No One's Watching (28 page)

Hatless Amy let me into their room. It was quiet and solemn. The shades were drawn. No music played. Shelly had her foot propped on extra pillows on her bed and had covered it with a pink, fluffy blanket.

Amy leaned in to whisper. “They gave her medication. You know, for pain.”

“Okay.”

Shelly reached toward me like she was in a dramatic ballet.

I stepped forward, but I wasn't going to take her hand. I still stung from seeing her kiss Blake. “How did it go? When will you be back in class?” Where was Blake? Why was I being so civil?

Her gaze and her arm drifted to her lap. “My foot is broken.”

I paused with my jaw hanging open. “How awful. I'm sorry.” Shelly had injured herself plenty of times at home, but she'd never broken anything.

“In two places.”

“Sorry.” I widened my eyes and glanced at Amy. She stirred the contents of a tiny sleeve of lemonade mix into a water bottle.

“Does it hurt? Are you leaving camp?”

“The pain isn't too bad right now. I have osteopenia. It means I don't eat enough calcium, and my bones are thin.”

“Bird bones.” Amy shook the water bottle. “Mrs. Sykes says she has bones like a tweety bird. Or an old lady. But she gets to stay at camp. Her mom said so.”

“Can you reverse it?” I frowned.

Amy jiggled a bottle of pills. “Calcium supplements twice a day. She's got to eat yogurt and cheese. Junk like that.”

Shelly grimaced and stuck out her tongue.

“If you're not going home, you can help Mrs. Sykes and Mrs. Ricardo. It would be fun to boss everybody around.” I was sorry about Shelly, but I was still confused why she wanted to see me. Maybe to apologize about Blake?

“I'm going to help rehearse the new dancer for my performance solo. Mrs. Sykes told me what a great idea that was. I hope you think it's a good idea, too.”

“Sure.” I glanced at Amy as she chugged her lemonade. “Isn't it a little late for someone to learn a whole new dance? I mean, we studied it in repertory, but we didn't perfect it.”

“Not all of us.” She drew a deep, irregular breath. “I asked Mrs. Sykes if you could replace me in the solo.”

Her words echoed in my head. She was trying to make up for Blake, but Mrs. Sykes would never let me have the solo.

“That's nice of you.” My head spun.

Amy tightened the cap on the water bottle and shook it some more. “Nice? Are you kidding?”

At least Shelly asked for me to take her place. Or was this a test? “Who's doing it for real?”

Shelly squinted at me like I stood in a fog. “You. Mr. Jarenko agreed with me. Mrs. Sykes will let you know your rehearsal schedule.”

I stepped back and melted onto Amy's bed. “Me? I'm doing the waltz solo from
Les Sylphides
? Is this true?”

Amy brought Shelly boxed chocolate milk. “I heard the whole thing. She's telling the truth. Congratulations.”

Shelly's smile brightened her face. Then she yawned and snuggled down on her pillow.

“Mrs. Sykes says she'll be sleepy. Let her rest. We need to get to Labanotation or my name's not Sam I Am.” Amy tossed the unfinished lemonade into the tiny refrigerator.

I struggled to stand. I was going to dance the solo from
Les Sylphides
. Scouts from ballet companies were going to see me and maybe offer me a scholarship to their ballet school. Mom would be so proud. Grandma would watch me on DVD when I got home. Her spirits would soar, like the leaps in the solo, and she'd get better faster than any doctor had ever seen. And I could get back into the advanced ballet class where I belonged.

Could I forgive Shelly for what she'd done with Blake? That was a separate issue. I regretted causing her so much grief years ago when I was a kid. I hadn't hurt her on purpose. What Shelly did to me by kissing Blake was to devastate me. He wasn't struggling too hard to get away, either.

Shelly breathed deeply, one hand posed by her chin. She was Juliet, asleep on her bed. Minus Romeo. He was down the hall.

“It's awesome what Shelly's done for you.” Amy gathered her notepad and booklet.

“Awesome.” My head felt like it was filled with helium and bobbed on my shoulders.

“Now you can quit Irish dance.” She plopped her bucket hat on her head and opened the door. “I heard you weren't too excited to be in it. Except you got to dance with hottie Blake.”

“I can do both.” I glided down the hall with her. I could probably fly if someone asked.

