Breaking Big (8 page)

He makes me feel like I want to jump out of my body.

“Hang on, Puck,” I whisper to myself. “It’s nearly time.”

* * *

As I wait in the wings, I think of one thing and one thing only. Not the steps. Not the jumps. Not the havoc about to come. I think about pinball. The old-fashioned kind. The kind with
the flappers and the little silver ball that pings all around, bouncing off obstacles whenever it hits something. That pinball is me. I am a ball of energy, waiting to be released. And when I go, I’m going to fly around the stage, pinging everything in my path. Ping, ping, ping…the music builds, and I’m off!

As I leap into the spotlight, my grand jeté feels like an explosion. Once I’m on, I have a short solo and then usually hide behind a tree. But today, I chase Peaseblossom, confusing her. Then I hide behind her skirt. This is the dress rehearsal, and she can’t react, or call time, but I can feel her confusion. She’s watching me now. I tug on her skirt as I peek around her at the audience. She looks down and tries to catch my eye so I can see her glare, but I don’t look. I sure can feel it though. Then I crawl between her legs and lift her up so she’s sitting on me, and she shrieks. As she settles on my back, I buck and knock her off. I’m gentle about it, but the fact is, Puck turning into a stool is actually in the play. So it’s a legit move. I just hadn’t thought of really studying the words until Cam’s little performance in the change room last night. I jump up and bow to
Peaseblossom with what I hope looks like a cheeky grin, then run before she can hit me. One down, literally.

In the next act, Bottom asks Peter Quince to unroll his scroll and read the players’ names. With great fanfare, Quince slowly unrolls the massive scroll. I angle toward upstage center so I can hear Cam. I know he’s going to laugh. As Quince gets to the end of the scroll, the whole thing bursts open and streamers explode from it. Quince drops it as if it were a snake, then jumps away and stares at the mess on the floor. I love it! And Cam is killing himself. I have to make sure they know it was me, so I pick up the streamers and, with great deference, arrange them on Quince’s head. Then I step back to admire my work. None of this is in the script, but this is dress rehearsal, right? It’s like filming live—you have to go with what you’ve got. Quince looks like a thundercloud, but Bottom is starting to grin.
Just wait, Bottom, your turn is next!

It’s been a long time since I clubbed Bottom with the donkey head. I think he’s suspicious that something like that is going to happen, and from the back I can see his shoulders tighten
in anticipation. But no, the donkey head makes it safely onto his head. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve given it a new look. There’s a beard, and a long mustache, and I’ve added gigantic false eyelashes, a golden wig and a silver tiara. Bottom can’t see it, so he doesn’t know why he’s hearing snickers from the other dancers, snickers they’re trying hard to conceal from the audience. Snickers are good, but what I really want is a big laugh, one the dancers can’t contain.

Oberon is up next. He’s supposed to go stage left and pick the magical purple flower, then give it to me so I can cast the love spell. Oberon does his stately dance across the stage and reaches down for the flower. But it’s not there. He looks again. Nothing. If his character was supposed to be comical, he could play it up, but Oberon is the King. It’s hard to look dignified when everybody knows you’ve been suckered. For the sake of the music—we can’t get too far behind—I dance sweetly over to him and hand him the missing flower. Then he hands it right back, which, of course, looks ridiculous. More snickers. A couple of lesser fairies pick up other, smaller flowers from around the stage and hand them solemnly
to Oberon, making him even more disconcerted. That’s not supposed to happen.

Now I have allies. The other fairies cover for me as more props go missing, and I’m never where they expect me to be. Unbelievably, we keep up with the music and the plot proceeds as it should, in spite of my unscheduled disruptions. There’s only one prank left to go.

From stage left comes Starveling, carrying his lantern. He’s supposed to think the lantern is the moon, and that he’s the man in the moon. When he gets to center stage, he stops and opens the little door in the lantern so that the light can shine out. But this time, there is no light. Instead, there’s Ratinski, happily chewing a hunk of cheese inside the lantern. Starveling shrieks and throws the lantern away from him. I’m ready for it (Jeremy made me swear Ratinski wouldn’t get hurt), so I catch the lantern as it falls. Meanwhile, Starveling backs into Bottom, who can’t really see very well under the donkey’s head. They both fall down, and while the other characters are trying to help them up, I bring the lantern back into the crowd of fairies, and the shrieking starts up all over again. It’s a wonderful, fantastic,
messy tangle, and if I hadn’t promised Jeremy I wouldn’t, I’d be tempted to let the rat out of the lantern and really have some fun. But for Ratinski’s sake, I’d better not.

