Three Wishes (20 page)

Crap.

She was right. And Kat would be perfect for the part. She had such an innocence about her when she danced. A natural actress. I could almost picture her skipping around the stage in the party scene with the wooden nutcracker, a present from her weird Uncle Drosselmeyer.

Okay, back to the drawing board.

Maybe I could dance Arabian? Or Chinese? The around-the-world dances in the Land of Sweets were always a crowd pleaser. Arabian would be super hot.

I shoved my toe shoes in my bag and was standing up to leave when Analisa joined us.

“Good class today. Easy,” she said, tucking an imaginary stray wisp back into her tight bun.

Easy? My legs hurt way too much for a supposed
easy
class. But no way was I about to admit that. Especially not with Hadley within earshot.

In the great scheme of things, I guess it wasn’t the most technically challenging class I’d ever taken. It seemed designed to observe us more than anything. I guess the challenging was in impressing the director.

“Dmilov was totally loving you,” she continued, looking directly at me.

He was? “No way. He kept criticizing me.”

“Dani, Dani, Dani.” Maya shook her head. “Haven’t you learned anything yet? Criticism is good.”

I knew that, but sometimes the fragile artist’s self-esteem needs a boost. Especially when you were afraid you’d danced like a cow.

Or looked like one.

“Much better to be noticed than not,” Analisa agreed.

Maya laughed. “Like me. He totally ignored me. I could’ve just slept in and nobody would’ve been the wiser. But I expected that.”

“Why?” I asked. “You were on Teen Celebrity Dance-Off. You’re one the best dancers at the school!”

“I’m a contemporary dancer, Dani. Ballet’s not my thing. Not like it is for you and Ana. You’re the bunheads.” She shrugged and rolled her shoulders to work out the kinks in her muscles. “It’s okay. I’ll have fun dancing Snow. I already know the choreography.”

“Wanna go grab a smoothie while we wait?” Analisa asked.

I flinched, both from the question and from the pain of my bleeding toes as I peeled back the lamb’s wool I’d shoved inside my dance shoes. (I always laugh when people say that dancers probably have the nicest feet. Do they actually know any dancers?)

Did I really need the extra calories and sugar from a smoothie? I had costumes to fit into – well, I would if I got a role, that is.

Maya must have seen my hesitation because she answered for me. “Yes, she does. Let’s get out of here.”

We left campus and walked the two blocks to Groovie Smoothie. I thought about ordering a bottle of water and calling it a day, but I knew Ana and Maya weren’t going to hear of it. I knew they were worried about me, but they were wrong. I didn’t have a problem.

Really.

Sure, I’d agreed last month to see a body image counselor. And I’d been going, but it wasn’t the least bit necessary. Interesting – I was learning a lot – but not for me.

The dance department was full of hypocrites. They encouraged us to do whatever it took to be slim and trim so we would look good up on stage, but they didn’t want the liability of their dancers ending up hospitalized. So my counseling was just a formality, and everyone knew it.

Besides, I didn’t have a problem. Really.

“I’ll have an extra-large Mango Madness with a raspberry swirl.” I could just have a fruit smoothie, no need for yogurt. Lo-cal, no fat. Perfect. “Oh, and a soft pretzel,” I added with pointed look at Maya.

See, I didn’t have a problem. Really.

We grabbed our snacks and headed back to the theatre to check on the result.

No list. Damn.

We were just packing up to go back to the dorms when an excited cry rang out from the far end of the room. “The list!”

I limped down the aisle to join the crowd of girls all huddled around a small sheet of paper tacked to the wall. The list contained both girls’ and boys’ names, even though the particular audition we’d just completed was girls-only. The boys took class in a different studio, and their audition was less competitive since there are so many fewer of them so they were pretty much all guaranteed roles.

The crowd was six deep in front of the soloist list, so I checked out the results for the
corps
first.

My eyes scanned down to the S’s:

Maya Sapp

Talia Small

Alexis Sutton

Lydia Tsai

They skipped me. They skipped me! Which could only mean one thing.

I was going to be a soloist! Sweet!

“Excuse me. Pardon me,” I said, elbowing my way to the front of the other list.

OMG! My name, right there in bold font.

