Authors: Stasia Ward Kehoe
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Stories in Verse, #Love & Romance, #Performing Arts, #Dance
Audition (31 page)
Before I put my pointe shoes away.
“Denardio’s tonight?”
Rem’s voice is casual.
“Denardio’s tonight?”
Rem’s voice is casual.
My shins ache.
Mom’s latest letter and
The Jungle
Wait unfinished in my bedroom.
Mom’s latest letter and
The Jungle
Wait unfinished in my bedroom.
I lift my chin to decline.
My eye catches Jane
Deliberately writing notes on her clipboard,
Pretending she is not listening.
My eye catches Jane
Deliberately writing notes on her clipboard,
Pretending she is not listening.
“Sounds good,” I say
Without checking his expression,
Just in case.
Without checking his expression,
Just in case.
He is anxious, pacing
Near the doorway
When I emerge from the dressing room
In my uniform khaki slacks, wine-colored blazer.
“I didn’t know we’d be going out.”
When I emerge from the dressing room
In my uniform khaki slacks, wine-colored blazer.
“I didn’t know we’d be going out.”
“You look like a schoolgirl,” he scoffs.
But he slides his hand under my jacket,
Rests it on my backside,
Hands me a helmet.
But he slides his hand under my jacket,
Rests it on my backside,
Hands me a helmet.
Remington zooms the motorcycle past Denardio’s.
“Wait! Where?”
I holler over the choking breeze.
His answer just a muffled roar passing my ears.
“Wait! Where?”
I holler over the choking breeze.
His answer just a muffled roar passing my ears.
We pull up outside a tiny Chinese restaurant,
Its front window ablaze
With golden, pagoda-shaped Christmas lights.
Its front window ablaze
With golden, pagoda-shaped Christmas lights.
Rem leads me inside
Past a monster tank full of crimson carp,
A sign for the restrooms,
To a table for two.
Past a monster tank full of crimson carp,
A sign for the restrooms,
To a table for two.
He drops his long form into the chair closest to the wall
Sets the helmets under the table
Takes the menus from the waiter’s hand.
“Do you like dumplings?”
Sets the helmets under the table
Takes the menus from the waiter’s hand.
“Do you like dumplings?”
I can count on one hand the times
I have eaten in a Chinese restaurant.
I remember white rice and stir-fried steak with broccoli
Before I learned that rice was carbs,
That red meat was dangerous,
That soy sauce had too much sodium.
Before I learned to be afraid
Of food.
I have eaten in a Chinese restaurant.
I remember white rice and stir-fried steak with broccoli
Before I learned that rice was carbs,
That red meat was dangerous,
That soy sauce had too much sodium.
Before I learned to be afraid
Of food.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re gonna love ’em.”
He pulls a cigarette from his jacket,
Twitches it between his index finger
And the middle one,
Rat-a-tat.
He pulls a cigarette from his jacket,
Twitches it between his index finger
And the middle one,
Rat-a-tat.
“A Tsingtao for me and a water for the lady
And a plate of veggie dumplings to start.”
And a plate of veggie dumplings to start.”
I look at his face
Across the table.
Across the table.
Is he so relaxed, confident
Because we are so far
From the studio?
Because we are so far
From the studio?
Is he trying to apologize for something?
How does he know I will love dumplings any more
Than he knows I cannot ask
Any of the questions
That flood my mind?
Than he knows I cannot ask
Any of the questions
That flood my mind?
He tips his head to light up,
His mellow, brown eyes twinkle.
His mellow, brown eyes twinkle.
“We’re celebrating second place
In the Young Choreographers Workshop.”
He raises his beer.
“I’ve been invited to the Blue Mountain Dance Festival,
Choreographer-in-residence
Next summer.”
In the Young Choreographers Workshop.”
He raises his beer.
“I’ve been invited to the Blue Mountain Dance Festival,
Choreographer-in-residence
Next summer.”
The clink of my glass
Against his frosty bottle,
Rem’s wordless answer
To my unspoken questions.
Against his frosty bottle,
Rem’s wordless answer
To my unspoken questions.
This celebration he is having with me
Not Lisette
Not Jane.
Not Lisette
Not Jane.
Has it changed,
This thing I have with Remington?
His dance-maker, his muse,
His naughty secret
Who bundles beneath his covers,
Always cold
While he sleeps?
His naughty secret
Who bundles beneath his covers,
Always cold
While he sleeps?
As I count the seconds before I wake him
To take me back to the Medranos’,
I cannot fit our celebration
Into that equation
Any more than I can derive formulas
For calculating the area under a curve.
To take me back to the Medranos’,
I cannot fit our celebration
Into that equation
Any more than I can derive formulas
For calculating the area under a curve.
My math professor patiently tutors me, but
Remington
Does not.
Remington
Does not.
Is there a formula in his mind?
Does he wonder at what we’re doing?
Second-guess his inconsistencies?
Worry at my hesitations?
Does he wonder at what we’re doing?
Second-guess his inconsistencies?
Worry at my hesitations?
I begin to think the riddle
Is only in my mind.
In his, there is no need beyond
The flow of days,
Like the music he uses
To make dances.
Is only in my mind.
In his, there is no need beyond
The flow of days,
Like the music he uses
To make dances.
The next night, I sit beside Barry
At the Upton talent show.
