Audition (16 page)

Authors: Stasia Ward Kehoe

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Stories in Verse, #Love & Romance, #Performing Arts, #Dance

BOOK: Audition

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I hover over myself
Watching.
Mind and body separated,
Each in control
As though there are two puppeteers
Working the strings of my marionette self.

Perfection.
I even feel the muscles of my face
Draw my lips
Up into a smile.

Ballerinas are often compared to butterflies.

I understand today
As I flit across the black floor,
Feel Simone’s eyes on my back,
A dark brown version of Katia’s gaze,
As if jealousy begets more jealousy,
Perfection more perfection.

We come to révérence,
A curtsy to thank Señor Medrano
For teaching our class.
The piano smacks its final chord.
Silence shatters the magic.

Señor pauses in the doorway to speak to a parent.
Students drop to the floor, pack up shoes and gear.

Remington steps into the room.

Behind him
No sign of Jane
But I watch his careful eyes
On Señor’s back.
Señor gives the classroom

A curt farewell nod,
Strides out
On character shoes,
Soft and black.

Chatter rises.
Rem saunters over,
Slides onto the floor beside me.

“Whatcha been up to?”
As if I had not been counting every hour
Since his last touch,
Calculating the depth
Of his rejection.

Twenty minutes ’til the next class

And all around us
Dancers trickle in and out.
I sit immobilized,
Pointe shoes half untied.
Remington launches into
Words.

I watch his lips move,
Hands gesture.
The dark brown hair on his forearms lifts
As he swings through a giant
Port de bras

Describing some dance he is making.

He picks up my hand,
Draws me to standing,
Demonstrates a parallel promenade.

I try to imitate,
Satin shoe ribbons trailing behind me on the floor.

“No. No. Like this, ballerina.”
His chuckling words waft through

The smoke in my ears.
I let him show me
Steps I have not seen in ordinary classes,
His expression all fire
As he shares his pas de deux.

He releases my fingers
That weep for his touch.
I look down.

My feet are still in parallel,
Trying to make
The stylized, geometric
Steps
Of Remington’s ballet.

“Nice.”
His voice approving, low,
Inviting.

What does he want?

What do I want?

Remington leans against the barre,

Looking at me
As the clock ticks toward Variations.
I cannot read the expression in his eyes.

The studio begins to fill.

Bonnie and Madison drop onto the floor beside me.

“We’re going to the movies tonight,”
Bonnie says.
“Wanna come?”

“What movie?”
My voice shatters the fine glass air
Between Remington and me.
I see him, through the spiderweb cracks,
Turn away.

“We’ll figure out what’s starting
After we get to the mall.
My dad’s gonna drive.”
Madison looks at me.

“Sounds like fun,”
I manage.
Push my voice into air
That still snaps.

“Cool.” Bonnie stands up,
Heads for the rosin box near the door
To coat her pointe shoes
Against slipping.

“So, we’ll meet up after Variations.”
Madison follows Bonnie.

Remington leans away from the barre,
Gives his back a casual stretch.
“I can give you a ride
To the movies.”

I focus my energy on wrapping the retied end of my pointe
shoe ribbon
Under the knot. Thoughts and feelings jumble
While my heart hiccups, my breath sticks in my chest.
“Okay.”

In Variations class,

We are working on
Sleeping Beauty
,
Much more formal, familiar
Than the forward-toed, eclectic gait
Of Remington’s promenade.

Aurora, the Sleeping Beauty,
Is supposed to be sixteen, like me.
Her dance, light with anticipation of all that is to come,
Giddy with childish glee
At her birthday celebration.

I love the gentle build
Of Tchaikovsky’s music.
Joyful, precise développés en tournant
That explode into a line of piqué turns,
Tough and spectacular.

Every girl dreams of performing them—
Lisette and Bonnie, Simone and Madison—
All of us tendu and spin
Again and again.

This will be the last Variations class
Until
The Nutcracker
is over.

A long time to remember
Even delightful steps
To delicate music.
I try to drive them into my muscles
Beside the incessant ache
Of yearning.

“Tonight, Madison, Bonnie, and I Are going to the movies.”

I tell this to Señor Medrano.
Try to keep my eyes casual
Like I do not really care
Who else is going out tonight.
Or that I will get a ride with Remington.

Señor smiles, pats my head
Like I’m a little girl.
I watch him push through the metal door,
Disappear from the studio.
Turn back to the strange adventure,
Uncertain bed
I have made for myself.

Madison’s dad comes

For her and Bonnie.
“You sure you don’t need a ride?”
Madison heaves her chic, black, quilted ballet bag
Over her shoulder.

I look at the solid, suited man
Standing in the doorway,
Poking at his cell phone,
Tapping his foot.
I imagine his car’s thick, safe metal,
Airbags,
Clean, leather seats.

From the corner of my eye,
I see Remington
Joking with Paul and Don.
He nods at me.

“I’ve got a ride. I’ll meet you there.
Text me the movie you pick.”