Sugar Plum Fairy

Hadley Taylor

Daniela Spevak (understudy)

Me – the Sugar Plum Fairy! As a freshman! I couldn’t believe it, but there it was in black and white. I couldn’t wait to share my news.

I spun around and saw Analisa and Maya. “I’m dancing Sugar Plum!”

“No, I’m dancing Sugar Plum,” Hadley sneered, behind me.

“What do you mean?”

Analisa bit her lip. “You’re the understudy, Dani.”

I turned back to the list and checked it again. She was right. I was the understudy.

Worse yet, I was
Hadley’s
understudy. How could I have missed that crucial piece of info?

“That’s fantastic, Dani.” Maya threw her arms around me and enveloped me in a bear hug. “You go, girl!”

I shrugged out of her grasp and scanned the list again. My name didn’t appear anywhere other than that understudy role. It had to be a mistake.

“I’m not…performing?”

Hadley laughed. “Looks that way. Sucks to be you.”

Now I knew why dancers say “
merde
” instead of “good luck.” This was shit. For real.

But I wasn’t going to let anyone see me cry.

I looked at the cast list again. Maya was right – Analisa was going to be the Snow Queen. I was thrilled for her. I really was.

But why didn’t I get a role? I mean, I’m just a freshman, so I guess I shouldn’t have expected a solo. I was honored to understudy such a prestigious role at just fourteen years old, but why couldn’t I also be a Snowflake or even a girl in the party scene?

“Congrats, Hadley,” I said, pasting on my happy face. “And Ana, yay!”

After the requisite round of congratulations, I sneaked out the back with the rest of the rejects while everyone else was still chattering about the upcoming rehearsals.

Hours and hours of rehearsals that I would have to attend, even though I wouldn’t get a chance to dance in the performances. Because let’s face it. Short of a tragedy, there was no way Hadley wouldn’t be dancing.

It just wasn’t fair.

Why wasn’t I good enough? Monsieur Dmilov corrected me, so I know he saw something in my dancing that he wanted to cultivate. And just last month I danced on national TV. So it couldn’t be my dancing.

Which only left one thing.

I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

My Life as the Ugly Stepsister

by

Juli Alexander

Chapter One

Do not teach your mother to use the Internet. No good can come of it. –Ally’s Brutal Teen Truths

“What do you mean we may be moving to Seattle to live with your Internet boyfriend? That’s insane.” I glared at my mother over the half-empty pizza box. “It’s all the way across the country.”

I swear it will be a miracle if I make it through my teens without a psychiatric hospitalization. I forgot to breathe for a moment. Oh my God, I started high school in less than two weeks and she wanted to move?

My mom tried to smile, but even she knew this was not the time. “Calm down, Ally. Let me explain.”

I don’t know about you, but when people tell me to calm down, it makes me really, really want to smack them.

“You aren’t coming with me.” She lifted her paper plate and stacked it on top of mine. Mom worked long hours and doing dishes was the one thing she’d cut out for New Year’s. She’d cut out home-cooked meals when Dad left two years ago.

“What!” Even worse than uprooting me, she was totally abandoning me? Then I realized the horrible truth. “I am not living with Dad and Diane. No way.” Dread unfurled in my stomach.

Mojo, my black and tan hound, came into the kitchen to check on the ruckus. He gave Mom a curious look and slipped under the table to lie at my feet.

Mom put on her “Let’s be reasonable” face. “Now, Ally. It’s just for four months. That’s it. It’s like summer vacation. It will be over before you know it.”

I hadn’t seen this coming. Not at all. All those hours Mom spent on the phone with that guy in Seattle. I’d thought it was harmless. I’d actually believed it was good for her. “Mom, I’m sure you can find somebody here in Charlotte to date. You’re not ugly or anything.”

She flinched but obviously decided to ignore my insulting compliment. “I think Donald may be my Mr. Right. I’d really like to give this relationship a chance, but long distance just isn’t practical. I don’t want to uproot you without knowing for sure.” She ran her hand through the fresh red highlights in her brown hair. Her natural color hadn’t been good enough since the divorce.

“Why can’t he just come here?” I was barely coping with the known, no way could I handle the unknown. “What’s so great about Seattle?”

