because she can’t believe it herself, until I realize she’s shaking the tears free from her eyes. Free, at last. “She can’t stop me now. She can’t stop my life from being great. Not anymore.”

  I grab both Olivia’s hands and squeeze. Because really, what else can you say to that?

  “So do you want to go back to the pool and give the others their news?” Olivia says. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to see the look on Jacks’s face when we tell him that he’s dancing Bollywood.” She laughs. “He’s gonna be so pissed. I sure as hell don’t want to miss it.”

  I follow behind her. But it’s not Jacks’s face I’m dying to see.

  It’s George’s.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Gia Gianni cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “One more time from the top.” She claps her hands together as if that will make the brutal choreography I’ve had four days to learn and master any easier. “I want to see it all again, but this time I want you to dance from the inside out.” She curls her palms around my cheeks. Her hands are warm. The lights from the cameras are warm. My skin feels like it’s burning.

  “Close your eyes,” she says. “Just forget about the steps. Listen to your heartbeat, and your body will follow.”

  “Okay.”

  “Magnolia, are you listening to me? Feel the music.”

  “I’m listening. I said okay.”

  I poise myself in my starting position. Head bent. Arms bent around my body, my left hand cupping my right shoulder, my right hand wrapping my waist.

  “You’re the raven, bound by chains. A shell encases your wings. Think of your cage. Think of your armor. Think of breaking free from it all so you can fly.”

  I nod, breathless. “Chains. Wings. I’m ready.”

  Gia grabs my arm and spins me around. She holds my hand in hers and presses it to my chest. “Even if you go through these motions a thousand times, it won’t be enough. It will never be enough, until you feel it pulse through your veins. Until you need it to live. More than water. More than air.”

  “I’m trying, okay? I do need this to live,” I say. Because I am. And I do. I know all about chains and wanting to break through them. I know all about my cage. This should be easy for me, but Gia’s not feeling it. I know she’s not because like six counts into my music, she throws her hands up in the air and slaps the stop button on the stereo and then walks around the room in circles, head thrown back, fists tapping her eyelids like the sight of my movement has made her blind.

  “Magnolia,” she says, her voice tight. “The time is now. You have to feel it. What does this song mean to you?”

  I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t know. It’s some kind of love song, right? About a breakup or something?”

  “Look underneath that. Listen to the words and then look deeper within yourself.” She thuds her own chest with her hand, still curled up in a fist. “Dig deeper.”

  I want so hard to see what she sees and hear what she hears when the song starts. I’d never heard it till she played it for me last Friday, but now I’ve heard it a billion times. In the last few days, I’ve breathed and sweated over every impossible step she’s thrown my way, moves that defy gravity and make my body bend in ways I never knew it could. The melody is slow and building, sending sparks through my body.

  “I need to see it in your face. Show me everything you’re feeling in your heart. Let it flow through your eyes.” Gia grimaces. “No, Magnolia. I said let it flow through your eyes.” She smacks my shoulder. “No scrunching. You’re going to ruin your makeup before you even get on stage.”

  Makeup isn’t what I’d call it.

  Though my whole face is covered in a thick black charcoal paint, this time I’m no beautiful peacock adorned in blue-green feathers. Now, my hair is slicked and I’m dressed in
my own black leotard, the one I’ve had for three years with the growing hole just above my breastbone. Faded so that it’s barely black, like ashes. Hushed black, like Summerland’s sky after dusk, right before the quiet of night settles in.

  “I look awful,” I said to my stylist, when he spun me around to face the mirror.

  “You look perfect,” he said. “Raw. Wearing your own sores.”

  The song picks up speed. Across the room, I see myself on the monitor. I see how everyone at home will see me. Like me. Like nothing like me.

  I try not to think about the motions and this time, she lets me run through the whole thing until the song’s done and I’m done, too. I crouch over. Rest my hands on my knees. “I did it,” I breathe. I smile at her. But my smile fades the second I see her face.

  “You’re still wearing that shell,” Gia says. “It’s just not going to happen for you if you can’t break free from it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I want to. I want to so bad.”

  She points to the stage. “They’re almost done with the clips.”

  I turn to the TV and to the others huddled around it. Gia hangs back.

  At the beginning of each performance show on Tuesdays, they always play a recap from the last week to remind the viewing audience of what happened. But that isn’t what’s on the monitor now. It’s some sort “behind the scenes” clip. Rio’s on it, crying, as Elliot and Astrid and Gia tell her that she’s been disqualified. The screen switches to show the audience gasp and then get silent. It changes back to Rio, begging and pleading with the judges to give her the second chance she deserves. The judges’ faces are blank, even when the audience boos. They tell her how disappointed they are in her for lying to them after everything they’ve given her. Not one of them says a darn thing about how they knew she was underage, right from the get-go.

  The screen changes again and then it’s me this time that’s with Rio. Sitting in the lobby of the hotel, our backs to the wall. Rio’s laughing and I’m laughing and the audience smiles because they think she’ll be okay, when I doubt she’ll ever get over this.