Dancing Diva Read online

  “Good,” he says. He picks up his water bottle and his bag. And then he holds out his hand. “Bye, Epatha,” he says.

  I shake his hand. It’s not as great as dancing onstage with him. But it’s not too bad, either.

  Chapter 16

  Mom is almost always really early to pick me up. I count on this today, to postpone my fate just a little longer. I keep an eye on the studio clock, and when it’s 4:45, I sneak back down the bright hallways, up the stairs, and into the empty lobby. Music drifts out from the theater; rehearsal’s still going on, thank goodness. I race through the lobby and out the front door. And there’s Mom, checking messages on her phone. There are a few other people hanging around, too, but luckily no one I know.

  “Finished already?” Mom asks. “You must have been great if you got to leave early!”

  I avoid her questions on the walk home.

  But just as we get to Bella Italia, I stop and look right at her. “I have something I need to tell you,” I say. My right leg starts shaking. I ignore it and go on. “I need to talk to you and Papa and Nonna and Abuela.”

  “Is everything okay, sweetie?” she asks.

  “I just need to talk to everyone,” I say.

  As soon as we get home, I march upstairs to the living room. Mom comes in with Dad, who is still in his chef’s apron. Then she gets Nonna and Abuela, who are in the kitchen of our apartment, arguing as usual.

  Nonna comes in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Abuela follows. They all sit down.

  “What is this about, piccolina?” Dad asks.

  I take a deep breath. “I am not going to be dancing in the show,” I say.

  Nonna gasps and leaps to her feet. “Whose fault is this?” she asks, her voice jumping up three octaves. “I will go talk with them.

  Io…io gli do un pugno in faccia! I will…I will punch them right in the nose!”

  The thought of Nonna punching anyone right in the nose would normally be funny, but I don’t feel like laughing at the moment.

  I motion for her to sit back down. “It’s my fault, Nonna,” I say. “Colpa mia. I made a mistake. I thought I didn’t have to do the choreography—the steps—they gave me. So I got kicked out.”

  There’s silence for a moment. “Well,” Dad says gruffly. “I’m sure your steps were better than theirs, anyway.”

  I shake my head. “No, Dad, they weren’t. I should have listened to Mr. Lester. And Terrel.”

  Nonna still looks angry. Abuela just looks sad.

  I continue, “Nonna and Abuela, I am very sorry about you selling all those tickets to the show.” I’ve been doing a good job being strong till now, but here my voice cracks. I am not a crier, but for a horrible moment, I think I’m going to break down in tears. I blink hard.

  “Don’t worry, querida,” Abuela says quickly. “No hay problema. Not a problem at all.”

  “Of course not,” Nonna says. “My friends, they are all wanting to see this Simmons Linc anyway.”

  I half smile. “I’m really sorry,” I say again quietly. Before, I wondered if I’d get into trouble. But I think they can all see that I’m already so miserable that they can’t do anything worse to me than I’ve already done to myself. “I’m going to go lie down. I’m a little tired,” I say. I walk into my room and close my door. Only then do I let the tears come.

  Chapter 17

  I never knew what people meant when they said, “Have a good cry.” That’s because I didn’t get how a cry could be good—until now. After I cry for a while and sniff and blow my nose, I actually do feel better. It still stinks that I won’t be in the show. But in a strange way, I feel stronger and more determined. I’m not ever going to let that happen to me again. The next time I’m in a show, I’ll do what the director says.

  And there’s something I have to do: I need to tell Terrel that I’m sorry.

  It’s almost eight at night. I wonder if it’s too late to call her. Should I apologize in person? I don’t do a lot of apologizing, so I don’t really know the drill.

  Just as I decide it’s better to do it now on the phone rather than wait till tomorrow, there’s a knock on my door.

  “Epatha,” Nonna calls, “someone to see you.”

  That’s crazy. Who’d come see me this late? I open my door and peer out.

  “Downstairs,” Nonna says, motioning in that direction.

  “Who is it?” I ask, but she’s already waddled back to the kitchen.

