Jessi's Big Break

by Ann M. Martin

  “Uh-huh,” said Maritza.

  “Cool,” said Quint.

  Thunk, went an invisible blanket over the conversation.

  Nod, nod, nod.

  For the first time all day, the group was at a loss for words.

  “Let’s watch that video we made at Maritza’s house,” I suggested.

  Zoom. Back downstairs.

  We came to life again. We watched. We laughed. We talked. We ate.

  Afterward, Marian and Michael took us all out to an ice-cream shop. Quint and Maritza entertained us with imitations of Toni and Mr. Brailsford. I demonstrated some of the choreography we were learning for our exhibition performance (and I nearly barfed up my mint chocolate chip hot fudge banana split).

  The night went by so fast. By the time Mallory and I collapsed into our beds, it was after eleven o’clock.

  “Tomorrow you’ll meet Maritza’s friends,” I said.

  Mallory laughed. “I thought I just did.”

  “No, her neighborhood friends,” I explained. “The ones you saw in the video. So, how do you like my classmates? And New York? And my cousins? And how was your trip? You never even told me! And how’s everybody back home?”

  “Slow down!” Mallory said with a laugh. She was rummaging around in her suitcase now. “Oh, great. Jessi, I can’t meet anybody tomorrow. I forgot a toothbrush. My breath’ll scare away the pigeons.”

  “Not to worry.” I ran to the top of the stairs. “Michael? Do you have an extra toothbrush for Mallory?”

  “Nope,” Michael called back up. “But I’ll run down to the corner and get one.”

  “Thanks!” I said.

  “A toothbrush now?” Mallory said. “It’s almost midnight!”

  “The greengrocer down the block is open twenty-four hours,” I explained. “They sell everything there.”

  “Wow. All the shops in Stoneybrook close at nine.”

  “Hey. New York’s the city that never sleeps.”

  “It kind of gets under your skin, doesn’t it? All that energy changes you. I can feel it.”

  “Yeah. I feel like a totally different person.”

  Mal nodded. “You’ve become so … I don’t know, forceful. I mean, I sensed it the minute I saw you at the train station. The way you organized everyone to find me. Even the way you’re talking — it’s so fast.”

  “ReallyIdon’tknowwhatyoumean!” I said.

  Mallory laughed. “Boy, I’ve missed you so much.”

  I wanted to say the same thing. But I couldn’t. I was happy to see Mal, but I hadn’t really missed her. I hadn’t had time to. And I felt awful about that. So instead I just said, “Sorry I never call, Mal. I mean to. But I’ve just been so busy — school, homework, personal stuff.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I haven’t even begun to tell you the details about Quint and me.”

  “Really?” Mallory sat on the bed and leaned forward eagerly. “I’m all ears.”

  * * *

  Well, all I can say is, thank goodness it was Friday night.

  By the time Mallory and I finished talking, it was almost two-thirty in the morning.

  The first thing I did when I got up was call home.

  Daddy pretended he’d forgotten my name. He teased me about not being in touch. Mama listened intently as I told her my latest adventures. Aunt Cecelia reminded me to zip my coat and not wear my socks two days in a row. Becca basically grunted at me.

  “She just misses you,” Mallory explained. “When you’re home again, she’ll come around.”

  Michael and Marian came into the kitchen, showered and dressed. “Who wants omelettes?” Michael cried.

  This time we did not order out. We went out to the neighborhood coffee shop.

  The weekend was off and running.

  We hung out at Maritza’s. Went to a movie. A performance of the American Ballet Theatre. Dessert and jazz in Greenwich Village. A trip on the Staten Island ferry. The Empire State Building (about my seventh time). Lunch at Sylvia’s in Harlem.

  Before we knew it, Sunday afternoon had arrived and we were in a taxi, racing to Penn Station.

  “I can’t believe it’s over,” Mallory said.

  “Wish you could stay longer,” Michael said.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m going to live here someday. Mal can be my roommate.”

  Mallory smiled. “I don’t think I could ever live here. I mean, I love it, but it’s too crazy.”

