Taking the Fall (3 page)

On the next block was a big, old, white church that claimed to be the first protestant church founded north of the Columbia, and west of the Mississippi, in the 1880’s. It appeared to be still in use, though it didn’t look quite
that
old. The current building must be newer, or maybe an addition. Across from the church were beautifully kept old homes with wrap-around porches and gardens spilling over picket fences like marvelous secrets that refused to be kept. I rolled down my window and inhaled the mixture of salt air, evergreens, and roses.

“There it is!” Blythe practically bounced in her seat.

On our right, across the street from the post office, was Little Swans Ballet Academy. I strained to picture the place as the Bonney Bay Battlers Judo Academy, but the whole building was painted flamingo pink, its awnings a darker, fuchsia color. Frothy pale pink lace skirted the tops of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and hand-painted, cartoonish little girls pirouetted across the glass. On the sidewalk in front of Little Swans, real little girls in tutus and carrying ballet shoes skipped around their parents and into the open doors.

Cars lined the street, their rear windshields marked with bright pink messages wishing Miss Ruth well.

I pulled slowly into the alley beside the building, trying to make my way to the parking lot behind it. Miss Ruth, true to her word, had marked off a large area with bright orange cones, for us to park the truck and trailer.

I paused for a woman and her little girl, who were crossing the alley.

“I don’t want Miss Ruth to go!” the little girl wailed.

Her mother pulled her to her side. “I know, honey.” She was trying to be brave for her daughter, but there were tears in her eyes.

My empty stomach did an unhappy flop. I tried to tell myself it was too much caffeine and not enough real nourishment, but suddenly my brilliant plan wasn’t looking so shiny. Miss Ruth’s retirement had nothing to do with me, but how was it going to look to a bunch of kids?

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Blythe said.

Great. It wasn’t just me getting a bad vibe.
 

“I mean, the party’s supposed to be for Miss Ruth,” she pointed out.

Oh. She was just talking about the party, not my crazy plan to turn this place into a judo school. “No,” I admitted. “But she insisted we come. She wants to introduce us to the community, to help us feel welcome. We can’t
not
show up.”

Blythe nodded somberly. No matter how Miss Ruth tried to spin it, we were the ones taking her place, and it was clear these families were very attached to their local dance teacher. I’d just have to pray they wouldn’t blame us for her departure, and that they wouldn’t be so attached to ballet as to be opposed to trying something new. Like judo.
 

Inside Little Swans, white rental chairs were arranged in neat, tight rows. A couple of dancers who looked about twelve years old gathered little ones by the hand and shuttled them behind a black curtain. Some parents and siblings saved seats, while others milled about.

I hesitated in the doorway, Blythe at my side. I eyed the back row, hoping to find a seat and slip into it unnoticed. Instead I got a death glare from a grandma. She plunked her purse down on the seat next to her. Pink programs had been placed on most of the other seats, but there were a couple of empty ones left, just not right next to each other.

I was contemplating the relative merits of daring to move the programs over and possibly facing the wrath of Grandma, versus resigning ourselves to standing in the back, when Blythe said, “Maybe we should find Miss Ruth.”

That wasn’t hard to do. A slender woman with a jet-black updo floated out from behind the curtain. She was dressed in a sequined peasant skirt and a flowing, shimmery purple blouse. A news cameraman followed, and zoomed in on her face. A fifty-something reporter ducked out, adjusted his tie, and flashed a cheesy smile at her as he peppered her with questions. Miss Ruth was absolutely glowing in the limelight.

A curvy, forty-something woman in a pale purple business suit entered the room, and all eyes, along with the camera, turned to her. Her tastefully dyed honey blond hair flowed around her shoulders. As she hurried toward Miss Ruth, the townspeople greeted her as Mayor Conway.

“Wow,” Blythe whispered next to me, “this is a bigger deal than I thought.”

I nodded. “
Miss Ruth
is a bigger deal than I thought.” Even the mayor had shown up for this thing.

I was just about to back out the door and pull Blythe with me—maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to find someplace to freshen up, and drop by at the end of this thing—when Ruth spotted us.

Her face lit up even brighter, and she waved enthusiastically. “There she is! You
must
be Brenna Battle!”

