by Nisha Sharma
“How do you manage the stage fright?”
“It’s actually performance-anxiety attacks and stress-induced panic attacks. It manifests in different ways. Basically, I’m okay to dance in class or in front of other dancers like me, but if I’m facing an audience, it’s a no-go. My mom and I discovered that when I would repeatedly freak out at my last dance school. Instead of Friday dance-offs, they had formal shows. I was a wreck leading up to each one.”
Jai pulled her toward him now. “Ah. That explains the Winter Showcase. Did you talk to the director yet?”
“Not yet.”
Jai lay flat on his back and lifted one leg. Radha gripped his calf and pushed forward. He relaxed into the stretch.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked as he looked up at her.
“Thank you, but I’ll figure something out. It already sounds like you have your hands full with your team.”
“Yeah, things are a bit chaotic right now.” Radha helped him stretch his other leg, and then he switched places with her. “Ready?”
She nodded, and he pushed on her calf until her toe was touching the floor above her head. He noticed the delicate lines of her body, while feeling the strength of her muscles under his hands. Jai counted the stretch, and then switched legs.
“What are you going to do about the choreographer?” she asked when they repositioned to work on their backs. “Shakti, Hari, Nupur, and…”
“And Vik.”
“Yes,” she said. “And Vik. They told me that your choreographer left for the bright lights of Bollywood.”
“I think we’re stuck choreographing the number ourselves.”
“For the last six years of my performance career, I put together my own kathak routines. It sucks.”
“Yeah, it does.” He waited for her to grip his shoulders with strong, warm hands. “I really wanted to leave the academy on a high. I don’t think I can do that now. We’re a month behind on rehearsing for the Winter Showcase compared to all of the other dance groups, and now with the added burden of choreography, we’re pretty much sunk.” When she pushed, he leaned forward until his forehead almost touched the mat between his knees.
“You wanted to make the director proud,” she said softly from behind him. “I’m just guessing that’s what you were hoping to do. Probably because I would do the same thing. I’d want to show her how much she’d taught me.”
Was he that easy to read? He sat up, and then looked at her over his shoulder. “The director means a lot to me.”
“Come on, everyone!” Ms. Olga shouted from the front of the studio again. Her black leggings and leotard stood out against the mirrors behind her. “Left and right sides of the room. It’s time for a little Final Friday Dance-Off!”
“Come on,” Jai said, jumping up and pulling Radha toward the far wall. The Bollywood Beats crew always tried to stay on the same side during these freestyle classes. “Did anyone tell you what Final Fridays are like?”
“Not really,” she said. “Just that all the solo dance classes on the last Friday of the month get together to…what, let loose?”
“Sort of,” Jai said. The music started, and the heavy thumping of the bass was a jolt of endorphins. “The purpose of Final Fridays is to learn dance musicality. Listening to the music and interpreting it in dance form. It’s also about self-expression, dignity, and honor. Are you ready?”
“Dignity and honor? And ready for what?”
Ms. Olga counted an eight beat from the front of the room, and half a dozen dancers jumped forward. They were freestyling, and then they fed off each other until they moved in sync. Radha’s jaw dropped.
“Oh, we’re just getting started,” he said to her with a grin.
Everyone cheered. The pointe dancers in the room moved into the circle to challenge the first group.
Jai didn’t know what was more fun to watch, the escalating dance-off or Radha. Her eyes widened as student after student competed. Almost fifteen minutes in, he leaned over to ask if she wanted to dance with him, but before she could answer, Hari and Shakti hooked their arms under his and dragged him onto the floor.
The music changed, and he called out the combination and jumped into the routine with all his energy. He danced, aware of Radha watching, and enjoying every moment. Before they could back off for another group to take center stage, he saw Radha join from the corner of his eye. Hari gave a sharp seeti, a whistle that only a Punjabi dude at a party could pull off, and the new girl, a beautiful package of surprises, moved past him to Shakti. As if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, they turned to each other, nodded in sync, and spun across the floor.
“I totally forgot that Shakti used to learn odissi when she was a kid,” Hari yelled over the music. “Not like the North Indian style Radha does, but they look great together. You sure Radha won’t join our team?”
“Yeah,” Jai said. “But man, I wish she would.” Radha and Shakti took an exaggerated bow before returning to their side of the room.
“Did you guys dance together before today?” Jai asked Radha over the sound of dancers and celebration.
She shook her head, her breath a little labored.
“You loved it.”
She leaned in until they were only inches apart. “I had dance joy.”
“Dance joy?”
She nodded. “It’s what I call that feeling that takes over your body, your head, everything, when you’re completely consumed by a piece. It’s dumb, I know, but it happened. Just for a second.”
“No, not dumb at all. I know exactly what you mean.” Jai had danced long enough to understand what it could do to a person.
“Dance joy is the reason I put up with the performances. As long as I could dance, I’d do whatever my mother wanted.”
