I Forgot to Tell You (12 page)

But Aiko suddenly ran back. She handed Alexandra a hair pin shaped like a flower. “Here, a present,” she said, smiling. “You are the best at the academy now.
Ganbate!
”

“
Ganbate,
” Alexandra said, in shock, as Aiko ran out. She looked down at the pin in her hand, and Kaitlyn gulped. She would have given a whole lot to have been the one that Aiko said that to.
What about Grace …?
Kaitlyn looked across the room; Grace's expression as she stared at Alexandra looked as upset as Kaitlyn felt.

“Everyone, are you coming to class today? Or is this a Canadian holiday somebody forgot to tell me about?” Mr. Moretti said impatiently, standing in the doorway. They all quickly went into the studio.

“I know everyone is very excited for summer,” Mr. Moretti said, cracking his back against the
barres.
“But this is not summer yet. You will have to put up with me for a few more weeks yet, babies. Come on, to work.”

Kaitlyn sighed and began to work. The summer sun was just teasing them, shining through the windows and illuminating the dust in the air. Mr. Yu came inside the studio, dragging a piece of the prop house. He walked back outside the door and came back with a large bucket of paint. He loudly dragged the house over to the wall so that it was propped up, and began to paint, whistling noiselessly.

“Do you really have to always do this here?” Mr. Moretti said, annoyed. “Always? Really, it is enough!”

“This is the biggest studio,” Mr. Yu explained.

“I don't see your point. You fail to make sense, my little man.” Kaitlyn was a little confused by this comment, because it was so blatantly untrue. Mr. Yu was very tall.

They were working on an
adagio
exercise, when Kaitlyn felt a sharp jab in her back. “Ow! What …?”

It was Taylor. “Look,” she said, pointing toward the corner of the group that was currently dancing.

In the left corner, in the front, Angela was crying as she danced. As in, red face, tears streaming down face, snot, the entire Broadway production. “Oh dear,” Kaitlyn said, dismayed. There wasn't really anything much else to say. Angela kept dancing. Kaitlyn looked over at Mr. Moretti; she distinctly saw him notice (he could hardly miss it) and look away.
I don't blame him; I think I'd do the same. Wtf?!
Angela finished the exercise and stood in the corner, continuing to cry. A couple of the dancers looked over and then quickly looked away; but nobody was friends with Angela, not particularly, and she was not in a very attractive state.

“Why doesn't she just go downstairs to the bathroom if she wants to cry?” Kaitlyn whispered to Taylor. “Like any normal person?”

Taylor shrugged. “I don't know. Come on; let's go ask her what's wrong.” Kaitlyn followed Taylor over to Angela. “Angela, let's go outside,” Taylor said bossily, taking her by the arm. She led her out into the hall, Mr. Moretti making no comment on them leaving.
He's probably just glad that we are taking care of it
, Kaitlyn thought.

“Here,” Kaitlyn said, handing Angela a Kleenex. Angela took it and blew her nose, loudly. Kaitlyn couldn't help looking revolted. Angela did not have one of those rare faces that looked charming when crying; she had the kind that turned red and swollen, plus her mascara had started to run.

“What's wrong?” Taylor asked gently. Taylor liked it when someone else was having a breakdown; it gave her a rare chance to look confident and give advice.

“It's just … everything!” Angela wailed.

“Well, what is ‘everything'?” Kaitlyn asked impatiently.

“Um, well, my parents are coming to see
Coppelia
, and they've invited all their friends, and I don't even know if I am actually going to be in the show.”

“What do you mean?” Taylor asked, frowning. “Everyone's in the show.”

“I'm just understudying. Understudying one cast.” Angela started to cry again, and Kaitlyn passed her another Kleenex. She was starting to get the hang of her new role of Kleenex dispenser. She felt like one of those old nobles during King Louis XIV's reign that Alexandra had been babbling about on the bus, the ones that had jobs like holding the king's wig in the morning. Alexandra had liked him because she said that he was into ballet, and that his most famous mistress, Madame Pompadour, was very, very pretty.

“Oh. Well, I am sure that you will be in it,” Taylor reassured her, basing this comment on absolutely nothing. “What else is wrong?”

“I came here to get better at ballet,” Angela said through her tears, “but I haven't gotten one single correction since before Christmas.”

Taylor and Kaitlyn looked at each other. “That can't possibly be true,” Kaitlyn said quickly. “They must've corrected you.”

“No,” Angela wailed. “Not. One. Single. Correction. How am I supposed to get better that way?”