“Donald’s worked hard to build his insurance business, Ally. He can’t just leave it. But there is always work for an experienced paralegal. I’ve already got two job offers. Besides, he’s got an apartment over the garage.”

My stomach cramped at the betrayal. She’d applied for jobs before talking to me.

Mom pressed on, “Besides, if things work out between Donald and me, I know you’d be happy there. Seattle is supposed to be beautiful. The Emerald City with evergreen trees and mountains. They say it’s just spectacular.”

“We have trees and mountains around here. People move to North Carolina all the time for the
spectacular
,” I mimicked Mom’s emphasis on the word, “views.”

“You could learn to ski.”

“I can ski here. In North Carolina.” I crossed my arms. “Where we live now.”

“You’ll be right on the Pacific coast.”

“We can drive to the Atlantic anytime we want.” I accidentally applied too much tension and snapped my plastic fork in half, sticking my finger. “Ow.” No blood at least. Wait a minute. Back up. She was living over his garage. Right.

“Ally, I know you’re upset,” she said, ignoring my cry of pain. “That’s why I’m asking you to stay with your dad for four months. Let me see if this relationship is worth it.”

I looked into the green eyes of the woman who’d raised me, hating her calm expression. “So you’ll forget the whole thing in four months if you don’t like him?”

“Yes.” Her shoulders relaxed a little. “I just want to give it a chance.”

“Okay. So if your relationship with this guy is like a four on a scale of one to ten, you’ll come home?”

“Yes.”

“What if it’s a six?”

“Probably.” She shrugged. “Ally, I really can’t give you any probabilities. Love is not a science.”

Love. Barf! This was all Dad’s fault for leaving Mom in the first place. Now she was dating, shaving her legs regularly, coloring her hair, and leaving me.

“You know I can’t stand Diane! I would never, ever make you live in the same house with her.”

Mom pressed her lips together for a moment. Then, she said in a maddeningly calm voice, “It’s not exactly the same situation. I won’t say she’s one of my favorite people, but four months with her will not kill you.” She stood and took the dishes to the garbage can.

I could think of a whole lot of things my mother had said about Diane. And a lot of them involved words she’d punish me for saying. Somehow I kept from mentioning those tirades. The reminder would only trigger one of those therapist-induced-apology-slash-lectures I’d heard too many times lately.

Mom had spent most of the last two years in therapy. She’d progressed from crying most of the day to behaving somewhat like a normal person. Unfortunately, her total immersion in Dr. Phil and friends had not managed to make my quality of life any better. I mean, at least she cried on the couch in our house in Charlotte. Not two thousand freaking miles away. Okay, I knew I’d feel guilty about wishing her back to the crying stage, but right now, I was totally entitled to be obnoxious. The woman was wrecking my life, and it wasn’t that great anyway.

She walked back to the table and sat down. “Ally, Seattle is supposed to be a really cool place for young people. That’s where Starbucks and those grunge bands started. The birthplace of Nirvana?”

Oh, come on! “The lead singer was an addict who shot himself in the head. If that’s your example of a good reason to move, you’ve got serious parenting deficits.” I stopped short of asking what Dr. Phil would say. Even my mother had limits.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your life, but—”

And that’s when I tuned out, because that’s the beginning of the speech I’ve heard a hundred times before about how my mother can’t keep putting herself last. I nodded and uh-huhed at all the right spots while I tried to wrap my mind around the chaos that had taken over my life.

One, my mom was moving to Seattle.

Which meant, two that I’d have to live with my dad.

Who, three lived with the home-wrecking hag he’d married.

Who, four had a daughter my age who was ridiculously beautiful.

Which meant, five, that I was living the next four months as the ugly stepsister.

On the bright side, my self-esteem wasn’t all that high anyway, so this experience should serve well to bottom it out. And once I was a total wreck, psycho, blubbering idiot, it would finally be my turn for my needs to come first. Because in my family, the one closest to the ledge got to make the choices.

Mom definitely looked like a woman on the edge. She had finally stopped lecturing, and she had her hand on her throat like she does when she’s about to throw up. She didn’t deal with stress very well, and she obviously felt bad about the whole thing. But that hadn’t stopped her. If I didn’t think fast, she’d be on a plane to Seattle, and I’d be living with the stepmonster.