No One's Watching (2 page)

I nodded as my heart sank. My lonely leg warmer drooped.

“I don't see you doing doubles.” His hands were on his hips. “How old are you?”

I swallowed. “Fourteen.” Everyone was way older than me in the class. At least fifteen, like Shelly. “And a half.”

More snickers.

“Perhaps you're not ready for this class.” He stuck his nose up and darted away.

An oven door opened against my neck. My face heated as well. Again. I wanted to run from the room.

When we repeated the exercise, I yanked up my leg warmer and braced myself for two
pirouettes
. I turned two times
en
pointe
, slid on the flat part of my foot and stumbled into fifth position.

Mr. Jarenko's eyes bored through me over the black frames of his glasses. The music finished, and I expected him to stamp his foot and point to the door, yelling, “Go. Get out of my class until you do perfect doubles.” Instead, he jerked his head in a nod while his eyebrows did a dance on his forehead. Okay. I'd take that. I was doing fine. Hope fizzed inside me like mint candy in a diet cola. Wait until he saw my big jumps and leaps.

“You're really impressing Mr. Jarenko.” Shelly's sarcasm popped all my hopeful bubbles.

I smoothed some stray hairs back from my forehead and frowned. “Huh?”

She pushed past me to line up with the rest of the class doing
piqué
turns across the floor on the diagonal.

“I haven't taken class since the middle of June,” I whispered to her narrow back. “A month ago.” Mom told me to take time off. I wouldn't admit these new shoes were killing me, too. That would've been wimpy.

Shelly glanced over her shoulder at me, her pale face a harsh contrast to her black hair and dark eyes. “You should've been practicing like me.”

“I'll be fine. Auditions for performance solos aren't for two whole weeks.”

“That's no excuse. You're the one with a ballet studio in your backyard.” She reached the head of the line and shot across the floor like a blur.

I wanted to tell her I'd been in the studio with Grandma while Mom was at a dance teachers' conference for ten days. Grandma and I'd wanted to surprise Mom, so I'd lightly washed the wooden floors in both rooms and repainted the walls. While I worked, Grandma directed since she'd been recovering from a fall.

“Don't you pay any attention to Shelly.” Candace seemed to have read my mind. “What you did for your mom was nice.”

I nodded and moved to the front of the line, ready to turn to the right. Mom was thrilled with the studio, but Shelly's words knocked around inside my head. Maybe I took off too much time and should've practiced in my room like her. I couldn't help it. I had been so tired after all the painting and cleaning up the studio. Then we went down the shore on vacation for two weeks. I'd stretched in the hotel's pool. A little. I chewed my lip. Technique could fall off in as little as a week without practice.

I tugged on my tights, waiting for Dira to go. Tall, elegant Dira in her taupe tights, which matched her skin. I pinched half an inch on my belly. Felt like I'd put on a few pounds since the recital, too.

Rattled, I stepped out on my right foot and turned, forgetting to spot a place on the wall behind the piano so I wouldn't get dizzy. Step, single turn. Step, double turn.

“Arms. Arms, Kitty.” Mr. Jarenko clapped out the beat. “Control them.”

I pulled my floppy arms closer, making me turn faster. The picture of Grandma as a young dancer flashed in my mind.
This is you, Kit. This is you.
Her face faded, and Shelly's pasty face and soulful eyes appeared in its place.

Come on. Where's the piano?
The room was a smear of mirrors and dancers whirling around me.
Focus. Focus.

My woozy head caused me to overshoot a turn. As I headed toward the back of the studio, black and pink scattered. I skipped to the center of the room as I struggled to stay on beat and aim for the giant, black blob that was the piano.

I crashed into the baby grand, flopping on the lid before sliding off and crumpling to the floor. The music stopped as everybody gasped, sucking the air out of the room.

Candace and Blake rushed to my side, their faces twisted in shock. My brain wobbled in my head as the last notes from the piano faded into a horrified silence. The ceiling spun. Camp had just started. I needed to pull myself together. There were things I had to achieve, and I had only three weeks to attain them.

A strong arm reached down for me. “Are you okay?” Blake grasped my hand and shoulder.