Taylor and Kaitlyn both sat down on the floor in front of Angela, trying to think of when was the last time that they had heard or seen Angela receive a correction. After a few seconds of thinking, Kaitlyn was forced to concede that what Angela had said might be true. “Oh, wow.”

“Exactly,” Angela said, wiping her eyes and spreading the mascara a little farther down her face.

“Wow,” Kaitlyn repeated. She didn't really know what to say about that. Other than the fact that all the students at the academy had sort of thought that Angela would have quit by now.

“I'm really considering quitting dance,” Angela said, breaking down again.

Good idea. You really suck.
“Well, have you tried talking to the teachers?”

Angela shrugged. “I've tried,” she said. “But I don't know how to. I ask them to correct me, they just say ‘must improve,' but they don't say what to improve.”

Everything.

Angela stood up. “I think I'm going to go home now. Thanks for making me feel better.”

“No problem,” Taylor and Kaitlyn said at the same time.

“Get better,” Taylor told her, hopping up and giving her a hug. “Eat chocolate. Drink tea.”

Angela laughed wetly. “I don't think chocolate is going to help, I'll just feel worse because then I'll be fatter, too. Okay, see you guys tomorrow.” She walked off, heading downstairs to get changed.

“Awkward much?” Kaitlyn said.

“Poor Angela,” Taylor agreed. They went back to class.

Taylor Audley

Coppelia!!!! So excited!!!! And my dad's coming to watch …

Taylor was putting on her blush when she heard the shouting. She turned and looked toward the source of the noise in the hall.

“What's that?” Alexandra asked from across the room. They both ran to the door to check. The sight that greeted them was sufficiently odd to reward their effort. Mr. Demidovski and Mr. Moretti were having an argument in the hallway, and they were too absorbed in their fight to notice who was watching them.

“You can't use Jonathon! He can't dance. I have put too much effort into this
bloody
show to see it ruined by that rural idiot!”

“You
can't
use Julie. He has not been rehearsed. He has not had the practice. He is too young.”

“Well, that's not my fault, is it? I told you that casting Dimitri was a risk. I told you that Jonathon could not do it. Even Theresa agrees with me, and God knows I hate to agree with that vile woman on anything.”

“Julian cannot do!”

“He has to!”

“I will not have it! I am the director! I pay you!”

“You …you
perfetto imbecille!
” Mr. Moretti reached out and pushed Mr. Demidovski to the stage wall. Taylor screamed. Now, pushing someone against the wall in a fit of anger is, while ill-advised, not generally considered that big a deal. But the circumstances take on a more serious tone when the pusher is in their thirties and the pushed is in their seventies. Mr. Moretti looked up at Taylor's scream, and suddenly appeared to realize the inappropriateness of his behaviour. Mr. Demidovski seemed to be in shock, leaning against the wall.

“All right,” Mr. Moretti said suddenly. “You can have Jonathon dance the part. I don't care. But I am leaving. I have had enough of this bloody school, this bloody city with its rain, its idiocies, its hockey. I quit.” He strode down the hall, walking past Taylor and Alexandra without acknowledging them, although they were staring at him.

“Get me Mr. Yu,” Mr. Demidovski said, in a quiet, serious voice that Taylor had never heard before. “And Julian. And Mrs. Demidovski.” Taylor and Alexandra nodded and hurried off to do as he asked.

Julian was in the alleyway, texting Frida.

Yeah, we have our show today, so I can't … but I def can meet up w u on the weekend before I go to the Island :D

He looked up; someone was coming down the alleyway.

“Hey,” the person called out.

“Hey,” Julian answered neutrally. He opened the door in order to disappear inside the theatre. Only a drunk person would try to make friends with a stranger in an alleyway.
Or …
Julian took a second look.

“It's me. You forget fast, child.” Nat walked up to the door, his hat perched at a rakish angle on his head, complementing his cheery face. “What up, young grasshopper?” Despite the fact that he was sixteen and a product of the twenty-first century, Nat sometimes liked to mimic the affectations of an upper-class gentleman from the Victorian era.

Julian stared at him blankly, at a loss for words. “I thought you were in Hawaii right now,” he said. “You said in Seattle that you were going back there.”

Nat shrugged. “Things change. Planes were meant to be flown. Or ‘flied'? Or … you know what, never mind. I'm here, it's a miracle. Let me pass.”

Julian stepped back, confused. “
Why
are you here?”

“Never you mind.” Nat looked at his cellphone, in the manner of a person who has expected something to happen, and when said something has not happened, searches for answers on their phone.

