Alex Ko (24 page)

“She wants some advice,” Kenny said, thrusting his cell at me. “Help her out.”

With no other choice, I took the phone.

“Hi?” I said, unsure what useful advice I could possibly give Jennifer Grey.

“Alex, I’m Jennifer,” she said sweetly. “Great to meet you. Kenny says you’re a dancer?”

“Ballet, mostly,” I told her. “But I’m on Broadway right now. In
Billy Elliot.
”

“So cool!” she said excitedly. “Congratulations. You’re just the person I need.”

“Really?” I said, confused. “How can I help you?”

“I’m on
Dancing with the Stars
right now, and it’s been a long time since I’ve danced this much. What do you eat to keep your energy up? It’s so tiring!”

“Well,” I said, shocked that she’d actually asked a question I could help with, “I usually have a Clif Bar and a banana at intermission. That’s my power snack.”

“Cool,” she said. It sounded like she was taking notes. “And how do you warm up?”

“Jumping jacks, running . . . a little bit of everything really. I just try to do stuff that’ll loosen me up.” I thought for a second, and something occurred to me. “Don’t do it on concrete, though. You could injure yourself. Watch out for your knees.”

“Awesome,” she said. “Do you watch
Dancing with the Stars
?”

“I will now,” I told her, and we laughed.

“Well, wish me luck if you do. Say good-bye to Kenny for me—I’ll let you get back to dinner.”

With a click, she was gone.

“Kid’s a natural,” Kenny said to Mom as I stared at the phone. Had I really just given advice to Jennifer Grey? Talk about worlds being flipped upside down.

“Was she nice?” Mom asked.

“Really nice,” I mumbled. “I just can’t believe . . . I mean, why would she want my advice? I’m just a kid.”

“Alex,” Kenny said, shaking his head in shock. “You’re on Broadway! No, strike that, you’re in a
title role
on Broadway. You haven’t been ‘just a kid’ in a while. And this is only the beginning. Mark my words, you won’t believe the places you’ll go.”

As we finished lunch, I thought about what Kenny had said. I guess maybe I wasn’t the same kid I thought I was anymore. Even though all of this seemed so new, it was my reality now, and I needed to get used to it. But I didn’t think Kenny was totally right. I mean, what could possibly top being on Broadway, meeting Rosie O’Donnell,
and
talking to Jennifer Grey?

As it happened, I was about to find out.

Chapter 25
Inspired

“P
lease take off your shoes, belts, anything metal in your pockets, any jewelry, portable phones, etc., and put them in the bin before you pass through the metal detector. Thank you.”

The guard repeated his speech in a monotone every few minutes. I’d been waiting for nearly an hour, so I’d heard it enough times that I could recite it from memory. A long line of would-be guests snaked down the hall from the guard station, patiently waiting and playing with their cell phones. Finally it was my turn.

“Alex Ko?” The guard looked up from a list of names on his computer.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Birth certificate?”

I passed him the thin piece of paper, which we’d ordered from Iowa just for this reason. He stared at it intently before running a black light over it to look for forgeries. I must have checked out, because he waved me through the metal detector and handed me a dark blue identification badge with the letter
A
on it.

“Wear this at all times,” he said without looking up. “Liam Redhead?” he called out next.

“Wow,” I whispered to myself as I gazed past the security checkpoint down the long and lavish hallway. The White House looks great in pictures, but you have to be there to get the full effect.

Liam and I, along with Dayton Tavares and Jacob Clemente, two other Billys, had flown to D.C. to lead a workshop for the inaugural session of the White House Dance Series, a new initiative that the first lady had begun as part of her health and fitness drive. I’d been back in the show for a few months now, and I was at the peak of my time as Billy. Being invited to the White House was both an honor and a privilege. We would be onstage beside members of the New York City Ballet, the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, and the Washington Ballet—not to mention the first lady herself, Michelle Obama. The event combined performances, a tribute to choreographer Judith Jamison (the artistic director of Alvin Ailey), and a dance workshop for nearly one hundred young people from around the country. It was an afternoon event taking place in the East Room, an elegant ballroom with three giant crystal chandeliers, a beautiful parquet floor, and stately portraits of past presidents hanging on the walls.

Or at least, that’s where the event was
going
to take place. But even though it took forever to get through security, we still arrived really early. The East Room wasn’t even set up when we walked in. Juliana told us to settle down and wait, then went across the room to talk to the organizers of the event.

“Hey, Alex, look!” said Liam as we explored the empty ballroom. “Over there—isn’t that where the president makes all his speeches?”

I went down the hallway, where some workers were setting up a podium and chairs. It looked like they were getting ready for a big press event. Later, we found out that President Obama was making a televised announcement that evening, but at the time we weren’t sure what was going on.

“Maybe? It’s hard to tell. Everything here looks so . . .
presidential
,” I said. “Like you expect to turn a corner and run into him at any moment.”

“I know,” said Liam. “Look, the workers are gone.”

The podium was sitting there, lit up and alone, graced with the presidential seal.

“Wanna take a picture?” Liam asked. “I’ll take yours if you take mine.”

“Sure!” I smiled. I looked around to tell Juliana, but she was busy on the other side of the room, now talking to security.

We’ll be quick
, I thought.
No point in worrying her.

Liam and I slipped out of the East Room and into the empty hallway. No alarms went off, and I didn’t see any SWAT teams running our way, so I figured we were safe. I looked around. Liam was right: this was definitely where President Obama gave his speeches. I’d seen him on TV, in this very spot, dozens of times. I crept up behind the podium and imagined myself giving an important address. I couldn’t believe I was
literally
standing in President Obama’s footsteps.