Mr. Jarenko's black jazz shoes walked by my head. “She's fine. Strong. Good musical sense.” He waved his hand at the other back corner. “Left side, class.”

The music started again, and Blake pulled me to my feet like he was rescuing me from drowning.

“Can you stand okay?” Candace cradled my elbow in her hands as if it were a baby.

I nodded as I staggered on my feet, tethered to the floor by her and Blake. My hipbones hurt from smacking my body against the piano. I didn't care. Mr. Jarenko thought I was musical. And strong. I was torn between proving how tough I was and not letting go of Blake's warm hand.

Last summer I guessed he was only five-six. This year, his blue-gray eyes saw straight into mine, and I was close to five-eight. Or even taller, judging by the way my tights behaved. Way tall for a girl ballet dancer and not close to stopping. That didn't matter. I'd just found my future dance and business partner. We would both join the Pennsylvania Ballet and retire to run The Othersen Ballet School.

I withdrew my hand and set it on the
barre
. “Uh, thanks.”

He did that sweet gazing thing again. Had he remembered me from last year? We joined the back of the line doing
piqué
turns to the left. Turning in the opposite direction would surely unscrew my dizzy head. According to my feet, the floor wasn't level either.

Mr. Jarenko stood against the mirrors, firing comments as everyone spun down the room.

“You don't have to finish the exercise.” Candace's hazel eyes filled with worry. “He won't care if you don't go.”

“That's okay. I want to.” I shuffled forward in line. “Thanks.”

Shelly brushed past me. “Give up.”

Shut up.
I frowned and pressed my lips together. Nothing would stop me from doing what I wanted to do. Not even guilt.

Candace went ahead of me, calmly spinning in perfect turns. Her opaque skirt twirled like pink ribbon candy.

When it was my turn, I took a breath, pressed my lips together and held my head high. I stepped out on my left foot. This time I remembered to spot the clock in the corner. Had the pianist slowed down? Or was it my imagination?

“Arms. Not so wild, please,” Mr. Jarenko said.

At the end of my turn, I only bumped into a small group of dancers, not the whole piano. At least my back was straight. Like a ballet
barre
. Mr. Jarenko gave me a sharp nod, and my insides danced.

Shelly huffed and crossed her arms. “I don't know why you bother to try so hard. No one watches you.”

I passed her.

“Except your poor mom.”

What was with her? Why didn't she beat me with a dull
pointe
shoe and get it over with?

Mr. Jarenko had Shelly repeat the left side so everyone could admire her. She stabbed the floor with her
pointe
shoe, her foot like a dagger, her balance perfect, and finished with a double and a triple turn. We clapped, and she beamed.

At home, Shelly had taken it to heart when Mom suggested we practice dramatic faces in the mirror. This was one of her best — waif-like and fragile. She was the ghostly Giselle, her chest as thin as a collection of chicken bones. Mr. Jarenko gushed over her, while my insides twisted. I was so looking forward to coming to this intensive camp to study ballet and other types of dance. Now I was eager for class to be over.

Mrs. Ricardo, the camp director, hovered in the open doorway, in a floaty blouse over loose pants on her small frame.

“Yes, darling?” Mr. Jarenko lifted his eyebrows and held his hand out to stop the pianist from playing.

“I'm sorry for interrupting, Mr. Jarenko. I have an announcement.” Mrs. Ricardo's hands quivered. “I can wait until you're through.”

He strode over to the door and escorted her to the front of the studio by the mirrors. “Nonsense. Please make your announcement.” He waved us to the center of the room.

Moist heat and a sharp smell of sweat clouded the group. Someone sniffed and coughed.

“Thank you, Mr. Jarenko.” Mrs. Ricardo blushed and opened her arms in
port de bras
. “As you all know, we'll be holding auditions for the end of camp performance to be presented to family members and members of the college and dance community.” She turned her face to Mr. Jarenko. “And for our wonderful teachers.”

Nods and murmurs from the crowd. Mr. Jarenko bowed, as Shelly slid her wide eyes toward me. I ignored her.

Mrs. Ricardo's hand escaped to her neck and toyed with a strand of frizzy hair. “This year, among other fine pieces offered only to dancers aged thirteen and up, we'll be auditioning for the waltz solo and the waltz
pas de deux
from
Les Sylphides
.”

