Showtime! (4 page)

The two-hour ride to New York City flew by. While Bria hit the books, the other girls played Name That Tune (Scarlett guessed One Direction's “What Makes You Beautiful” in just five notes) and finished with a game of Truth or Dare.

When it was Rochelle's turn, she chose “dare.”

Liberty grinned: “I dare you to go up to Miss Toni and ask her, ‘What's shakin', bacon?'”

“I can't. She'll kill me!” Rochelle exclaimed.

“You don't have to. You can take a dare back,” Scarlett said, improvising, to protect her friend.

“A dare is a dare,” Liberty taunted her. “Those are the rules. Unless you want to take it
for her
?”

Scarlett saw that Toni was sitting behind the driver, directing him through midtown traffic. Interrupting her was definitely not a good idea. But Rochelle was already in hot water with their dance coach. She couldn't let her make things worse.

“I'll do it,” she said.

“No! Scarlett, you don't have to!” Rochelle tried to stop her. But it was too late. She was
already inching her way toward the front of the bus.

“Miss Toni?” she asked timidly, tapping her on the shoulder.

“Yes?” Toni replied.

“Um, I have a question . . .”

“Well, what is it?”

Scarlett took a deep breath and blurted out, “What's shakin', bacon?”

Toni looked puzzled. Then she replied, “I'm the boss, applesauce. So go sit back down.” She winked, and Scarlett heaved a huge sigh of relief.

As she took her seat next to Rochelle, she heard Liberty laughing hysterically. “I cannot believe you did that! Toni must think you're crazy!”

Scarlett bit her tongue. She was not about to take the bait again and talk back to Liberty. Her dad always told her there were certain people that enjoyed “getting you all fired up.” Liberty was one of them.

“Ignore them,” he advised. “If you do, they can't win.”

So Scarlett said nothing as Liberty continued to crack up. Besides, the bus was pulling into the Millennium Broadway Hotel in Times Square.

“Check it out!” Rock pointed out the window. There was a huge neon marquee flashing, “WELCOME, CITY LIGHTS DANCERS!”

“We're here! We're here!” Bria bounced up and down in her seat. “This is awesome!”

Toni stood at the front of the bus and cleared her throat.

“Ladies and moms,” she began. “Welcome to Times Square, New York City. The heart of Broadway theater, the center of the dance universe, where some of the most famous dancers in the world have performed.”

The girls cheered and started naming their favorite Broadway shows:
Annie, Wicked, The Phantom of the Opera.

Toni clapped her hands above her head, demanding full attention. Even the mothers became silent. “I want to remind you that from the minute you step off this bus and into that
hotel, you represent Dance Divas Studio and you represent me. My reputation. You are proud, you are strong, and you let no one intimidate you. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded.

“There are studios coming here whose goal is to beat us. Especially City Feet Dance Studio.”

Scarlett raised her hand. “But they don't even know us. We've never competed against them.”

“Well, we've never had a state title. Now we do, and trust me, they know us,” Miss Toni said.

Bria was already searching for City Feet on her laptop. “I found their website. It says the studio is in Long Island, run by someone named Justine Chase, a former prima ballerina at American Ballet Company.”

“Wait a sec; Miss Toni went to ABC,” Scarlett said, grabbing the computer out of her hand. She looked at the photo of City Feet's dance coach: she was blond and petite, with a tiny beauty mark above her lip. Then she found a YouTube video
of Toni's performance in
La Sylphide
. “Aha!” she cried. “I thought I remembered her. Look familiar?”

The girls squinted to watch the delicate dancer move right beside Miss Toni in a forest scene. She had the same platinum-blond hair, and there it was: the telltale mark above her lip.

“So you're saying Toni and Justine were ballerinas together way back when?” Liberty snickered. “Isn't that a co-inky-dink?”

“I don't think it's a coincidence. I think they want to beat each other,” Scarlett concluded. “I think they're archenemies.”

“Oooh.” Bria giggled. “That sounds evil.”

“Miss Toni can handle evil,” Rochelle piped up. “I don't think we should be worrying about City Feet or Justine Chase.”

Toni overheard the last part of the conversation. “Oh yes, you should be worried about City Feet. You know why? Because they're good. They're very good. We need to be better.”

She checked her watch. “Okay, girls, we have three hours to practice before the competition. I
reserved us a dressing room, and I want to run the group number and all the solos till they're perfect. I want everyone warmed up and ready to go in ten minutes.”

And with that, the girls were off.

Those last three hours of rehearsal before a competition were the only time the girls had to iron out any wrinkles in a routine. It was also when Miss Toni liked to throw them a curve ball.

“I'm thinking we need to switch this up a little,” she said, tapping her foot on the floor as she watched the group number. “Scarlett, I want you to start with a
rond de jambe attitude.
The rest of you follow. And a one and a two . . .”

Scarlett glanced over at Bria, who looked totally lost.

