Attitude (3 page)

Diana is making notes on a clipboard as we pull on hoodies and slip off our shoes. Finally she looks up. “I'm sure you are all dying to know your groups for the summer. Do some stretches until ten o'clock—that'll give me a few minutes to finalize the lists. I'll post them on the bulletin board in the downstairs hall. Any questions, please let me know.”

Diana leaves and we all stretch, doing splits and flexing our feet, but no one's mind is on the exercises. Everyone's talking and laughing, and as soon as the clock on the wall says ten, the rest of the class rushes past me, out into the hall and down the stairs. I hang back on the landing for a moment, adjusting my crooked name tag and watching them descend. From above, all I can see is the tops of their heads—dozens of girls with smooth hair pulled into tight buns. My legs are tired, but I am suddenly filled with energy, my muscles loose and springy, and I feel like I could jump right up to the ceiling, lifted by sheer excitement.

I run down the stairs and join the crowd at the bulletin board. Edie grabs my arm. “You're with us,” she says. “In Diana's group, with me and Melissa.”

“Good,” I say, relieved.

Melissa raises one eyebrow. “They did it mostly by age, really. All the eleven- and twelve-year-olds are together in one group, then there's our group, then the older girls.”

“We don't know how old the new girls are,” Edie points out.

Melissa shrugs. “
Mostly
by age, I said. Anya, Danika, Zoe, you, me, Cassie—we're all thirteen or fourteen or fifteen.”

I'm trying to remember the names and failing miserably. “How many of our group are new?” I ask.

“Lots,” Edie says. “That girl Iako, she's new.”

“And the American girl,” Melissa says. “You know. The one with no bun.”

“Oh yeah. Cam, I think.” I had noticed her, and glanced at her name tag, because her dark brown hair is really short. She is tall and freckled, and her short hair looks cute. Still, it is an odd choice for a dancer, and I wonder how she will manage it for performances.

“A couple of others, too. There are ten in our group altogether,” Melissa says, counting on her fingers. “The five of us who belong here plus Cassie and four other new girls.” She looks at me and her eyes narrow; then she turns back to Edie. “Did you notice how the teachers fuss over the new girls? They totally got all the attention.”

“Well, I guess the teachers already know the rest of us,” Edie says.

Melissa ignores her, beckoning imperiously to a group of dancers standing farther down the hall. Three girls approach us, the third leaping into a temps levé in arabesque as she moves across the floor. “Danika, Zoe, Anya—have you guys met Cassie? She's staying with Edie.”

They all nod and say hi, and I know I'm going to get the three of them mixed up. I'm really bad with names and faces. Melissa's red hair is a gift, but Anya, Danika and Zoe all have long brown hair pulled back tightly into buns.
Zoe has braces,
I tell myself.
Anya has streaky blond highlights. Danika is the small one with diamond stud earrings…
“So,” Melissa says, “how many of us do you think will get invited to stay in the fall?”

Zoe shrugs. “They'll take more from the older group, probably.”

Danika nods, her expression thoughtful. “From our group just two or three, I bet.”

“That's it?” I say, dismayed. “Two out of ten?”

“At best,” Melissa says darkly. “But I can tell you right now, it won't be Iako or Miss No-Bun. So really, it's more like two out of eight.” She extends one leg, toes pointed and stretched out in front of her.
Tendu devant
, I think automatically.

Edie giggles. “It's like a TV show, you know? Like
Survivor
.”

Danika laughs, and Zoe lowers her voice to imitate a reality-show host. “The tribe has spoken.”

Melissa looks thoughtful. She lowers her foot to the ground. “Summer session is four weeks. So if eight people have to go, that's two a week.”

“Oh, come on.” I laugh, but I feel uneasy. “That's not how it works. I mean, no one's voting people off.”

“Sure they are,” Melissa says. “I bet Diana and Mrs. Hoffman are talking about us right now.” She puts on a fake German accent. “Zat leetle girl—ze Chinese girl, Iako—she doesn't have the drive, the passion. She gives up too easily.”

“I'm pretty sure she's from Japan,” I say. “Not China.”

“Same difference,” Melissa says.

“No, actually—” I start to speak, but she cuts me off.