The flashy reporter smile turned on me, and the camera followed a millisecond behind, too quick for me to cover my expression of sheer horror. I’m not too fond of reporters. It just might have something to do with them sticking their cameras in my face and asking me impossible questions during the absolute worst moments of my life.

“Come on, Brenna,” Blythe whispered. “You can do this.”

I stumbled around the chairs and down the narrow aisle to the front of the room, which had grown painfully quiet. All eyes were on me, except for those of a little boy who kept making faces and trying to get the cameraman’s attention.

I shook Miss Ruth’s hand, then the mayor’s. Beside them, the TV reporter smiled his gleaming smile, eagerly waiting his turn. “I’m Brenna Battle, and this is my sister, Blythe.”

Blythe stepped forward right on cue, as always, looking significantly more poised and less rumpled and stained than me.

“Isn’t it exciting?” Miss Ruth said after shaking Blythe’s hand. “We’re a human interest story!”

We? “You and your students?” I suggested, trying to deflect attention from myself.

“They
are
lovely.” Blythe helped me out.

I nodded enthusiastically. “Just wonderful! You must’ve had a great impact on the community.”

Miss Ruth’s eyes got misty. “And now I’m handing them over to you. To something completely different.”

A younger, slightly shorter guy I hadn’t really noticed before slipped in beside the TV crew. “It’s the Bonney Bay Blaster’s story of the year,” he said. “And I’m thrilled to be on it. And to meet you, Miss Battle. Ellison Baxter.” He held out his hand with a smile, less slick than the TV guy’s. He was handsome in a boyish, slightly nerdy way.

“Oh … Brenna Battle,” I said. “Nice to meet you, too. This is my sister—”

Ellison Baxter had already noticed my sister. That was clear enough. And I did not like that greedy look in his eye one bit. Especially since I’d seen it, and the effects of the sentiment behind it on my sister, entirely too many times.

“Blythe Battle,” she finished for me.

She couldn’t hide the little blush in her cheeks from me; I knew her too well. She was smitten. The very look that set off my radar roped her in every time. Why couldn’t she tell the difference between a nice guy who was interested and a guy who devoured pretty girls like I did potato chips when I was done dropping weight for judo?

Thankfully, the slicker,
Much-too-Old-to-Catch-Blythe’s-Eye,
TV reporter cut back in. “I’m Dan Deering, from Seattle Channel Three. Channel Three is committed to highlighting each and every one of our local communities.”

“Yes,” Mayor Conway chimed in. “We always appreciate the way Channel Three highlights our special community!” Conway flashed the camera a bleached white smile, though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t even rolling at the moment.

“Besides,” Ellison said, “it’s not every day we have a celebrity move into town.”

My smile tightened. Yeah, just try kissing up to the sister, buddy. See how far that gets you. “Well … ” I said. Blythe caught my eye and gave me that look.
Just accept the compliment.
I swallowed my would-be protests that I was not a celebrity, and that I certainly didn’t move here to be treated like one. “Thank you. It’s a beautiful town. My sister and I are just happy to have the chance to share our love for judo with the local kids.”

Deering, the TV reporter, was back in my face. “Three, two, one. I’m here at Little Swans Ballet, with the owner of the building and the soon-to-open Olympic judo school, six-time National Champion and two-time Olympian Brenna Battle. Brenna, do you think we’ll have an Olympian come out of Bonney Bay sometime soon?”

I’m sorry to say, I could feel my fake smile getting faker. I didn’t bother telling Mr. Deering that I was not opening an Olympic judo school. I’d had enough experience with reporters to know that would just get edited out anyway.

I put on my best warm and friendly face. The one Blythe had helped me practice in front of the mirror, when I’d first captured local news interest as a teenager, for making the Junior World Team. “I’m sure you have some talented kids in Bonney Bay, who’ll do all kinds of great things,” I said. “I hope we’ll have a lot of kids who benefit from judo, whatever that means for them.”

“Let’s talk to one of those kids now,” Deering said.

Thank God, Ellison, the newspaper reporter, went to interview the mayor, and Deering focused on a little ballerina standing nearby. She stopped sucking on her fingers to say, “I love Miss Ruth. I wish she wouldn’ hafta leave us.”

