No One's Watching (6 page)
Authors: Sandy Green
I inhaled a lungful and held my breath, savoring every molecule. I waved to his back.
Nicki pulled me inside and shut the door, her mouth the size of a giant doughnut. “Whoa. Did you see his arms? He's so jacked.” She flung herself on Candace's bed. “How come I didn't notice him in class yesterday?”
“You were too interested in Jupiter. What exactly will you dance with him, Kit?” Dira asked.
Nothing. Too bad.
I exhaled. I had to get out of Irish dance. “I'll let you know.”
“He's hot.” Candace hugged herself.
Maybe there was room in Candace's character group for me? I had to find another performance piece.
****
The next morning after breakfast, Dira and Nicki went to their ballet class with Mr. Jarenko. Candace and I headed for our performance classes. First, I focused on finding Mrs. Ricardo. She drifted past the ladies' room in a long, bibbed dress.
“I'll meet you after class, Candace.” I tapped her shoulder.
Rehearsing my question in my mind, I hurried to the camp director who stooped over the water fountain.
“Hi.” My voice shook. “Can I talk to you?”
She stood. “Sure, dear. What is it?”
“I'm Kitri Othersen. I'd like to switch from the Irish dance duet in the end-of-camp performance to maybe character or contemporary?”
“Switch from Irish dance? Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Very.” Nicki had said Irish dancers wore something like tap shoes. Mom never taught tap at her studio. Anyone can make noise with their feet.
“We don't like to change dancers once we've made our decisions.” She shuffled some papers in a folder. “We try to match up the dancer as best we can with the specific dance. Not everybody gets to perform.”
“I realize that, but I don't know anything about Irish dance.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “I know both the solo and
pas de deux
from
Les Sylphides
.” Had I said that? Where'd this sudden burst of confidence come from?
“Neither one of them is available, I'm afraid.” Mrs. Ricardo straightened the sheets poking out of the folder. “And the contemporary performance class is full.”
Blake hitched his black dance bag over his shoulder and walked out of the elevator with Jupiter. They headed down the hall.
“Why don't you try the class for today, and I'll get back to you? Mr. Sean was keen on you and the boy he picked to be in his performance class.” She pressed her lips together. “We want our dancers to be happy and feel they can do their best. The timing isn't good.” She shook her head. “Not good at all.”
I bit my lip. As Mrs. Ricardo slipped away, I willed her to change her mind until my head hurt. I gave up and hurried down the hall, trying not to cry.
I stopped dead in the doorway to the studio. Blake knelt by the mirror, tying a pair of black jazz shoes on his feet. His hair brushed over his cheeks. The male teacher, who wore a T-shirt and black pants, like Blake's, sorted through a stack of CDs.
My hand cramped on the door frame as I took in the rest of the studio. It wasn't Blake or the Irish dance teacher who made me stop and stare.
I couldn't force my feet to step inside. Not only was I not dancing a ballet solo, I was in class with a bunch of leprechauns.
Something rude and small bumped me from behind.
“Are you going in?” a little voice chirped.
I stepped aside as a girl with a tightly coiled bun pushed into class. She joined a group of twelve-year-old girls giggling in the corner.
The teacher motioned at me. “Come on in. I'm Mr. Sean. This is the right class.”
Not for me.
“Okay.” My feet gave up and dragged me inside as Blake lifted a hand in greeting.
I steadied myself on the
barre
, studying the clump of little girls. Tiny Tots. The name of a rival dance studio in my hometown. No student over four feet allowed. It was as if they had invaded camp.
I knelt and rummaged in my dance bag for my ballet slippers.
“In Irish dance, girls wear
ghillies
.” Mr. Sean placed a sack next to me. He had a slight accent. Not like Mr. Jarenko's. Mr. Sean's was kind of like a song on a flute. “These are old shoes from students in my studio back home. Maybe you'll find a pair that fits. You can use ballet slippers for now, but it's more authentic to use
ghillies
.” He bent and stretched open the mouth of the bag. “There are also some poodle socks in here. Next time, wear a pair of stretch shorts and a T-shirt to class.” He motioned to the girls clinging to the
barre
s. “Like them.”
