Showstopper (5 page)

Anya looked miles away in thought, so her mother waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Did you hear a word I just said?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” Anya answered. “I was thinking.”

“Well, I was thinking, too. I was thinking you owe it to Miss Natalya to stop in. Your father says she can't wait to see you again.”

Anya raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? How would Dad know that?”

Her mother continued folding clothes into her suitcase. “Oh, he just ran into her at Vons supermarket.”

She tried to picture Miss Natalya pushing a shopping cart down the frozen-food aisle. She didn't think her teacher had any life outside of the ballet studio.

“Seriously?” Anya asked. “What did she say?”

“Oh, nothing,” her mom said. “Just that it would be nice to see you in class again.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Well, I don't take classes with her anymore. I'm a Diva now, remember?”

Her mom nodded. “You may be a Diva but you don't have to act like one. There's no harm in visiting your old ballet studio.”

Anya had a sinking feeling that there was more to the story than her mother was telling her. But she was too excited to be going home to argue with her. “Fine. I'll stop in and say hi. But these . . .” She took the pointe shoes out of her bag. “Stay here.”

I Love L.A.

The flight from Newark to LAX seemed a lot longer than usual, probably because Anya was so anxious to touch down. While her mom napped, she made a mental list of everything she wanted to do as soon as they got home: go shopping on Melrose with her best friend, Poppy; grab a hot dog at Pink's; take a long walk on the beach barefoot.

“Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing,” the pilot's voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

“We're here! We're here!” she said, shaking her mom awake.

Her mother opened one eye. “Already? That was quick. I could have used a few more hours of shut-eye.”

She had to practically drag her mother by the arm through the airport into baggage claim. “Mom, hurry up!” she pleaded with her.

“Anya, honey, we have a whole week here. What's the rush?”

“I have so much to do,” Anya insisted. “I want to get it all in.”

When they exited the airport, Alexei and Anya's dad were waiting at the curb in their convertible. Mr. Bazarov kissed his wife before sweeping Anya up into a huge bear hug.

“Wait! Wait! I gotta get this on film,” Alexei shouted, grabbing his camcorder out of the glove compartment. “Okay: lights, camera, action!”

Anya stuck her tongue out toward the lens. “Did you get that?” she asked, laughing. “Do you ever give the moviemaking thing a rest?”

Alexei shook his head. “Do you think Hitchcock ever stopped rolling? Or Spielberg?”

“You're Bazarov—not Spielberg,” Anya told him.

“But you could definitely play E.T.,” he teased her. “You've got that big-alien-head thing going.”

Anya suddenly noticed he was getting behind the wheel. “Wait! Did you get your license?”

“I did!” her brother replied proudly. “I am officially a California State–licensed driver.”

“Awesome!” Anya squealed. “Can you teach me?”

“Whoa!” her dad interrupted. “One teenage Bazarov on the freeway is plenty. You see all these new gray hairs?”

“You should see me on the I-10,” Alexei bragged.

“No, trust me,” her father said. “You want to keep your eyes closed. It's better that way.”

Her mom laughed. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go home!”

As they pulled into the driveway, Anya noticed that everything looked exactly the same as she had left it. The mailbox was still painted bright blue with BAZAROV on it in yellow letters. The front yard still had a white picket fence around it, and her mother's begonia bushes were in bloom.

“Wait till you see your room,” Alexei teased her. “I gave it an extreme home makeover.”

“No, you didn't!” Anya shrieked. “Mom!”

“He's kidding,” her father reassured her. “But I did give the kitchen a fresh coat of paint.”

“Without asking me?” her mom shouted. “No, you didn't!”

“Kidding!” Anya's dad and brother sang in unison.

Anya pushed open the front door and bolted up the stairs to her bedroom. She held her breath as she turned the knob and opened the door. There was her pink canopy bed; her giant stuffed giraffe, Percy; and her autographed framed poster of prima ballerina Misty Copeland on the wall.

