Attitude (5 page)

He chuckles. “You'll be fine, Cassie. Just have fun.”

“Call us again soon,” Mom says.

I nod and say goodbye. I wish I could ask them what they think about all the stuff that is going on with the other girls, but it's too hard to explain.

Now, sitting cross-legged on my bed and staring at my own reflection in the dark screen of the laptop, I can't stop worrying. Did Iako really misplace her shoes? Or did Edie and Melissa have a hand in it? I pick up Jackie, my bear, and squeeze him tightly.

There's a knock on the door, and Edie pokes her head in. “Are you still Skyping your parents?”

“No. I'm done.” I shove Jackie behind me and close the computer. “What's up?”

“Nothing. Just wondering what you thought about your first day at the academy.” She balances on one foot, her left hand resting on the doorknob, and does an attitude—like an arabesque, with one foot extended behind her, but with her leg bent at the knee and lifted high. The line of her back and her leg are beautiful, and her turnout is excellent. She makes the position look as easy and natural as standing on two feet.

“You're so flexible,” I say. “That's awesome.”

“I used to do a lot of gymnastics,” she says. “I loved it, actually, but it was hard to do both. Too much time, you know? Mom said I had to pick one or the other.”

“Was it hard to choose?”

“Not really. I miss gymnastics, but giving up ballet wasn't an option, you know?”

“Yeah. I know. Ballet's my whole life.” And I remember Iako saying the same thing earlier today:
It is my life.
I swallow hard and force myself to look at Edie. “You know what happened today with Iako?”

“Oh my god, I know. I guess Melissa was right about her.” She brings her foot back to the ground and slides to the floor into the splits. “I mean, who shows up for a pointe class without pointe shoes?”

I hesitate. “So Melissa didn't have anything to do with it?”

Edie stares at me. “What do you mean?”

“I just wondered. I thought maybe, because of voting her off…”

“What, that she took her shoes or something?” She looks horrified. “Of course not. It's just a game, right? The voting thing.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. She wouldn't actually steal someone's shoes.” She swings her legs together and stands up. “I can't believe you'd think that, Cassandra. I mean, she's my best friend.”

“I didn't really think she'd do that,” I say quickly. “It was just a weird coincidence.” I feel a wave of relief. Iako had told me she was jet-lagged and exhausted. She must have just misplaced the shoes. I grin at Edie. “Today was awesome. Tough, but awesome. I loved it.”

She grins back. “Good. Because tomorrow's going to be even more awesome. And even tougher.”

Seven

As soon as I get out of bed, I can feel the soreness in my muscles from yesterday's dancing. I limp downstairs for breakfast, calf muscles and thighs aching, and eat my cereal across the table from Edie. “Are you stiff today?” I ask her.

“No. Are you?”

Edie's hair is already pinned up, and she is clear-eyed and wide awake. I'm still in my pajamas and feel like I've been run over by a bus. Maybe it's the jet lag. “Not too bad,” I say, wondering how on earth I am going to get through today's classes.

After breakfast, I dress and do some stretching in my bedroom. It helps, a little, and my muscles loosen up as the day goes on. By the end of the first class—modern dance, which I haven't done much of before but which is totally fun—I'm feeling almost back to normal.

“Nice work, girls,” Diana says. “And now I have an announcement for you—some news I think you will all find rather exciting. I was speaking this morning with Andrew Kingsley, from our very own Pacific Coast Ballet.”

There is a hum of excitement all around me as girls whisper to each other.

“As some of you know, our local ballet company does a number of productions every year. Most of the dancers are from within the company, but sometimes they need child dancers. They'll be holding open auditions—”

“
The Nutcracker
!” Julie bursts out. “Is it? Are they doing
The Nutcracker
?”

Diana holds up a hand for silence, but she is laughing. “Yes, Julie. That's exactly what they are doing. They're looking for young kids to play the parts of the mice, the party girls, the angels and the soldiers. I imagine lots of our beginners will be auditioning.”

We all wait, holding our breath.

