“He looks like a wild animal trapped in a cage,” Jessica says.
Jerzey Mae shakes her head. “Nope. He’s a prince,” she says. “This is the scene where he goes crazy because he’s lost his true love.”
There’s so much power in every one of his moves. You can feel the emotion as he dances. Jessica’s right: he does seem like he’s trapped and desperate. And I know he has to be adding in his own little touches. How could a choreographer plan out all those twists and turns?
After the dance is over, Jerzey Mae shuts off the DVD player.
“Whew,” Al says. “Pretty intense.”
“Now, that,” I say, “is dancing.”
My friends nod their heads in agreement.
A smile creeps across Brenda’s face. “We’re going to be onstage with him in two weeks!”
“Even less than that,” Terrel says. “The show is in two weeks. He’ll have to be at some rehearsals. Maybe the one next Wednesday.” Wednesday is our first practice at the theater—the actual Harlem Ballet theater. My stomach tightens up just a little at the thought.
JoAnn snorts. “A big star like him? He probably just swoops in the night of the show.”
“No way,” Terrel says. “Big stars rehearse, too.”
“Not as much as everyone else,” Al replies.
“Mr. Lester says the Harlem Ballet has been practicing for weeks.”
“Yeah, but this is special,” Brenda says. “I overheard Mr. Lester saying that the choreographer designed this ballet specially, so Linc didn’t have to rehearse with the company very much.”
“Why?” Jessica asks.
“Because he’s Linc! And the choreographer really wanted him in the show, but Linc’s schedule was really full. So, in this ballet, a lot of the time, he’s dancing alone. The choreographer flew to Germany, where Linc was last performing, to teach him his role.”
Terrel continues, “Well, anyway, he has to practice his dance with Epatha. And maybe with me.”
I’m sure she hopes she’ll get to practice with him. I don’t know why she needs to, though. I don’t plan to get sick, or trip on a skateboard, like JoAnn did.
Brenda interrupts my thoughts. “I should go,” she says. “Homework.”
“Real homework?” Terrel asks. “Or Brenda homework?” Since Brenda wants to be a doctor, she’s decided that this spring she will memorize every single bone and muscle in the human body. And believe me, there are a lot of them.
“Doesn’t matter,” Brenda says, standing up.
“Brenda homework.” JoAnn grins.
As I practice my dance that night, I imagine I’m as wild as Linc was on the DVD. I make my arms flail around. I spin. I try to stare as intensely as he did. As I turn the dance’s boring old single turn into an Epatha special triple turn, I notice Nonna watching me with a look of concern on her face.
“Are you angry?” she asks. “What is wrong with my little tesoro?”
I shake my head. “Just practicing,” I say.
“But I thought this dance was about a happy little girl. You look like an unhappy eagle.”
I’m not sure where the eagle thing came from. But I guess she’s right that the dance needs to look happy.
“I’m still working on it,” I say.
She shakes her head and moves on. I try being wildly happy instead of just plain wild. Finally, I think I’ve got it: the perfect combination of happiness and creative steps. And next week, I’ll be showing Mr. Linc Simmons exactly how good a dancer I am.
Chapter 11
Wow. Wow, wow, wow.
We’re standing in front of the Harlem Ballet theater. It’s Wednesday afternoon, and we’re about to go inside for our first rehearsal here. We even got to leave school early. When I gave my teacher, Mrs. Philips, the note from my dad, she was very impressed. “You’re dancing at the Harlem Ballet? That’s really something!” she said. She was not impressed, however, enough to let me off the hook for tomorrow’s math homework.
“Look!” I shout. “There’s a poster!”
Linc’s picture smiles out at us from a poster hung in front of the theater. We cluster around. “Two Weeks Only: Springtime in Harlem,” I read aloud. “Starring Linc Simmons.”
“And us!” Brenda says, pointing to some much smaller print at the bottom.
I squint. “And featuring students from the Nutcracker School of Ballet.”
“Wow!” Jerzey Mae says. “We’re famous!”
“Hmph,” I say. “They could have made us a little more famous by not using teeny-weeny letters.” And by putting my name on there, too, I think. After all, I am the one dancing with Linc.