The dancers manage to untangle themselves and get back to the performance, and I hand off the lantern to Jeremy, waiting in the wings. He looks like he’s in shock. There’s a lot of improv going on as the dancers find their places in the choreography. I bet a lot of companies couldn’t get back on track after something like that. But the Premier Dance Company can do anything. I play it cool for the rest of the production, right to the very last moment when the artificial fog rolls across the stage, making us all disappear as the curtain finally drops.

I’m mobbed. I don’t know if they’re going to kiss me or kill me, but I’m not worried. I did what I had to do. If they didn’t like it, if they’re mad, if it wasn’t enough to keep the role, well, that’s the way it goes. But at least I tried.

Thirteen

Cam and Jer catch me in the hall and pull me into a small studio. “That was awesome, man!” Cam says.

“Thanks! You know I couldn’t have done it without you, right?”

“The look on Quince’s face! It was priceless!” Jer exclaims.

“Yeah, and when you decorated his hair with the streamers? He couldn’t believe it was happening!” Cam doubles up with laughter.

“The one I really liked was when Oberon couldn’t find the flower. He was trying so hard to be kingly, but up close you could tell that he was saying,
What the hell
?” Jer casts his eyes skyward and sighs. “It was beautiful.”

I don’t say much. It’s more fun to listen to them do a postmortem on the prank. But much as I want the moment to last, duty calls.

“I gotta go,” I say. “Mr. Acton’s called an immediate debriefing.”

Cam laughs. “You think? This debrief will be historic!”

“What do you think they’ll do to you?” asks Jer in a worried voice. “I mean, the rest of the dancers have got to be mad.”

“All I know is that they can’t make me feel any worse than I felt before I did it,” I say. “So… whatever. I’ll roll with it.” I take a deep breath and go into the studio.

* * *

“What he did was insane! He threw everything off!”

“I thought I’d throw up, I laughed so hard!”

“Bellamy, you can’t let him get away with this!”

“Bottom, I really like your new look…”

“Now the show is going to be totally ruined!”

“Quiet! Be quiet!”

It takes a long minute for everybody to shut up. Mr. Acton, Mr. Colson and Miss Amelia are all standing at the front of the large rehearsal studio. Finally, there is quiet.

“So,” says Mr. Acton in a calm voice, “are you all awake now?”

The company dancers frown and look at one another.

“Yes, awake. Yesterday this production was on life support. Today there’s enough energy in this room to start a nuclear reaction. I’d say I prefer the latter, although something in between would be even better.”

Nobody speaks.

“We blamed Puck for not being good enough, but it’s Puck who figured out how to pull this piece together. Don’t any of you forget that.” Mr. Acton takes in every single one of us in his stare. “That said, today was a once-only. A wake-up call. Now we need to channel all this energy and get to work. Titania, in Act 1 I need you to…”

It’s the most intense debrief I’ve ever been in. Mr. Acton goes through every step, every phrase, every character. Inevitably, he gets to me.
“Robin, let’s keep the bucking stool—it works with your character. But I noticed that in all the confusion, you left out your final double tour
.
Don’t let that happen again.”

“No, sir,” I reply smartly. But inside I groan. I knew he’d notice, but I was hoping he’d say the ending looked better without it. Fat chance. As we all finally leave the studio to go to dinner, I get shoulder punches and back thumps from the other dancers. I’m in, but I’m not done.

I now have just one day to master that stupid jump, so right after dinner it’s back to the studio for me. I’ve been at it for about half an hour when I see a shadow pass by the door, then back up. Someone peeks in. I groan. Odette. And she’s coming inside. Just what I need.

“What are you doing here?” Odette frowns.

“What does it look like? I’m practicing.”

“Why?” asks Odette. She actually looks confused.

“What’s so weird about practicing? You do it all the time.” I wish she’d go.

