Dream Chaser (11 page)

“I hope you saved room for dessert,” Mom said.

I rolled my head her direction, now warm, full and content next to my dog. “Dessert?”

“How do chocolate zucchini brownies sound?”

“Not as good as
Better
than Sex Cake.”

“Sorry, no refined sugars in my house. And would you like to share with me your personal knowledge about sex?”

“No, I think it’s best to keep you in the dark on my sexual escapades, but I will force myself to eat your brownies.” I grinned.

“You are not funny!” Mom tossed a pillow at my head.

Later I showed Mom all the paperwork for the show then called Jilly from the pantry. She didn’t pick up.

I went up to my room, thinking about how I’d be walking to school tomorrow, when I found a bouquet of paper flowers from Breezy. She drew little smiley faces on each one. I couldn’t help but smile.

Twinkie lay on my feet while I snuggled under a quilt and read the script. I couldn’t put it down. Tyson was a genius, and I couldn’t believe he’d given me the part of Lauren.

After that I did a little yoga. Miss Ginny was right. I needed to transform my body from a cheerleader back to a dancer. Empowered after good food, a good script and a good stretch, I crashed into bed and hoped for a better day tomorrow.

School went pretty much the same. I barely made the first bell, because I didn’t leave the house soon enough. Dad drives Breezy to her Montessori school on the north side of town, so he couldn’t drop me off, unless I wanted to get there at 7:30 a.m. Not.

During lunch, I decided to check the auditorium. It was empty, no class. So I ate my standard lunch of pepperoni pizza and chocolate milk while soaking in the vibes of the stage.

When I finished eating, I went up on stage and tried to mark through the dances I’d tried to learn through osmosis at rehearsal yesterday. Some of it I remembered, but other parts were totally gone. I felt stupid not knowing the dances the rest of the cast did. I needed to get a leg up so they’d stop treating me like I’m an idiot.

It felt pretty good to practice. Tonight I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole cast, only Eli and Tyson.
Yikes
. Eli was another topic I was dancing around. But why should I put it all on myself? He didn’t have to be such a jerk. He totally ignored me yesterday, which wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence, and it sure didn’t inspire everyone else to accept me.

The afternoon went by quickly with Foods Class and a movie in History. When I got to the auditorium, Tyson and Eli were already there. Eli glanced up and nodded. No smile, no hello. Still, at least he’d acknowledged me. I guess he figured he had to work with me, so he better be civil. Smart boy.

“Hey Willow.” Tyson always looked glad to see me. It sure was a nice switch from the cold shoulder everyone else gave.

“Hi.”

Tyson wore grey sweats and a black t-shirt that fit him oh so nicely.

“You two ready to dance?” He rubbed his hands together and his eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“You bet.” How could I not, when he was obviously
excited.
I couldn’t wait to get started.

“Sure,” Eli said. He acted nonchalant, but if I knew Eli, he was as excited on the inside as Tyson acted on the outside.

“Today we’re
goin
’ ghetto.” Tyson made some funky hand gestures and bobbed his head like an inner city gangsta.

I looked at Eli with raised eyebrows. He shook his head and grinned at Tyson’s gangster act. “All right,” I said, a little skepticism crept into my voice.

“You’ll get used to it,” Eli said as we followed Tyson on stage.

“I thought we’d work on something new so Willow doesn’t feel behind in every aspect of the show,” Tyson said.

“Thanks, it is a bit overwhelming.” Major understatement.

“Today we’re going to do some hip hop.” Tyson aimed a remote at the docking station and hip-hop music blared. “We’re
gonna
start out with some easy warm-up moves. Just follow me. When we get to the hard stuff, we’ll stop and work through it.”

So Eli and I stood behind Tyson as he
swagged
through some hip-hop basics, putting us all in the mood. It was really weird to watch our awesome director go all
ghetto
. He hit every move hard and sharp. Nothing sloppy.

Eli even lightened up. After a while, he shared looks with me when Tyson would do some move like a snake up. It seemed so out of character to see Tyson roll his body that way. The longer we were
thrashing and
tutting
,
the more I relaxed. It’s funny how you forget all the crap in life when you’re in a good mood from dancing
. I swung my attitude
like nobody’s business.

After we
warmed up
, Tyson slowed it down and fed us the steps one chunk at a time.

It had been so long since I’d learned a new dance like this. Yesterday didn’t count, since I was trying to figure out what they were doing with no clue what the steps were. Today, I had an amazing choreographer feeding me the steps.

“Make sure the knee pops when you twist left,”
Tyson said.

Next to me, Eli focused on Tyson’s every word. At least we had one thing in common now; we both wanted to do it right. Not to mention, I wanted to prove to Eli that I could keep up.

An hour later, drenched in perspiration, I hunched over to catch my breath.

“Let’s take five. That’s a really good start,” Tyson said.

I moved to the side of the stage, grabbed my water bottle and collapsed. Tyson grabbed a couple things from his bag, climbed back up on stage and joined me. Eli dropped down next to us with a satisfied sigh. Tyson ripped open a bag of pretzels and pushed it toward us. “Help yourself.”

Eli grabbed a handful and stuffed them in his mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I should have brought a snack; my slice of pizza wasn’t enough to hold me over. I took a handful, too, though I tried to eat them without looking like a caveman. “Thanks.”

As we relaxed and caught our breath, Tyson looked more like a college student than a big-time choreographer. His brown hair curled in a loose mass. He leaned over and lay on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. His long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. I wondered if he really was gay like Jilly said. Not that it mattered; he was still amazing to look at. I wish I could tell Jilly about it.