“And then you lost the joy part.”
Her smile slipped. “Yeah.”
The music stopped, and Ms. Olga clapped in front of the room. “Take a break! Then we’ll go again.”
Jai led Radha over to the corner of the room so they could talk. “When did you last feel your dance joy?”
She shrugged. “At my performance in January. Maybe for a second at my audition here. And today. This was a lot of fun, Jai. And it wasn’t even choreographed.”
“Man, I can’t imagine how you’d feel if you joined Bollywood Beats for our Winter Showcase number. Choreographing it alone would give you a jolt. If you loved just a little bit of this, then you’d be ecstatic with us.”
Her eyebrows made a V; her forehead crinkled.
“What? What did I say?” Jai asked.
She turned away from him and watched as dancers retrieved water bottles, stretched against the bar and the wall, and grouped together to talk.
“Radha?”
She held her hands up. “Jai, has the director let anyone choreograph a dance as their final-grade contribution to the Winter Showcase?”
“Yeah, since choreography is as hard as actually performing…Wait a minute. If you choreograph the dance—”
“I wouldn’t have to perform,” she said. “If the director approves it, right?”
Jai looked over at his friends and saw how they tried to pretend they weren’t watching him. He thought of Masi and how much faith she’d put in his career. Most importantly, he thought of his brothers. Winning the showcase was a long shot, and winning regionals was even more difficult, but the team was going to choreograph a number themselves. Could Radha do better and get them closer to their goal?
“You’re a solo dancer,” he said. “A classical dancer.”
“I’ve not only choreographed my own routines, but I also worked with the younger students at my kathak school in India. Group performances to Bollywood songs. I’ve been a part of a dance school for my entire high school life. I know contemporary, jazz, hip-hop. I may not be th
e best at styles outside of classical, but I can choreograph.”
“This is not just any choreography. Our team has very different skills. You’d have to know how to use those skills and position them to fulfill potential.”
She stared him down. “You can help me. You’re the captain of the nerd herd! And you guys were going to do it yourselves anyway.”
“I was just thinking that myself,” he said with a laugh. “You’d really do this? You’d really choreograph so you don’t have to perform?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you think you could get your dance joy back if you choreograph, too?”
“No. I think that it comes and goes. I doubt I’ll ever feel the same kind of love that I did when I used to dance full-time.”
She sounded so sure that he wanted to give her a hug and let her know that she’d be okay. That he believed her. But still…
“What about cooking lessons with your dad? I thought you were finding a new passion.”
“I’ll keep doing that,” she said. “I can cook and study, and keep up with classes, maybe with your help, and I can choreograph.”
He scrubbed a hand on the back of his neck. If she was confident that she could finish a routine, then he’d trust her. There were still others who had to be convinced of her skill too.
Ms. Olga called the two-minute mark.
“So?” Radha asked. “Will you give me a chance?”
Jai looked from Radha to his group of friends, and then to Ms. Olga. “Wait a minute,” he said. He waved his friends over, and since they were already blatantly staring in their direction, all four dancers strode over in unison.
“What’s up, Captain?” Vik said. “Nice job out there, new girl.”
“Thanks,” Radha replied.
“Radha,” Jai said, “has offered to choreograph our Bollywood Beats routine for the Winter Showcase. She has some experience with group performances, and of course years of classical-dance training.”
“That’s great!” Shakti said. “I’m all in.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?” Hari asked with a laugh.
“We’re about to show her,” Jai said.
Radha arched one of her perfectly shaped brows.
“Prove that you can lead more than just a person with a classical-dance background, and I’ll go to the director and ask for you to be selected as our choreographer.”
Her mouth formed an O. “You mean here? Choreograph something on the spot, for us to dance right now?”
He nodded. “You know, some people look forward to Final Fridays because they actually prep choreography to try new stuff. It’s not unheard of. That’s why groups look like they’ve rehearsed. You don’t have a lot of time. Thirty seconds max. But we’re good enough to follow your lead.”
He saw her jaw tighten and her eyes narrow. “Follow my lead? That’s not choreography, that’s just—just following.”
“It’s the best way we can test your skill. Think of it as an audition.” And to prove to yourself that this can be more than avoiding a performance on a stage, he thought.
“Test my skill? Okay, fine. Fine. I see how it is.”
She squared her shoulders before she stormed over to the audio station in the corner. Jai watched her as she had a brief conversation with Su-Jin, who pointed to her laptop screen and the stereo, then gave Radha a thumbs-up. Radha returned the gesture before she turned on her heel.
“You think she can choreograph a ten-minute routine for fourteen trained dancers in a style that isn’t really her sweet spot?” Hari asked.
“Yes, but let’s see if she really thinks she can do it too.”
“Okay, huddle up,” Radha said.
