No One's Watching (8 page)

I didn't want to embarrass Blake by pointing out to Shelly he had to move to Intermediate II ballet when he was placed in the Irish dance class with me. Sweat trickled down my back. The elevator ride was agony. It must've been hamster powered. I pictured giant rodents running in their wheels, drawing up the elevator with huge cables. We squealed to a stop.

Blake and Shelly burst from the doors on the fourteenth floor. “Did you pack a bathing suit? Not that it matters.” Shelly giggled and faced me from the hall. “I have extra stamps if you need one. You know, for that letter home.” The doors slid shut.

By the time we reached our floor, little sweat rivers ran down my cheeks from my forehead. Candace unlocked our door. I wiped my face on my towel and tossed my bag on my bed. “What classes do we have this afternoon?”

Candace opened the schedule she kept on her bureau. “After ballet with Madame Petrova, we have a repertory class.”

Repertory class. Where they'd probably teach us every ballet solo ever choreographed. Solos I wouldn't get the chance to perform. I sank into the tangle of sheets on my bed. Suddenly I hated Shelly more than anyone in the world. More than I usually did for making my life miserable, and I had no idea why. For getting the solo and threatening to tell Mom I didn't get a ballet solo. “Sounds like fun.”

Candace apparently didn't catch the sarcasm in my voice. “It does. I wonder what we'll learn?” She folded the schedule again and set it under her bottle of contact solution. “Maybe the Four Swans or the Cygnets from
Swan Lake
. Or something from a modern ballet.”

I crushed my eyes closed and rubbed my temples, pushing a headache back into my brain. The faint smell of cologne from holding hands with Blake wafted down the few inches to my nose. In my imagination, he sauntered down the hall with Shelly, their fingers entwined. Gazing at each other. Music from
Romeo and Juliet
playing in the background.

I reached out one hand and rested it on my flute case on my bedside table. I hoped the familiar, faux black leather and the promise of the silver instrument inside would relax me.

No luck. Instead, another scene shoved the picture of Blake and Shelly out of my mind. A scene of promise and,
dare I say
, payback.

The hot tub.

Usually, I didn't have time to brew up evil plans of revenge. This plan germinated all by itself, with the help of a little hot tub water, like an alfalfa sprout. Something nutritious and low calorie Mom tried to get me to eat. However, this plan was neither nutritious nor low calorie. If Blake was going to blow off Irish dance rehearsal to be with Shelly, I'd show him I didn't care about it either. And I'd get to ruin Shelly's evening with him, too.

I paused in the middle of my facial massage and opened my eyes. “Did you bring a bathing suit?”

Candace opened a drawer and dangled a dark blue two-piece with an attached skirt. “Here's my swimsuit. How about you? Did you pack one?”

I leaped from my bed and rummaged in my drawer, spotting the bit of hot pink spandex under a T-shirt. “Yup. We should make an unannounced visit to a certain warm water oasis this evening.”

“If that means a long soak in a hot tub, I'm ready.” Candace put her hands on her hips and arched backward. “My back's still sore from yesterday.”

“Relaxing my muscles isn't my only concern.”

Candace's eyebrows peaked. “Are we doing a little spying on Shelly and Blake?”

I nodded.

She shook her head. “Hmm. I don't know. Seems like fun, but Shelly's not my favorite person.”

Nor mine. Would I be able to pull this off on my own? Candace was a high-ranking sixteen-year-old. My resolve sank in a hot tub puddle of doubt. That, plus the part about it all being so secretive. If we got caught, would the directors tell Mom? I was already in hot water with this lack of solo thing. Hot water. Bad, bad pun.

“Ha! You should see your face. Of course I'm in.” Candace shoved her suit back in the drawer.

“Ha, yourself.” I laughed and pulled off my damp leotard and tights, exchanging them for a fresh pair. Relief poured over me. “Are you sure we don't we have a Labanotation class in a few minutes?”

Candace checked the schedule again. “That's tomorrow. We have a ballet class in fifteen minutes. Then lunch and another ballet class with Madame Petrova. The girls' repertory class is right after.”

“I guess we'd better hurry.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “Who's teaching?”

“A graduate student from the Chester Park University dance department.” She picked up her dance bag, and we left.

