It’s eerie to work all alone in the middle of the night. I’m so used to having Cam and Jeremy right beside me that I don’t even jump when I hear their voices. But they’re not talking to me. They’re outside. I go over to the window, and by the light of the moon, I see them. It’s Cam, Jer, Johanna, Charis and Sybille. My gang. They’re laughing, then covering their mouths with their hands to deaden the sound. Half-crouching, they’re running across the quad toward the kitchen.
Midnight raid! All right!
I need a break. I shut down the
DVD
player, lock the studio and return the key. No point in changing, because it’s not like we don’t breathe each other’s sweat all day, every day anyway.
By the time I get to the kitchen, they’re into the ice cream. “Hey,” I say.
There’s silence. Finally Cam says, “Hey yourself.”
“So…midnight raid.”
“Yeah, we were in the mood,” says Charis. “Too bad you can’t join us. We know you’re busy, you know, with the company and all.”
“Ah, yeah,” I reply. “I was rehearsing when I heard you guys laughing. You know Miss Amelia’s room is beside the kitchen. You gotta keep it quiet when you cross the quad. Did I not teach you anything?” I try to make it into a joke, but nobody’s laughing.
“Thanks for the tip,” says Charis sarcastically. “We would never have thought of that without your help.”
No, you wouldn’t have!
I shout to myself.
I
was the one who started the midnight raids.
I
was the one who found out where the kitchen
key is hidden.
I
was the one who picked the route so we’d never get caught. It’s
my
raid!
“Well, I guess I have more work to do,” I say. “Enjoy your ice cream.”
“Oh, we will,” replies Charis. She’s so smug.
“Gee, Charis, you sound just like Odette,” I say, and I’m glad when I see the hurt on her face.
Breakfast is a quiet affair. Everybody’s so busy not talking to me that they’re not talking to each other either. Halfway through my poached eggs, these two little girls from the junior school come up to my table, giggling.
“Are you the guy dancing Puck?” they ask. “Can we have your autograph?”
Hey, my first autograph!
“Sure,” I say and reach for the paper and pen they push toward me.
“You know he’s only the understudy, don’t you?” Charis says.
The girls giggle in reply and run off.
“Cute,” says Johanna. “Rob’s got his own little fan club. Too bad they’re only nine!”
Everybody at the table laughs.
Fine
.
Who needs breakfast anyway?
I push off from the table and go back to my dorm for my English papers. After being uninvited to the raid, I couldn’t sleep. So I wrote. The essays are bad but done. Maybe somebody will be happy with me today.
The dorm’s empty as I grab my stuff and stuff it into my backpack. I put the play in too. Looks like I’ll have more time to study it between classes, because I’ll probably be uninvited to the cafeteria too. On the way to the bus, I decide to check the company bulletin board in case I missed anything, and as I turn down the hall that leads to the office, I hear arguing. Just in time, I pull back around the corner. It sounds like Jeremy’s mom.
“That boy is your stiffest competition for the company. How could you have let him get this part? Why not you? Aren’t you working hard enough? Are you having trouble? You have to
tell
me if you need help, Jeremy!”
“Mom, stop it!” That voice is Jeremy’s. “Of course I’m working. And I’m not having trouble with anything! None of us knew that Noah was going to wreck his tendon, so we could hardly
plan for this. Rob got picked. Not me. It’s not like I could do anything about it.”
“Yes, Jeremy, you certainly could have done something about it. If you really wanted to be a principal, you would
always
be ready for opportunity. Clearly, you’re not. Are we wasting our time with you? Is ballet not what you want?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” says Jeremy rudely. “It looks like you want it enough for both of us.”
I can hear Jeremy’s mom gasp. I kind of feel like gasping too, because that was such a non-Jeremy thing to say.
Then I hear her answer. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I know you’re working hard. But try to be ready the next time. Which might be soon, by the way. I hear your friend is having a hard time keeping up with the company. I doubt he’ll get another chance.”
Great. Just great.
