On Pointe (20 page)

in the doorway.

“Yeah.”

I go over to her.

“Grandpa's okay.”

I flip off the light.

“He's okay.”

He's changed.

Different

and the same.

I'm changed.

Different

and the same.

We can sit and remember

how good it was,

hiking,

skiing,

getting ready to audition,

and be

sad.

Or

we can be

who we are now

and

try to enjoy the new parts.

We are both trying.

I know that

for sure.

Grandpa said

he could always count on me

to try.

I must have

gotten that

from him.

The adult class is before my old class.

I'm up early with excitement,

even before Mabel gets here.

I tug my dance bag

down from the top of the closet.

My knee bumps the tube of posters,

and it clatters to the floor.

I toss my bag onto my bed.

Maybe I'll hang the posters later—

at least Baryshnikov.

I grab clean tights and a leotard

from the dresser.

They slip on easily.

Today I don't feel like a sausage at all.

It's more like my ballet clothes

are hugging me just right.

I start brushing out my hair.

“Clare?”

Mom opens the door and steps in.

“Can I help you with that?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

She draws the bristles

over my scalp.

“I didn't sleep well last night.”

“Sorry.” My sarcasm sneaks out.

“Your dad and I talked

late into the night.

I wanted to really try and see

what you two were thinking.

But it's completely different

from the way I've always thought.”

She hits a snarl and gently works the brush

to untangle it.

“Clare, being the best and winning

were extremely important to me growing up.

Dad won so many ski races,

and he and Mom were always top performers

in the Puget Sound area

for ballroom dance.

They were so good at everything.

I allowed myself to be too scared to try

anything at all.

I was afraid of them

seeing me fail.”

She looks at me in the mirror.

“I'm sorry I said you failed, Clare.

Not making City Ballet

had nothing to do with your effort.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She winds my ponytail

into a bun

and slides in the pins.

“I'm proud of you, sweetheart.”

She tucks a stray hair behind my ear.

“I'm proud of you for knowing

who you are

and doing what you want.”

I turn and hug my mom.

She brushes a tear off her cheek.

I pull my toe shoes out of the bag.

The blood stains on the boxing

are brown.

There's already a musty smell.

“I guess I can leave these here.”

I go to set them on my dresser.

“Wait.” Mom takes them from me.

“Why don't you display these

in Grandpa's cabinet?”

“I don't know, Mom.”

“Clare, you wore these. This is probably

your last pair of toe shoes.

I'm proud of what these represent.”

“What's that?”

“A dream you reached for.

Hard work.

Perseverance.

Sacrifice.

And most of all,

love

for ballet.”

“Okay, Mom.

Let's find a spot for them.”

Mom moves some ski ribbons

and dusts the shelf.

I unwind one shoe

and slip it on.

The narrow flat boxing presses into my toes.

I teeter on the hard leather sole.

It never did seem wide enough

to support my whole foot.

I go up on pointe.

Crunching

pain.

I roll down

and slip off the shoe.

Who ever invented toe shoes

anyway?

Dancing on pointe is totally unnatural,

unhealthy,

and painful.

“Hand them to me,” says Mom.

I quickly wind the ribbons

and put both shoes in her hand.

She places them

on the shelf

right under the light.

The glass door clicks closed.

“Perfect.” She gives me a squeeze.

“Dwight, we need to grab some breakfast,” she calls,

and hurries off.

The pink satin shines through the glass.

But there's dust,

blood, and sweat

on them too.

This is the perfect place.

I don't need them

to dance

anymore.

“You know,” says Mabel,

feeding Grandpa a spoon of oatmeal,

“since I don't work Sundays,

I bet Clare could take Mr. Lawrence

to church.” She winks at me.

I filled her in yesterday.

“I'm sure I can,” I jump in.

“It's right down the street.”

Even Grandpa grunts a yes.

Mom and Dad look up from their cereal

and say, “Okay,” before they even

think about it.

Nobody argues with Mabel.

Besides, it's too important to Grandpa.

After last night, that's for sure.

His religion comforts him.

And I'd kind of like to know

what that's about.

Sunday

I'm

taking him.

Mom and Dad were giddy

going off to work.

They hung out the car windows waving

like this was my first dance class in my life.

“Good-bye, my little ballerina,” called Mom.

“Have fun!” yelled Dad.

I hugged myself and enjoyed every second of it.

Mija perches on the porch

and cackles at the goldfinch

swooping by.

“You go, chickpea!” Mabel sings out

from the swing.

Grandpa waves super hard,

making his wheelchair rock.

I step through the gate.

This feels bizarro.

Things are still changing so fast.

I pick a blueberry from the hedge

at the end of the street.

The sweet tang

is perfect.

I hurry to the conservatory.

