“Amala’s going to choose us,” I say. “She has to—we’re the best dancers in the whole class. By far.”
Angela laughs and rolls her shimmy up her whole body.
“I can’t believe we’re going to dance with Dana Sajala. Can you believe it?” I say.
Angela stops shimmying and says, “She might not choose us. You do know that, right?”
“Spoilsport!” I say. The wind has blown cherry petals across the path and into the spruce hedge in front of Angela’s house so that it looks like a dancer’s colorful skirt. I pull some of the petals off and put them in my hair for decoration.
“Let me dream my dream,” I say as Angela turns into her yard.
“Amala has a whole studio to choose from, Lila. She might not choose you. Or me. Or anyone else from our class.”
“But she will,” I say.
“Just…” She hesitates.
“Just what?”
Angela shifts her bag on her shoulder and doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but when she sees I’m about to ask her again, she says,
“Don’t persuade yourself Amala’s going to choose us, that’s all.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I don’t want you to be disappointed. I know you,” she says. “You always believe things are going to happen.” With that she walks up the path and onto the stairs in front of her house.
“But…” I don’t know what to say, so I watch her fit the key into the lock of her door. As she opens it, I say, “Don’t you think Amala could choose us?”
“She might. But she might not.”
“You think there are others in the class who are better than us?” It seems unlikely.
“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to get super excited about something that might not happen.” Angela turns the knob, enters her house and leaves me standing on the walkway, wondering, Is there someone more likely to be chosen?
Doubt gnaws at my stomach, making me feel sick. I really, really,
really
want to be chosen. But what if I’m not?
“G
irls, let’s show Dana our best,” says Amala as she opens the door and lets Dana into the room. We’ve been drilling the choreography, and now Dana is here to watch us dance. I can hardly stand it. I’ve been waiting for this moment for seven whole days—ever since last week’s class.
“Hello, girls,” Dana says. Her skirt swirls around her knees, and her long hair shines. We all straighten our posture as she joins Amala at the front of the room.
“Ready?” Amala asks. We settle into our pose. I can feel Dana’s eyes on me. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Amala presses the remote and we start.
I love this music, and I love the way Amala’s choreography picks up the trills of the drum, the thick, sticky line of the cello and violin, and the quick movements of the accordion. We start with our chest lifts and hip circles, accenting the bass with our hips and the treble with our arms. As I dance, my mind drifts to what Dana must be seeing and thinking, and my body suddenly feels like lead. My arms stutter instead of flow, and my hips miss the beat. When it comes time to move into pairs, my feet drag, and when Nini bumps into me, I stop.
“Ouch,” I say and rub my shin.
“We’ll start again from the beginning,” says Amala.
“Can we get a sip of water first?” says Nini, and before Amala can answer, everyone scurries to the edges of the room.
“What’s wrong?” Angela asks.
I shrug and take a sip of water so I don’t have to answer, but I know what’s wrong. Doubt is kicking at me, making me clumsy. All through the class I’ve been glancing around at the other girls. Nini is so elegant, and Sarit bursts with energy. Ellen, Flora, Petra—they’re all so quick
and supple. Any one of them could get picked. It’s making me panic. What if Amala
doesn’t
choose Angela and me?
“Dana is making me nervous,” says Angela.
She’s right. That’s all it is. Nerves.
“I wish Amala would tell us already, so we didn’t have to do all this,” I say.
“I guess she wants Dana to see her picks in action.” She smiles and tosses her hair over her shoulder.
“Do you know something?” I ask.
“Of course not,” she says, and she replaces her water bottle on the ledge and heads back to her spot. She doesn’t appear nervous. As always, she looks perfect.
“Again,” says Amala, and in the second before the music starts I sneak a glance at Dana, who catches my eye and smiles at me. My heart leaps into the first drum beat, and the lead falls away from my body.
The music continues, and from the corner of my eye I can see that our lines are straight, and our posture is strong. We are all smiling.
The music ends, and Amala presses the remote. “The girls look good, don’t they, Dana?”
