Bring It On (7 page)

That's why you came up with the plan,
Devane reminded herself. There was more than one way to get Gina to pay attention to Devane—and for Devane to get herself moved to the front row for the Disney World show. At the next class, Devane was going to have herself one bangin' outfit. Everyone would be looking at her. And when Gina was looking at her, she'd see that Devane was the best dancer in the room, even if Devane wasn't allowed to do her perfections like the cross-legged flare.

Best dancers got the front row. Her plan was a lock. By the end of the next class, it was front-row city for Devane. So there was no reason for her to still be feeling in the basement.

“I know ugly when I see it,” Tamal said.

Yeah, every time you look in a mirror,
she wanted to tell him. But her plan didn't involve getting into a battle with her brother. “Look! Tamal! It's almost time for
The Simpsons,
” she cried with mock excitement.

And he was gone. Problem solved.

Devane picked the scissors back up and started to cut. Her back-row problem was going to be solved just as easily. Uh-huh.

Everybody stared at Devane as she strolled into dance class two days later. Good. Being looked at was step one of today's plan. Slowly she walked to her spot in the back-left corner. Very slowly. So everyone could get a real good look.

Miss Emerson's blue eyes seemed like they were about to land on the floor. They'd have Ky and ill papi's eyes for company. Devane smiled at the image of all those eyeballs rolling around.

“Devane, what are you wearing?” Gina exclaimed.

Whoa. She hadn't expected Gina to say anything about the outfit in front of the whole group.

“I made it myself,” Devane answered, running her hands down the tight, deep orange top. She didn't think she needed to add that she'd started with an old dress of her mama's. “It's a good color for me, don't you think?”

The shirt had a mandarin collar and short sleeves. But the real oh-yeah of it was piece she'd cut out between the neck and the top of her chest. It didn't show cleavage or anything. That wasn't the kind of attention she was going for. But the neat triangle—well, a triangle with the pointy top cut off—of skin contrasting with the orange material was poppin'.

“What I think is that you need to put on a T-shirt or a sweatshirt,” Gina told her.

“Wh-what?” Devane stammered. She hadn't planned on this.

“Remember what I told all of you last class?” Gina asked the group. “We have rules about what is appropriate to wear in here. And even though I'm impressed that you made that top—I can hardly sew on a button—it's too revealing. You need to put something over it.”

Devane stared at her. “I don't have anything.” It was summer. In Florida. In the afternoon. Only a crazy person would be walking around with an extra shirt. Forget about a sweatshirt. People went grocery shopping in bikinis in this weather. Devane had seen them.

“I'm sorry, Devane, but you won't be able to stay in class today,” Gina told her. “The rules are very important. That's why I printed them all out and sent copies home for your parents.”

“I didn't know it wasn't okay. The rule sheet said no leotards. This isn't as tight as one of those,” Devane protested.

“That's true, Gee. The shirt—” M.J. began.

Gina silenced him with a look. “It also said nothing too revealing,” she reminded Devane. “I don't want to spend class time every week debating what is okay and what isn't.” She looked from person to person as she spoke. “Some of you might have trouble making a call on what's appropriate. But I think you all know when there's no question something is okay. Just wear basic gear and you'll be fine.”

She opened the classroom door. “We'll all be glad to see you next time. And it would be great if you could get in touch with one of the other kids in the group and have them go over the new moves with you.”

“I'll do it!” Max called, bopping up and down on her toes. “We can meet here early. I'll teach it all to you. No problem!”

Devane shook her head. She couldn't deal with Max's extreme pep right now. She started for the door. Everyone was watching her. She felt like the door was a couple of football fields away.

“I have a sweatshirt you can borrow,” Emerson called as Devane passed her.

Emerson tugged off the DKNY sweatshirt she was wearing. Underneath, she wore a plain, ordinary T-shirt that should have come from Kmart but probably came from Bloomingdale's.

“Thanks, Emerson,” Gina said.

Devane cringed at the thought that had slammed through her head. “No, thanks,” she said loudly. “I don't need charity,” she added under her breath to Emerson.

“I wasn't—” Emerson began.

“Devane, it would be a much better class if you stayed,” Gina protested.

But Devane was outta there.

Like Gina really wanted her to stay.
She
was the one who decided that the top was inappropriate. It said no leotards on the rule sheet. Well, Devane wasn't wearing a leotard.

And Emerson. Why had the girl gone and gotten in Devane's business? Gina might have backed down if she knew Devane really didn't have anything else to wear. But Emerson had to jump up and down, squealing about how she had a sweatshirt.

Now Devane was going to be stuck in the back row for the rest of her life. And it was all their fault.

Is it all my fault?
Emerson wondered as she headed into the Aventura Mall.
Maybe Gina would have let Devane stay in class if I hadn't opened my mouth about the sweatshirt. Maybe Gina would have let her off with a warning about appropriate clothing if Gina knew for sure that Devane didn't have anything else she could possibly wear.