  I stop in the bathroom to splash a little cool water on my face, then go downstairs and push open the swinging door.

  Terrel and all the other Sugar Plums are standing there.

  Well, I’d wanted to apologize to Terrel. I hadn’t meant to do it in front of everyone. But here goes.

  “Terrel,” I say, “I am really, really sorry that I said those things about your dancing. You’re a great dancer. Better than me.”

  She looks a little embarrassed. “Not better,” she says. “Different.”

  “I’ve been a jerk,” I say, looking at all of them. “I’m sorry.” My eyes meet Jessica’s. Her eyes are so kind that I look away fast so I won’t start bawling again.

  “Get your dance stuff,” Terrel says.

  That’s the last thing I would have expected her to say. “What? Why?” I ask.

  She exhales impatiently. “Because if you’re going to learn my chorus role, you need to get your butt in gear. We can only stay till nine o’clock.”

  “But…but…” I still don’t understand, but a flicker of hope dances inside me. “Linc talked to Mr. Tonetti and Mr. Lester,” Terrel says.

  “And he talked to us, too,” Jessica says.

  Al continues, “He asked if we could teach you the part in time for tomorrow’s dress rehearsal.”

  “And since we are the fabulous Sugar Plum Sisters, we said yes,” says Brenda, grinning.

  “Yeah. If we can teach Al to spin, we can do anything,” says JoAnn. Al shoves her.

  “Your mom said we can use the back room,” Jerzey Mae says.

  I stare at them all. I can’t believe it.

  “Well? Get moving!” orders Terrel.

  Learning the dance isn’t all that hard. I know the beginning already, of course, and I’d seen them practicing the rest of it. And many of the moves are the same as the ones in the solo dance; it’s just the timing that’s different.

  I do exactly what I’m supposed to do—not one single added arm move or extra jump. And as we’re practicing, something strange happens. I realize it actually feels good to be moving in unison with my friends.

  And I realize something else: I understand that watching six people moving together perfectly might be better than watching five people move perfectly and one do everything a little different. When you watch the Rockettes dance in their Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall, it’s not boring because they’re all doing the same thing. It’s really great because they’re all doing exactly the same thing.

  I think about last fall, when Al first moved to town and we helped her learn to spin in this very room. A lot’s happened since then, but here we all are again. Even though I’ve been a jerk, my friends are all pitching in to help me. I grin so wide I think my face is going to crack. I am one very lucky Sugar Plum.

  By nine o’clock, I have it. I really do—every step, every move, every turn. “I’ll keep practicing,” I tell them as we walk through the restaurant toward the front door.

  “You’d better,” Terrel says. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow at six p.m. sharp. And you gotta go early, to get fitted for your costume.”

  “You guys…” I say. They turn around.

  I don’t have exactly the right words for everything I’m feeling. So I just say, “Thank you. Especially you, Terrel.”

  I can’t help myself. I reach out and give her a big hug.

  “Oh, man! Okay, okay,” she says, twisting away. Terrel is not a huggy person, but she smiles a little anyway. “See you tomorrow,” she says.

  Chap
ter 18

  I practice the dance over and over on my own after my friends leave. The next day, I go through it in my head during class, when I’m supposed to be drawing a map of South America. I dance it during P.E., while I’m waiting for my turn at bat. And I practice it again after school, in the middle of our living room.

  My grandmas are a little confused. They’d just gotten used to the idea of my not being in the show when they found out I was going to be in it after all. “You dance with Simmons Linc again now?” Nonna asks.

  “Nope,” I said. “Not dancing with Simmons Linc. But dancing in the show. With my friends.”

  This seems to satisfy her. “Is a good thing I sell thirty-five tickets, then. Which is more than some people sold.” She looks at Abuela, lifts an eyebrow, and saunters out of the room.

  Abuela leans over to me and whispers, “I sold thirty-seven. But I won’t tell her right now and ruin her evening.” She winks.

  Before I know it, it’s time for our dress rehearsal. Mom and I walk up the block together. “You’re quiet today,” she says.

