My Life in Dioramas (9 page)

It was, in fact, April first.

June thirteenth still felt like a lifetime away, but I was one week closer.

“No joke.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked at me. “I mean, you're moving or
maybe
moving and I don't have a ton of friends. Anyway, there's a minimum at the karaoke place for kid parties.”

“You're having a
karaoke
party?” This was bigger news than Megan being invited. “Oh, man, that's awesome. I always wanted a karaoke party.”

“It's not my fault you haven't had one.” Now she crumbled her tin foil into a ball.

“Uh,” I said. “I never said it was.”

“I know. I just, well . . . check this out.” Stella dug around in her backpack and pulled out some small squares of paper. “It's the invitation I've been working on with my mom. And look, you'll get this slip of paper and you can preselect three songs.”

The invitation was a picture of Stella seated at a piano and dressed up like a rock star with a lacy top and funky hair. Above her it said,
GIRLS ROCK
MAGAZINE'S GIRL OF THE YEAR TURNS
13. Then the party details ran down the side.

“This is going to be amazing!” I was picturing us doing totally over-the-top coordinated goofball dance moves. I studied the date. “Two weeks!”

“And . . . ,”
Stella said, taking the invitation back. “I'm inviting boys!”

And then my whole fantasy went poof.

“Noooooo,” I said.
“Why?”

“Because it'll be fun. Because I
like
boys.”

For whatever reason—probably the same reason the bus seating was the way it was—people had pretty much stopped having boy/girl parties when we were maybe six. So for years birthdays had involved just us girls at the spa in town, or roller-skating, or pumpkin-picking. I liked it that way. It was easy. No pressure. Karaoke with boys sounded very much like something other people did. Older people.

I read through the guest list she held out to me and saw Naveen's name.

“Maybe Naveen will do a duet with me,” I said. “For kicks.”

Stella shook her head. “People are going to start thinking you like him.”

“Of course I like him.”

“No, I mean,
like
him like him.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” I didn't mention how my hand still sort of tingled. I studied the other boys on her list. “Tris Culpberg, really?”

“Why not?”

“Because I've never even seen you say two words to him.”

“How do you know?” Stella gathered her stuff to get up. “We're not joined at the hip.”

“Fine. Invite anybody you want.”

“I will,” she said. “I'm inviting Sam Fitch. For you.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“Don't do me any favors,” I said.

Ugh!

I knew that it was going to happen eventually—crushes, dates, hand-holding, slow dancing, kissing. I just didn't know
how
. And while it was true that I liked how Sam looked and felt a little funny when he talked to me, I wasn't sure if that was what a crush felt like. And since I didn't much like the feeling, I had sort of been hoping not.

“You're coming to my house after dance today, right?” she asked.

“Yeah.” My parents both had actual work to do until dinner-time, so that was the plan.

“Great, so we can think about what to wear.” She put her earbuds in and left the table.

12.

When we were on our way
into the dance studio after school, Stella said, “Don't mention my party, okay? I'm not inviting everyone from class.”

I hadn't thought about her party in hours.

We got changed fast and lined up by the door to the studio as the tiny dancers paraded out. My troupe forms shook slightly in my hands because my whole body was vibrating with excitement.

“How are my dancers?” Miss Emma asked as we all walked into the studio.

Everyone muttered good's and hi's and she said, “I see a lot of troupe forms. Excellent!”

She started going around collecting papers, making sure everything was properly filled out. My heartbeat quickened when she was reviewing my parent form, but she seemed
totally happy. I made a point of not looking at Stella.

Miss Emma collected the last form and said, “I'm so excited! You're all on board. So let's get to work.” She turned on our song. “Just dance however you want to limber up.”

The second time through, she gave us all our opening positions. “You're all advanced enough that we're going to try to run through the whole thing today. Then we'll add blocking Thursday. Ready?”

We all said, “Ready!”

And the hour was a blur of leaps and kicks and slides and more. One thing I liked about contemporary dancing was that there weren't names for everything the way there was with ballet. It felt like the most freeing kind of dancing to me. We learned mostly from watching Miss Emma and imitating her. It was something I was good at.

We were all sweating when she said, “Okay, from the top. One last time. Let's see how you do.”

She cued up the song again and I imagined us all on a stage together.

Big lights.

A full auditorium.

The hairs on my arms perked up.

I'd already committed most of the routine to memory.

The music kicked in and we went for it and even though we all made a few mistakes, it was pretty great for a first practice. Miss Emma clapped when we were done and we clapped, too. I
was dying of thirst so I headed for the water fountain.

“Don't you think you should maybe tell Miss Emma?” Stella asked, after I drank. “That you might not even be living here in June?”

“I've already got the situation under control.” I wiped water from my lips with my arm.