  “That’s what I like about it,” I said.

  The taxi screeched to the curb. “Penn Station!” the cabdriver barked.

  Marian quickly paid him. We scrambled out of the cab and ran into the station. Mallory’s train was on the track, waiting to go. We barely had time for a hug before the doors closed.

  Mallory was teary-eyed as she waved to us from the window. She kept mouthing “Thanks” and blowing us kisses.

  “You have loyal friends,” Marian said.

  “What’s she crying about?” Michael asked. “She’s going to see Jessi in three days!”

  Marian nudged him. “Listen to macho man over here.”

  I smiled. To tell the truth, though, I felt a little sad too.

  But not for the same reason as Mal.

  I was thinking about my own train trip home.

  Back to Stoneybrook.

  Back to baby-sitting and Mme Noelle. Early bedtimes and stores that close at nine at night. The downtown strip mall. Train stations too small to get lost in. The same old restaurants and movie theaters.

  I had only three days until then.

  Three days with my NYC friends. Three days of riding the subway like an old pro. Staying out late. Seeing the best ballet and theater on earth.

  Not having to explain who Robert LaFosse is and what a an de jamb looks like.

  I realized something awful.

  In a way, I was relieved to see Mal leave.

  More than that, though, I did not want to go home.

  Ever.

  Thwonk! Thud thud thud — crrrrrrunch! Boom boom boom boom — crrrrack!

  Have you ever been under a stage during a ballet? You would not believe the sound. No matter how delicate and graceful the choreography, you’d think hippos were fighting a war above you.

  Our final-day performance was held in a small theater on the Lower East Side. As the B-Levels danced above us, we A-Levels waited in the dressing room/warm-up area below the stage.

  I was warming up at the barre, between Maritza and Quint. “Ask your parents,” Maritza said.

  “I can’t,” I replied. “They’re sitting upstairs.”

  “I mean, ask them after the show. It’s only three more weeks. I’m staying for the extra session and so are Quint and Marcus and Celeste and Randy and Michiko.”

  “The tutors will still be here,” Quint said. “You’ll get school credit. I mean, if that’s what your parents are worried about.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask them,” I said. “But I don’t think they’ll change their minds.”

  I was lying.

  The truth?

  Just about every A-Level student had been asked to stay for another three weeks. But I was one of the students who hadn’t been.

  I didn’t know why. I didn’t dare ask.

  The worst thing was, Maritza and Quint had assumed that I’d been asked. And I’d been too chicken to admit the truth.

  I could not think about that now. I had to shut out the disappointment. This was my last gasp as a Dance New York student.

  “Okay, A-Level — places!” Toni yelled into the room. “Knock’ em dead!”

  We all scampered upstairs. There we waited backstage while the B-Level students finished their ballet. As they took a curtain call, I peeked out into the audience.

  I saw Mama, Daddy, Michael, Marian, and Aunt Cecelia. They’d all taken off from work to be at the show (except Aunt Cecelia, who doesn’t have a job). They’d left Becca and Squirt with the Pikes, then raced to NYC.

 
Now they were in the first row. Inches from the stage.

  “They’re too close,” I said.

  “So?” Maritza asked.

  “They know they’re not supposed to sit close. You don’t see choreography there. You see all the sweat and hear all the grunting and —”

  “Chill, Jessi!” Quint said with a laugh.

  “You’re just working yourself up,” Maritza added.

  Easy for them to say. They had three more weeks. After this performance, I was out of here. Gone forever.

  The crowd was quieting now. Mr. Brailsford was entering from the opposite side of the stage.

  I felt Maritza grasping my hand. I looked at her. We let out tiny squeals and hugged each other.

  “I said, places!” Toni insisted in a loud whisper.

  We quickly formed a line.

  I was shivering. I tried to swallow but I couldn’t. My throat felt like a sandbox.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Brailsford was saying, “our youngest geniuses, and the future of ballet!”

  Clang! went the opening chord on the piano.

  Thump! went the lightboard as the lights flooded the stage.

  Pow-pow-pow-pow went my heart.