She smiles. “And they also have something for you girls in our intermediate classes. Because of the number of performances and the amount of dancing required—they'll be doing the show in two locations—they're looking for two girls to play the part of Clara. They want girls aged twelve to fifteen who are dancing on pointe. We'll take you all down for the audition next week.”

I look around the room. Edie's biting her lower lip, chin set determinedly. Iako's smiling and hugging herself. Julie is bouncing on her toes. Cam is grinning widely.

We all want it. We wouldn't be here if we didn't. But, of course, most of us will be disappointed. That's the nature of ballet, I guess—only a very few will make it all the way to the top.

It sucks.

I look at Melissa. She is standing very still, her shoulders back and her head held high. She looks every inch a dancer. If I had to guess, right now, I'd say she's got a better shot at Clara than anyone else here.

But I have every intention of dancing my heart out.

* * *

At break, Melissa gathers her group of friends around her. Actually, they all just seem to gravitate to her, like moons orbiting a planet. I follow, because I don't know what else to do and because Edie is grabbing my elbow.

“So,” Melissa says, “we need to talk.”

“We need to vote,” Anya says, giggling.

“Yeah! Who's next, Melissa? No-bun Cam?” Zoe makes a face, showing two rows of braces with blue bands.

Melissa nods. “Definitely.”

“Just because of her hair?” I ask. “She's actually really friendly, Melissa. She seems super nice.”

“
Nice
isn't the point,” Melissa snaps. “
Nice
doesn't make you a dancer.”

“She's a good dancer too,” I say.

Melissa snorts. “She looks more like a wrestler.”

I know what she means. Cam has broad shoulders and an athletic build. She's solid muscle, and although she dances well, she doesn't have the leggy elegance of Iako, Melissa and Mackenzie. “She kicked butt in modern this morning,” I say.

“Yeah. In modern,” Melissa says. “But ballet? Come on.”

Edie nods. “Melissa's right, Cassandra. Cam doesn't really have the body type you need for a career in ballet. Her neck's too short, for one thing. And maybe that's not fair, but that's the way it is.”

Across the grass, Cam and the other new girls are standing and talking together. Cam has an arm across Iako's shoulders, and as I watch, she throws her head back and laughs.

“So,” Melissa says. “Hands up for voting Cam off.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Zoe's, Anya's, Danika's and Edie's hands all fly up.

I hate being a part of this. I hate it.

“Cassandra?” Melissa's voice is cold.

I stand there for a moment, my heart beating fast. I can see my dad's face and I know exactly what he'd say.
Just do what you know is right, Cassie, and everything else will fall into place.

“Come on, Cassie.” Edie nudges me, her forehead creased with worry lines.

“Are you in?” Melissa puts her hands on her hips. “Or out?”

“Out,” I say. “I'm out.” My stomach is tight, and something is fluttering in my chest. I head back into the school alone and wait outside the studio door for our next class to begin.

A few minutes later I am joined by Cam and the other new girls. Cam is smiling as she does a temps levé in arabesque across the hallway.

If she knew what Melissa and the others were saying about her
…
I manage to force a grin, despite my anxiety. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Just looking forward to the next class.”

I'd almost forgotten. All this drama with Melissa and Edie…it has actually made me lose sight of what is important: my dancing. “Let's just go in there and dance our hearts out,” I say.

Cam holds up a fist, and I bump my knuckles against hers. Over her shoulder, I see Melissa, Edie and the others heading toward us. Melissa's chin is lifted, her gaze straight, and one hand rests on an angled hip. Every line of her body expresses her fury.

* * *

I do my best to push away thoughts about what happened at the break and focus on my dancing. Diana walks around as usual, correcting our positions, lifting our legs higher, reminding us to soften our arms, to keep our shoulders down and back. I don't think I am dancing my best. In fact, I know I'm not. I'm concentrating as hard as I can, and I know my positions are technically correct, but when we all go into the center to dance, I can't feel the music in my body like I usually do. All I can feel is the cold clutch of anxiety in my belly.