“You can't actually be serious.”

“It only has to work for a few weeks, and anyway, my dad said if they ended up selling really close to the end of school year we could talk about me staying with you. End of the school year puts me in range of Dance Nation. No problemo.”

“I hope you're right,” Stella said. “Because it'd be really unfair for us all to learn the routine one way if we're going to have to change it at the last minute.”

“I'm sorry if my misery is inconvenient for you.”

She huffed.

We went and packed up our stuff.

Miss Emma stopped me on the way out and pulled me aside. “I was hoping you'd consider doing a solo, Kate.”

“Oh.” I was sort of shocked that she was saying this. “I'm more of a team player, I think?”

“I happen to think you could do a really great job and that it might be good for you to step into the spotlight and not hide in the group.”

I'd never thought about it that way. “I'm not hiding,” I said.

Miss Emma squeezed my arm gently. “Just think about it.”

13.

When Stella and I were younger,
our favorite thing to do had been playing with Stella's Barbie styling head doll. We'd given that poor, long-gone Barbie about a million makeovers. But now when I came over, we mostly just hung out and listened to music and watched dance competition videos and talked. Sometimes we did our homework because it was more fun doing it together than alone.

“We need to figure out what to wear for my party!” Stella went to her closet.

I flopped down onto her bed and groaned, but at least she wasn't bugging me about dance troupe.

What would doing a solo even feel like?

“Here.” Stella tossed a dress at me. “Try this on.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

I think I might have gotten it from my mother, who was always in leggings and big sweaters or oversize shirts, but I just wasn't that into fashion. I did love the way that dance costumes—with their shiny fabrics and sequins and fringes—seemed to transform me into someone else entirely, but in the day to day, I just didn't care that much.

“Just try it,” Stella said. “You might like it.”

As Stella changed out of her school clothes into a blue dress that shimmered, I slid into the dress she'd handed me. It was floral and girlie and not at all my kind of thing. I turned to her and frowned.

“Fine, forget it.”

I changed back into my clothes and felt normal again. So normal that I dared to bring up dance class. “Miss Emma told me she thought I should do a solo.”

Stella froze for a second. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why do you seem surprised?”

“I don't know. It just doesn't seem like dance is your passion or anything.”

“Are worms eating your brain or something? You're saying the weirdest stuff all of a sudden.”

“What?” She shrugged. “I'm just saying you don't seem to love it.”

“Well, I do.” Now I shrugged. “I just think dancing is more
fun with other people than alone.”

“Then tell her that.” She turned to the mirror to look at herself. “I wouldn't want us to be competing against each other anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because what if one of us won or something? The other one would have her feelings hurt.” She was brushing her hair.

“You mean me,” I said, slowly. “
I
would have my feelings hurt.”

She put the brush down and put her hands on her hips. “How did we get into this thing?”

“I have no idea.”

“My point really is that your parents would never spend that money if you might not be here to see it through.”

“No, of course not,” I said.

It was true.

Then I heard the doorbell. My mother was here to pick me up. I didn't normally but today I leapt up to gather my things.

“Hey, what's all this stuff?” I asked, peeking inside a bag by the bed where a bunch of Barbies swam in weird positions in a pool of clothes.

“I'm too old for Barbies.” Stella was trying on yet another dress. “I don't even know why they're still around.”

“Kate!” my mom called.

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow,” I said, and I grabbed my backpack. Looking at the bag of Barbies, I noticed the fabric of one of the dresses. “Can I take them? The Barbies?”

“
You're
too old for Barbies,” Stella said.

“I want the clothes for a project.” I didn't feel like explaining about the dioramas I'd been making, but when I looked at those tiny dresses, I saw fabrics perfect for curtains and bedspreads and more.

“Knock yourself out,” Stella said.

“I'm just going to the bathroom,” I called out once I was in the hall, and my mom said, “Okay!”

I went into the bathroom and closed the door. I sat on the toilet and realized I could hear my mom's voice.

“Honestly,” she said. “I have a lot of anger. I'm not sure what to do about it. It's not like I'm not also responsible. It's not rational. But I'm angry.” I held my breath and waited, holding in pee. “At
him
.”

It took me a minute to figure out that she was talking about my dad.

Was divorce still a possibility?

“Don't take this the wrong way, Liv,” Stella's mom said. “But it sounds like you may be depressed.”

“Of course I'm depressed.” My mom laughed, but it wasn't a happy laugh. “I'm losing my house.”

“I mean,
clinically
.” Stella's mom lowered her voice but she was typically pretty loud so I could still hear her. “It might be good to talk to someone.”

“He said the same thing, but I'm talking to
you
.” My mother laughed stiffly. “Isn't that enough?