“It's too fast!” Bria whispered when they took a water break. “I can't learn it this quick! And I
hate when she talks in French! Why can't ballet be in English?”

As they tried the number again, Bria did her best to keep up—to turn when Toni said
pirouette
; to jump when she said
sauté.
She kept her back foot on the ground and her shoulders down. But her head was spinning as Toni called out: “Sharper! Sharper! Knees straight! Bria, you can do better than this! Focus!”

Bria spun out of control, right into Scarlett, who lost her balance and toppled out of a split handstand.

“I'm so sorry,” Bria said, her eyes welling up. “I don't think I can do this.”

“You can do it,” Scarlett whispered. “We have to get through this.”

“I guess it's not a competition until someone cries,” Rochelle said.

Toni stopped the music and took Bria aside. “The judges are expecting flawless technique and precision,” she said calmly. “I need to know that you are willing to work for that. No mishaps. No thoughts about anything except winning. Clear?”

Bria nodded and took her place once again behind Scarlett. This time, when Toni counted—“five-six-seven-eight”—she did a perfect
arabesque.

At the end of the routine, Miss Toni applauded. “You girls nailed it. That was crisp, that was clean—that was a first-place win if I ever saw one!”

Backstage at the City Lights dance competition, the halls were packed with girls running their dances.

“Did you see some of those costumes?” Liberty asked her mom.

“I know.” Her mother chuckled. “So tacky!”

Scarlett looked down at her blue chiffon dress. Her mother had sewn silver sequins all along the neckline. Was it tacky, too?

Rochelle read her thoughts. “It's beautiful, and your solo is amazing,” she said, squeezing her friend's hand. “Go out there and win another title. For both of us, okay?”

“I'm sorry you don't get to perform your solo,”
Scarlett told her. “I know how hard you worked on it.”

Rochelle shrugged. If there was one thing she had learned to do well from Toni, it was to “Toughen up.” There would be other competitions, other chances to prove herself. The only thing that burned her was that Liberty got a solo this time.

“Just look at her. So full of herself!” Rochelle said.

“But that costume
is
gorgeous!” Bria sighed.

Liberty's mom had asked a friend—who just happened to be a designer for Lady Gaga—to create a one-of-a-kind blue-and-green-sequin leotard with real peacock feathers for a skirt.

“Stand still, Liberty!” her mom mumbled. Her mouth was filled with bobby pins to secure the headpiece, an emerald and sapphire tiara. “Stop fidgeting!”

Liberty's number was a contemporary jazz routine called “Wings.” Scarlett had watched her do it over and over in rehearsals. There were tricks;
there were splits; there were thirty
fouetté pirouettes
with perfectly pointed toes (Liberty's specialty). It was what Toni called an “eyepopper showstopper,” meaning the judges would be wowed.

By comparison, Scarlett's solo was mellower. The music was slow and gentle, like a soothing lullaby. Miss Toni told her it was about someone going to heaven, and she should dig deep and feel the emotion of it: the loss and the sadness as well as the beauty and the peace. So every time she danced it, she thought of the saddest day she could remember in her family: the day her grandpa Papa Eli—her dad's father—died on her eighth birthday. She missed him all the time—he was always in the front row at all of her dance recitals, and now she thought of him as her guardian angel. So standing backstage, waiting in the wings for her turn to dance, Scarlett said a little prayer: “Please, oh, please, let this be a great performance!”

Liberty's mom was fluffing one last feather when a voice boomed over the microphone: “And
now, dancing a contemporary jazz routine entitled ‘Wings,' please welcome from Dance Divas Studio . . . Liberty!”

Scarlett watched as her teammate strutted like a peacock out onto the stage. She nodded to the judges, then began her routine. If there was one thing Scarlett had to give her credit for, it was showmanship. She waved, she winked, she shook her hips, and shimmied her shoulders. By the end of the number, she had the entire audience on their feet for a standing ovation.

“That's my girl!” her mother squealed, hugging her as she came offstage. “You rocked it, baby!”

Scarlett gulped. Beating Liberty was not going to be easy.

“Okay, sugar muffin,” her mom said. “Two more girls and then it's your turn. Time to get ready.”

Scarlett made sure the straps of her dress were secure and that the delicate white lace bow in her hair was pinned in place.

“Do you have my lucky ballet shoes, Mom?” she asked, straightening the seams on her tights.

“I thought you had them, honey,” her mom replied. “They're not with me. You must have left them in the dressing room.”

But when they searched her bags, they were nowhere to be found.

“Rock, Bria—help me find them!” Scarlett began to panic. They looked in every bag, in every corner, under every pile of costumes.

“I don't get what the big deal is. Just wear another pair. You have at least six in your dance bag,” Liberty said.

“No, it has to be
this
pair!” Scarlett answered. “You don't understand! I
need
my Lucky Stars shoes to win!”