And that’s when I saw the breeziness leak right out of Ruth, in an instant. Now that his focus was off her, Ruth eyed Baxter warily. At first I thought she was disappointed at losing the attention, but no, there was a striking look in her eye. She was stressed, and putting on a far better show than I ever could for the camera, for her little dancers and all her fans in Bonney Bay.

What was bothering Miss Ruth? Probably nothing more than mixed feelings about retirement, concern for the kids she cared about. It must be hard for her to leave them behind. But I thought I’d detected something a bit beyond that kind of worry—something I’d learned to pick up on in my opponents—fear. But that didn’t make any sense. What could Miss Ruth have to be afraid of? Ellison Baxter? That was who she kept glancing at, as though deep in thought—troubled thought. I was just reading into things. Projecting, Blythe would probably say.

Miss Ruth caught me looking at her. She nodded at the TV crew. “I’ll bet you get a lot of that.” She smiled a weary sort of smile.

I returned her smile. “Not really. Only when I went to big events. Most Americans don’t really know about judo, and when I go abroad, the foreign media is big on judo, but they don’t care much about the American competitors.”

“You both did great,” Blythe said.

“You look a little stressed. If there’s anything we can help with … ” I offered.

“Oh, no. The apartment’s all packed up, and I’ve got a crew lined up to disassemble the stage—it’s just a temporary one we put up for recitals—and clear out the dance studio when we’re done here. Just seeing you two here is a big help. It’s such a relief to know someone’s coming in here to offer something for these kids. I was worried the building would just sit empty. Or end up being made into an antique shop. It’s important to me that Bonney Bay stays a good place for families. We don’t want to become a town full of nothing but retirees. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against retirees, especially since I’m about to become one. But we all need children in our lives, don’t you think?”

I nodded. “Their enthusiasm is contagious. They have their whole lives ahead of them, and they’re so excited to learn.”

“Exactly!”

A older girl with hair dyed dark like Miss Ruth’s scurried up to Miss Ruth. She gave me and Blythe a self-conscious smile. “Miss Ruth,” she said, “it’s time!”

“Of course! Thank you. Ladies, you’d better take your seats.”

Blythe and I glanced at each other uneasily.

“Right here.” Ruth gestured at two chairs in the front row. Sure enough, a pink streamer had been draped across them. A pink card, placed on the first seat and hand-lettered by a child, read, “Reserved for Brenna Battle.” The other seat was labeled, “Reserved for Blythe Battle.”

“Front row seats!” Blythe said. “Thank you, Ruth.”

Soon every seat was full, the lights dimmed, the audience hushed. I relaxed, focused, like everyone else, on the stage. I got lost in the delight of parents and grandparents, applauding the grace and poise, then stifling laughter at the stumbling and shy waves to Mom. It almost made me wish I’d been a ballerina. Almost.

4

Blythe hooked her arm through mine as we headed for the truck.

“You did great, Bren,” she said.

“Thanks.” I was honestly feeling pretty good about myself. I’d powered through countless introductions and made smalltalk like a pro, all without spilling punch on myself or anyone else. I brushed a few lingering cupcake sprinkles off my T-shirt. The new sugar high helped, too.

I took a deep breath of fresh, cool evening air. The recital and party had been almost fun, except for the part where Ellison Baxter spent ten minutes telling Blythe all about his sailboat and how much he’d love to take her out in it. But I was glad we were finally headed for a real meal and that we were away from the crowd—except for a couple of moms with their ballerinas in tow, headed for their cars.

No, headed straight for us, looking like a couple of hunters on the prowl. One of them was tall, her hair teased so that it poofed up behind a thick headband. The other was a little shorter and rounder with a head full of the kind of dark curls I’d always envied.

Miss Headband put her hands on her hips and blinked huge lashes, cemented with mascara, at me.

“Uh, hello,” I said nervously. “Fun party, wasn’t it? And the dancers were—“

“I’m Stacey Goode and this is Rebecca Hayes. We know who you are.”

“And we know you’re not just new tenants,” Rebecca, the one with the curls, added.

Stacey leaned closer. “You’re the landlords, right? You’ve got something to do with this, we know it. Miss Ruth wouldn’t just up and leave. None of us believe this story about retirement. Ruth bounces off the walls just about as much as my five-year-old.” She nodded at the little boy at her side. He was busy trying to hop on one foot. “Miss Ruth can do the splits as easy as battling an eyelash. What’d you do to drive her out?”