“Girls!” Ms. Debbé says. “Time to go in.”
She pushes the front door open, and we walk into the theater lobby. A red plush carpet stretches from one gold wall to the other. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling; it’s so big that I scoot out from under it, because it looks as if it might crash to the ground at any moment. A bar wraps around the left side, and a big, elegant stairway swoops up along the right wall to the balcony.
It takes a lot to shut us all up, but the sight of the lobby does it. Even JoAnn’s eyes are popping out of her head, and she’s never excited about anything.
Ms. Debbé smiles. “Thrilling, is it not? Your first experience dancing in a professional theater. I remember mine well.” She closes her eyes and sighs happily.
One of the doors leading into the theater swings open. “Hello, girls,” Mr. Lester says. He seems distracted. “Why don’t you go on—Hey!” A big smile breaks out on his face. “There you are!”
He walks past us, his hand extended. We turn around to see Linc Simmons, standing there in all his glory. A tiny squeak escapes Jerzey Mae’s throat.
“Hi there,” Linc says, smiling and stepping forward to shake Mr. Lester’s hand. He’s not as tall as I thought he’d be, and it’s weird seeing him in jeans and a jacket when we’re used to seeing him in all sorts of exotic costumes. But he’s still very, very cute. “I just got into town,” Linc continues. “I thought I’d drop by to scope out the theater. I’ve never danced here, you know.”
“We know!” Mr. Lester says. “And it’s high time you did. Welcome.”
Linc notices all of us standing there gaping at him. “Hi,” he says, smiling. “Who do we have here?”
“These are the girls who will be dancing in the second scene, the one where you first arrive in Harlem. Say hello, girls.”
We murmur hello.
“And this”—Mr. Lester comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder—“is Epatha, the girl you’ll be dancing with.”
Linc nods. “Hey, Epatha,” he says. “I’m looking forward to our duet.”
For once I have nothing to say, but I manage a nod.
“Okay.” Mr. Lester claps. “Girls, you go on in. Linc, let me take you to the costume designer, so she can do a quick fitting. Then you’ll probably want to get some sleep, since we’ll be rehearsing pretty much nonstop for the next several days.” He turns to us. “Linc’s been in Germany for the last month.”
Linc nods. “I’m a little tired, that’s for sure. Nice meeting you girls,” he says, following Mr. Lester into the theater.
We enter the theater, too, just in time to see Linc and Mr. Lester disappear behind the curtain. I’m disappointed that Linc’s gone already.
“When do we practice with Mr. Simmons?” Jessica asks Ms. Debbé.
“Tomorrow night,” says Ms. Debbé. “Today, the director will work with you girls by yourselves first. But you’ll have the chance to dance with the other adults in the scene. Then there will be dress rehearsals Thursday and Friday nights.”
The theater is mostly dark, as if there were going to be a performance. But the stage is all lit up. There are three dancers rehearsing onstage. The two guys are wearing T-shirts and tights, and the woman is wearing a faded blue unitard with leg warmers and a scarf.
A man and two women sit in the audience several rows back from
the front. As we get closer, I see that the man is Mr. Tonetti. He talks to one of the women while she scribbles things down on a notepad. He moves his arms and hands around wildly while he talks, which makes him look like he’s mad, but I can’t see his face to know for sure.
Mr. Lester slips back into the theater and joins us. He waits until Mr. Tonetti is done waving his arms around. “Mr. Tonetti?” he says, hesitantly. This is weird. Mr. Lester always seems very cool and in control of things, but it looks like he’s a little afraid of Mr. Tonetti.
Mr. Tonetti turns around to face us. “Yes?” He blinks, then rivets his gaze on us. “Ah. The girls.”
“Yes. This is—” It seems as though Mr. Lester is just about to introduce us when Mr. Tonetti interrupts.
“Good.” He claps loudly for attention. The dancers onstage stop dancing and look.
“That is enough for now. We’ll move on to scene two,” Mr. Tonetti says.
The dancers leave, stopping to scoop up the water bottles and sweaters they’ve left at the sides of the stage. The clipboard woman scurries up the steps and disappears, maybe to get the other scene-two dancers.