There won't be a next time.
“Okay.” Poodle socks?
Ghillies
? This was getting weirder and weirder. Mom would be horrified to see me in this folk dance class.
I plunged my hand into the bag and pulled out a black, leather shoe with loops along the top. Long, skinny, black laces dangled from it. I frowned and jammed it back in. No way would I wear that strange thing.
“Do you want me to show her how to tie the
ghillies
?” asked the dark-haired girl who bumped into me.
“Thanks, Megan.” Mr. Sean shuffled through CDs.
Megan overturned the bag and dumped everything on the floor. “My ballet teacher also teaches Irish dance. I'm so lucky.” She sorted through the shoes, holding the soles up to my discarded ballet slippers to compare the size. “These ought to work. Now for poodle socks.”
Megan and the rest of the little girls wore bumpy, white socks landing halfway between their knees and their ankles. She handed me a pair. “Since you're wearing your ballet tights, you can save the socks for tomorrow. They're regulation.” She stood and snapped the hem of her spandex shorts. “Do you have a pair like these?'
I had several black pairs in my room. I nodded.
“Wear them tomorrow, too.” She squatted and gave me a pair of the funny black shoes. “Try these on.”
“I thought you wore something like tap shoes.” I held the shoes by their laces as if they were dead rabbits.
“They're called hard shoes and only for more advanced students, like Lindy and me. I'm twelve. You get them after you study Irish dance for a couple of years. With hard shoes, the steps are quick.” Megan nodded toward the others. “The rest of the girls have only had a little Irish dance.”
My mind went numb as I fit black shoes on my feet. The supple leather was softer than ballet slippers. Megan untied her shoe and showed me how to pull the laces so they tightened along the top of my foot.
“Some Irish dancers wrap the rest of the laces around their ankles and tie it off. I like to wrap it first under my arch and then around my ankle. The shoe doesn't gap that way. And don't forget to make a double knot.”
I copied her until the laces resembled a black web against my foot.
“Start over.” She frowned. “If you pull them too tightly, you'll strangle your foot. If the laces are too loose, your shoe will flop and you'll trip.”
I tried it again and showed Megan. She tested the laces by picking at them as they lay across the tops of my feet. It stung where she snapped them. Her four-leaf clover green eyes shone approval.
“About ready?” Mr. Sean rubbed his hands together.
Megan brushed her hands off. “That's as good as it's going to be for now. Stand up.”
I blinked dumbly and stood. Yesterday I was in the advanced ballet class. Today I was taking orders from a twelve-year-old. Could I sink any lower?
Apparently, yes. I stood at the
barre
in the middle of the pack of future middle schoolers, my head poking above them as if I were Snow White. Blake was by himself at the
barre
facing the mirror. So much for us sticking together.
Mr. Sean spoke from the front of the room. “Today, we'll have an introductory class so Kitri and Blake can get used to moving in a new way. We'll be doing something I choreographed for my students. We'll learn the choreography for our piece sometime next week which should give us plenty of time for rehearsals.”
Megan exchanged a glance with a blond ponytailed girl and shook her head.
“Let's start with basic posture.” Mr. Sean stood straight in first position, with his arms against his sides so no light shone through. “Nice and tall, even the neck is long. Relaxed, yet completely pulled up.”
We mimicked him.
“Relax. Not so stiff. It's dancing more under yourself. I'll try to give you the French ballet terms for steps similar to the Irish steps, although it's a style all its own. Irish dance isn't ballet with stiff costumes and curled hair.”
Curled hair?
Were we expected to curl our hair for the performance? This morning I used a gallon of hairspray trying to keep the wisps from poking straight up on my head. Lucky this was my first and last exposure to this form of dance.
“Keep your arms flat against you. They always remain at your sides.” He demonstrated.
Irish dancers keep their arms at their sides?
“Always?” I blurted. Considering my ballet teachers never relented on my flailing arms, that was the first good news since I arrived at camp.
