Breaking Big (4 page)
All the dancers collapse, or, I should say, sink gracefully to the floor. They are
so
good. Mr. Acton brings up a chair and starts to talk about the storyline of the ballet. I try to keep all the characters straight. There’s the Duke of Athens, who is getting married. There are two guys and two girls; one couple is eloping, and the other is chasing them. Oberon and Titania are the King and Queen of the Fairies, but they’re in the middle of a huge fight. Finally, there’s a troupe of actors doing a play within the play, making fun of everything that’s going down. All these people are in the forest, either going to or running away from the Duke’s wedding. Then there’s Puck. Oberon asks him to
make a love potion, but Puck messes it up and gets all the wrong people in love with each other. It takes the rest of the dance to straighten things out.
Sounds perfect for me.
Mr. Acton talks about his vision for the piece and the direction he wants to go with it. Then he gives a speech about how each actor needs to bring “vitality, honesty and freshness” to their role. He gives everybody a copy of the play to read after class, then asks the dancers to experiment with different types of movement that might suit their character. They start to move around the room, and their eyes get kind of unfocused. This is so weird. Some people are playing around with jerky hops, others are waving their arms around in silly romantic port de bras, and some are simply moving about. All the dancers are totally getting into character. And Rick is amazing as Puck. He makes all these quick little motions with his hands, and he jumps up and down, and he hides. He’s even started poking the other dancers, just like Puck does. He really is a sprite. Watching these dancers create something from nothing is amazing.
But it’s also terrifying. I don’t know what to do. I’m used to learning steps, then adding
interpretation at the end. In company class, everything is backward, and I feel like an idiot, standing around watching. All of a sudden, Puck pokes me from behind. I swing around, kind of mad because I was startled, and Puck is hiding behind one of the other dancers, waggling his eyebrows at me. Without thinking, I go for him. He dashes around to the other side of the barre. We do this kind of mirror thing, poking at each other from opposite sides of the barre, and then he dashes away again. I leap after him, only to skid to an abrupt stop. Puck’s hiding behind Mr. Acton, who’s standing there staring at me, arms crossed. Game over.
But then he smiles, and Rick comes out from behind him. “Not bad, kid,” says Rick as he walks away.
All I can do is stare after him.
Wow
.
I bet we could do this with our year-end performance. Odette always knows everything, so she can lead the discussion about vision and direction and everything, and then we can all try getting into character for our parts. And I can’t wait to tell my friends about the warm-up. There’s stuff we could copy. This is going to be great.
I’m late and have to run to catch the school bus the next morning, plunking down in the empty seat in front of Cam and Jeremy just before the bus lumbers away from the curb. That’s what happens when you stay up half the night reading a play.
“You missed breakfast,” says Cam. “Here.” He hands me a greasy fried-egg sandwich, still warm.
“Thanks,” I say, licking the ketchup that’s already running down my hand. “I think.”
“Where were you?”
“Slept in,” I mumble, up to my elbows in drippy sandwich. “Up late.”
“Got your English essay?” asks Jeremy.
“Darn! I forgot.”
Odette’s sitting in the seat across from me, alone and studying, as usual. Without taking her eyes from her book, she says, “So, big stars don’t have to do homework anymore?” Then she looks up and makes a face at my sloppy sandwich. “You are
so
disgusting!”
I ignore her and lick my fingers. “Thanks, Cam. Listen, company rehearsal is amazing. It’s so different from ours. Everybody’s allowed to do their own warm-ups, and there’s no uniform. And it’s all about interpretation, not the steps. We haven’t even learned any of the choreography yet, but everybody’s already getting into character.”
“You’re in the big leagues now, buddy,” Cam says, grinning. “Not like us poor suckers! Do you think Mrs. Montgomery will give you detention?”
“No way she’ll ever let one of the dreaded ballet students have an extension,” replies Jeremy curtly. “You’re toast.”
I shrug my shoulders and turn around in my seat. Who cares about an English essay? Or Mrs. Montgomery’s crazy hatred of the half-day ballet students who mess up her approach to teaching? We’re ballet dancers, not novelists. I turn around
again to tell them more about the rehearsal, but they both have their noses buried in books. It’s not like we have a lot of time to do homework, I get that, but how can they not be interested? I turn around once more, sigh and pull out my science textbook.