Mr. Tonetti looks at us. “You have practiced?”
What kind of question is that? I wonder. Of course we’ve practiced.
Mr. Lester jumps in. “They’ve done a great job. They all know their parts very well.”
Mr. Tonetti makes a noise in his throat. “Very well. To the stage, please,” he says.
Mr. Lester leads us down the side aisle. It feels like a very long trip. When we get to the front, Mr. Lester tells us we can leave our things in the front-row seats. We’re already wearing our dance clothes, but we sit down in the plush velvet seats to put on our ballet slippers.
“Wow,” Al says under her breath. The theater air smells of dust and sweat. Jessica pulls down the seat beside mine. It squeaks as she sits in it.
“Can you believe we’re here?” she whispers.
I shake my head. Terrel, on my other side, is glaring at a spot on the floor. I recognize this as her concentrating glare, not her mad glare. I bet she’s running over our dance in her mind, although she doesn’t need to; she’s got it down pat.
“Girls: onstage, please,” Mr. Lester says.
We stand up and walk to the side of the stage, but Jerzey Mae, who is in front, hesitates at the bottom of the stairs as if she’s afraid to go up.
Well, I’m not! I take the lead, and my friends follow behind me.
Chapter 12
The stage feels even bigger than it looks from the audience. Pieces of masking tape mark the black floor. The stage lights, which didn’t seem all that bright before, are blinding. As if in response to our squinting, the lights come down. Suddenly we can see all the seats. There are a lot of them.
“This theater must hold hundreds of people,” I whisper to Brenda.
“More like one thousand, two hundred,” she whispers back. “I counted the rows and the seats in each row and multiplied.”
I imagine every seat filled and every person’s eyes on us as we do our dance. A thrill goes through my body.
Jerzey Mae, however, is looking a little sick. “More than a thousand?” she says.
Mr. Tonetti motions for Mr. Lester to come over, and they whisper for a moment. Then Mr. Lester comes back and stands in front of the stage. It feels weird that we’re taller than he is. He looks up at us.
“Mr. Tonetti would like to see your part of the dance alone, first,” he says. “Then we’ll bring some of the adult dancers in.” He turns around. “With music?” he asks Mr. Tonetti. Mr. Tonetti nods.
Mr. Lester hops onstage and shows us exactly where we’ll be standing when the curtain goes up; so that’s what those pieces of masking tape on the floor are for. We take our places, and he jumps back down, but not before giving us an encouraging smile.
The music seems to come out of nowhere. In the ballet studio, we have a little stereo system in the corner. Here, the music surrounds us. I feel its joy, its happiness, fill my body.
We all start dancing together. Here on the big stage, I leap higher, twirl faster, than I ever have before. We dance as a unit, leaping left, leaping right, doing a series of turns.
Then it’s time for my solo. Since Linc isn’t dancing with us yet, I do the dance by myself. I reach out my hand as though he were taking it. I leap left, then do three pirouettes to the right, keeping my gaze on an imaginary spot on the back wall so I don’t get dizzy. I’m aware of my friends’ continuing on with their part of the dance, but I’m focused on my own part. The music inspires me so much that I do an Epatha special triple spin that takes me to the other side of the stage, and then jeté back over to where I’m supposed to be.
The music stops abruptly. “Epatha!” Terrel hisses. “What are you doing? That’s not in the dance!”
I turn to stare at her. “I was inspired,” I say.
“You’d better uninspire yourself fast, girlfriend,” she says.
This makes me mad. “Some of us think dancing with emotion is important,” I say.
“I am trying to help you, you idiot,” she whispers heatedly. “You can’t just—”
“What did you call me?” I ask.
“You gotta do what you’re supposed to, E.!”
“Dance like a little robot, you mean?”
Hurt flashes across Terrel’s face; then her expression hardens. But I’m all riled up and just keep talking. “I think you’re just trying to get the part yourself, that’s what I think.”
“I can’t believe—” Terrel begins.
