“Will you be okay getting home?” he asks. “Do you want me to call your parents? Or do you want to wait out here until they come to get you at six?”
My parents! It feels as if someone’s socked me in the stomach. What are my parents going to say? And Nonna and Abuela? “No,” I say quickly. “I live just around the corner. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry, Epatha,” he says again. “I know this is difficult.”
I don’t respond. I just walk out the door with my head high.
Chapter 13
I don’t live far from the theater, but my walk home is the longest walk I’ve ever taken. In the short time that I was inside, gray clouds have drifted in and covered the city, and a chilly wind has started to blow. A few cold raindrops sting my face, but I brush them away. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
At first, I’m just in shock. Not being in the show after all this practicing seems unthinkable, as if it can’t possibly be happening. Then it starts to sink in. And the more it sinks in, the more horrible I feel.
Abuela and Nonna have been competing to see who can sell more tickets to the show. “My granddaughter is dancing with Simmons Linc!” I heard Nonna say on the phone last night. She’s never quite gotten Linc’s name straight, but what she lacks in accuracy, she makes up for in enthusiasm. She has at least fifteen ladies from the Italian-American Social Club coming, and everyone who works at her favorite cannoli shop, to boot.
Not to be outdone, Abuela has been pushing tickets at her gym, at her swing-dancing class, and at the school where she tutors. At breakfast today, she leaned back with a smug smile on her face and told us she’d sold twenty tickets so far. Nonna glared, hmphed loudly, and made a beeline for the phone, undoubtedly to twist the arms of any of her friends who haven’t bought tickets yet.
I imagine them all lined up outside the theater, Nonna and Abuela bragging about how their fabulous granddaughter is going to be dancing with Linc Simmons (or Simmons Linc, in Nonna’s case). I imagine them filing in and sitting down, talking and laughing with my mom and dad and my friends’ parents. I imagine the curtain opening and the dance beginning. And I imagine the looks on their faces when all my friends dance across the stage, but I’m nowhere to be seen.
What am I going to tell them?
The rain is falling harder now, soaking my clothes. The more I think, the madder I get. It isn’t fair! This was supposed to be the first big performance in my brilliant dance career. And all I did was dance with passion, just like Linc dances. Why doesn’t anyone understand?
I’m soaking wet by the time I get home. A blast of warm air greets me when I push open the restaurant door.
“Epatha! You’re drenched, you poor thing!” says Mom.
Nonna stops wiping off a table and scurries over to me. “Soup!” she says. “You need minestrone!”
I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“We didn’t expect you home so soon,” Mom says. “Amarah was planning to pick you up at six.” She wraps me in a hug despite the fact that I’m dripping.
“Rehearsal was shorter than I expected,” I say. At least that’s true. I guess I’ll have to tell them what happened eventually, but I’m going to put it off for as long as possible.
“Did you call Amarah?”
I shake my head.
Mom sighs. “I’ll do it. You go up and get out of those wet clothes.”
I walk toward the door leading to our apartment. My wet shoes squeak against the tiled floor. Normally, I would take advantage of this and dance across the floor to make a symphony of squeaks. Not today.
“Oh, Epatha?” Mom calls after me.
I turn around.
“Amarah’s study group is meeting tomorrow night, so I’ll take you to rehearsal.”
“Great,” I say without enthusiasm. I’d thought I could put off telling everyone by having Amarah cover for me—maybe getting her to let me hang out with her for a few hours tomorrow night, when I’d supposedly be rehearsing.
Now I’m really in trouble.
I lie on my bed in my wet clothes. For one minute, I think about going downstairs, gathering everyone together, and just telling them all at once, as if I were pulling off a Band-Aid. It would hurt, but at least I’d get it over with.
But then I think about how disappointed they’d all be. I really hated that disappointed look on Mr. Lester’s face. It seems like the only person on earth who might understand me is Linc Simmons. And now that I’ve been kicked out of his show, I’ll never get the chance to talk to him.
There’s a knock on my door. I ignore it. When I hear the knob turn, I pretend to be asleep. Through my half-closed eyes, I see Nonna come in, look at me for a moment, then put a bowl of steaming soup on my bedside table before creeping out again.
When she’s gone, I sit up and eat the soup. After she finds out that she’s sold a billion tickets to see me not dance, she’ll probably never bring me soup again. I’ve got to tell them all. But not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
Chapter 14
For once I’m actually glad to go to school. Losing the role sits in my stomach like a rock. Luckily, none of my ballet friends goes to my school. Plus, having to think about math and writing and Greek mythology distracts me a little. Until the final bell rings and I see Mom waiting for me outside the school, smiling. Waiting to walk me to the theater for rehearsal. The rehearsal I don’t have anymore.
“Excited?” she asks. “This is your first real dress rehearsal, right?”
I nod and try to look happy.
“So that means you’ll be up onstage with all those grown-up dancers, and Linc Simmons and everything?”
I nod.
“Oh!” she says, stopping in the street, “I almost forgot to tell you—a few of your friends called you last night, but it was after you’d fallen asleep. I’m sorry, querida. But you’ll see them at rehearsal anyway, right?”