“The point is, Cassandra, that Iako was practically crying at the end of the class because it was too hard. Her hip was hurting.” She smirks. “A dancer has to be strong. If she can't handle a little pain, how's she going to cope with being a professional dancer?”

Anya nods. “We should vote her off right now.”

“It's not our decision,” I tell Melissa. My heart is beating faster than usual, and I wish this conversation wasn't happening. The last thing I want to do is make enemies. “I mean, we can vote if you want, but everyone will still be here.”

“Will they?” Melissa's voice is sharp, and her blue eyes are icy.

I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck lifting, prickling. “Well, yeah, of course. And who says Diana and Mrs. Hoffman will agree with your choices? It's their votes that will count in the end.”

She ignores me. “Show of hands. Who thinks Iako isn't cut out for this? Who is ready to vote her off?”

And all around me, the hands go up. Melissa. Edie. Anya. Zoe. Danika. I clasp my own hands together behind my back. “Cassie?” Edie nudges me, her eyes wide and anxious. “Aren't you voting?”

I know Iako has as much right to be here as any of us. And I know what my dad would say:
Just do what you know is right, Cassie, and everything else will fall into place.

But a small voice in my head is screaming at me:
You're putting a target on your own back, Cassandra! Just go along with it!
Because I can tell that Melissa is the queen bee around here, and making her mad is probably a really bad idea.

Especially since I have to live with her best friend for the next four weeks.

Besides, it won't really hurt Iako if I vote. The whole thing is stupid, but it's just a game, after all—it's not like these votes actually count toward anything.

I lift my hand, and Edie grins at me. I smile back, but there's a sick feeling in my gut. Maybe they'd understand, but I know my parents wouldn't be proud of me right now.

“That's six votes,” Melissa says. “Iako's history.”

Four

After a short break, the ten of us are taken to have our pointe shoes checked and get new shoes if we need them. Mrs. Hoffman, who is friendlier now than she seemed earlier, takes us into a small room lined from floor to ceiling with shelves and filled with more ballet shoes than I've seen in my life.

We sit on a long bench to wait our turn. I'm sitting in the middle, and Mrs. Hoffman is slowly working her way down the line. On my left are all the girls who just voted against Iako. Danika is holding out a foot for Mrs. Hoffman to inspect, Anya and Zoe are watching, and Edie is whispering with Melissa, her back turned toward me. On my right are Iako and the three other new girls. The short-haired girl, Cam, grins at me. I start to smile back. Then I remember that she's going to be next on Melissa's list, and a wave of hot shame makes me drop my eyes.

Mrs. Hoffman has moved on to Anya and is fussing over her shoes. “Tch, tch. These are getting worn out. You're not getting much support from this box anymore.”

Anya groans. “I've only had them three weeks.”

The teacher nods. “You can use some jet glue to stiffen it, maybe get a little more use from them, but you really need new ones.” She hands the shoe back and moves on to Zoe. “Ah yes, this foot I remember.”

Zoe makes a face. “Why do I feel like that isn't a good thing?”

“Your second toe's longer than your big toe. Looks like you've been getting blisters on that middle joint, yes?”

“Always. Well, for the last two years anyway. Since I started on pointe.”

I look down at Zoe's foot and notice that her middle toes are wrapped in white tape. I started on pointe two years ago, but for the first year I didn't do much at all. Anya's worn-out shoes and Zoe's taped toes make me wonder if the other girls all have more experience than I do.

Mrs. Hoffman moves on down the line, commenting on Melissa's feet. “Beautiful, beautiful. Lovely flexible feet, and look at that instep!” She pushes down on Melissa's foot, increasing the curve, and I can't help agreeing that it's beautiful. “Take care of these high arches, dear. You'll have to work to keep them strong. Remind me to give you some exercises.”

“You've given me them before,” Melissa says.

“And are you doing them?”

“Yes. Well…sometimes.”

“Every day,” Mrs. Hoffman says firmly. “A beautiful foot is no use if you cannot dance on it, and without strong feet, you cannot dance.”

She checks Edie's shoes and nods approval, and then stands in front of me. “Now for the new girls. Let's see your feet, dears, and make sure your shoes are fitting properly.”