I can’t actually do detention because I have rehearsal, so Mrs. Montgomery gleefully assigns me an extra essay on top of the one that’s already not done. As if that’s going to work. I get most of my math done on the bus ride back to the ballet school. First up this afternoon is pas de deux class. Dancing a duet is new to us, and it involves working on lifts with the girls, which will be cool. After that is supper, then company rehearsal. I can’t wait.
* * *
Everybody stares when I walk into class. I mean, I knew they would, since I’m wearing my torn sweats over my uniform.
“The company takes warming up really seriously,” I explain. “I think Mr. Colson should let us layer up a little more.”
“
You
think?” Odette sneers. “One rehearsal and you’re an expert now?”
“Well, it works! I feel looser when I’m warmer. We’re here to learn new things, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” she shoots back, “but I trust my teachers to know what’s best for me, not you. You’re a real dork, you know that, Robin?”
That’s the cue for Cam and Jeremy to get my back. Cam gives me a sheepish half smile but says nothing. Jeremy studiously concentrates on his warm-up. Odette raises her eyebrows and smirks at me, then gets to her warm-up as well.
Fine
.
Mr. Colson comes in then and finishes off our warm-up with some group exercises. Then he pairs us up for the pas de deux.
“Ladies, you’ll have to take turns with the men,” says Mr. Colson. “Use the barre to practice the positions until your turn.”
Cam lets out this big sigh, then says just loudly enough for everybody to hear, “Another class where the boys have to work harder than the girls.” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “And yet the audience will never look past the tutu to see the crane that does the heavy lifting.”
Odette spins around with a glare, prepared to defend the girls, but we’re already laughing. Even Mr. Colson is hiding a smile. It’s my chance to get back at her.
“Mr. Colson, I’ve been watching weight lifters on
TV
. Do we lift the girls like that? You know, with a snatch and jerk? Can we make faces and grunt, then drop them when they get too heavy?” Even Jeremy can’t help busting a gut at that one.
“Enough nonsense!” says Mr. Colson firmly. He starts to show us the lifting positions, and Jer whispers, “Weight lifters have it so easy compared to us!”
I grin. It feels like old times, horsing around in class. But the moment doesn’t last.
“Odette, you start with Jeremy,” orders Mr. Colson. “Mavis, you’re with Cam, and Johanna, you go with Robin.” As Mr. Colson continues matching girls with boys, Johanna makes her way over toward me. But talk about attitude! She’s rolling her eyes and grimacing as if partnering with me is the worst thing that could ever happen to her.
Gee, thanks, Johanna.
I love you too.
I feel like dropping her accidentally-on-purpose, but I’m better than that.
Mr. Colson goes over correct hand position for the gazillionth time. “Cup your hands, men, no splayed fingers. If you lift with your fingertips, your partner will have five little bruises on each side of her waist tomorrow, and you do not want that to happen! Men, it is simply
not
worth the aggravation!”
It isn’t easy to get a grip with a cupped hand, so we’re only lifting the girls four inches or so off the floor. But Cam and Jer and I have been hitting the gym—well, except for yesterday—and I feel strong. Johanna and I try a little higher, a little higher, and I’m almost to the point where I can lift her right over my head, but Mr. Colson says no, not yet. But it’s coming, I know it. By the end of the afternoon, lifting with cupped hands feels almost normal.
Between classes, I grab Charis’s arm. “Wait up! I wanted to tell you—the company dancers use these little pink balls to roll out their feet. And they dance with toe spacers—Charis, you should really watch the company warm-up. It’s so cool, and I know you’d learn a lot.”
Charis raises her eyebrows. “Thanks for the tip. And here I thought I’d learned everything already.”
“I was only trying to help. Just because I’m the one that got the part doesn’t mean we can’t all get something out of it.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t need to rub it in.”
Rolling my eyes, I go over to the corner and slump down on the floor beside Cam and Jer. I brought my water bottle today, and I start rolling out my calves with it. They stare. “This is how the company guys do it,” I explain.
“Ah,” says Cam. “Probably not a technique us poor students will be able to master then.”