  “It’s magic time,” said Quint.

  “Go!” hissed Toni.

  My mind was all locked up. If I’d actually had to think, I would have been dead meat.

  For three and a half weeks, Mr. Brailsford had been telling us, “Let your body think for you.” For three and a half weeks, I’d been trying to figure out what that meant.

  Now I knew.

  My legs took over. They leaped and jumped from position to position.

  Smile.

  About two seconds into the dance, my face muscles chipped in. I may have been petrified inside, but outside I was beaming.

  I was aware of the stage and the audience, but they were like a dream. All that mattered was the music, the steps, and my classmates. We were in a world of our own. A world that others could see but not enter.

  I barely remember the performance. Well, except for one thing.

  It happened toward the end of the dance, when Maritza and I cross the stage. Usually, in class, we make a face at each other. We try to crack each other up. It’s like our own private contest.

  This time, of course, we kept straight faces.

  In that moment, I felt my world spinning away. I knew I’d never do this again. The faces, the jokes, the fun times — in just a few measures, they’d be over.

  Push it aside.

  Somehow I buried the feelings. I danced my heart out. As we hit the final tableau, I was practically hyperventilating.

  Daddy shouted “Bravo!” before the rest of the audience started to applaud. His voice shocked me back into reality.

  I could see him standing. He was pulling Aunt Cecelia to her feet. Mama was rising too.

  All three of them had tears in their eyes.

  That did it.

  The floodgates opened.

  All my emotions, everything that had been bottled up, spilled out.

  Maritza’s face was drenched in tears too. I grabbed her hand for our curtain call. It felt like a clammy wet rag.

  “Sorry,” she whimpered.

  We burst out laughing. On top of the crying.

  We could not stop. We must have looked so weird, crying and laughing at the same time as we curtsied to the audience.

  We had to take two more curtain calls. Then Mr. Brailsford appeared stage right and handed each of us a flower. He told the audience, “Thank you for coming, and remember to keep your programs. Someday you’ll be seeing these dancers again.”

  That, I will never forget.

  Backstage, chaos broke loose. We couldn’t stop hugging one another. Every one of us was drenched in sweat, but no one cared.

  “I will miss you so much, Jessi!” Celeste said.

  “Write, okay?” Randy asked.

  “You have our phone numbers,” Michiko reminded me.

  “Use E-mail,” Marcus suggested.

  “If you don’t, I will personally come out to Donnybrook and bop you upside the head,” Maritza vowed.

  “Stoneybrook,” I corrected her.

  “Whatever.”

  That made us both howl again. And sob. We held each other tight, our shoulders heaving.

  “I will never understand girls,” Quint murmured.

  The truth? His cheeks were a little moist too.

  By that time, I wasn’t even trying to dry my tears. Especially when my family came backstage. Mama and Daddy looked so proud.

  I was in the middle of a big family hugfest when Mr. Brailsford approached us.

  After I introduced him to everyone, he asked, “Where does she get her talent from?”

  Daddy bellowed a laugh. “Not me! My wife lost two toes during our first dance.”

  “Well,” Aunt Cecelia said, “I must say I’m not unfamiliar with the stage myself. You see, years ago —”

  “Actually,” Mr. Brailsford interrupted, “I wondered if I might talk to you and your family, Jessi. Privately.”

  Oh, great. What now? He was going to explain why I hadn’t been asked back. He wanted to recommend I try some other creative activity. Tap dancing, maybe. Or the trombone.

  Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?

  “Sure,” my dad said.

  As we followed Mr. Brailsford toward a nearby exit, I glanced over my shoulder. Quint and Maritza were giving me curious looks.

  I turned away. Mr. Brailsford was holding the door for us.

  I took a deep breath and tried to smile.

  But it was impossible.

  I felt like a wet sponge. An invisible hand was squeezing me hard.

  My joy was flowing out. I could almost see it disappearing between the floorboards.

  That entry was written during the Wednesday BSC meeting. As you can tell, everyone was a little excited.

  They were not, however, telling the whole story.

  The BSC had big, secret plans for that evening.