  I am quiet. I can’t wait to perform. But in order to do that, I’m going to have to walk into the theater and face Mr. Lester and Mr. Tonetti. I haven’t seen either of them since they kicked me out of the show. I wish my life were a DVD and we could just fast-forward to the part where I’m dancing with my friends up on the stage.

  As we walk, I’m overcome with a sick, scared feeling. What if it’s all a mistake? What if my friends got it wrong? What if Mr. Lester and Mr. Tonetti didn’t really let me back in the show? What if I walk through the door and they kick me out again? It was humiliating enough the first time. If it happens again, I’m going to have to leave the country.

  Mom and I stop in front of the theater door. “You okay?” she asks.

  I nod, even though I’m not.

  “Want me to come in with you?”

  “Nope.” Another lie. But if it is all a mistake, I don’t want my mom to see me get thrown out again.

  I scan the street in front of the theater, hoping I’ll see one of my friends so I won’t have to walk into the theater alone.

  The street is totally, completely empty. How can a street in the middle of a big city be so empty?

  “See you after rehearsal,” I tell Mom, in a fake-cheery voice. I summon my courage and push open the heavy door.

  Jessica is standing right there, smiling at me. “There you are,” she says, taking my arm. “I was waiting for you.”

  She knew. Relief floods my body. Tears sting my eyes, but they’re good tears. I blink them back. With all the crying I’ve been doing lately, I might as well be Jerzey Mae.

  “We need to go right upstairs to the costume room to get you fixed up,” Jessica says, pulling me along behind her. “The costume lady was going to try to make Terrel’s old costume fit you, but Al’s mom said that was crazy, since you’re so much taller than Terrel. So Al’s mom stayed up really late and made you a new one.”

  We climb the stairs backstage and go into a cramped room. Al’s mom is waiting there with my brand-new costume: a creamy satin dress with a full, flouncy skirt and a blue ribbon tied around the waist.

  “Wow. Thank you!” I say, as I slip it on. “It’s really great.”

  She brushes off my thanks. “No worries, sweetheart,” she says, zipping me up. “There. Let me take a look.”

  She stands back and evaluates, head tilted to one side. “It could be a teensy bit shorter, but I’ll take care of that after rehearsal. Everything else looks spot-on. Can you move okay?”

  I spin. The skirt of the dress flies out, then floats gracefully down again.

  “Arms?” she asks.

  I lift my arms overhead.

  “Excellent!” she says with satisfaction. “Do I rock, or what?”

  “You definitely rock,” I reply.

  In the meantime, Jessica has slipped her costume on. “We should go,” she says. “The others are waiting in one of the studios. We want to run through the dance one more time before rehearsal starts.”

  “Wait,” Al’s mom says. “I need to clip a few loose threads.”

  I can see that Jessica’s getting antsy. “Go ahead,” I say. “Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.”

  After Al’s mom snips the threads, I race out the door and down the stairs. For a moment I’m lost. I don’t know how to get to the rehearsal studios from backstage. So I run out onstage, figuring I can find my way if I go through the theater.

  Where, it turns out, Mr. Lester and Mr. Tonetti are sitting.

  Chapter 19

  I freeze, right there in the middle of the stage.

  Mr. Lester and Mr. Tonetti look up from their seats in the front row.

  I’m tempted to run back the way I came and hope they didn’t notice anything. But since we’re the only three people in the theater and the stage is lit up as bright as day, this seems rather unlikely.

  “Um…hi,” I say.

  They don’t say anything.

  But they haven’t told me to go home yet, so maybe they really have given me a second chance.

  And rather than running away like I want to, maybe I need to act like I deserved that chance.

  So I walk slowly off the stage and into the audience. Right to where they’re sitting.

  “Hi,” Mr. Lester says.

  Mr. Tonetti just squints at me from behind his glasses.

  I take a deep breath. “I’d like to thank you both for giving me another chance,” I say. “It really means a lot to me. And I won’t let you down. I promise.”

  Mr. Lester nods. “You’re welcome, Epatha.”

