Head to Head (On Pointe Book 2) Page 3

  “So, finals in New York?” My dad leans back in his chair as I shovel a bite of food into my mouth. I nod my head.

  “Is this something you really want to do?” My mom asks, leaning forward, her elbows on the table. “You never mentioned it before.”

  “Honestly? I never thought it was a possibility before.” I push my food around on my plate. “I want to do it. But I’m scared I’ll go and then fall apart under the pressure.”

  My parents share a look while I cram another bite of food in my mouth. My dinner is sitting in the pit of my stomach like a lump, but I don’t know what else to do with my hands so I just keep taking bites. “Well, sweetie,” my mom says, pulling my eyes off the plate. “I had a long conversation with Ms. Parker earlier and your dad and I talked it over. If you want to try, we support you one hundred percent.”

  “Really?” The moment the words were out of my mom’s mouth, I realize I wanted them to say no. To say it was too expensive, so I had an excuse not to go. A better excuse than I was too scared. My dad nods his head, squeezing my hand.

  “Pumpkin, we believe in you.”

  “But what if I don’t win? What if I’m a disaster?”

  “Then it will have been worth it for you to try,” my mom says softly. My throat tightens and tears spring to my eyes. “You’re not going to win every time, Hannah, but if you don’t try, you’ll never know.” When I don’t say anything my mom keeps speaking, her calm voice penetrating through the whirling of my mind. “If you do well, then that’s wonderful. Maybe some new opportunities will open up for you, you’ll meet people who can help you in the future, you learn something. And if you try and don’t do as well as you want, then you’ll learn from your mistakes. You’ll still get to meet new people, network, and have an amazing performance opportunity.”

  “I’m scared,” I finally manage to get out.

  “What are you scared of?”

  “I don’t know, I’m just scared. Every time I think about it I get anxious, and all I can think about is messing up.” I stop and think for a moment. “I don’t want to waste your money or Ms. Parker’s time by doing badly.”

  “Don’t worry about the money,” my dad says immediately. “I have a ton of frequent flyer miles we can use, and we’ve been saving money for exactly this kind of opportunity. Think of this as a college visit—the college of ballet instead of NYU. You’ve been wanting to go to New York for years, now’s your chance,” he adds with a grin.

  “The finals are in May, right?”

  I nod at my mom’s question.

  “That gives you a month to prepare. Leslie thinks you’re in good shape right now, at least as good as you were in February if not better, so you just have to focus on dealing with your nerves.” My mom smiles at me. “I think it might be really good for you to go, sweetie. It’s time for you to get out there and start trying the scary stuff.” I hate it when my mom is reasonable.

  “Maybe…” I swallow. My heart is pounding in my chest, the idea of going to New York to compete is starting to feel inevitable. But I’m not dreading it exactly. I am. But somehow, a flutter of excitement builds deep in my gut. “I think you’re right. If I’m ever going to be a professional, I have to be brave. I think I can be brave enough for this.”

  “So, it’s settled?” My dad pulls out his phone. “I’ll start looking at flights and hotels.”

  He types away on his phone. “I should text Ms. Parker,” I say to the air, pulling my own phone out. “Are you both going to come with me?”

  “I’ll email my boss right now and see if I can have the time off,” my mom says, her own phone in her hand.

  Me: I talked it over with my parents tonight and I want to do it. I’m scared, but it’s time for me to try. My mom said she would email you any flight and hotel info she and my dad find.

  Ms. Parker: I’m so excited for you sweetie! This is going to be a huge opportunity for you. I’ll start looking for flights as well and see who else I know is going to be there. Proud of you!

  Chapter Four

  Lisa

  Hannah: Extra privates are always good but I miss you guys. It’s lonely.

  Hannah: Ms. Parker thinks I should compete in the YIGP finals. Gonna go talk it over with my parents. What do you guys think?

  I tuck my phone back into my pocket before my parents can see it was in my hand. I’ve been reviewing my notes from today since we finished dinner. Our dining room chairs are usually hard enough to keep me awake, but it’s only half past nine and I can barely keep my eyes open.

  Rather than repeating last night’s head-banging performance, I pack up my notes and books, getting my bag organized for tomorrow. My parents are in the living room, my dad reading a book, my mom working on her laptop. “Oyasumi nasai,” I wish them goodnight, kissing them each on the cheek before trudging upstairs to my room.

  I don’t bother to turn on any of the lights in my room, the moonlight shining in my window enough to see by. Once I have my pajamas on, I crawl under the covers, phone in hand. I haven’t responded to Hannah’s text, but it repeats in my mind, over and over again. Should she go to New York City and compete in the finals? What a dumb question, of course she should. If I had the opportunity, and I thought there was any chance my parents would actually let me go, I wouldn’t hesitate for a nanosecond.