I lift my right foot, and she takes it in her cool hands, flexing my arch, pushing down on my toes, feeling my ankle and heel. “A lovely neat foot,” she says and glances at my name tag. “See this, girls? Cassandra's big toe and the next two toes are all the same length. Very square, this foot. This means that when she goes on pointe, her weight will be distributed across the three toes.”

My cheeks warm with both pleasure and embarrassment—I hear Melissa whisper something, and a couple of the other girls snicker. Mrs. Hoffman doesn't seem to notice. “Put these back on and let's see you on pointe.”

I slip my shoes back on, lace them around my ankles, stand up and rise onto my toes.

Mrs. Hoffman squats, inspecting my feet. “Your shoes fit nicely, dear, but keep your feet straight. See this? You're a little out on your baby toes. We call that sickling, and you don't want to do that. The space between your feet needs to stay equal, yes?” She rests her fingers on the outsides of my heels, pressing lightly. “Like so. You must have nice straight feet.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

She smiles at me as I sit back down, then moves on to Iako. “May I see your foot, dear?”

Iako holds out her foot silently. I watch her, feeling uncomfortable. “A beautiful foot,” Mrs. Hoffman says, and Iako smiles uncertainly. “Very flexible,” Mrs. Hoffman continues. “That's good. Now put the shoes on and let's check the fit.”

“Sorry? I don't…can you…” Iako's cheeks are pink. “My English…”

I can hear Edie and Melissa whispering.

“Put on the shoes,” Mrs. Hoffman says again. “And stand up, dear.”

Iako nods, puts her shoes on and goes on pointe so smoothly and quickly that it appears as natural as standing flat-footed. She has long thin legs and looks like she was born on her toes.

“These shoes are a little too big for you, yes? The shank extends slightly beyond your heel.”

Iako nods and sits back down, but I'm not sure she understood. I can't imagine how hard it must be for her—she is as far from home as I am, and on top of that, she has to communicate in a foreign language. I feel a flash of anger—at Melissa, for targeting someone who probably could use some friends, and at myself, for going along with it.

“Try these,” Mrs. Hoffman says, passing her another pair, which Iako puts on. “Stand again.” She holds out a hand, gesturing for Iako to rise onto her toes again. “Yes, yes. Better.” She pats Iako on the shoulder. “Very good. Make sure you break them in properly. You know how, yes?” She demonstrates, kneading the box with her fingers and flexing the shank. Iako nods, gives her a grateful smile and sits back down.

Edie nudges me. “She can't even speak English.”

“So?” I say. “We can't speak Japanese.”

“Of course not. But we're not trying to go to a ballet school in Japan, are we?”

“I think she's brave,” I say. “Don't you?”

She hesitates. “I guess so. Sort of.”

I watch as Mrs. Hoffman nods approval over Cam's feet and the fit of her shoes and fusses a little over Julie's. “Tch, tch. Not the most flexible foot, is it, dear? You can't do much about the height of your arch, but I'll give you some exercises to do.”

“I know,” Julie says ruefully. She looks younger than the rest of the group and has curly fair hair that keeps springing free of her bun. “My teacher back home says I have flat feet.”

“Well, yes, but flat feet can be strong feet. You work with what you have. Margot Fonteyn didn't have high arches and it didn't hinder her career, did it?”

Julie laughs. “Exactly what my teacher always says.”

“It's quite true. Feet like Melissa's, with a high instep and high arch, create beautiful lines and have the flexibility for great jumps, but if you don't work hard and do your exercises”—she shoots Melissa a look—“they can also be prone to injury.” And with that she moves on to the last girl in the line, Mackenzie, who is a light-skinned black girl, small but very strong.

Edie nudges me again. “Have lunch with me and Melissa, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Melissa overheard some of the teachers talking,” she says. “There's going to be an audition coming up.”

“An audition?” I lower my voice. “For what?”

“
The Nutcracker
,” she whispers. “Guess what role.”

“Not Clara.”

“Yup. Clara. Actually, they're looking for
two
Claras.”

I blow out a long slow breath.
The Nutcracker.
I fell in love with ballet as a four-year-old after I saw
The Nutcracker
on television. I've even had small parts in it back home, once as a mouse and once as a soldier. To dance the part of Clara would be a dream come true. But...“That's not until Christmas, though, right?”