I’m glad I was pretending to be asleep. What would I say to them?
We walk up the street. The heavy rain from last night is gone, but it must have sprinkled again recently, because the air smells clean and the sidewalk’s a little damp. I walk slowly, because by the time we get to the theater I need to come up with a plan. After Mom drops me off, maybe I can go to the library two blocks away. She’ll be really mad if she finds out I went there alone. But the way I figure it, she’ll be really mad when I tell her I got kicked out of the show, too, and this will buy me a little time.
“So, do you get to wear costumes today?” Mom asks.
I have no idea. They were going to do the costume fitting yesterday after the rehearsal, which means that if they did, I missed it. I don’t want to lie, so I just say, “Maybe.”
Mom turns to me. “Are you okay, Epatha? I thought you’d be a lot more excited.” Then a knowing smile spreads across her face. “Oh. You’re a little nervous, right?”
Well, that’s true. “Uh-huh.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close as we walk. “Honey, you are going to be fantastic. You are Epatha the fabulous, right?”
“Yup,” I say. “I’m fabulous, all right.”
As we approach the theater, I pray I won’t run into any of the other kids as they’re being dropped off.
Mom checks her cell phone. “We’re super-early,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Do you think that’s okay?”
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say, relieved. Being early may at least solve the problem of running into other kids.
We stop in front of the building. “Thanks for dropping me off!” I say, brightly. I’m hoping she’ll take off so I can scoot to the library without even going into the theater.
No such luck. “I want to peek,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve walked past this theater a million times, but I’ve never been inside. I want to see where my little star’s going to be dancing.”
She pushes open the door for me. What will I do if Mr. Lester’s standing in the lobby? Please, plea
se, please, please, please, be empty, I think.
It’s not empty, but the only person there is some guy restocking the bar. He looks up, then goes back to putting packets of peanuts on the counter. Phew.
Mom follows me in. “Oh, my goodness, it’s beautiful!” she says, turning to admire the entire lobby. “When was this theater built, do you think?” she asks.
I hop up and down on one foot. I’ve got to get her out of here before someone sees me. “Mom, I should go”—Go what? We’re forty-five minutes early!—“…warm up. A lot,” I say.
She ruffles my hair. “Of course, sweetie. Go get ready.” She kisses the top of my head. “Can’t wait to see your show!” she calls over her shoulder as she leaves.
I breathe a sigh of relief—until I hear Mr. Lester’s voice. He must be inside the theater, and it sounds like he’s heading toward the lobby.
I evaluate my options in an instant. If I bolt for the entrance, Mom will see me. So I race to a side door. The curtains separating the theater from the lobby move—Mr. Lester’s definitely coming. I push open the door and scramble through it just in time.
I find myself in a hallway that leads to what must be the back of the theater. Fluorescent tubes buzz and cast a harsh light on everything. At the end of the hall, metal stairs stretch down. Mr. Lester had mentioned that there were rehearsal studios underneath the stage.
I tiptoe downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe I can find a room where I can hang out for the whole rehearsal. People aren’t going to be practicing downstairs while the actual dress rehearsal is going on, right?
At the bottom of the stairs, another hallway extends to the right. There are metal doors on each side. I listen at the first door and don’t hear anything. The door handle moves smoothly when I push it.
Sure enough, it’s a rehearsal studio. There’s a piano at the side of the room and a wall of mirrors along the back. I could hang out here for a few hours, I think. But now I’m curious about what else is down here.
I go back out to the hallway and stop in front of the next door. I push the handle—and come face to face with Linc Simmons.
Chapter 15
“Hi, there,” Linc says, surprised—but not as surprised as I am. He’s wearing a T-shirt and black tights and has a towel around his neck. “I thought I heard someone out in the hall.”
This room is another big rehearsal studio that looks almost identical to the first one. A large man with a bushy mustache stands on a ladder in the corner. He and Linc are the only two people in the room.
“Are you lost?” Linc asks. “It’s kind of a labyrinth down here.” He looks at me more closely. “Hey,” he says. “Aren’t you the girl I was going to dance with in the second scene?”
My cheeks get hot. He seems to remember what happened—he was watching in the theater yesterday, after all—and starts to say something, then stops. He holds the door open.
“Why don’t you come in?” he says. “I was just warming up.”
I’m still in shock, but a little spark flares in my brain. I realize that this is it. Somehow, I’ve been handed a chance to talk to the one person who will understand me. And I’m going to take advantage of it.
“I want to dance like you,” I blurt out. “I want to dance the way I want to dance. How do I do it? How did you do it? I want to dance with passion and emotion and not have to pay attention to stupid rules and choreographers.”
“Whoa! Hold on there,” Linc says. “Have a seat—uh—what was your name?”
“Epatha.” Just saying all that makes me feel a little relieved. All that frustration had been building up inside me for a long time. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to talk to someone about it. But of course, I couldn’t—who would I have talked to? I couldn’t even tell my friends how I was feeling.
Linc unfolds a couple of metal chairs and sits down. I sit, too.