  It all started during the sitting job. Mallory was playing her parents’ cassette tape of the musical On the Town, which is about New York.

  She was singing along too. Using a brass candleholder as a microphone.

  Mallory may not be much of a dancer, but she’s an even worse singer. Her brothers and sisters were practically on the floor laughing.

  Not Squirt and Becca. They must have showbiz blood, like me. Squirt was bouncing along, squealing at the top of his lungs. And shy Becca was singing with the tape in an operatic voice. Well, sort of.

  “You Nork, You No-o-ork!” she hooted.

  “What’s a nork?” Claire asked.

  “The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down,” Mallory warbled. “And Jessi’s coming home tonight….”

  Vanessa groaned. “That doesn’t rhyme!”

  “What’s a nork?” Claire repeated.

  “You are,” Nicky replied. “A total nork.”

  “Silly-billy-goo-goo,” Claire said, storming toward the kitchen.

  Rrrrrinnng! went the kitchen phone.

  “Hello, Claire speaking,” Claire’s voice piped up.

  “We never rhy-y-y-yme!” Becca sang to the final chords of the song. “And it’s party ti-i-i-ime!”

  “Bravo!” Margo yelled.

  “Boo!” said Adam. “Boring!”

  Normally, Mallory would have scolded Adam. But she was busy hatching an idea. “Becca, do your parents have plans for tonight? Like, dinner out or something?”

  Becca shook her head. “Just picking up Squirt and me at seven. Then we’re going home.”

  “Not if we force them to stay,” Mal said, “for a surprise party. I mean, if —”

  “YEEEEEEAAAAAH!” screamed the Pike kids.

  “Can we invite Charlotte?” asked Becca. “And Natalie Springer and Haley Braddock?”

  “If Mom and Dad let us have the party,” Mal continued.

  “Isn’t thi
s kind of short notice?” Stacey asked.

  “Yeah. But it can’t hurt to ask. We’ll get Kristy to help us. We can invite the rest of the BSC, and we’ll go shopping after our meeting.”

  “I want to go shopping too!” Becca insisted. “And to the meeting.”

  “Meemee!” Squirt echoed.

  “I just hope your parents are in a fabulous mood,” Stacey remarked.

  Well, they were. They agreed to Mal’s idea, but only after Mal insisted the BSC would do all the work.

  Stacey and Mal ran off to the meeting, taking Becca with them.

  When they mentioned their plan, Kristy declared Emergency Surprise Party Mobilization. “Man the phones!” she cried.

  “Person the phones,” Abby corrected her.

  One by one, everyone phoned home for permission to go to the party. Becca called her friends too. Between those calls and our clients, the receiver was off the hook the entire half hour.

  Becca was fascinated. By the end of the meeting, she was begging to join the BSC. (I’m sure she was an absolute pain, but no one complained to me.)

  Claudia’s parents agreed to chauffeur several BSC members to the store. (Mr. Pike took the rest in one of the Pikes’ station wagons.)

  An hour later, the Pike house was full of busy kids.

  Vanessa, Margo, and Nicky made a huge WELCOME HOME, JESSI banner. Mallory used the family computer to print out a ballerina icon, with the words A STAR RETURNS printed underneath.

  Becca, Haley, and Natalie “helped” Mr. Pike make chocolate chip cookies. Next to them, the triplets were supposedly making fruit punch. (Mr. Pike made two batches of cookies, but one disappeared almost immediately.)

  Mrs. Pike ordered pizzas by phone. The others busied themselves with salad making and cleanup.

  By 7:00 the surprise was ready. The living room was decorated. The pizzas were keeping warm in the oven. The cookies (or what was left of them) were sitting on a platter under plastic wrap.

  At 7:06 Mallory heard an approaching car. “She’s coming! Turn off the lights.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Pike stood by the front door. The others found hiding places out of sight of the front window.

  The car puttered by.

  “False alarm,” Mr. Pike said.

  “Rats,” Margo muttered.

  Claire stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry!”

  “Get back,” whispered Jordan. “You’ll spoil the surprise.”