I wait for the light.

Isn't that Rosella in the coffee shop

with her mom?

Definitely.

They look right at me.

Rosella's mouth is hanging open.

They probably can figure I'm going

to the adult class.

I wave. Might as well try.

Her mom pulls her away from the window

immediately.

Oh, come on.

The light changes.

I keep my head up

and cross the street.

So her mother

doesn't want us to be friends.

No doubt there.

Maybe I can say hi

between classes,

when her mom isn't around.

If I don't act embarrassed,

then maybe she won't

feel embarrassed.

I hope Rosella's okay.

She needs a friend

really bad.

I spring up the steps.

The handle is smooth.

I grasp it

and pull.

The door opens,

and I step in.

Music swirls out of the classrooms.

My heart skips a beat,

but today

it's because I can't wait

to dance.

“And one and two.” Madame

claps the beat for a class of little girls.

I hug the wall and aim for the dressing room.

Before I step through the door,

I look back.

Madame holds my gaze

and mouths, “Welcome back, Clare.”

I smile,

shiver,

and go to change.

“Well, hey there,” says the fuzzy red-headed lady.

“Hi.”

“Are you joining our class?”

I nod.

“Well, great. My name's Janet,

and this is Susan, Claudia,

Jayni, Christie, Dani, and Cathy.”

All the women say, “Hello.”

“Hi.”

I pull off my jeans and slip on

my shoes.

It's absolutely weirdo

to talk to everyone.

But it's also kind of nice.

My hand brushes the bottom of my bag.

“Rats.”

“What?” asks Janet.

“I, I guess I forgot my skirt.”

“You know, I have an extra.

Here. Let me look.” She digs through her bag

and pulls one out.

“Thanks.” It's blazing yellow.

Yellow!

“Try it on.”

“Okay.” Why not?

“That looks great.”

“Thanks.”

I hurry out to the barre.

Their niceness is going to take some time

to get used to.

The barre room is empty.

I choose a sunny spot and stretch.

It feels warm and comfortable.

The yellow skirt makes me laugh.

“What's so funny?”

I jerk around.

“Elton!”

He leans on the barre. “It's great to see you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you.

I take adult class sometimes

just to dance.”

“Oh.” I look everywhere but at him.

“So, what was funny?”

“This skirt. It seems crazy

because it's so yellow.”

“It looks great.”

I look up at him. “Thanks.”

The rest of the class join us:

a bunch of men, women, and a few girls my age.

The teacher with the goatee comes in.

“Hi, Mr. Pike,” calls one of the ladies.

“Hello to all,” he answers.

“Let's begin with pliés, shall we?”

Elton whispers, “This teacher is the best.

He loves teaching this class,

and you are going to love him.”

The lady pianist begins.

Same one as always in the barre room.

She must play for everybody.

In first position,

I port de bras with my arms

and flow into the rhythm.

I'm doing pliés,

and I'm dancing already.

I'm turned inside out

by a simple exercise

because

I'm dancing

for myself.

We finish the right side and turn for the left.

Elton brushes my hand.

“Beautiful,” he says.

I know it.

Willow

I'm Mother's prima ballerina. Every single second of my life she reminds me. Ballet is our passion. But I'm really, really tired, and it's time for my next class. Already.

Rosella

I can't believe Clare is taking adult class! Mom kept saying that's so pathetic. But Clare looked happy. I wish we were still friends. But man! Right now I really wish whoever's in the bathroom would get out so I can purge before class. And I still need to get a couple bandages on my toes. The skin is barely hanging on. Hurry up already. I have to puke!

Dia

I'm fat. I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror because I know what I should look like, and I don't. I hate ballet, but I'll always want to look like a stupid ballerina.

Margot

Is there anything out there besides ballet? Something else I could do? It doesn't matter. It's time for class.

Elton

I'm so glad Clare is taking adult class. Everyone in here will dance better because of her. She's beautiful to watch. I'll be watching.

Clare

I am a dancer.

Also by Lorie Ann Grover

Loose Threads

Margaret K. McElderry Books

An imprint of Simon & Schuster

Children's Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2004 by Lorie Ann Grover

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Book design by Ann Sullivan

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Grover, Lorie Ann.

On pointe / Lorie Ann Grover.—1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: In this novel written in free verse, Clare and her grandfather must deal with changes in their lives when Clare's summer growth spurt threatens to end her dream of becoming a ballet dancer and her grandfather suffers a stroke.

ISBN 0-689-86525-2
ISBN 978-1-4424-8999-8 (eBook)

[l. Ballet dancing—Fiction. 2. Grandfathers—Fiction. 3. Change—Fiction. 4. Self-perception—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.G9305On 2004

[Fic]—dc21

2003009963