“The rule is you can only perform in one piece, remember?”

“This is different. I can't let Mr. Sean down.” Although, he could revise his choreography without me. And not having to dance with that cheater Blake would be a bonus, but I wanted to do Irish dance as well, despite Blake. It felt right.

“You need to do the ballet solo so we can have a balanced program.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“That's what Mrs. Sykes said when she brought Shelly back to our room. Mrs. Sykes agreed she had to find a replacement for Shelly's piece so there'd be a balanced program between ballet and other dances. Like this.” She posed in first-arabesque
relevé
, raised on the ball of her right foot with her left leg straight behind her while tapping both elevator buttons like a bird peeking seeds.

Balance, I got it. “I don't want to give up Irish dance.”

Amy adjusted her hat. “Not even for the solo? Shelly told me you wanted the solo all along.”

They had to let me dance in both. That was the only solution. “It'll work out.” It had to. I had the waltz solo, but I wanted everything. I wanted to do the Irish dance too. My next step was to convince Mrs. Sykes to let me dance in both.

After Candace fretted about Shelly's injury, she hugged me when she heard the news. “Wait till your mother and granny see you dance. They'll be so proud.”

I sighed as I pictured Mom's face shining from the audience.

Danilo knocked and waited in the doorway.

“We'd better hurry.” Candace flitted around the room. “You can tell me more after class.”

“Here I come.” When I gathered my Labanotation papers in my dance bag from my end table, I knocked my flute to the floor and gasped. “I'll meet you downstairs. I need to check I didn't break a spring.”

I clicked open the flute case after Candace and Danilo left. I hadn't played it since the day after the thunderstorm. I'd been so worried about Blake and Grandma. I examined the springs attached to the keys. They were in good shape but blurry. A tear dripped onto the shiny silver. I quickly wiped it away with the end of my shirt.

When Blake had appeared in the studio after he'd decided not to take Shelly's offer and dance with her instead of with Mr. Sean's troupe, my year was complete. So I'd thought. It was going to be so hard to dance close to him after what he and Shelly did in the other studio. I had to get my mind off them. I put the flute back in its velvety case and hummed
The Butterfly,
an Irish slip jig. It played in my head as I raced after Candace and Danilo. Other songs like the reel
Cup of Tea
and another slip jig
Hunting the Hare
kept me company through the rest of the day.

Later in the cafeteria at supper, after I'd put my tray on our table, Mrs. Sykes waved me to the directors' table and handed me a paper with times and dates. “Congratulations. Mr. Jarenko supports Shelly's suggestion you replace her. And I…” She coughed. “…concur.”

My feet barely touched the floor, and my happy cheeks hurt from overuse. “Thanks.” High-five self.

“Keep your rehearsal schedule in a safe place.”

I squinted at the paper. “I'm sorry, I have Irish dance rehearsal and class at these same times. What other times can we meet?”

Her mouth dropped open like I'd dumped the salt and pepper shakers on her head and squeezed the ketchup over it all as a crown for good measure.

She sat straighter. “Irish dance was a minor course we added to expose our ballet dancers to other movement arts. It's a folk art, something the peasants did in villages for entertainment purposes primarily. Not a rigorous form like ballet.” She spread her palms. “There's no emotion in it.”

My mouth drooped. Tell my aching muscles and sweaty workout clothes Irish dance wasn't as rigorous as ballet. And the emotional part? We expressed joy, hope, and sorrow as we danced in class and rehearsal. It was a beautiful, rich art form. I studied Mrs. Sykes' face for any signs Mom had suddenly possessed her.

“I've already informed Mr. Sean you won't be dancing in his piece.”

Mrs. Ricardo stared at her plate, silently munching meatloaf.

My heart had officially left my body. Was Mr. Sean another person to avoid?
Focus.
This was my chance. I finally got what Mom and Grandma expected of me.

I stood tall. “When do we start rehearsal?”

She tapped the sheet. “Tonight. Please be prompt.”

“No problem.” I gripped the edge of the table.

Mrs. Ricardo put her fork down. “This is a great opportunity. Well deserved.”

I mouthed, “Thanks,” but I didn't hear myself speak. I drifted past tables. Some of the little girls in Irish dance glared at me. Blake threw his napkin on the table and crossed his arms as if they were an iron barrier.