But Mr. Lester has jumped onstage and is coming over to us, so she can’t finish her sentence. He has a very serious look on his face. “Epatha.” He takes me to the side of the stage and into the wings. “I thought I’d warned you that you can’t just cut loose up here. The woman beside Mr. Tonetti is Ms. Burton, the choreographer. You have to respect her work. You need to do her steps, not your own.”
My skin feels hot and prickly. I would have thought Mr. Lester would understand.
“You do know the steps, right?” he asks, as if I’m a three-year-old.
I nod.
“Then do them, please,” he says. “We’ll take it from the top again.”
I look out into the audience, where Mr. Tonetti and Ms. Burton are sitting. I’d been thinking they might actually like me to spice up their ballet a little. Look at the way Linc dances! It’s pretty clear he’s doing his own thing, letting the music move him.
Almost as though I’ve summoned him, a side door opens, and Linc comes in. My heart is in my throat. He wanders up and sits down a few seats over from Mr. Tonetti. My friends are all totally silent, but I can see from the looks on their faces that they’ve seen Linc, too. He’s going to watch us dance tonight! Right now!
“Places!” Mr. Lester says. We go back to the bits of tape that mark the places where we’re supposed to start. The music begins. I’m so excited I can hardly stay still—but I don’t have to. We start the dance again. I do what Mr. Lester said and perform exactly the steps I was given.
But then it’s time for my solo. I’m hoping that Linc will jump onstage and dance with me, but he doesn’t. That’s okay—he’s watching! I want to dance bigger and better and brighter than I ever have before. I want him to know I’m a kindred spirit, someone who dances just like he does, with passion and excitement. The music sweeps over me and through me. I’m a little aware that I’m not doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing, but I’m dancing with joy and power, and that’s what it’s all about.
The music stops again. I turn and look out into the audience.
Mr. Tonetti has motioned Mr. Lester back again. He and Ms. Burton talk to Mr. Lester. Mr. Tonetti’s using his hands. A lot. I look over to see if Linc has noticed my fabulousness, but I can’t see his face from here.
Mr. Lester jogs to the front of the stage. “Epatha, I need to talk to you,” he says quietly. “Girls,” he says in a louder voice, “start again, fro
m the beginning. Terrel, you take Epatha’s role.”
My friends exchange glances, probably not sure what’s happening. Terrel steps over to my spot onstage.
“Let’s go into the lobby, Epatha,” Mr. Lester says. “Bring your things.”
My face burns. I can feel my friends looking at me, but I don’t want to look at them. I gather my stuff and follow Mr. Lester up the aisle. I pass right by Linc, but I can’t look at him, either. Usually, I like being the center of attention, but this definitely does not feel like a good thing. As we continue up the aisle, Mr. Tonetti calls, “Take it from the top,” and the music starts.
Mr. Lester holds the swinging door open for me, and then we’re in the lobby. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him angry before, but he looks angry now. Even worse, he looks disappointed.
“Epatha, I told you from the beginning you needed to do the steps you were given. Didn’t I?” He looks at me, waiting for a response.
“Yes, I guess,” I say. “But—”
“No buts,” he says. “I really pushed for you when we were casting the solo part. Mr. Tonetti wanted Terrel, but I talked him into giving you a chance.”
I stare at the carpet.
His tone grows more gentle. “I’m sorry, Epatha, but we have to pull you from the show.”
I have an image of someone coming up and pulling on my arm as I’m onstage. “What do you mean, pull me?” I ask.
“What I mean is that Terrel will take your part. I don’t have time to teach you the chorus dance, so I’m afraid this means you won’t be dancing in the performance.”
I can’t have heard him right. Me? I’m the best dancer in our class! How can he take me out of the show?
“Give me another chance,” I hear myself saying. “I promise, I’ll do exactly what I’m supposed to.” Even if it is kind of boring, I think.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Mr. Tonetti is the director, and I have to say, in this case I think he’s right. You’re a wonderful dancer, Epatha, but you need to follow the rules.”
I’m so sick of hearing about rules. Linc doesn’t follow stupid rules, I almost say, but for once I have the sense to keep my mouth shut.
Dancing Diva Page 4