He never speaks to me
About the Fall Formal.
We keep the conversation
To jokes about math class
And cheers for Anne and Katia,
Whose graceless tap rendition
Of
42nd Street
Draws ridiculous applause
From the crowd
And Barry’s appreciative glance
At Katia’s lumpy thighs.
He never speaks to me
About the Fall Formal.
We keep the conversation
To jokes about math class
And cheers for Anne and Katia,
Whose graceless tap rendition
Of
42nd Street
Draws ridiculous applause
From the crowd
And Barry’s appreciative glance
At Katia’s lumpy thighs.
“They did a great job, didn’t they?”
He slides back in his seat.
He slides back in his seat.
“I don’t know much about tap.”
“Cool costumes, huh?”
“They made them themselves.”
I look at Katia and Anne, arm in arm,
Panting, sweaty, grinning on the stage,
And think of the precise curtsy I will give on tour
After dancing the Little Swans
With Madison and Simone,
Wrapped in frothy castoffs from the real ballerinas.
Panting, sweaty, grinning on the stage,
And think of the precise curtsy I will give on tour
After dancing the Little Swans
With Madison and Simone,
Wrapped in frothy castoffs from the real ballerinas.
After the show, they invite me
To go out with a group
Of Upton kids
For sweets at a trendy spot
Where ice cream costs almost as much
As my entire dinner
With Remington
Last night.
Of Upton kids
For sweets at a trendy spot
Where ice cream costs almost as much
As my entire dinner
With Remington
Last night.
Barry takes us in his dad’s Suburban.
Katia rides shotgun.
The rest of us cram in back,
Then into a giant corner booth
Where the boys order banana splits
And the girls junior sundaes, even me,
Anxiously counting rumpled dollars from my pocket.
Katia rides shotgun.
The rest of us cram in back,
Then into a giant corner booth
Where the boys order banana splits
And the girls junior sundaes, even me,
Anxiously counting rumpled dollars from my pocket.
Anne’s face is still flushed from dancing,
Her eyes dramatic with mascara
That would never be allowed at Upton
In daylight.
Her eyes dramatic with mascara
That would never be allowed at Upton
In daylight.
The talent show judges
Awarded ribbons for most original act, funniest,
Best singer, best group,
Best costumes (won by Katia and Anne),
Awarded ribbons for most original act, funniest,
Best singer, best group,
Best costumes (won by Katia and Anne),
And a dozen other prizes.
Reminded me of those early grade-school soccer games
Where they didn’t keep score
So there were no winners, no losers,
Just celebrations, laughter, messes of ice cream.
Reminded me of those early grade-school soccer games
Where they didn’t keep score
So there were no winners, no losers,
Just celebrations, laughter, messes of ice cream.
Nothing like the Jersey Ballet
With its endless auditions, eternal scrutiny,
The cruel knowledge that we can’t all be
Enough.
With its endless auditions, eternal scrutiny,
The cruel knowledge that we can’t all be
Enough.
College Fair Day at Upton
Is not like anything I have ever seen before.
My high school in Vermont had one harried adviser
Trying to get farm kids to consider UVM
Or one of the state schools somewhere else in New England
Or even just the idea of not milking cows
For the rest of their lives.
My high school in Vermont had one harried adviser
Trying to get farm kids to consider UVM
Or one of the state schools somewhere else in New England
Or even just the idea of not milking cows
For the rest of their lives.
At Upton, the advisory staff,
A well-rehearsed corps de ballet,
Flaunts and flatters their prima students
Across a stage of college admissions tables
To lunches with corporate moms and dads
Eager to share their stories, mentor their youth
Into boardrooms and corner offices.
A well-rehearsed corps de ballet,
Flaunts and flatters their prima students
Across a stage of college admissions tables
To lunches with corporate moms and dads
Eager to share their stories, mentor their youth
Into boardrooms and corner offices.
Everyone in their best blazers
For once not scoffing at the dress code,
Peacocks in burgundy and beige.
For once not scoffing at the dress code,
Peacocks in burgundy and beige.
I walk along, self-conscious, confused,
Quoting my scores, accepting sheets of paper,
Feeling as uncertain a scholar
As I was a ballerina that first morning
In the Jersey Ballet studio,
Quoting my scores, accepting sheets of paper,
Feeling as uncertain a scholar
As I was a ballerina that first morning
In the Jersey Ballet studio,
While my classmates offer well-rehearsed answers,
Posture, pose
As if they all knew this was an audition
But no one had told
Me.
Posture, pose
As if they all knew this was an audition
But no one had told
Me.
“Swarthmore has astronomy for you
And languages for me.”
Katia pulls Barry’s arm.
And languages for me.”
Katia pulls Barry’s arm.
“I can’t decide between Harvard and Yale.”
Anne’s mom went to one and her dad to the other,
Which makes her, apparently,
A bit like Madison and her ballet board dad.
Anne’s mom went to one and her dad to the other,
Which makes her, apparently,
A bit like Madison and her ballet board dad.
I pull at the frayed sleeve of my blazer,
Wishing I had not returned Ruby Rappaport’s
Designer castoff, a thousand times nicer
Than mine the day I bought it at Kohl’s.
Wishing I had not returned Ruby Rappaport’s
Designer castoff, a thousand times nicer
Than mine the day I bought it at Kohl’s.
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