“See? Told ya I didn't touch it,” Alexei said, peeking in. “Your smelly ballet shoes are still under the bed.”

Anya lifted the comforter and peered underneath the bedframe. There—just where she had put them—were more than a dozen pair of beaten-up ballet slippers.

“My collection,” she sighed. “Thank goodness!” Each pair had a very special significance in Anya's ballet career: they marked every first and last day of each level she'd been in. They were a symbol of her progress from primary to Level 6, and she loved to stand them next to each other and compare how much her feet had grown over the years.

Anya flopped down in her white, fuzzy beanbag chair and kicked off her sneakers. “This feels so good,” she said, closing her eyes. “I missed this.”

“I didn't miss your snoring through the wall at night,” Alexei teased.

“I don't snore!” Anya insisted, tossing a throw pillow at her brother's head.

“Do to,” he said. “You sound like Dad's lawn mower.”

“Well, you'll only have to suffer for a week,” she said.

“I wish it was more,” Alexei said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It's lonely around here with no one to pick on.”

“You could always drive Dad crazy,” Anya pointed out.

Alexei shook his head. “Not the same. He doesn't take the bait like you do.” He looked around the room and his eyes settled on the wall behind Anya's head. Suddenly, his face
went pale. “Look out!” he shouted. “There's a giant tarantula climbing up the wall!”

“EEEK! Where?” Anya shrieked. She jumped out of her chair and grabbed her tennis racquet out of the closet. She sliced through the air, swinging it wildly. “I got it! I got it!”

Alexei fell on the floor, laughing. “Oh, you got it all right!” he said, cracking up. “I got you!” He zoomed in on her face with his camera.

Anya dropped the racquet to her side. “Seriously? There's no spider?”

“Like I said,” her brother smirked. “No one takes the bait like you, Anya.”

It was almost reassuring to know that her brother could still pull her leg after all these months apart.

“Fine. You got me,” she admitted. “I'm still terrified of spiders.”

“Aww, you mean this little guy?” Alexei asked, pulling a tiny black insect out of his shorts pocket.

“EEEK! Get it away from me! Get it away!” Anya screamed jumping up on the bed.

“Relax! It's a rubber spider!” Alexei laughed. “Awesome scream, though, for my movie.” He checked the replay. “If this footage doesn't get me into film school, I don't know what will.”

“Are you still planning on going to college to study film?” Anya asked.

Alexei nodded. “Absolutely. I've applied early decision to my top two: UCLA and Tisch at NYU. Fingers crossed. I could hear any day now.”

“NYU?” Anya gasped. “You're thinking of going to college in New York City? That's super close to Mom and me! That would be awesome!”

“It's my top choice,” Alexei added. “Do you know that Woody Allen went there?”

“And you're going to make your little sis the star of your first big movie, right?” Anya reminded him.

He dangled a rubber spider in her face. “We'll see!”

Downstairs, Anya's parents were busy catching up—and discussing how they were going to break the big news to their daughter.

“She's going to be so disappointed,” Mrs. Bazarov said.

“Felice, we talked about this. We have to do what's best for us as a family.”

Anya burst into the living room and flopped down on the couch next to her dad. “Alex is crazier than ever!” she said. “His practical jokes are out of control!”

“Tell me about it,” her father said, putting his arm around her. “You don't have to deal with him every day.”

“But wouldn't it be nice if we did?” her mom suddenly interjected.

“No!” Anya said. “One spider psych-out is enough for me.”

“I mean, wouldn't it be nice to be back living here in L.A.? All together as a family?” her mother continued.

“It would—if Dance Divas was here,” Anya said. “But it's not.”

Her parents shot each other a concerned look.

“So I think you and Alexei should hit the beach, then meet us for sushi at Wok 'n' Roll for dinner,” her dad said. “Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a great plan,” Anya replied. “As long as you check his pockets first for rubber spiders.”

A Change of Pace