After we took an uneventful class with a nervous college student, we came back to our room. Bored, I flopped on my bed. “I miss my cell phone.” I sighed.

“No cell phones allowed. They want you to concentrate only on dance.” Candace pulled a comb through her hair and re-clipped the stray ends. “That's why you can't have a cell or even a computer.”

The administrators were super strict about cell phones. At least I didn't have to worry about Shelly blabbing to her mom I didn't have a ballet solo and taking the chance Mrs. Traum would say something to Mom. I pulled my
pointe
shoes out of my bag and grabbed a small sewing kit from my top dresser drawer. “I guess sewing my ribbons back on my
pointe
shoe will keep my texting fingers busy.”

Candace laughed. “I know. I'd love to tell my dance friends back home I'm performing a character dance.” She picked up a mascara wand.

Here I was wallowing in my own problems and totally ignoring Candace. “How did your character rehearsal go?”

“It was great. We're doing an original piece by Ms. Jen. With live music. Her boyfriend has a band.”

My eyebrows danced. “Live music? Way cool. Are you in costume?”

“We'll be in long, swirly skirts.” Candace stroked her eyelashes with the wand.

I could go for that. Live music. With real musicians. I'd never danced to live music. Except for the pianists in class. According to Mom, character dance was a sub-genre of ballet. An acceptable sub-genre. Necessary to know, for all the big, traditional ballets featured it in some way.

Candace used the wand to point to her ballet poster above her bed with the tiny dancers. Babies who could barely stand hung on a
barre
dressed in pastel tutus. “I love Ms. Jen. She's the kind of dance teacher I want to be when I get my own studio.”

“I didn't know you wanted to teach.” I bit my tongue as I picked small stitches in the inside of my
pointe
shoe and reattached the ribbon.

Candace gazed at the ceiling. “I'm thinking of applying to school here to get my dance degree.”

My hand paused inside my shoe. “Wow. You'd be a great teacher.” I meant it. She was so nice and wouldn't be all uneasy like the college student we just suffered through. Or yell like Mr. Jarenko. If my dad were alive, I bet he'd be the best dance teacher in the world.

I sewed over my first stitches to make them hold the ribbon extra strong and chewed off the thread as Dira and Nicki exploded into the room.

“You guys coming with us to lunch?” Dira jostled Nicki.

Candace jerked in surprise and screwed the wand back into the mascara tube. “As soon as I get over my heart attack. I almost poked my eye out.” She glanced at me in the mirror. “You ready?”

“Just about.” I wrapped the ribbons around the collapsed heel and shank of my toe shoe, and stuffed it in my dance bag.

“First, news.” Dira folded her arms and leaned against my dresser. “Nicki has a date tonight.”

“Wooo. Who's the lucky guy?” Candace pinched Nicki's arm.

Nicki blushed. “Can't say.”

“Do you know who he is, Dira?” I slipped on my shorts and a T-shirt.

Dira held her long arms out helplessly. “She won't tell me.”

Candace slid to the door and locked it. “You can't leave until you spill everything.”

“Ah!” Nicki laughed as she leapt for the door.

Dira blocked it. Everyone scrambled for Nicki and shrieked. Our laughter rattled the door.

“You won't even tell Dira?” I pinned one of Nicki's wrists to the door.

“She's been so secretive lately.” Dira pinned the other one.

“How did she manage to make a date when you guys are together all the time?” Candace poked at Nicki. “Have you seen anyone talking to her?”

Nicki wiggled. “Ahem. I'm still here.”

We laughed and let her go.

Nicki reached into her shorts pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “This helps.”

Dira snatched it from her. “Where'd you get a cell? I didn't know you had one.”

Nicki hopped as Dira held the tiny, flat phone above her head. “Give it back. I can't jump and laugh at the same time.”

“These are illegal, young lady.” Candace jumped for it. “You could get kicked out of camp.”

“You could? I thought the administrators would just confiscate it.” I blinked.

“You didn't read the fine print.” Candace plopped on her bed, and Dira tossed the phone to her. “Now to see who Nicki's been texting.” She frowned over the screen.

Nicki dropped her head back and laughed. “Mwaa-hahaha. You'll never find out.”

“She's covered her tracks too well.” Candace shook her head and showed me the phone.