  Frustrated, I flip onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The sleepiness I couldn’t fight downstairs is gone. Like I always do, I make a mental list of pros and cons in my mind. This time, it isn’t so much pros and cons as reasons to be happy for or jealous of my best friend.

  Happy—Hannah has worked so hard for this. I’ve seen the hours she’s put in and the things she’s given up to have this opportunity. She’s an amazing dancer, blessed with a perfect ballet body, flexible legs and feet, and an innate sense of performance and musicality. I know that she’s nervous about trying something so big, she’s the kind of person who worries and worries until she has to get on stage and do it. But once she’s on stage it all goes away and she’s calm and confident. I admire that about her. I’m usually the opposite—calm beforehand then nervous once I’m on stage. I want my best friend to go to New York and kick butt.

  But I won’t lie and say I’m not equally jealous. Not of Hannah’s dancing, being in class with her every single day, I know exactly how hard she’s worked and struggled to be as good as she is. But I am jealous of the support she has. I know my parents love me and I know they think I’m talented, but they don’t understand that being a ballet dancer is what I want to do with my life. In their mind, it’s not a real career. Even though they support my dancing for now, something like going to New York to compete in the YIGP finals isn’t even worth bringing up. To them, ballet is what makes me look good on a college application and keeps me out of trouble, nothing more.

  I’m pulled from my musings by the phone buzzing in my hand.

  Hunter: Do you need a ride tomorrow?

  Do I?

  It’s weird that Hunter is texting me, right? Won’t Katy be weirded out by her brother giving me a ride? It would be awfully nice to sleep in a little. But if I get a ride two days in a row my parents are going to start asking questions.

  Me: I don’t need a ride in the morning, but can I get a ride home after?

  That sounds like a good compromise. I missed having the chance to give myself a ballet barre this morning, but I would really enjoy not having to wait for ages for my dad to pick me up.

  Hunter: Of course. See you tomorrow, Sport.

  A coffee cup appears in front of me as Hunter slides into the seat next to me in the morning. “Morning, Sport,” his voice is still gravelly and sleepy, despite the long drive to get here. He tips his own coffee cup at me, then starts pulling out his ridiculous pen collection.

  “How do you use so many pens?” I can’t help asking. I peer over his shoulder, lifting my cup to
my lips, the heavenly aroma of green tea wafting towards me.

  Embarrassment flashes over Hunter’s face. “I dunno.” He shrugs, feigning indifference. With a flash of boldness, I snatch his notebook from under his hand, opening it up before he can object. The page is covered in writing, different thoughts in different colors, arrows connecting different thoughts. It’s beautiful in its organization and detail.

  “Oh my god, Hunter, your notes are a thing of beauty!” I cringe when I realize how dorky that makes me sound, but then again, he’s the one who wrote them. The splashes of color and neat handwriting are beautiful enough to be on one of those organizational Instagram pages. Our eyes meet for a split second before I duck my head away, taking too big a sip of my tea in an attempt to look cool, burning my tongue instead. My eyes water from the pain.

  “Burn your tongue?” Hunter’s voice is smug. “Serves you right for being nosy.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Thanks. I like to organize my thoughts and the colors help.” He shrugs. “I’ve been doing it this way for years. Jack and Tyler always tease me about it, until they want to borrow my notes to study.”

  My eyes are scanning the page, following the lines where he’s connected one thought to another. I’m stunned, it’s obvious from these notes that Hunter is way more than just a pretty face. He’s brilliant. “Wow. You weren’t joking when you said you wanted to be a rocket scientist.” Hunter’s cheeks turn a faint pink at my praise. He tries to pull his notebook away from me but I hold tight, fascinated by the connections he’s drawn in his notes. Literally. The colors swirl across the pages connecting thoughts from subject to subject. He pulls harder and I let go, looking up at his face.

  “I think your brain may be even prettier than your face.”

  Hunter’s cheeks flare bright red at my words. Wait. I said that out loud? My cheeks burn as bright as Hunter’s, my hands flying up to cover my face. I can never speak to him again. I shift in my seat, turning my body slightly away from Hunter. Katy is going to kill me.

  His hand on my shoulder, tugging me back towards him, has my shoulders hunching up to my ears. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Hunter’s deep voice whispers in my ear as the instructor starts taking roll for the day.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah

  Trevor: Start spreading the news

  Trevor: She’s leaving today…. (well, not really)

  This is followed by a gif of Frank Sinatra crooning into a microphone

  Trevor: Look at her, she’s the Queen of New York!

  Trevor: A city so nice, they named it twice

  Trevor: You’re leaving…on a jet plane (I presume)

  Trevor: (but you know when you’ll be back again, right?)