“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Emerson muttered. She was making herself insane going over the same maybes again and again.

And she was still dealing with the issue of appropriate clothing. Not Devane's, but her own. Her mother had told her to take the car service to the mall after class and find an appropriate dress to wear to the dinner party her parents were having a week from Friday.

Appropriate. Gag. Everything Emerson owned was appropriate, down to the little tracksuits. She totally loved those wild purple-and-orange camouflage pants that Sophie had and the goofy Happy Little Puppy T-shirt Chloe was wearing in class today. And she'd almost drooled over that top Devane had made. But her mother would have vetoed all three of those. She probably would have burned Devane's top!

Emerson couldn't fight the veto. Which didn't put her in the shopping mood. She decided to hit L'Occitane first. Her mom had asked her to pick up some linen water. Lavender Harvest. Largest size. Pour top, not spray. She found it quickly and paid.

She wished her mother had just told her exactly what dress to buy, too. It's not like Emerson's opinion mattered, and it would be easier knowing what her mother was expecting her to come home with instead of going through all those racks trying to guess. Emerson usually called it right. But she'd had to make a few returns.

Now for the next unnecessary purchase. Emerson hesitated outside L'Occitane. Should she go to Saks or Macy's to look for the acceptable but pointless dress?

Saks,
she decided. It was closer. And it was near the place with the yummy cookies. She took two steps in that direction and blinked. Olivia Pitre was coming toward her. “Olivia!” Emerson exclaimed. “You're not supposed to be here!”

“Should I go away?” Olivia teased when she reached Emerson.

“That's not what I meant. I just meant, shouldn't you still be at the Jamison Intensive?” Emerson asked.

“I am,” Olivia told her. “I'm only back until Saturday. My mom's fiftieth birthday is tomorrow, and my dad's giving her a surprise party. I'm part of the surprise. I'm staying at the Biltmore tonight so I won't be spotted.”

“So what am I missing out on at the Intensive? Tell me everything!”

“Everything?” Olivia smiled. “Where to start? There are classes, classes, and more classes. All kinds of ballet. Pointe.
Pas de deux
. Character. Some modern dance and jazz, too. And stuff like nutrition and dance history. It's incredible. Just to do this one thing you love all day, every day. I can't wait for the
Nutcracker
auditions this year. My dancing has gotten so much better already. And this year you know we're moving up to snowflakes.”

Emerson felt oily guilt slide through her body. Sometime she was going to have to tell her parents the truth about ballet. She was going to have to tell them that she'd made an executive decision to veto it and the
Nutcracker
. She shoved the thought away. It was summer. She didn't have to deal with the snowflake issue right this second.

“Now you have to talk,” Olivia rushed on. “You have to tell me all about everybody in ballet class. I want to know all. Like I heard that Felicia broke up with Jared. Can you believe it? They've practically been going out since kindergarten!”

“Um, I don't really know,” Emerson admitted.

“How's that possible?” Olivia asked. “You're in class with her every week.”

“I don't know. I take the class. There's no talking in class. I leave.” Emerson shrugged. “I guess you're the one I mostly talked to.” Except she hadn't talked to Olivia all summer. Or written her.

It hadn't occurred to Emerson that she'd fallen out of touch with her ballet friends.
When did that start?
she wondered. Probably ever since she'd been feeling that ballet wasn't as important to her as it always had been. “I've been doing something new this summer,” Emerson told Olivia. “I've gotten really into hip-hop. I'm in a Performance Group and everything.”

“No way! We did a little tiny bit of hip-hop at the Intensive,” Olivia answered. “But how are you going to perform with them and do the
Nutcracker
?”

Is the
Nutcracker
all anyone cares about?
Emerson thought. “I think . . . I think I'm going to pass on the
Nutcracker
this year,” she admitted.

Olivia's eyes widened. “No way! That's our big chance. We get to perform with professionals. At the Intensive they say that's really important. That it's never too early to start making contacts.”

Emerson tried to think of something else to ask Olivia about. Something not related to dancing of any kind. But she couldn't come up with anything. “I guess I should go. My mom has ordered me to buy a dress.”
Is it completely obvious I just want to get away from Olivia?
Emerson wondered. She shifted her L'Occitane bag to the other hand. “Want to come with me? To Saks?” she added quickly.

“That's okay. I've, um, got to go to the bookstore. To buy my mom a present,” Olivia said. It kind of sounded like she was lying. It kind of felt like Olivia was ready to get rid of Emerson, too.

Emerson was relieved. She didn't know what she and Olivia would talk about if they kept hanging together. “Okay, well, see ya when you get back.”

“Yeah, see ya. But I might get moved up one level in the fall.” Olivia gave a half wave, then turned and walked away.

all in me,
Emerson thought.
I wonder if we'll be friends at all when she gets back.

And it's not like Emerson had made any new friends lately. Devane's face rose up in front of her. Friends, no. Enemies . . . maybe.