I hurried to sit next to Candace. My tacos were cold so I pushed my plate aside. Around the edges of the conversation, Dira told me I'd have to get fitted for my costume. Nicki bubbled on about a new boy she'd met hiding in a computer lab. Candace chatted to Danilo, who pulled his gaze from her long enough to shake his head at me.

Was Danilo making a comment about Candace's chattiness, that I was a loser for not having it out with Blake or was he telling me something else?

I squirmed in my chair like it buzzed with electricity and avoided his eyes until we left.

At seven-thirty, when I stepped out of the elevator on the studio level, Irish and classical music drifted into the hall and wrestled in my mind. I pulled the photo of Grandma from a pocket in the front of my dance bag. Her face was wistful. Like Blake's face in rehearsal. Tiny wings peeked from her shoulders. Her hands were crossed and framed her face as her white costume fluffed around her ankles. “Here goes, Grandma. Wish me luck.” I slid the picture back, hitched my dance bag higher on my shoulder and strode into the studio.

Shelly sat on one chair with her leg in a medical boot propped on another and her crutches on the floor. Mrs. Chin lifted her fingers from the piano keys, while Mrs. Sykes glanced at her watch and pulled off her glasses.

“Right.” She cradled her glasses in her hands. “Take a few minutes to warm up and we'll get to work.”

I inhaled deeply and pressed my sandaled feet to the floor, conscious of the triangle of toe mounds and heel the modern dance teacher emphasized. A connection to the floor and to the earth. Afraid the gravity ballet dancers fought so hard against would loosen, and I'd drift to the ceiling.

“I'm sorry.” I exhaled and lifted my chin. “I appreciate being given the chance to dance the solo, but I've decided to stay in Irish dance. I love it. I want to thank you for introducing it to me. It's like a dream come true.”

One side of Shelly's mouth raised in a smile. Her big eyes grew bigger.

Mrs. Sykes' mouth plunged to her chest, as her stare shot into me like twin spears. “You're not serious?”

I lifted my chin. “I am.”

Mrs. Chin hid her grin with her hand.

Mrs. Sykes' voiced every syllable like a robot. “That's ridiculous.”

Shelly rolled her eyes from me to Mrs. Sykes. When Mrs. Sykes glanced at Shelly, Shelly's smile fell from her face, and she shook her head.

“I can't force you to dance the piece. I'm disappointed in you.” Mrs. Sykes' frown lines deepened.

Shelly gave me a thumbs-up. Was she cheering me on? Or celebrating because her trick with Blake finally made me lose my mind?

“You're throwing away a great opportunity.” Mrs. Sykes scowled. “And letting down the ballet dancers who have worked so hard to make a wonderful performance.”

What about letting down the Irish dancers and Mr. Sean? For the first time, I was dancing for myself. Not for Mom or Grandma. Although they wanted the best for me, they'd never asked what I wanted. I certainly wasn't dancing for stupid Blake. I pivoted and left.

If you're not following your dreams, whose dreams are you following?

Mr. Sean paced the floor in the studio, stroking his chin. All the munchkins, plus Blake, clasped the
barre
s at their emergency rehearsal. Their eyes were glued to every movement Mr. Sean made as he re-choreographed the piece.

Lindy and I locked eyes in the mirror. As she gasped, some of the other girls saw me.

I tapped on the door frame, letting my dance bag slide to the floor. “Excuse me. Mr. Sean?”

He jerked his head up. “Shouldn't you be at rehearsal?”

“I am.” Sorry, Mom.

Blake tossed his towel around his neck and yanked on the ends. Megan's face was locked in a scowl, but Lindy glowed.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Sean's brows peaked on his forehead. “You have a scheduling conflict when you switched to Shelly's solo.”

A door slammed down the hall.

“I told Mrs. Sykes I wanted to do the Irish dance instead. I'm sorry if I caused any problems, but this is the dance I want to perform. If that's still okay with you.” My hands fluttered, and I hid them behind me.

Mr. Sean stared. He beamed. “Of course. This style of dance is made for you.” He swept his arm toward the back of the room. “Let's rehearse.” He clapped his hands and hurried to the CD player.

Lindy squeezed my arm as I moved into place beside Blake. Even Megan relaxed as she settled in front of Blake and me.