“Okay, pose,” Liam said as he jogged away from me. “Ready? Three, two . . . one . . . Go!”

I threw my left leg high behind me and extended my arms above my head in an arabesque. I couldn’t imagine a more appropriate pose for a photo at the White House.

An arabesque is one of the most regal poses in any kind of dance.

“Your turn,” I said to Liam. We switched positions and Liam did an arabesque of his own. We traded places a few more times, each of us trying to get the most reach, the most extension, the most perfect arabesque we could do, because this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“That’s your new Facebook profile pic right there,” I said to Liam as I showed him the photos I’d taken on my phone.

“Awesome.” He slapped me five. “Now what?”

We both looked back the way we’d come. No one seemed to have noticed we were gone. Through the open door, I could see Juliana still talking to the guards.

“We should go back in,” I said. “They’ll miss us soon.”

“Yeah,” Liam agreed.

Neither of us moved.

“I mean, we don’t have anything to do for another hour,” I said.

“And if we went back in, we’d probably just be in the way,” Liam added.

“And who knows if we’ll ever visit here again. . . .” I trailed off.

We both looked longingly down the hall. Who wanted to be cooped up in the East Room, when we could actually get to see the place where everything happened? This was the center of American democracy.
Lincoln
had walked these floors. It was almost our patriotic duty to go exploring.

“Come on,” Liam said decisively. We snuck past the podium and took a left at the first intersection. The hallway we entered was empty, but there were footsteps coming from behind us. We walked away from them as fast as we could without running. Doors opened onto the hall at random intervals, but all of them were closed, and we were afraid to open them. The last thing we wanted was to surprise a group of armed Secret Service agents.

“Duh-duh-da-da-da-dadaduh.” I quietly sang the
Mission: Impossible
theme song as we moved quickly down the hall. The footsteps behind us were getting closer.

“Here!” Liam said, pulling me into the first open door we found. Inside was the smallest room I saw that day in the White House. It wasn’t much bigger than our living room at home—and it already had people in it. My heart jumped into my throat. Was it a crime to wander the White House unescorted? I wondered. I was about to find out.

“Excuse me,” said the large security guard standing by the door. “Can I see your IDs, please?”

“Is that Bo?” Liam asked, ignoring the security guard entirely and addressing the young man with a black fluffy dog on a leash. I held up my blue ID tag at the guard and hoped for the best.

“Yes,” the dog walker said. “But you’re not supposed to be in here. Aren’t you with the dance program?”

“We’re from
Billy Elliot
,” I said, partly to the walker and partly to the guard, who was giving Liam an angry look. “But I really wanted to meet Bo.”

It wasn’t a lie, not entirely. I love dogs, and I really
did
want to meet Bo.

“Can I pet him?” I said.

“No,” the dog walker replied. “Really, no one’s supposed to touch him.”

Bo looked up at us, his intelligent eyes begging us to stroke his fluffy head. He was a Portuguese water dog, and looked exactly like a curly-haired stuffed animal. How could we resist?

“Please?” said Liam.

The man looked around quickly, but we were alone aside from the security guard, who seemed bored now that it was clear we weren’t pint-size spies.

“All right,” the walker said. “But just once.”

I’m happy to report that Bo Obama is a great first dog: cute, smart, friendly, and very, very fluffy. I wish I could have gotten a picture with him, but even petting him seemed to make his handler nervous. I wanted to get out before he made the security guard escort us back to the East Room.

“Thanks!” I said over my shoulder as I pulled Liam away from the dog and out of the room. “Where to now?” I whispered.

Liam shrugged. The dance program would be starting soon. I almost suggested we head back when I spotted another open door.

“Let’s just look,” I said. I darted down the hall and peeked my head in.

The room had two big, heavy red armchairs sitting atop a thick Oriental rug. There were a couple of ornate wooden desks and armoires, as well as the antique paintings that seemed to be required decor for every room in the White House. I guess after forty-four presidents and first families, you end up with a lot of portraits. But what caught my eye was an open cabinet built into one wall. I couldn’t tell what was inside it, exactly, but it looked like thin sheets of metal stacked vertically.

“Whoa . . . cool. What is
that
?” I wondered.

“I don’t know,” Liam said as he poked his head in next to mine. “But I know how to find out!”

Quick as a flash, Liam was in the room and tugging on one of the sheets.

“Careful!” I whispered as I ran over to help him. Slowly, we tugged it out of the cabinet to reveal a giant map of Asia that was intricately detailed. When fully unrolled, it hung in front of the cabinet with a little stand to keep it in place. It was metal only on the outer edge—the rest was a sort of heavy canvas.

“Cool,” said Liam. “The president has the best toys.”

“It’s one of the perks of being president,” I agreed. “Like Air Force One and the right to skip every line at Disneyland.”

There were dozens of other maps in the cabinet, and I wanted to pull each one out and examine it. I could just picture the president meeting foreign ambassadors in this room to discuss trade agreements and national security issues. I shivered. I couldn’t believe how awesome my life had become. I, Alex Ko from Iowa City, was an invited guest at the White House, exploring the president’s stuff. For the first time, I actually felt famous.

“What do you think’s in there?” Liam asked, pointing to the only other door in the Map Room.

I shrugged and went to open it.

“Sweet,” I said. Liam started to run over.

“Hold up!” I yelled as I slipped into the room and closed the door behind me. “It’s just the bathroom.”

I’d needed one for a while. After I washed my hands, I checked the time on my phone. It was after noon, and the workshop was starting soon. It was time for Liam and me to head back. But as I wiped my hands, I noticed something strange about the paper towels: they had the White House seal emblazoned on them. I took a few as souvenirs.