I squinted at her. “You've deleted your messages.”

Candace tossed the cell phone back to Nicki, who smirked and zipped it in her pocket.

“Who else has one?” I searched Nicki's face.

“Some guy.”

“And?” Dira propped her hands on her hips.

Nicki examined her gnawed nails. “Some other guy. And Shelly. She doesn't even bother to hide it.”

I frowned. “Shelly?” My heart skipped a beat and hung in midair.

“Nobody cares. When her cell phone slipped out of her dance bag, Mr. Jarenko handed it back to her.” Nicki slapped her thigh and laughed. She pantomimed Mr. Jarenko, complete with accent and rolled r's. “Here, dahling. You mussn't looz your precious mo-bile.”

Dira and Candace rolled their eyes and groaned. “Does your mom know?” Dira asked Nicki.

“I convinced her I'd use it only in emergencies.” Nicki exaggerated a wink.

Candace clucked. “A date isn't an emergency.”

Nicki sighed. “It is with me.”

Candace's eyes grew wide. “Let Kit use it to call her mom about her Irish dance performance piece before Shelly has a chance to.”

Nicki reached in her pocket and offered me her cell phone. “Here.”

I stared at the lighted dial until it turned off.

“Go on,” Candace urged.

“I can't.” I swallowed. “What would I tell my mom? I have a ballet solo and lie? Or I have an alternate dance? Something I can't even explain to myself?” I squeezed my head with my hands.

Nicki dropped it back in her pocket.

I stared at a smudge on the wall in the shape of New Jersey next to Candace's poster of tiny ballet girls at the
barre
, stuck on the fact Shelly had a cell phone and wasn't afraid to use it.

Borrowing Nicki's cell phone to call Mom was out of the question. I wouldn't know what to say.

Would Shelly call her mom and tell her all about me? There was a better than average possibility she would. Or has she already done the nasty deed? I needed to get that phone out of Shelly's sweaty, little hands.

Now.

Okay. I had two goals for this evening. Stop any romance budding between Blake and Shelly. Not because he was my dance partner. Which he was — temporarily, until I harangued Mrs. Ricardo for a spot, at least, with the character dancers. Not because Shelly didn't deserve him. She didn't, and I was in mean mode. Besides, I was sure she didn't like him that way and leading him on would be mean. I didn't want Shelly getting her claws into Blake because how often did you find someone who got you? Blake was a dancer, after all. Who was he dancing for? Himself? His parents? It must be hard being a male ballet dancer. What was his story? And he was so nice.

Shelly always ruined things for me. She wanted to get close to Blake to get back at me for whatever reason.

Besides Blake was the cutest thing on the planet.

The second thing I had to do was to make sure Shelly conveniently lost her cell phone. My mind percolated my evil plan so much during ballet class with Mme. Petrova that afternoon I barely noticed Blake stood next to me at the
barre
.

Mme. Petrova drew me aside after class. She was dressed, as usual, in a long black skirt and black sweater. “Is something bothering you? I recall you from previous years. You were the one to concentrate so much. So much you frowned.”

She remembers me?
Whoa.

“Sorry.” My mouth went drier, if that were possible after sweating through ballet class.

“You're injured, perhaps?”

I slung my towel around my neck. Too bad it couldn't make me invisible. “I'm fine.”

She peered at me. Grandma used that same face of concern and admonishment. “You're a good dancer. You must concentrate if you want to improve. Always give one hundred ten percent.”

I nodded as she limped down the hall with the cane she used to tap out the rhythms in our dance combinations. Step — tap — step. Step — tap — step.

Was I so awful in class Mme. Petrova would recommend to Mrs. Ricardo I drop to Intermediate Ballet I? I might as well give up now. Hot tears rimmed my eyes, and I brushed them away with my towel. I wanted to throttle myself.
Why am I sabotaging myself with these plans of revenge on Shelly? Concentrate on ballet class. Push. Rise above this Intermediate II class. When Madame Petrova says do single beats, do doubles. When she says double turns, do triples. Get rid of that poochie belly. No desserts and stretch every night.
I'll never get in a ballet company if I don't dance a ballet piece. Scouts from famous ballet companies will be here. Focus
. Why had Mom sacrificed if it wasn't for me?