We all gasped. I imagined myself in
Les Sylphides
like Grandma always wanted me to. It was my favorite ballet. Plenty of dancing and no plot. Kind of like my life.

Bonus. There was even a guy in the ballet — the poet. I glanced at Blake, picturing him in the loose, open-necked, white shirt the male dancer wore in the ballet.

Though every choreographer had his own pattern of steps to famous ballets like
Les Sylphides
, each version was similar. Mom taught us the version she learned as an understudy with the Mid-States Ballet Company.

I was ready. Okay, so I'd gotten off to a shaky start, but I had two weeks until auditions. They were always held the end of the second week of camp.

I remembered Mom's words as she had left. “This will be your year to get a solo part.” She beamed. After nearly two weeks of intense classes, I should be okay.

More than okay. I was confident. I practically grew up at this camp. As this was my fourth summer, Mom and Grandma expected me to dance in the performance. Nothing less than a ballet solo would do.

Mrs. Ricardo seemed as pleased as if she'd eaten a plate of wedding cake. “There'll be other solos — Cerrito's Variation from the
Grand Pas de Quatre
and the Lilac Fairy's Variation from
Sleeping Beauty
.”

Ooh, those dances will work, too.

Mr. Jarenko curved his arm lightly behind Mrs. Ricardo. “Wonderful choices, Mrs. Ricardo. I have always loved the way the dancers in
Les Sylphides
use their entire bodies to express the music.” He hummed the prelude as the pianist took her cue and accompanied him while he swayed, his arms following his body like he was in water.

Mrs. Ricardo flushed. “Yes, thank you. However, there's been a change of time for the auditions.” She nodded as if counting us. “We're holding them tomorrow.”

My jaw slid toward my chest as I stared at Mrs. Ricardo and shrank. The rest of the room clapped.

“Why?” I blurted. Auditions were always held during the end of the second week of camp, leaving a week for rehearsals.

Mrs. Ricardo scanned our heads and settled on mine as it still managed to poke above the crowd. She blinked. “We've had some complaints in previous years we didn't give enough time for rehearsals. We wanted to give the dancers we have selected as much time as possible to become acquainted with and rehearse their pieces. And this year, we have additional dance opportunities to introduce new forms to gifted and promising dancers.”

I didn't care what the other opportunities were. They couldn't hold the auditions so soon. There was no way I'd be ready, and I had to get a solo. Both Mom and Grandma were eager to see me dance in the show. Grandma wasn't getting any younger or healthier. My left eye twitched.

Shelly watched my reaction, and I willed myself to stare straight ahead.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ricardo.” Mr. Jarenko smoothed one hand over his hair as she floated out the door. “Back to the center, class. Hops on
pointe
.”

My feet wouldn't move. As Candace guided me to the back of the room, I glanced at the clock. I didn't even have twenty-four hours to get into shape.

The music started for the hops. A medieval torture exercise. We hopped on the tips of the left foot, then the right. Clunk, clunk. My leg warmer plunged to my ankle.

Things weren't working out.

Class finished. We clapped, the same tradition at the end of class we had at our small ballet school. If dancers wanted, they could join a line to curtsy or bow and shake Mr. Jarenko's hand while he mentioned something wonderful they did in class. Or he'd just say thank-you if they hadn't. I‘d redeemed myself with Mr. Jarenko but didn't want to give him the opportunity to have second thoughts and tell me I was in the wrong class.

In a daze, I unlaced my
pointe
shoes and packed them in my dance bag. I followed Candace toward the door, while our suite mates lingered by the guys.

“Are you coming with us?” Candace asked Dira.

She nodded and plucked Nicki away from the redheaded Jupiter.

Someone rapped me on the shoulder. Shelly held my sweaty towel between a finger and thumb as if it were radioactive. “Forget something, Kitty?”

“Thanks.” I shoved it in my bag as she spun and laughed at something with a skinny boy from class.

While we waited in the hall, Blake and Jupiter jogged past us to the staircase. We crammed into the elevator, and I mashed the button for the lobby.