If I dance like this at the audition, I won't have a chance of getting the part of Clara. Clara should be playful, lighthearted. Diana tells us to stop and shake it out, and I take a moment to look around at the others and wonder who will be chosen. Much as I hate to admit it, Melissa's dancing is always magical. Almost flawless, though of course Diana can usually find something to criticize in every one of us. Edie isn't as dazzling as Melissa, but she's neat and capable in an all-round way. Mackenzie is good too, and Anya. It's hard to compare, because we all have different weaknesses. Iako is by far the most flexible—when Diana lifted her leg above her head during the barre exercises, it was unbelievable how high she could go—but Diana says she needs to work more on strength. And none of us have the powerful jumps that Cam does.

Finally, class is over. We stretch out our muscles and unlace our shoes. I slip on a hoodie, put my pointe shoes back in my bag and take a drink from my water bottle. My heart is beating fast, and it isn't just from the dancing.

If I can't shake off my fear—or at least keep it from affecting my performance—I won't even need Melissa to sabotage my chances.

Eight

That evening at the Harrisons' is uncomfortable, to say the least. I try to act normal, but it is hard, since Edie is doing her best to avoid talking to me.

“Everything okay, girls?” Mrs. Harrison asks us over dinner.

“Fine,” we both say.

“Anything interesting happen today?”

I've just taken a huge bite of my chicken burger, so I can only nod vigorously.

“There're going to be auditions next week, for
The Nutcracker
,” Edie says. She drizzles Italian dressing onto her salad. “Our class is going to try out.” She puts the bottle down and presses her hands together like she's praying. “I want to be Clara so bad.”

Mr. and Mrs. Harrison exchange looks across the dinner table. “Ah,” Mrs. Harrison says.

“Probably it'll be one of the new girls,” Edie says. “Seems like the teachers are mostly paying attention to them.”

“Well, they have to. They don't know them like they know you lot. Besides, I'm sure the school wants to attract new students,” Mr. Harrison says. “Can you pass the ketchup, Cassandra?”

I pass him the ketchup. “I haven't noticed that,” I say. “Seems to me that they pay plenty of attention to everyone. Besides, I doubt whoever judges the audition will know who's new and who isn't.”

Edie snorts rudely, and Mr. and Mrs. Harrison exchange looks again.

Mrs. Harrison leans toward her daughter, her forehead creasing. “Edie, what is it? Did something happen? What's wrong?”

Edie shrugs her off. “Nothing's wrong.”

“Edie's used to getting quite a bit of fuss made over her at the school,” Mr. Harrison says. “You and Melissa, you're their rising stars, aren't you?”

“Dad!” Edie rolls her eyes. “Please.”

He looks at me. “Edie gets jealous sometimes. Only child, you know? It'll be good for her to have you here. She's a bit too used to having the world revolve around her.”

My cheeks burn, and I stare at the table's shiny wooden surface, wishing he'd just stop talking. He's making everything a thousand times worse. Edie pushes her chair back, stands up and storms out of the dining room.

Mrs. Harrison gives me an apologetic look. “Well, maybe you two both need some alone time,” she says.

So I spend the rest of the evening reading in my room while Edie watches television downstairs. I can't concentrate on my book though. I keep replaying the day in my head—the girls voting Cam off, Melissa's anger when I refused to take part, my lousy dancing in class—and it's hard not to feel a little sorry for myself.

I wish I was home in Australia with my own family.

* * *

Mrs. Harrison drives us back to the academy the next morning. Edie doesn't say much in the car, but as soon as we are out of her mom's earshot, she turns to me. “I can't believe you did that. Why couldn't you just vote Cam off with the rest of us?”

I look at her. “It was mean,” I say. “I don't get it. Melissa's an amazing dancer—she doesn't need to be scared of competition.”

“She isn't,” Edie says. “She just doesn't want to see the teachers making the wrong decisions.”

I shrug. “I'm pretty sure they know what they're doing.”

“Well, it isn't what you think that matters.” Edie's eyes are suddenly shining with tears. “She was willing to let you be part of our group because you're staying with me. And now you've wrecked everything by being so stupid.”