Breaking Big Page 3

  “Gee, thanks, Charis,” I reply sarcastically. “Appreciate the support.”

  “It’s the truth, Rob. Face it. Right place, right time. You got lucky, that’s all.”

  I’m trying to process this as Sybille and Johanna spot us hunkered down on the floor. “So this is where you got to!” they say, each taking an arm and pulling Charis up. They ignore me completely. “Come on, we’re going to the gym.”

  As Charis heads off toward the gym, arms linked with Sybille and Johanna, she turns back to me. “I’ve got to go with my pals.”

  I watch them go. Maybe she’s right. But girls’ logic makes me so confused that I really don’t know what to think.

  * * *

  Since everybody’s going to the gym, I decide to skip it. Instead, I head to the park around the corner from the school. It used to be where the smokers hung out, but hardly anybody smokes anymore, which means there’ll be no dancers but me. I pull out my cell phone.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say. “How’re you doing?”

  “Fine, dear. Where are the boys?”

  Normally, Jeremy, Cam and I video chat with my mom together. She’s kind of adopted both of them—Cam even calls her Mom—but I don’t want them to bring her down like they have me.

  “Oh, they’re around. I’ve got some news.”

  “Yes?”

  “You won’t believe it. I’m going to understudy Puck for the company’s next performance!”

  Mom squeals, and I can hear her yelling for my dad and my brothers. “You’ve got to hear this!” she’s shouting. “Robin, I’m putting you on speakerphone! Hurry up, men! Okay, Robin, they’re here. Tell us everything.”

  This is what I wanted, what I needed. I tell them about Noah, the prank (“Robin, you didn’t!”), the meeting with Bellamy Acton (“Mom, he said pranking made me perfect for the role!”), the contract, the rehearsal schedule and Rick Mathews, the dancer I’m shadowing.

  “You mean, you’re like a bench player?” asks one of my brothers.

  “Yeah, sort of,” I reply. “I’ll only dance if he gets hurt or can’t go on for some reason. But it means I train with the company, and they get to know me. It’s huge.”

  “What about Jeremy and Cam?” asks Mom. “Are they understudies as well?”

  “No, only me. I guess they didn’t need any other students.”

  “Oh! They must be so excited for you!” says Mom proudly.

  Yeah right. Sure they are. Why do you think I’m out here by myself?

  “Do you need me to help with your costume?” Mom asks. “I kind of miss the old days when I got to sew your costumes.”

  Inwardly I groan. She has got to be kidding. “Mom, this is the company. The company, get it? They have a whole team of designers and seamstresses to do the costumes.”

  “Yes, but I’ve seen their costumes. Ridiculous, some of them. And others are so very plain. You know I could do better.”

  I have to smile. Mom is great. Honestly, she’d have me in sequins, given half a chance. She’d have my brothers’ whole football team in sequins if she thought she could get away with it. She’s a madwoman when she has a needle in her hand. I can almost hear my brothers snickering in the background—I know they’re thinking the same thing.

  “You know it only takes two hours to drive in to the city. We’ll be buying tickets, of course, so let me know when they go on sale.”

  “Mom, that’s great, but remember, I’m not dancing. I’m just the understudy. Okay?”

  “Robin, for heaven’s sake, I know what an understudy is. But it’s a perfect opportunity to get some culture into these three oafs you left me with. And you never know—maybe you will dance.”

  “Mom!” shouts one of my brothers. “Don’t say that! It’s bad luck!”

  “Yeah, and offense can’t afford any more bad luck, can it, bro?”

  I hear my brothers start going at it in the background. “What’s that about?” I ask.

  Dad answers. “There’s been a string of injuries on the football team. So many that even the coach is getting superstitious about it. It’s a bad blow, but I have to say that the whole woo-woo sentiment has been pretty amusing for the rest of us.”

  For the first time ever, I wish I was home and not at Premier. Making fun of my brothers, laughing together, cheering at their games, rolling our eyes at Mom’s weird notions while we love her to bits…I miss it. So we talk about football and Mom’s lasagna and Aunt Sally’s gallbladder and the neighbor’s dog and a million other inconsequential things until my cell dies. And, with it, my good mood.

  Five

  I try not to be nervous about warming up with the company. As the only student understudy, I’m going to be completely on my own. But no worries. I’m going to prove them all wrong. I deserve this chance, and I’m not going to fool around and blow it. So I’m in the company studio early, in full uniform, completely warmed up. I am ready.

  The company dancers start to wander into the studio in twos and threes, and my heart sinks. Of course company dancers don’t wear the school uniform. Jeremy could have—should have—told me that. I look ridiculous in my white T-shirt, black tights and mid-calf white socks. They don’t even wear leather ballet slippers, only canvas. Everything they wear is ripped and torn, and they have more layers on than an onion has skin. Most of the girls have topped their wooly layers with garbage-bag pants and shawls to keep the heat in. As if Mr. Colson would ever allow the girls in my class to dress like that! The guys are wearing torn sweats—at least I own some of those. I am absolutely not wearing uniform tomorrow.

  Some of the dancers smile at me, and a couple even come over to say congratulations. They know better than anybody how it feels to get your first big break. It’s so totally cool. I stay at the barre but keep an eye on the other warm-ups. One of the guys is using a Nalgene water bottle to roll out his calves, and a girl is using pink rubber balls to roll out her feet. I can’t wait to tell Charis—she’ll like that. Another girl is dancing with toe spacers, and man, that’s got to hurt. But I guess it helps when you’re wearing pointe shoes. If guys have to do double tours, it’s fair that girls have to wear pointe shoes.

  When Mr. Acton comes in, I’m relieved. This is a long warm-up, and even with all the weird stuff going on around me, I’m running out of ideas. It would probably look really lame if I started to copy what they’re doing.

  Class is no different than it is in the school: same exercises, same music. Ballet is all about doing things the same way they have always been done, so I’m good here. My first correction makes my heart lurch, but Mr. Acton corrects other dancers too, so it’s not only me. The most unbelievable thing is that the dancers wander away from the barre from time to time and do their own thing—like rolling out their hips—then wander back, and Mr. Acton doesn’t even seem to mind. Then the music stops.

  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.

  Six

  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 yo
u—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.

  Seven

  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.”