She took the lead and talked about the music she’d selected, and an idea that had crossed her mind. The second half of class began, and while they waited for Radha’s music to play, they worked through the choreography. Finally the stereo pumped the familiar drumbeats, Radha called the countdown, and Jai did exactly what she’d asked him to do.
They moved in unison, as if they’d been dancing together forever. Part of it was the fact that the moves were ones everyone knew. The class erupted as they brought their whole selves to the floor.
Radha called the last count out loud, and Shakti did a backflip, falling into Jai’s and Hari’s arms. It timed perfectly with the last beat.
They nailed it, and everyone knew it. They’d barely had a moment to high-five each other when Ms. Olga ended class.
“She’s gorgeous and talented,” Shakti said to Jai under her breath. “But I can tell she’s not into my type.”
“What are you getting at?” Jai asked.
Shakti shrugged. “Nothing. Just making an observation. Wondering if you’d made the same observation yourself.”
“Shakti…”
Shakti raised her voice so that the team could hear. “All I’m saying is that if you don’t ask her to join our team, we’re going to kill you.” She winked at Radha and rushed out of the studio. Jai decided to ignore Shakti’s sidebar commentary and draped an arm around Radha’s shoulder. “Are you ready to talk to the director, Ms. Choreographer?”
She nodded. “I have to talk to my mother, too. She’s going to hate that I found a loophole in our deal.”
“Your deal?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Jai, if the director okays this and my mom doesn’t immediately go into cardiac arrest, we have to start working on a concept, the music, and a schedule. I’ll be just as invested as you.”
“Yeah. Agreed. In the meantime, I’ll help you keep up with classes.”
“You’d do that?”
Jai shrugged. “Sure.” It might be self-serving, since he’d get to spend more time with her, but he wasn’t going to share that bit of information yet.
Radha stepped in front of him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “If you help me with my homework, I’ll help you, too.”
Jai’s pulse jumped. “Aren’t you doing that already with the choreography?”
“No, that benefits us both.”
“But helping you with your homework—”
“Is selfless. So was catching me from falling and helping me with my panic attack. I may not know a ton about friendship, but I know that what you told me the first time we met was right. You make a good friend.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “It’s time for me to save you.”
“How?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Eight
Radha
Translation of Bimalpreet Chopra’s Recipe Book
Ghee
Clarified butter from the cow is the basis for all our family recipes. To make your own ghee:
First, use only fresh, homemade butter.
Heat the butter on low until it melts and the color changes.
The whey floats to the top, the milk solids to the bottom, and the clarified butter to the center. The color should resemble a dark, clear gold.
Scoop off the froth from the top, and then strain the melted butter into a container through a cheesecloth.
Let sit until it reaches room temperature.
Radha’s note: Unsalted Land O’Lakes. Use a wok. For one pound, heat on medium for 20 minutes, then low for another 10.
RADHA: I tried to make ghee, but black bits start to form in it?
DAD: Heat is too high. You burned the butter.
RADHA: Can I save it?
DAD: Maybe. You won’t know until you try.
RADHA: …That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me?
DAD: Your cousin in India? She used to do the same thing.
You may want to ask her how to strain the ghee right.
RADHA: Simran? I haven’t talked to her in years,
not since we danced together.
DAD: Relationships, like butter, are worth saving.
RADHA: Cheesy, Dad. That was cheesy. I’ll figure it out.
Radha discarded her latest attempt at ghee. In addition to burning the butter, she’d burned off some stress, so at least one good thing had come out of her kitchen disaster. Who would’ve thought that working with food, even a failed recipe as simple as melting butter, could be just as rewarding as a four-hour kathak class? She dropped the dirty dishes in the sink and surveyed the kitchen island.
“Okay, Friday night,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s get weird.”
The marble surface was covered with her grandfather’s recipe book, her textbooks, her laptop, and her tablet. Sticky notes coated everything. Notes for classes, notes for the next recipe she was going to try with Dad, and notes about Bollywood Beats she’d received from the director that afternoon.
Radha picked up one of the sticky notes, which had three song options on it. “You can do this,” she murmured to herself. The team needed a choreographer, and Radha didn’t want to be onstage for a solo. She’d pointed that out when she spoke with the director. It helped that Radha had a ton of international awards. She was qualified. Thankfully, she got the approval, as long as she also wrote a theory paper on how she’d choreographed the number.
The sound of the front door opening reminded her of the last barrier she had to pass. She now had to tell her mother.
Radha winced as she remembered the fight they’d had the week before when she found out about the Winter Showcase. Time for round two, she thought.
“Radha?” her mother called from the foyer. The sound of footsteps followed. “What’s burning?”
“Nothing. Well, butter. I was trying to make ghee again and I botched it.”
Her mother appeared in a peach pantsuit, her hair perfectly coiled after twelve hours at the office. Her Chanel tote still hung on one arm. “I thought you’d finally gone and burned the house down.”
