No One's Watching (7 page)

We faced the opposite way, held onto the
barre
with our right hands and repeated everything with our left legs. Blake's arm jerked away from his side a few times. I breathed deeply, trying to find his cologne with my nose. That messed me up and caused me to lose my concentration. My free hand floated up as if I were asking a question in algebra class.

“Careful with your arms.” Mr. Sean paced along the room.

I pulled mine to my side.

“Time for cardio work.” Mr. Sean had us face the
barre
and hold on lightly with both hands. We alternated hopping on each foot in a confusing combination. I sneaked another peek at Blake, and we cracked up. Mr. Sean sped up the music. By the fourth time we repeated the exercise, I was sucking down air like it would make me weightless. Blake's hand brushed the side of mine as we held onto the
barre
. I was going to die.

More jumps at the
barre
, this time in fifth position switching feet as we landed. Finally, something like a ballet step. We even did
entrechat quatre
jumps — jumping in the air, beating the heels around each other back to front and landing with the same foot we started with. Blake gave me a thumbs-up. I was sure the overlap between ballet and Irish dance wouldn't last long. Mr. Sean must've been giving us these similar steps to lull us into thinking it wouldn't be so difficult to learn Irish dance. I had to stick to my convictions.

We stretched at the
barre
and on the floor.

“It's vital to keep your upper bodies quiet. Think of swans.” Mr. Sean paddled his hands in the air. “They're working like mad under the water, but their bodies are calm. Our legs work underneath, but we're drinking a cup of tea on top.” His face was serene as he pantomimed sipping from a teacup. “Irish tea, of course.”

My stomach, sore from all the crunches, hurt as I joined everybody laughing at Mr. Sean's illustration. He sure was a different teacher from Mr. Jarenko. I didn't want to be rude to Mr. Sean and act like I hated Irish dance, and I didn't so far. I had to keep my ultimate goals in front of my brain. I doubted this detour into Irish dance would achieve my target.

“We have time for a little circle work and then something from the corner.” Mr. Sean demonstrated running steps to the side, three alternating hops starting with the right foot and a cut to switch sides. “I want you to hold hands so you get the feel of pulling upward and outward. Take up space. Move expansively. In Irish dance, there isn't much sideward movement.” He waved everyone to their feet. “Let's stand and hold hands.”

Blake offered his hand to me. I clasped it, curling my thumb around his like it was something I did every day. I died again. Thank heaven I had perfected my ballet dancer's face, thanks to practicing in the mirror. Raised eyebrows. Alert and attentive. Not a whole lot of expression.

I came back to life and held out my left hand to the girl with blond, curly hair who was on the other side of me. She grasped it as if it were made of china. Or a favorite stuffed toy. My insides twisted as she whispered to the girl next to her, “I get to hold Kitri's hand.” Like that was a good thing. Something special.

Mr. Sean selected a song on the CD player and rushed back to join the group, holding the hands of two other twelve-year-old girls. “Make your circle wide. No letting go.”

With Blake holding my right hand, I didn't worry about that.

“Try to maintain your distance and not tug on each other.” He tapped his foot as he counted the rhythm. “Ready. One-two-three-four and one-two-three-four.”

The circle moved to the right with wide running steps, like
pas de
bourrée couru
in ballet, only wide open. Blake and I moved in small steps. Wrong. Mr. Sean corrected us. Then we hopped and pointed our feet, made a quick cut and started to the left.

“Bigger.” Mr. Sean gestured with his open arms. “Open your steps more.”

We switched to the right again. My feet fumbled. It was like learning a new language with your body.

“Don't bounce. Not in this particular step. Glide more.”

It reminded me of square dancing. Only with a lot more class. Elegant, sweeping. The music ended, and we dropped hands. I swept mine to my face and detected the faint remnants of Blake's cologne. How long could I go without washing my hand?

“I know it's a lot for Kitri and Blake to absorb, but we have to move quickly so you'll be ready to perform your duet.” Mr. Sean pointed to the corner. “Let's do some under-overs. Lindy, why don't you demonstrate?”