“Yeah, but I’m a dancer. You’re an idiot.” She sniffs, turns to go, then whirls back. “That, that…circus you caused today? It was disgusting.
Not that you care, but somebody could have been hurt. And it looked ridiculous.”

“I’m hardly going to do that in performance. Not even you could believe that,” I shoot back. “It was…necessary. A step in the process. I cleared it with Mr. Acton first, you know. I’m not a complete idiot, much as you would like to think so.”

That surprises her. “Mr. Acton actually
let
you do that?” she asks.

I sigh. Why doesn’t she go away? “Look, if you must know, rehearsal wasn’t going well. Yeah, yeah, just as you predicted. So you were right. And I was a mess. We thought it would help.”

Odette stares at me. “So why are you here? Practicing?” She makes it sound like a dirty word. “If Mr. Acton likes the fact that you’re an idiot, why bother practicing?”

“Will you cut it out with the idiot business?” I’m practically yelling now. “Here’s the thing. This was supposed to be my big break. I wanted to do it right, okay? So I stopped fooling around, and look where that got me. I always thought I was a pretty good dancer, but if you take away
the fooling around, it turns out I’m not as good as I thought I was. Not good enough for the company anyway. So I have to practice. Happy?”

“Ah, he finally sees the light,” Odette says sarcastically. Then she frowns and turns to go. She looks kind of sad.

“What?” I say. “What’s the matter?”

Odette sighs. “At least you have something unique. You’re a dancer
and
an idiot. I’m just a dancer. If my rehearsal didn’t go well, I wouldn’t have anything to add to the mix. Only technique, and if it doesn’t measure up, I’ve got nothing.”

Oh boy. Where is Dr. Cam, psychoanalyst—heavy on the
psycho
—when you need him? What do I say?

“Ummm…”

“Don’t even try, Rob! Don’t think this is true confessions or anything, because it’s not. It’s reality. I have to be the best, because technique is all I’ve got. Charis has passion, Sybille’s romantic, and Johanna can do young and innocent. Mavis plays the comic. Everybody else has this other layer, but I just dance.”

“Maybe you have another layer but haven’t found it yet?” I suggest weakly.

“Oh, shut up,” Odette says fiercely. “Your balance is wrong on the double tour—that’s why you can’t do it, you know. That’s what you’re practicing, right? Watch me.”

Odette pulls off her sweats, does a couple of stretches, then faces me. Feet in fifth position, plié, then…she flies straight up in a perfect double tour.

“How did you do that?” I ask, aghast. “Girls don’t do double tours!”

“Like guys don’t dance on pointe, right? Except when they do. You’re being an idiot again, Rob.” She prepares, then does a second perfect double tour
.

I want to cry.

“I’m a dancer,” she says. “I can do any step I want.” She crosses the floor, grabs my arm and drags me to center. “You’re a mover.”

I groan.

“Nothing wrong with that. When you’re moving straight and fast, you eat up the floor. Your problem is when you try to turn. Think about it. What are your best moves?”

“Grand jeté, cabriole…”

“Yeah, the steps that move you full steam straight ahead. What are your worst?”

“Well, double tour
,
of course…” I think about it. “And pirouettes.”

“Right,” she says firmly. “All the moves that require rotation. Whenever you try to turn, your brain gets twisted. Your idiot side tries to get creative or something, I don’t know. And it means you miss the most important part of the whole jump.”

“What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.

“The snap. Watch me again.” Fifth position, plié, and she’s soaring.

Then she looks at me. “Did you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

Odette sighs.

Maybe I really am an idiot, because I haven’t the faintest idea what she’s talking about. I watch her go to the desk and tear a sheet of paper off a pad. She sticks one corner of the paper under the leg elastic of her leotard so that it dangles down between her thighs. Then she goes to the middle of the floor, takes fifth position again, pliés and shoots into the air. What sounds like a shot rings out as her thighs slap together. I jump and she says, “So
now
did you hear it?”

“That was amazing!” I’m still trying to get my heart rate down.

“That’s the snap. It’s your thighs that hold you up straight.” Odette looks smug. I pick the paper up off the floor. It’s practically torn in two.

“Try it,” she orders.

This is just plain wacky, but I take fifth position, plié, then fly straight up, rotating as I snap my thighs and think of gunshot wounds. And I do a perfect double tour.