“I love your choreography, Amala. You’ve caught the music beautifully,” Dana says as she weaves between us on a tour of the room. “And you’re right,” she adds when she reaches Amala’s side again. “I approve of your choice of student.”
We all gasp. Like one big guppy, we suck in our cheeks and turn to Amala.
Amala frowns. “I was going to wait until class was over, but okay. I’ll tell you now.” She pauses, and her eyes travel across the room until they meet mine. “Lila, would you like to join Dana’s studio as one of her students?”
My body explodes. Everything from my fingertips to my toes to the ends of my hair tingles. I can barely even nod, I’m bursting so much, but I still hold my breath because I’m waiting for Amala’s eyes to continue their sweep of the room and land on Angela. But they don’t. Instead, they swivel back to Dana, who smiles at me.
“Who are the other two girls you’ve chosen?” Nini asks.
“Laura and Savana from my Thursday-evening class,” says Amala.
The tingle fades as I realize it’s only me going, not me and Angela. It’s hard to know where
to look. I want to see Angela’s face, but I also don’t want to. But then Angela shoves through Flora and Nini and scoops me up in a bear hug, which Sarit and Petra join her in, and soon the whole room rushes me in a big scrum. My body finally stops tingling, and I let out my breath. I catch Amala’s eye across the room, and she smiles at me and nods. I smile back.
The other girls let go, but Angela keeps hugging me, so finally I pull back so I can see her properly. Her whole face smiles, including her eyes.
“I wish you were coming,” I whisper into her ear.
She shakes her head. “You deserve it,” she says, and with those words the whole thing hits me.
I’m going to dance with one of the troupes in Dana Sajala’s studio!
“Don’t forget us, please,” says Flora, which makes everyone laugh.
“I won’t,” I promise.
Angela finally lets me go, and I make my way back to my spot, but Amala says, “Lila, I think we’d better practice without you so the girls can get used to not having anyone in that space. You can sit and watch.” She motions to the side of the room.
Of course. I’m not dancing this dance anymore. It’s beautiful choreography, though, and I have to admit to feeling a pang when I sit down next to the wall to watch the troupe practice.
The dance is gorgeous. The girls know the music well, and they move together gracefully. Even having eleven girls onstage instead of twelve works, because instead of going into pairs, Amala directs them into clumps of three and four. I’m sad to leave, but I’m going on to something even more exciting. I only wish Angela was coming, and I hope she’s not too disappointed.
The force of what’s happened hits me again, and the tingling in my fingers returns.
I’ve been chosen to dance for Dana Sajala.
It’s going to be fantastic.
E
nglish class is never going to end. Mrs. O’Connor drones on about
To Kill a Mockingbird
. This lesson should be called
To Kill the Reading Experience
. I hardly slept at all last night, what with the excitement and nervousness of being chosen to dance for Dana, and now it’s all I can do to stay awake for twelve more minutes. When Mrs. O’Connor finally stops talking and the bell rings, I’m so close to sleep that I have to shake out my arms and legs before I can get up. It takes me a few minutes to gather my books and pens and cram them into my backpack and head out the door.
“There you are,” Angela says when I reach the courtyard behind the auditorium. She and Nini and Sarit are already sitting at one of the picnic
tables set up among the garden beds. Angela has been working in the veggie gardens all year for her service hours, and we often come here at lunchtime so she can weed after we eat. I had been hoping to find Angela alone, but I guess that’s not going to happen.
“Congratulations,” Nini says to me.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I bet it’s going to be amazing,” Sarit says.
“Yeah. I hope so,” I say. It’s too warm in my sweater, so I take it off and throw it across the table. The sun feels soft on my arms.
“What are you eating?” Sarit asks as I pull my lunch out of my backpack.
“Mom made me a smoothie with raspberries and yogurt and orange juice in it, and a bowl of quinoa and spinach. She was so cute when she gave it to me. Feeding me for success, she said.”
“Your mom’s so nice,” Nini says.
“She’s pretty proud of me,” I say.
“I wish Dana would pick me. Then maybe my mom would make me smoothies and salads, and I wouldn’t have to make stupid ham sandwiches,” Nini says.