  Mr. Tonetti continues to squint at me in silence. Finally he says, “You will do what you are supposed to?” he says. “Because I was not so sure about this another-chance business. This is a favor to Linc Simmons. Not to you.”

  I start to feel angry—but why would Mr. Tonetti trust me? I haven’t given him any reason to. Yet.

  “I will do what I’m supposed to,” I say.

  “I understand now about how you need to respect the choreographer. And how making things up causes problems and stuff.”

  Mr. Tonetti does not look convinced.

  “We’re counting on you, Epatha,” Mr. Lester says. “Linc is, too.”

  “I know,” I say. “Thank you again.”

  “You’d better get going,” Mr. Lester says.

  Mr. Tonetti grunts.

  I run out of the theater and join my friends.

  After the encounter with Mr. Lester and Mr. Tonetti, the rest of the rehearsal is a piece of cake. We have to wait while some last-minute lighting changes are made. I see Linc’s friend Mac up on the catwalk near the ceiling, moving lights around. Then we run through the ballet without stopping, exactly the way we’ll do it for the opening tomorrow night.

  Brenda, who dances beside me in the group, makes sure I start off in the right spot, since I’ve never practiced this dance onstage. But after that, I don’t need any help at all. I dance in perfect unison with my friends, just like I promised. Just like I want to.

  “You did good, E.,” JoAnn says, when we’re back offstage.

  “Yeah,” Al adds. “No one would ever know you’d just learned a new part.”

  “Thanks,” I grin.

  Since we won’t get to watch the real performances, we’re allowed to sit in the audience tonight after our part’s over. We grab front-row seats. The dancers are all graceful and powerful, especially Linc. And it’s cool to be sitting close enough to see the sweat on his face and to see him breathing hard. That’s what ballet is about: working hard and making it look easy. Now I want to be a professional dancer more than ever.

  After the rehearsal is over, the dancers—including us!—gather onstage. Mr. Lester gives us notes, while Mr. Tonetti stands by his side.

  “Robert,” Mr. Lester says to a tall blond man, “a little slow on your second entrance. And Maribelle, make that last spin sharper, if you can.”

&nbs
p; As he continues, I can’t help it—my eyes drift over to Mr. Tonetti. He’s looking right at me. And I think he sees the question in my eyes: Do you think I did okay? Because as he holds my gaze, he nods his head, just once.

  But that’s enough for me. I’m totally, completely, perfectly happy.

  Chapter 20

  It’s the big night: Saturday night, the premiere of Springtime in Harlem. I’m so excited I can hardly hold still. After thinking I’d never dance at the Harlem Ballet, getting this second chance is the best thing ever.

  I have to be at the theater at seven o’clock, so I can get into my costume and get my makeup done. Makeup! This really is the big time.

  Dad drops me off in front of the theater. “Break a leg!” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I know you’ll make us all proud.”

  My friends are just going in the front door. I run to catch up. We make our way to the dressing rooms and open the one marked girls. Our eyes widen as we look around. There’s a big, long mirror along the wall with a long makeup table under it. A row of light-bulbs surrounds the mirror.

  Ruby, the makeup lady, is waiting to help us get ready. She covers our faces, one by one, with a layer of base, then lines our eyes and paints our lips.

  JoAnn looks into the mirror, horrified, after her makeup’s done. “We’re supposed to be girls! Not clowns!”

  Ruby laughs. “The stage lights are bright, dear. You’ll look totally normal onstage, believe it or not.”

  “Not,” JoAnn mutters. But Jerzey Mae is thrilled about her makeup. She keeps sneaking glances at herself in the mirror.

  Next, a woman named Anna comes to help us into our costumes. “Be very careful,” she cautions us. “You don’t want to get that makeup on these lovely dresses.”

  “Curtain in fifteen minutes.” The stage manager’s voice booms through a speaker hanging in a corner. There’s so much excitement in the room I wouldn’t be surprised if we all started floating or bouncing off the walls.

  There’s a knock on the door. Linc pops his head in. “Good luck, girls,” he says. “You, too,” we call out in unison. Just before he leaves, he catches my eye and winks.