* * *
The closer we get to performance day, the more rehearsals there are. I don’t go to my regular
classes anymore, which is a relief. I’ve got enough to worry about, and I don’t need any more grief. I skip lunch and book the rehearsal studio with the
DVD
player to go over the steps again. I think I have them—most of them anyway. Part of me says it doesn’t matter. As the understudy, I’m here to learn, not perform. But the other part of me knows that’s lame. I have to do well, or Jeremy’s mom will be right. I’ll never get picked again.
The company dancers drag in to evening rehearsal. I’ve heard the principals talking to some of the newer dancers, and they say this is the slog time. It happens about two weeks before opening and lasts a week, long enough for everybody to start panicking that the production will be a flop. And even though I’m only an understudy, I’m starting to panic a little bit myself. Nobody has any energy, and even the really good dancers are walking through their choreography instead of dancing it. Cripes, if this was class, Mr. Colson would be all over us, but Mr. Acton lets everybody do their own thing. I guess he’s seen the slump before.
“Are you sure this is normal?” I ask Rick as we practice the steps in Puck’s final solo.
“Don’t worry,” Rick reassures me. “It happens every production.”
We have time to go through the steps by ourselves two more times before Mr. Acton calls for the solo. Rick takes his place in the center of the studio to wait for the music, and I fade into the back corner where no one can see me. This solo is the one I absolutely hate, because it ends in the double tour. Why, why do guys have to do this? But it’s easy for Rick; he can fly through the air with no problem at all. I mimic the steps while he dances, and the other understudies give me a wide berth. Unfortunately, they’ve seen my double tour before.
Concentrate!
Feet in fifth position, plié, then rotate. Twice. Weight even on both sides. Breathe.
I’m concentrating so hard that I barely hear the other dancers gasp.
I did it! I did it!
I want to shout it out to the world. It was my best double tour ever, and they all saw it! But when I refocus, it’s pretty clear that those gasps were not for me. All eyes are on Rick. It takes a minute for me to figure out what’s going on. Everybody’s watching Rick, all right, but that’s because he’s lying in a heap on the floor.
Mr. Acton’s kneeling beside him, and Rick is absolutely white.
“Is it broken?” he moans. “Tell me it isn’t broken!”
Mr. Acton has Rick’s foot in his hand. I can’t really see through all the people, but I sure can hear when Mr. Acton presses the wrong spot. Rick shrieks and practically passes out.
“It’s broken,” says Mr. Acton quietly.
There are gasps and groans from the company dancers. Then every head turns to look at me.
“No!”
I’m sitting straight up, staring at the wall, and I feel sick to my stomach. Sweat is pouring off me, and my heart is pounding. Man, what a horrible dream.
I take deep breaths and try to untangle the covers. My bed looks like I had a major fight with a wildcat or something. It isn’t until I’m awake enough to change my sweaty T-shirt that the sick feeling rolls over me again. Rick really did break his ankle, and I really do have to dance. It was no dream.
The looks the company dancers gave me when it hit them that I was their guy? I’ll never forget their faces. Disbelief, anger, horror—even pity. Yeah, pity. This was supposed to be my big
break, but everybody knows I can’t cut it. They don’t want me in the part. Heck, I don’t want me in the part. Because I can’t do it.
Rick was so amazing. There’s no way I can be as good. I barely know the steps, I’ve never practiced the lifts for real, nobody wants to work with me, and oh yeah, I’ve only landed a double tour once in my whole life. Don’t forget that.
I crawl back into bed with a clean shirt and curl up under the covers. My options are limited. If I go on, it will be the end of my career as a dancer, not to mention making sure that the whole production is a flop and the company loses all kinds of money and rep because I’m so lousy. If I don’t go on, it will be the end of my career as a dancer, not to mention making sure that the whole production is a flop and the company loses all kinds of money and rep because they haven’t got anybody else to dance the part. Hmm, do I or don’t I? My life sucks.
I have to say, though, that deep down there’s a little part of me that’s excited. I’m talking really deep. But this is the dream, isn’t it? An accidental chance that changes your life? The thing is, in the fairy tale the guy with the chance is a star.
I really, really want to be that guy. But there’s no point in kidding myself. I’m not.
* * *
At breakfast, it’s clear that the word is out. My so-called friends are in shock.