The curly, blond-haired girl stood in the corner and waited for the music. When she danced, it was like a step in ballet we do in the center of the room. Only snappier. Lindy darted down the diagonal with a slight pop instead of skimming from side to side.

I studied the little girls as they moved across the floor, marking the steps in my head. When it was my turn, I stood in the corner and pointed my left toe. In the mirror, the black
ghillies
looked strange on my feet, but since everyone wore them it wasn't weird.

So many things to remember. Turn out on the floor, but not in the air. Count one-two-three and one-two-three. I started off and sailed across the floor.

“Good.” Mr. Sean followed me across the studio. “Keep those arms quiet.”

It was just as hard to do nothing with my arms as to use them in ballet. I scowled.

Blake followed me, his steps stuttering. When he reached the other side, he scratched his head. “You're getting the hang of this Irish dance stuff. You'll learn it in no time. You don't need extra rehearsal.”

Oh, no.
Even though I wasn't going to continue with Irish dance, I'd love to help him out. Did that mean he didn't want to meet with me after supper?

I pushed a few stray hairs behind my ears. “It was just luck I figured it out.”

We lined up along the back of the room and waited for another turn.

“It's like
Pas de Basque
.” A ballet step I knew Blake would know. One of the girls leaped across the floor. “Only moving forward the whole time.”

Blake marked it with his feet as we stood in line. “Yeah, you're right.” His delighted face resembled a toothpaste model's. “Thanks.”

Class ran overtime. Mr. Sean dismissed us with a little speech about the lyrical dance we'd be learning for the performance — a slip jig, the ballet of Irish dance and, even though boys didn't compete in slip jig in popular Irish dance competitions, we'd both have the easiest time learning. “Blake and Kit, you may be wondering why I selected you for this performance class. Both of you are excellent dancers who pick up steps quickly. You have great posture and leaps, clean feet, and know how to interpret the music. All important in Irish dance.” He waved. “See you tomorrow.”

I sat stunned. When I finally untied my
ghillies
, little furrows dug in my skin from the round shoelaces snaking over the tops of my feet. I rubbed them.

“You'll get used to that—" Megan plopped next to me, crumpling her legs under her, “—once you figure out how tight or loose to pull the laces.”

Blake strode over. “What did you think of what Mr. Sean said?”

My mind replayed his words — “excellent dancers.” “Nice.”

“Cool. It would still be a good idea if we ran through some of this new stuff.” He held up a shiny CD. “Mr. Sean loaned me this so we can get used to the music, too.”

My heart leapt to my throat, and I covered my lips with my hand so it wouldn't jump out of my mouth. “Good idea.” Another page from a graphic novel materialized in my mind. Two figures. Blake and me, our heads touching, as we sat on the floor listening to the sad strains of Irish music. A flute solo drifted from the CD player.

I bundled the shoes in my bag, too nervous to wrap the laces neatly around the soles, like I always did with my
pointe
shoes. I couldn't wait to tell Candace about getting to be alone with Blake.

Megan planted herself in front of me. “What time should we meet?”

“We?” I blinked.

“How about seven?” she suggested.

Blake shrugged. “You don't have to practice with us. You guys already know this stuff. You'll be bored.”

Yay, Blake. And so thoughtful of others' time.

Megan shook her head. “You both need help from experienced Irish dancers. Just because you've taken ballet classes doesn't mean you can miraculously learn Irish dance in a couple of weeks.”

“Irish dance isn't so different from ballet. Weren't you listening to Mr. Sean? He wouldn't have picked Blake and me if he didn't think we could cross over.”

Megan shook her head. “From what I saw in class today, you two need all the help you can get.”

I stood next to Blake. Two five-foot-eight towers.
Sorry, Megan, three's a crowd.

Lindy sidled up to us, her eyes the color of Sleeping Beauty's blue tutu. “Can I come, too? I can help. I compete in Prizewinner.”

“Prizewinner? Are you talking about boxing?” Blake huffed a laugh.

Megan ignored him. “I'm in Prizewinner, too. Good idea. You should come, Lindy. Even if I'm in the
corps
, I don't want to be embarrassed on stage by a couple of newbies.”