Mr. Sean tipped his head side to side. “I guess not always. Occasionally, your arms are here.” He put them on his hips like in character class. “Sometimes you might hold another dancer's hand.”
I forced my eyes not to stray from Mr. Sean and spy on Blake's reaction to all this.
Mr. Sean waved us into the center of the room. “Don't forget. Your arms may appear to do nothing, but they help your back support all of your legwork.” He rubbed his hands together and sat on the floor without using them to help him down. “Let's sit and start with ab work.” He patted his stomach. “To strengthen our core.”
Mr. Sean demonstrated a bazillion ways he wanted us to do crunches. Two bent knees, both feet on the floor or one foot across the other knee. Legs straight in the air. Curling your body around your legs or over them. Tucking one leg behind your ear.
Ha ha. I made that one up.
I'd no idea there were so many ways to torture yourself.
My backbone ground into the floor. I was sore from yesterday, and this wasn't helping.
After we repeated each side ninety-seven times, Mr. Sean sprang to his feet. “Good job. Everyone stand at the
barre
. In Irish dance, we turn our legs and feet out when they're on the floor. Not when they're in the air.”
I scratched my head and dragged myself to my feet. My spine was an apostrophe. I clung to the
barre
and rubbed my back with my free hand.
Mr. Sean used Megan to demonstrate a
grand battement
leg kick, Irish dance style. Such long legs for a little girl. I straightened as we crowded around her. Megan held onto the
barre
with one hand. She turned out in first position with her heels together and toes pointing outward. Everything was okay. So far. When she kicked her leg in front of her face, her knee faced the ceiling. It wasn't to the side, like in ballet.
Mr. Sean propped his hands on his waist. “It might seem confusing at first, but you'll get used to it.”
My head hurt. This wasn't going to work for me on so many levels. I took a deep breath. Then an aroma filled my nose. A lovely, delicious, woodsy smell.
Someone drew close to my ear. “This is a lot harder than it looks.” Blake's voice rolled into my ear like waves on a shell-free beach.
I slid my eyes toward him. His nose brushed my cheek, and I nodded. I pretended we were characters in a graphic novel. I didn't want to turn the page.
Mr. Sean nodded at Megan. “One more time, please.”
Yes, take your time, Megan. Please do. I'd like to freeze this moment while we all watch you, and Blake's cheek warms mine.
“We're the only two people in this whole, entire place who will ever understand how hard it is to go from ballet to Irish dance. Maybe we should practice extra on our own. After dinner.” Blake rubbed his chin.
Blake and me, alone in the studio? Was that a date?
My heart fluttered. Last year he didn't notice me. He didn't know my name and, most certainly, he didn't smell like a senior in high school. This year I was “Kit” to him, and we were planning, for the first time, when we'd get together.
Alone.
I mentally shook my head like my mind had fleas.
This is insane.
Why would I need to rehearse Irish dance with Blake when I was certain I'd be joining Candace in character class? Or did he just want me to practice with him? Like a dance buddy? Still I was always willing to help another dancer. Even if I knew Mrs. Ricardo would bend to my mental will and get me out of this class. Sure, I'd practice with him. Besides, he was so cute.
I expected Blake to gaze dreamily at me. Instead, he glued his stare to Megan. He pinched his brow and squinted his eyes as if someone dropped a piano on his foot.
Mr. Sean hurried to the CD player. “Let's try it with music. Four times with the standing foot flat on the floor and four times raised on the ball of your foot. Ready?”
Blake stepped behind me as we all moved to the wall and grasped the
barre
with our left hands. At least I would be able to show off my extreme flexibility to Blake. If I weren't so stiff.
As an Irish jig intro played on the CD, Mr. Sean told us to get high on the balls of our feet. When I kicked, my leg barely reached my waist. So much for showing off.
Mr. Sean counted out the exercise. “Now in fifth position. Same thing.”
We crossed our feet with the left toe touching the right heel and the left heel to right toe. This was actually fun. The music was so much more lively than the dull classical piano music played during ballet class. I forgot I was sore.