“What happened?” Jeremy asks. Another accident in the company has clearly put him over the edge. He’s practically hyperventilating.
“I don’t know.” I shrug my shoulders. “It was on the double tour, I think. I landed mine, but Rick ended up on the floor. How weird is that?”
“Yeah, and it’s always all about you, isn’t it?” Odette says with disgust. “We’re all so glad that you, at least, landed
yours
.”
“Come on, Odette, you know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Really? When now you get to be the star of the show? Of course you didn’t mean it that way,” she scoffs as she picks up her tray to go.
Charis picks up her tray as well. “Honestly, Rob,” she says, “nobody ever thought you were going to have to dance. What’s Mr. Acton going to do?”
“A little support from my friends would be nice,” I say sarcastically. I can’t let her know I’m wondering the same thing. Right now, I’d give my big break to anybody stupid enough to take it.
The other girls start loading dirty plates onto trays, all except Sybille. She doesn’t move from her seat across the table.
“Good work,” she says angrily.
“What are you talking about?”
“Rick. He’s ten times the dancer you are. You must have really wanted the part.”
I don’t believe this. “What? You think I
arranged
for him to break his ankle? Put out a hit or something? Are you absolutely out of your mind?”
“Well, it’s pretty convenient, isn’t it? Now you get to be the big star and save the show. Just like in the movies. You’re no better than any of us, Robin Goodman, so I know there’s more to this story.”
“Yeah, the rest of the story is that you’re not ready to give up this week’s heartthrob, but you can’t let yourself be in love with somebody on the injured list. You’re whacked out, Sybille.”
I must have said it louder than I intended, because in an instant Jeremy is up from his chair.
“She is not!”
“Oh, come on. She thinks I somehow broke Rick’s ankle so I could get the part. As if. That’s flat-out crazy.”
Now it’s Charis jumping to her defense. “Why are you picking on Sybille?”
Unbelievable. “I’m
not
picking on her. She’s picking on
me
. What is this, gang-up-on-Rob day? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
So they do. They all head out of the cafeteria, until the only other person left from my class is Odette, who, like me, is sitting alone at a table. Our eyes meet, but for once she doesn’t say a word.
* * *
After breakfast there’s a big meeting. The whole company is milling about in the big rehearsal studio, looking not so much angry as defeated. Rick’s ankle has guaranteed that the production will be a flop, since I’m going to make them look bad no matter how hard they work. Mr. Acton, Mr. Colson and Miss Amelia are at the front, and even Rick is here, sitting in a wheelchair, his cast covered in autographs. He still looks pretty white.
He wheels himself over and parks himself beside me, which makes me feel a little better.
“You’re going to be okay, kid,” he says quietly. “We’ll make sure of it.”
I sure hope he’s right, but I don’t know where he thinks this miracle is going to come from. Because that’s what it is going to take. The way I see it, Noah was strike one, Rick was strike two, and I’m going to be strike three for the Premier Dance Company.
The dancer playing Titania speaks up first. “No offense, Robin, because you’ve worked super hard, but we all know you’re not ready for this. Bellamy, what if we were to rearrange the parts so that Francis Flute plays Peter Quince, Peter Quince plays Demetrius, Demetrius plays Bottom, and Bottom plays Puck? Then Robin could play Francis Flute, which isn’t such a big part. He could handle it.”
Mr. Acton sighs. “We’re less than two weeks from opening. That would mean that every major male role would be weak, with all of you scrambling to learn new choreography. Better that we have only one weak dancer and all of us help him to give his best.”
Titania sighs. “This is a disaster,” she says under her breath.
I totally agree with her. I’m not even upset about being called weak anymore.
“Maybe we could keep most of the male roles intact but put one of us from the chorus in for Puck. We can all learn the part fast enough.”
Okay, so this suggestion makes me bristle. It’s coming from David, one of the weakest of the company dancers. He’s no better a dancer than I am, even if he can learn choreography faster. He’s only trying to take advantage.
“Hey, I have an idea!” someone else says. “Why don’t we let Rick play the role from a wheelchair? That would be a neat twist!” Everybody laughs but me. My dancing is so bad that even a guy in a wheelchair is better? I want to die.