Newbies?
I've been dancing since you've been in diapers, sista.
I bristled at the comment, about to explode.

Blake shrugged. Did his eyes twinkle? “You can both come and practice if you want to.” He swung his dance bag, masquerading as a sports bag, over his shoulder. “How about seven thirty?”

“Perfect.” Megan slapped her hands together.

Lindy nodded so hard I expected her head to dislodge from her shoulders and roll across the floor.

My heart dropped into my stomach, split into my legs and then slid into my aching feet. They throbbed with each beat. It wasn't a date after all. Just extra practice. Could something work out for me for once?

Blake glanced at the clock. “I have to go. I need to meet someone. See you guys later.” He raced out of the studio. Had he called for Shelly? She appeared next to him.

My gaze lingered on the hallway.

“Don't worry.” Megan tugged at my arm. “You'll get the hang of it. Mr. Sean did say he personally chose you and Blake because you both have great technique and pick things up quickly.”

Okay.
My anger simmered and evaporated as my heart bungeed back to its rightful place. “Tell me more about Irish dance. What does ‘prizewinner' mean?”

Megan and Lindy launched into a detailed discussion of the different levels of solo dance competition. Beginner, Novice, Prizewinner, Preliminary Championship and Open Championship. At a special competition called a
feis
. Rhymed with mesh.

I gathered my dance bag and slung a towel around my neck. “You compete in dances wearing hard shoes and soft shoes?”

Lindy's eyes shone like they were lit from behind. “Yes. You can wear a special solo dress if your school lets you.”

We wandered out to the hall where they traded descriptions of their competition dresses. Stiff silk decorated with fantastic sparkles and glitter.

Candace tugged at my dance bag from behind. “How did it go with super hottie?”

I slowed. “He asked me to work with him some more after dinner.”

She squeezed my arm. “Sweet.”

Megan and Lindy squealed by the elevators, as they explained to each other the wigs they wore in competition. Wigs. On twelve-year-olds.

I nodded toward the shrimps. “Those two are coming along as chaperones.”

Candace frowned. “Chaperones? What do you mean?”

I punched another elevator button. “It'll take too long to explain. I'm meeting him — and them — here at seven-thirty.”

“Could be fun.” She leaned against the wall.

“Could be.” This extra rehearsal I wanted so desperately with Blake pointed out to me I wasn't serious enough about moving to a different performance class. I had to be strong and stick to my goals. I wasn't about to disappoint Mom, and myself, by not getting all I could out of this dance camp. And by dance camp, I meant ballet camp, even though dancers came especially for the varieties of dance.

We stepped inside the elevator with other dancers, and I pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. I had to be willing to do anything to get the part I wanted.

Blake called, “Hold the elevator.” He scooted inside with Shelly trailing behind him.

She laughed. “You're so funny. Some of us are going to hang out at the hot tub tonight after dinner. It'll feel great. You've got to come.”

“I'm not sure I can make it.” He nodded at a couple of other guy dancers and moved close to Candace and me.

Not sure?
I folded my arms in front of me. What happened to the extra rehearsal? It was his idea after all. I patted my moist upper lip with the towel around my neck. Actually, what did I care if Blake made the rehearsal tonight? I dug my fingernails into my palms. I got so easily distracted. Some guy who smelled good and recognized me made plans for an extra rehearsal and I abandoned my life's goals. I would never make them if I didn't first concentrate on improving my ballet technique. It didn't matter who showed up for this extra Irish dance rehearsal.

Candace leaned around me. “I didn't know the college had a hot tub.”

Shelly scowled. “It's by the pool where they do physical therapy.”

“Good to know. Isn't it?” Candace's face was full of questions, as she shifted her eyes from Shelly to Blake, like was he seriously going to join Shelly in the hot tub?

“The tub only holds a few people because it's basically used for athletes to run in. I know the physical therapist, and she's letting me go tonight. It's not an open invitation. In fact, no one's supposed to be there after hours. The only people I've invited are in the advanced ballet class.” Shelly smirked.