Eli was almost the polar opposite of Tyson in coloring, but he looked just as great. He leaned back on his hands next to the pretzel bag, a bottle of purple Power Aid at his side. Blonde hair covered his forearms. That hadn’t been there when we were kids. He wore a loose East High School Athletics t-shirt with grey sweats and sneakers. His blonde hair stuck up in front where he’d pushed it off his forehead when we finished. He looked laid-back, relaxed, as if he had no idea how good he looked. Knowing Eli, he probably didn’t.

I couldn’t believe I was rehearsing for a big show with these two great-looking guys. Hanging out with them was crazy fun. The only change I’d make is to have Eli forgive me and stop with the cool indifference.
 

“So how do you like the number so far?” Tyson asked.

“Awesome,” Eli said.

“I love it! It’s so different from what I learned yesterday. I can’t wait to see how it all fits together,” I said. But dealing with Eli’s cold shoulder threw a wet blanket on the fun.

“I’ve been working on this show for years. It’s already been work shopped in New York. What we’re doing here in Madison is like an out-of-town tryout.
Most Broadway shows begin with that type of tryout, before they open in New York.
That’s when last-minute changes are made, so the show is perfect by the time it gets to the Broadway.”

I nodded and took more pretzels.

“And because I’m going about it in my psychotic Tyson Scott kind of way, you can expect small changes and tweaks up to the end. I need to make sure it feels absolutely perfect. We’ve got some influential people flying in for opening night. Including a casting director.” He eyed Eli. “You still interested in meeting with him?”

“Hell, yeah!” Eli said.

Okay then. No pressure. I glanced at Eli. While his body language was calm, I could tell by the way his eyes darted into the distance, that he was worried about impressing Tyson’s big wigs. As long as I’d known Eli, he dreamed of not only making it big, but getting out of this town and away from his parents.

“Are you sure putting it on with high school kids is the right thing to do?” I asked. He was crazy to leave it in the hands of a bunch of teenage dancers and drama kids.

Tyson grinned. “Absolutely. There is nothing
more fresh
or more powerful than the energy of raw talent discovering themselves and performing at their best. You guys have so much potential, it’s bursting from you.”

I raised my eyebrows in doubt.

“I know you may not believe it now, but you will. For example, look how fast you two are picking up the
hip hop
. This is complex choreography and you two are so hungry to learn it and get it right. Your energy is what powers me.”

Now I was in bigger trouble. It took every ounce of concentration to make it look easy. If he was counting on us to get his show on stage and make it a success, I better figure out a way to step up my game.

“On that note, let’s get back to it. We need to finish this number and then move on to the second dream scene before we call it quits tonight.

By the time I walked home, it was almost eight o’clock. My body was so hot and sweaty that I didn’t feel the cold for the first half of the walk. I left my coat open the first few blocks; my head buzzed with excitement and steps from the amazing rehearsal. Tyson had worked us hard and taught us as much as our brains could hold. By the time I got home, I was sufficiently cooled down and glad to step inside. A note from Dad said he and Breezy were at a movie. So I gave Twinkie a couple treats, wolfed down the leftover stew,
then
went to my room to mark through the three dances we’d learned. I wrote down everything I could remember in a notebook. I needed to work every trick I could think of if I was going to survive learning a whole show in such a short time. Panic reared its ugly head a couple times, but I blocked it out.

“
Whatcha
doing?”
Breezy barged in as I did some risqué
hip thrusts.

“Breezy! You ever heard of knocking?”

“It looks naughty.” She plopped on my bed to watch.

“I’m trying to remember the dances I learned so far.” I pointed to the door. “Now get out.”

“It looks like you’re
demented
.
”

I crossed the room and stood in the open doorway. “Breezy, out.”

“I
wanna
watch; it looks funny. Do some more.”

“No. I’m done for the night.”

“Come on,” she whined.

“I’m going to bed. You should too.”

Breezy pouted her way off my bed and left while trying to imitate
the hip move
.

I shook my head. When she tried the move, it looked stupid. I hoped I didn’t look so lame.

I woke up Saturday morning and could barely move. As I sat up, every muscle screamed in pain. It hurt so much I couldn’t even manage a real scream. I tried to stand up, but my muscles were so tight and sore I had to put my hands on my thighs and push myself up.

“
Ow
!” My voice came out high and meek.

 
If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone came into my room in the night and beat me with a baseball bat. I didn’t want to move. If I moved, it hurt. How was I going to survive rehearsal? It was the whole group again. At the beginning of cheer camp, we were always sore, but nothing like this.

I took a couple of ibuprofen and then let the shower water run super hot, hoping it would warm up and loosen my rusty muscles. How could I not realize I was out of shape? With all my time working out with cheer, I thought I was in shape, but obviously not. Cheer used a ton of strength, balance, and a lot of short staccato moves. Tyson had given us every move under the sun in his choreography. No wonder the man looked like a god. His body must be rock solid.

Thinking of cheer reminded me that today was Regionals. The team would already be in Watertown. A pang of longing hit as I thought about the excitement of competition
;
especially as you climbed the ladder closer to State and Nationals.

I could picture Jilly, Rick, Kyle, and the team warming up and hanging out in the staging rooms before they were queued to perform. The energy would hum as everyone counted down the minutes. The girls’ hair would all be pulled back into the world’s perfect ponytail, not one flyaway hair to be seen. Their performance make up would be flawless, including false eyelashes, glitter, and rosy cheeks. When our squad took to the gym, the entire crowd would jump to their feet. The Capitol Flyers were the national champs, and everyone bowed down in awe.