It was unnecessary, however; Tristan came hurrying up, beaming. “Hey,” he said shyly.

Julian stared at them, completely lost.

Tristan looked at him.

“Oh!” The world clicked into place with a bang.
Nat and Tristan totally like each other!
Julian felt ridiculously pleased with himself for figuring this out.
This is why Nat showed up at the audition for ABT!
He looked at Tristan, who was looking at him like he could make him disappear if he only stared hard enough. “Well, that's great!” Julian suddenly remembered that he had other places to be. “Cool! Like …
really
cool. Sweet. Okay. Bye.” He left down the hall, grinning to himself, a boy on a mission: to find Alexandra and give her first dibs on gossip that he really hoped that she didn't already know. He met Alexandra halfway down the hall. “Lexi! Guess what? Nat is here and —”

Alexandra was not listening. “Dimitri isn't dancing. Mr. Moretti doesn't want Jonathon to do it, he wants you to.”

Julian's face went white. “What?”

“Yeah. Mr. Demidovski wants to see you.”

“What happened to Dimitri?”

“I don't know. Mr. Demidovski and Mr. Moretti were having a big fight, because Mr. Demidovski was saying that you weren't rehearsed, and Mr. Moretti was saying that you needed to be the one because he did not want Jonathon to do it.”

“Mr. Demidovski is right. I'm not rehearsed.”

“Um, you sort of are,” Taylor pointed out. “You've been rehearsing with me.”

“Yeah, but that's with you,” Julian pointed out. “I've never done it with Alexandra or Grace, and they are the ones dancing.”

“Well, nobody said you were dancing yet,” Alexandra pointed out “Come
on
, Mr. Demidovski wants you!”

The three of them ran down the long hall to find Mr. Demidovski. Mrs. Demidovski and Mr. Yu were already there, and Mr. Yu looked upset. “Cannot do,” he was saying. “No rehearsal, no dress rehearsal, no practice with Lexi or Grace.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Demidovski agreed. “Must be Jonathon.”

Julian stood there, waiting for them to notice that he was there. He did not know which way that he wished they'd decide; it would be incredible to play the part of Frantz, but not like this, not without rehearsal.

“Julian.” Tristan's voice echoed from down the hall. “Dude, someone's here to see you.” Everyone looked up, confused.

Julian walked down the hall to see who it was. “Hey, I thought I'd drop by to see you,” Theresa said, smiling at him. “Are you all right? You look a little unwell.”

“Hello, Theresa,” Mr. Yu said, nodding formally at her.

Theresa looked around, confused. “Am I interrupting something again?”

Mr. Demidovski raised one dramatic finger. “Theresa,” he said slowly. “Do you think Julian could dance the part of Frantz? Or must it be Jonathon?”

Theresa looked absolutely horrified. “Have Jonathon dance the part? He can't! His face, it's so ugly! It is practically in
The Phantom of the Opera
territory.” She looked at Julian. “Of course you can do it, can't you, Julian?”

Julian nodded, with a pause between Theresa's words and his nod that drastically undercut the believability of the gesture.

“There, you see? Of course it must be Jonathon.”

Mr. Yu frowned. “He has never rehearsed with Lexi, or Grace …”

“Julian, you do,” Mr. Demidovski said, fast like someone ripping off a Band-Aid. “Everyone, go get ready for dress rehearsal.”

Kaitlyn was getting dressed in the
corps
change room when she heard someone crying in the bathroom. She knocked on the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Grace opened the door. “It's just … my parents aren't getting divorced anymore.”

Kaitlyn frowned, sure that she must be missing something. “What? Isn't that a good thing?”

“Well, yeah, I guess, but my dad was totally going to move to Sydney, and then I would have gotten to visit Sydney a lot, or, like, move there! They have dance schools there.”

“Um …”

“Like, I know that sounds really bad, but that's why I'm upset.”

“Okay … how long have they been back together now?”

Grace looked at her cellphone. “Well, they weren't together when I was eating breakfast, because they were fighting then, and I saw them kissing about ten minutes ago, so I guess sometime between then?”

“Well, they might break up again then.”

“I hope so! They said that it was me dancing that reminded them how much they loved each other. And then my mom started going on about how when they knew they were having a little girl they were both like ‘she's going to be a ballerina!' because like my mom used to dance, and my dad's mom used to dance. And then my dad started talking about destiny.”

“That sounds horrible.”
I'm glad my parents aren't fricking crazy.

“Kaitlyn!”