“Give me a break!” I explode. “I am not trying to rub it in! Can I help it if I’m learning new things? What, you want me to pretend I’m not part of the company?”
“Yeah, that might be an idea,” says Jeremy. They both get up and walk to the barre together.
I don’t believe it. All of a sudden my friends think I’m too good for them? Well, stuff them. I’m part of the company, at least for now, and if they don’t like it, tough.
I’ve never been so happy to be ignored.
They go so fast. The company, I mean. Mr. Acton shows the choreography once—
once
—and we’re expected to have the steps memorized. And sometimes he doesn’t even show us—he just lists all the steps in order, and we have to imagine them in our heads. Then perform them. Instantly. Are they all geniuses or something? I can’t process that fast. I bet everybody else will have the choreography for the entire production learned in a week, and I’ll still be marking the first act. I feel like such a moron.
“Oops, sorry!”
“Wrong way, kid.”
I want to die.
“No, no, no!” shouts Mr. Acton. Everybody stops. “This is all wrong!”
Luckily, he’s not looking at me in particular. I ease backward into a corner, behind the other understudies. The back row is ours and ours alone, and I am
so
glad. The principals are pacing at the front of the room.
“This isn’t Baby Ballet, people! I need you to eat space. You must gobble up the stage! Move, move, move! Nothing small. Go deep, move it across the floor like you’ve never done before! And in the fondu—both legs straighten at the same time. You
know
that! We need to go back to the basics.” Mr. Acton sighs. “Chassé, coupé, pas de bourrée, jeté.
Now
!” We all line up in the corner. I am so relieved. These steps I can do. It’s just like class.
Back and forth, back and forth. Leaping, jumping, turning. The studio reeks of sweat and we’re all panting, but Mr. Acton keeps shouting, “Again! Again!” Finally, we get a take-ten. Everybody collapses, but I’m feeling okay. I’m good at cross floor, and I can keep up. But, of course, the minute I start feeling halfway like a company member, Mr. Acton takes it all away.
“Rick, Robin,” he says. “Let’s go over the scene where Oberon gives the flower to Puck.”
As I mark the steps, trying to follow Rick’s every amazing move, there’s a flicker at the window. I think I see Jeremy.
Please don’t let him be watching this.
* * *
Mr. Acton stops me after rehearsal. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Great!” I lie enthusiastically. “It’s fantastic to watch the company work. I’m learning so much, Mr. Acton.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “But are you learning fast enough, Robin?” he asks gently. “This isn’t simply another class. You have to take ownership of your role, even if you’re only the understudy. You have to be just as ready as Rick to perform. Are you?”
I don’t say anything. It’s pretty obvious that I’m not.
“What’s your biggest struggle?”
“The choreography,” I mumble. “The company dancers pick it up so fast.”
“That can be fixed, if you’re willing to put in extra time,” replies Mr. Acton. “I have a video of the choreography. You can borrow it, if you want, and learn the steps on your own time. It’s much harder that way, but I don’t have time to walk you through it. You need to have the steps down before you can become the character, and you have a long way to go.”
No one,
no one
, has ever had to say stuff like that to me before. I’ve always been the best. Always. This sucks. We walk in silence to his office to get the disc, because there’s really nothing more to say.
* * *
Rehearsal isn’t over until eight, and I have an English essay—no, make that
two
English essays—to write for tomorrow. Well, forget that. Mrs. Montgomery can yell all she wants. Maybe I’ll skip and get in some extra rehearsal time. But somehow, I don’t feel like I can wait until tomorrow. I shower because I’m so gross, then head back to the dark, empty studio, the one that has the
DVD
player. I’ll work all night if I have to.
Mr. Acton is right. It’s hard to learn choreography from video. Thank goodness for remote control. I may totally wear out the Stop button. Still, without everybody watching me, I can actually think. I take it step by step, cutting the work into tiny pieces. But there are so many pieces! And the Puck on the video is distracting. He’s really good, and his footwork is clean, but his Puck is so different from Rick’s. Which one is right?
Maybe it would be easier to turn the
TV
toward the mirror and watch the reflection. At least then I won’t be learning the steps backward.
Good one, brainiac—the remote won’t work that way
. But I try it anyway. This is what desperation looks like, I guess.