“Now, what’s this stuff about not having to pay attention to rules?” he asks.
I explain about watching his DVD. He smiles when I tell him how much we all liked it.
“Your dancing is so wild!” I say. “It was like you were a crazy man. I could tell it was coming from deep down inside you, not from some steps a choreographer made up.”
He seems to think for a moment. “You mean this scene?” he asks. He stands up, goes to the center of the studio, and starts doing the crazy-man dance. Goosebumps erupt on my arms. I can’t believe I’m sitting five feet away from Linc Simmons and he’s dancing for me. Even without music, the dance is every bit as powerful as it was on the TV show—maybe more so, because I see the sweat forming on his brow, and feel the floor thud as he lands each jump.
After a minute, he stops. I applaud. “That was amazing,” I say.
“Want to see it once more?” he asks. I nod. He starts the dance again. It’s amazing, again.
When he stops, he asks, “Did that look any different from the first time?”
I think about this. Both times looked identical to what I saw on the DVD.
“I’ll do it again,” he says. “But first, look at the spot on the floor where I end the dance.”
I look. There’s a bit of chipped tile there, so it’ll be easy to find.
He does the dance again. It looks exactly the same. He ends up in precisely the same place.
A weird feeling starts in my stomach and works its way up to my throat.
“Exactly the same,” I say quietly.
He nods. “Does the fact that I did the same choreography make the dance any less powerful or special? Or less passionate?”
I shake my head slowly.
He sits down again. “Epatha, improvising and doing what you want is fine in some situations. But not all the time.”
“But why not?” I ask. I still can hardly wrap my head around the idea that he’s not just making up his dances as he goes along.
He motions to the lightbulb-changing guy, who was fiddling with a switch on the wall while Linc was dancing. “This is Mac. He’s doing me a favor by fixing the lights here, since it’s my rehearsal studio. But actually he runs lights for the show.” He turns around. “Hey, Mac. If, during my big solo, I ended up at stage right instead of stage left, would that be okay?”
Mac snorts. “We set the lights before the show and program them into the lighting board. If you don’t end up where you’re supposed to, there won’t be a light shining on you. The audience might not even see you.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
Linc nods. “And if you’re dancing with other people, they have to know where you’ll be at all times. Otherwise, they might crash into you. That would be dramatic, but not the kind of dramatic you want.”
He stops for a moment. “But there’s an even more important reason you need to stick to the choreography. A choreographer is an artist, just as much as we dancers are artists. You need to honor the choreographer’s work.”
“But…but…” I’m at a loss for words. Could I have been so wrong about everything? I’ve gotten myself kicked out of the show, and I said some mean things to Terrel. I feel sick.
She was right. I should have listened to her. No wonder she’s the one dancing with Linc.
Linc looks at me. His eyes are soft. “You remind me of me when I was younger, Epatha. I was like you—headstrong and passionate. And want to know a secret?”
I nod.
He leans his head closer. “I ended up losing a part I really wanted, too. For exactly the same reason. I thought I was too talented to have to pay attention to the director. Losing the role hurt, but it was a good lesson. And as soon as I learned it, my career started taking off.”
This makes me feel better. But not much. I’ve wrecked everything. “I told my whole family I was going to dance with you,” I say miserably.
Linc seems to consider something. “You really get what I was saying, don’t you? About why you need to respect the choreography?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I get it. But now it�
��s too late.”
“Your friend is doing a good job with the part. But they didn’t fill her spot in the dancing chorus. Would you want to take her place there?”
I shake my head. “That Mr. Tonetti guy would never let me do it. And Mr. Lester said he doesn’t have time to teach me the part,” I say.
“Hmmm,” Linc says. “I see your problem. Well, I’m sorry, Epatha. I hope you’ll at least come to the show.”
I try to imagine what that would feel like. Walking into the big, beautiful theater. Seeing all my friends onstage in their costumes and makeup. Watching them dance on the same stage as Linc. Hearing the audience cheer for them, while I sit in the audience.
Nope. Not gonna happen.
“You know there’s going to be a big party after the first performance, right?” Linc asks.
I nod.
“If you go, come find me and say hi,” he says.
Fat chance, I think, but it’s still pretty nice of him.
“Now,” he continues. “I have to get upstairs for rehearsal.” He frowns. “Hey—if you’re not in the show, what are you doing here today?”
I don’t say anything.
Understanding flashes across his face. “You didn’t tell your parents yet, huh?”
I’m glad Linc’s such a great guy, and such a good dancer. But does he have to be a mind reader, too?
I shake my head.
“Epatha,” he says, suddenly looking more like a grown-up than he did before. “You need to tell them. They’re going to find out anyway, right?”
Well, I was hoping they wouldn’t. I was starting to make up a brilliant plan, where I’d tell them that I had some horrible disease. Brenda could help me think up something awful to have, I’m sure. But I guess that would mean they’d haul me to the doctor and worry and stuff.
“You can hang out here during today’s rehearsal,” he says, “but only if you promise me you’ll tell them as soon as you go home.”
Our eyes lock for a few seconds. Then I look down. “I promise.”
Dancing Diva Page 5