“Yeah. The only thing is…” I stop because suddenly I’m embarrassed.
“The only thing is what?” Nini asks.
“It’s a lot to live up to. Part of me wants to stay with Amala. I’m pretty nervous.”
“Says the girl who wants to be a professional dancer.” Nini unwraps her sandwich and takes a big bite.
“It’s a big step,” I say.
“I hear Dana’s really picky. My sister’s friend danced with her last year, and she said one time Dana kept them for an extra hour until they got the timing right in one of their sequences,” Sarit says.
“That’s the kind of thing that’s making me anxious,” I say.
Sarit’s voice is gentle. “I thought it was exactly what you wanted.”
“Yeah, I know. It is. I’m totally excited, but it’s also giving me a stomachache.”
Nini leans forward so she’s chewing her sandwich right in front of my face. “Dancing with Dana is something we’d all like to do. You’re getting the chance of a lifetime, so buck up, girl. I don’t want to hear anything more about nervousness.”
Nini and I are good friends, and being direct like this is just her way, but there’s a hint of jealousy in Nini’s voice that makes my smoothie feel thick in my throat.
She leans back, takes another bite of her sandwich and chews it loudly. No one says anything more about dancing while we finish our lunches.
When she’s done eating, Nini stands up and slings her backpack over her shoulder. “I need to go meet Mrs. O’Connor. She said she’d help me with my English essay,” she says.
“I’ll come with you,” says Sarit.
Angela and I sit at the table and watch them walk across the courtyard. “It
would
be a lot easier for me to go if you were coming too,” I say.
“Amala chose you, Lila.”
“But I wish she had chosen you too.” Instead of finishing my quinoa, I toss it into the compost.
Angela frowns at me and says, “No grains in the compost—you know that. It brings rats.”
It’s true. We had an announcement about it last week. With a sigh, I pick what I can of the quinoa out of the compost and put it back in my container. “I had dreams of us dancing together at the festival,” I say.
“Well, you don’t have to go to Dana’s studio,” Angela says.
“I know.”
“Seriously, you don’t.”
“You want me to stay with Amala?” I ask. The quinoa rolls around in my stomach, making it hurt even more.
“You always said you loved Amala’s choreography and the music,” Angela says. “If you really want to dance with me, you don’t have to go to Dana’s studio. It’s your choice—that’s all I’m saying.”
Is she serious? “You want me to give up an opportunity of a lifetime?” I ask.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Strangely, though two seconds ago I was feeling nervous about going to Dana’s studio, now that Angela has said I don’t have to go, I know I really want to.
“I know. But yes, I do want to go do Dana’s. I do. As Nini says, it’s a great opportunity, but I wish you were coming too!”
“I’m totally happy at Amala’s,” Angela says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Not everyone wants to dance with Dana, Lila.”
It’s the first I’ve heard of this. “Don’t you want to be a professional? Don’t you think dancing with Dana is a fantastic opportunity?” I ask.
“For sure. For you. Just not what I want, that’s all.” She takes the last bite of her apple and tosses the core into the compost, then packs up her lunch and pulls her gardening gloves out of her backpack. “I need to weed out the winter spinach. Want to help?”
I shake my head and watch her cross the courtyard. Angela is one of the most beautiful dancers I’ve ever seen. I’m almost surprised Dana picked me over her. How can she not want to dance with Dana? It doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all.
B
y the time I board the bus to Dana Sajala’s studio after school, I feel like I might throw up at any moment. I show the bus driver my pass and head for a seat at the back, where a pile of noisy basketball players are laughing and tossing around someone’s phone. My coat is too warm for this spring day, but there’s not enough room to take it off, and I end up with it bunched around my waist, making me even hotter. The basketball players keep tossing the phone between them, and I try to concentrate on its path through the air, but that does nothing to make the nervousness go away.
When my stop comes at last, I scramble to gather my coat and bags and only manage to lurch off the bus at the last second. The studio
is downtown, and there are so many people walking along the sidewalk that it takes me a few minutes to find the right door, which turns out to be hidden behind a huge sandwich board for a coffee shop next door. My breath comes fast as I step into the lobby.