Kaitlyn turned around to see Cecelia standing in front of her. “Yeah, Mom?”

“I brought you your lunch. Why isn't your hair done yet? And did you put your
pointe
shoes in a safe place?”

“Yes.”

“So, what I told your Auntie Lynn and Grandma is that you decided you wanted to be in the
corps
because your foot was really bad, okay?”

“Mom!” Kaitlyn said pointedly, gesturing with her head toward the bathroom stall. The bathroom door closed slowly, a hand reaching from the inside to pull it shut.

“Oh. Sorry,” Cecelia said in a loud whisper. “Here you are. Do you want me to do your eyeliner for you?”

“Mom! No, I'm good. Thanks.” Cecelia continued to hover. “Mom … you are making me kind of nervous. Could you please go and wait in the audience?”

Cecelia looked at her, hurt. “What? You're only dancing in the
corps
, anyway, Kaitlyn!”

“Yeah, it's worse! Mom, I've never danced in the
corps
before. You have to match the timing of all the other dancers, and keep in line, and all the steps are small and stupid.”

“Okay. Fine. I'm going to go get a coffee then, you get ready. Have a good rehearsal.”

“Bye.” Kaitlyn let her breath out as her mother finally left.

The bathroom stall slowly opened again. “Hey,” Grace said. “Want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Yes, please!” Kaitlyn said eagerly. “I really suck at it.”

Grace perched on the makeup counter and took out Kaitlyn's eyeliner pencil and her liquid eyeliner bottle. She carefully began to draw a smooth line on Kaitlyn's eyelid with the pencil. “By the way, I know who drenched your
pointe
shoes in water during
Nutcracker
.”

“Who?” Kaitlyn exclaimed. She managed to not open her eyelids despite her surprise.

“Jessica.”

“But why?”

Grace shrugged. “She's a freak. Like, we're friends, I love her, but she's a total freak. And she really hated you.”

“I didn't even talk to her.”

“I think that's sort of the point? She thought you were super stuck-up. And she was jealous because you got cast so well right away. Now she's okay with you though, obviously.”

Kaitlyn gulped. If failing was what it took for Jessica to not hate her she'd rather that Jessica hated her.

Grace finished with the liquid eyeliner. “There. Perfect.”

Kaitlyn peered in the mirror. “That's perfect! Thanks. How do you know how to do it so well?”

Grace shrugged. “I started doing my stage makeup for myself when I was nine,” she explained. “And I think I started practising when I was six. So, I've had a lot of experience. We should probably get to the stage, they are probably going to start run-through soon.”

Taylor was sitting in the audience watching while Alexandra and Julian kept going through the
pas de deux
. Julian was having trouble, because Alexandra took a little longer on every step than Taylor did.

Tristan suddenly popped into the seat beside Taylor. “Hey.”

“Hey to you!” Taylor laughed. “So … Julian told me you and Nat, hey? How'd you manage to keep that a secret?”

“I guess I just forgot to tell you guys.”

“So, where is he now?”

“Gone to get some food, he's coming back to watch the matinee.”

“Oh. Are you still doing the matinee? I thought they would switch the casts, have Jules do the matinee, you do the evening show.”

“They can't. I'm doing the flower
pas de deux
in the evening show, and to switch that all around would be too much. This way it's only Julian and Alexandra who are affected.” They both turned to watch Julian and Alexandra rehearse. “He might do okay,” Tristan said, surprised. “I didn't think he actually knew it.”

“He didn't,” Taylor said, frowning. “He's a fast learner when he wants to be.”

“Did you manage to find out what happened to Dimitri yet?”

Taylor started to giggle, and could not stop. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He completely forgot to deal with his immigration stuff. Apparently they had been sending him letters for months, and he had just been ignoring them. He had to get his visa renewed or something. Mr. Yu made Cromwell Gilly drive him somewhere to deal with it this morning, because they had started to call Mr. Yu since Dimitri used to homestay with him.”

“Oh geez. Mr. Demidovski is going to kill him when he comes back.”

“Yeah.”

“Is it just me, or is Alexandra dancing a little off?”

Taylor watched for a few seconds, frowning. “You're right. She is.”

Tristan swore. “I bet it's her foot again.”

“I think she's okay — look, she did that
arabesque
normally.”

Alexandra felt like crying. Not only was she not used to dancing with Julian, but her foot was killing her. Every time she stepped up on
pointe,
she was not sure if it would support her. She was sure that she could do it, if only they stopped rehearsing until the show. “One more time,” Mr. Demidovski called out.