  All this is followed by a string of gifs, ranging from a dancing cartoon cat to various superheroes battling it out in the subway.

  “Is that Trevor?” Katy asks, swiping my phone from my hand. She scrolls though, eyebrows creeping higher and higher as the messages continue. “Um...wow,” she says, finally handing it back to me.

  “What? He knows I’m in class and can’t answer.” I defend Trevor’s string of messages. “It’s a joke.” I huff.

  “It’s sweet, Han. It’s just...a lot,” Katy says.

  “Anyway,” I say, heading outside for our lunch break, Lisa and Katy following. When I said I was lonely without them in class this week, I wasn’t kidding. I’m so happy to have both my best friends back today. “How was the SAT class, Lisa?” I want to change the subject from me and Trevor.

  “It was fine.” Lisa shrugs and delicately sits down on a patch of grass outside the studio, Katy plopping down next to her. The coffee shop we often grab seats at is crowded, full of people enjoying the last days of Spring Break, so we opted to sit on one of the grassy meridians scattered in the parking lot. “My brain is tired,” she adds, laying backwards in the grass.

  “Do you still think your parents will let you go?” I ask. I hope so, I know how much Lisa wants to go.

  “Maybe. That was one half of the bargain, I still have to prove I can keep my grades up for a few more weeks. My mom said she won’t decide until the day before we have to send in our acceptance.” Lisa sighs and closes her eyes against the bright sun. I worry about her, the bags under her eyes are pretty much permanent at this point.

  “Do you guys want to come over tonight? We could hang out. Or nap,” I add when Lisa’s eyes don’t open.

  “I’m in!” Katy says around a mouthful of salad. “Jack said the track team was coming over tonight to hang out. I’d be happy to get out of the house.”

  “Lisa?” She doesn’t answer. Gently poking her foot with my shoe, she doesn’t respond. I share a look with Katy and we grin. “I think she’s asleep.”

  “Did you know Hunter was at the same SAT prep class as her?” Katy pretends to be nonchalant, but I can tell she’s not as relaxed about it as she sounds. “He gave her a ride there on Wednesday and he gave her a ride home on Thursday and Friday.”

  “She told me she overslept on Wednesday morning.” I’m not sure what Katy’s getting at. Hunter gave her a ride, so what? “Does it matter?”

  “Well, no. I dunno. It’s just kind of weird.” Katy picks at the grass. “Is it dumb that I don’t want you guys to be friends with my brothers?” Katy shrugs, eyes still on the grass. “I already have to share everything else with them, I don’t want to share you too.”

  I toss one of my carrots at Katy’s head. She ducks and tosses it back, laughing. “I don’t have any brothers, but I get that. I don’t think you have to worry, Lisa’s too busy to hang out with us, let alone having time to be friends with Hunter.”

  I wave to Katy as she gathers her things to leave, our plans to hang out tonight fell through when her mom said they were having a family movie night. Ms. Parker is busy getting my music ready, so I take a second to get a drink and stretch. My legs are tired after the last three hours of rehearsal, not to mention the two hours of class this morning, but I need to push through and keep working.

  “On a scale of one to eleven, how nervous are you?” Ms. Parker asks from the corner of the studio.

  “Ummmm, maybe a nine or ten?” I want to be truthful. And I am scared. I’m scared that I’m going to fall apart under pressure. “How did you do it? When you were my age you were already in the company, how did you get on stage with everyone else and not fall apart?”

  Ms. Parker laughs, wrapping her cardigan around her waist, the sound filling the empty studio. “Let me tell you a story, sweetie. My first performance as an apprentice in the company, I was just about your age. I’d been an apprentice for maybe two months and I thought I was hot stuff. The youngest apprentice in fifteen years, winner of the Prix de Geneva… Well, you know all that already.” She smiles at me and I nod. I know Ms. Parker’s history well. An apprentice at CBC at the age of fifteen, joined the corps at sixteen, promoted to soloist at nineteen, and a principal dancer by the age of twenty. An accident crossing the road in front of Lincoln Center at twenty-four halted her stratospheric rise to ballet stardom. “Anyway, I had been asked to learn the corps girls in Act One of Giselle. I had to learn all those peasant dances and how to stand on stage reacting to the action. Anyway, I was only called to Act One rehearsals because I was still fitting the company schedule around my school classes.”

  “What happened?” I can’t help asking

  “Well, the first week of performances went off without a hitch. I stood on my mark, having fake conversations with the other dancers around me, trying not to let my mouth hang open as I watched my idols dance right in front of me. And then the second week, one of the girls in the corps hurt her knee. She was one of the Wilis in Act Two, and there was no one available to take her place except me. Well, you know how all the Wilis are supposed to be absolutely ghostly and perfectly still? Imagine a very nervous fifteen-ye
ar-old me, desperately trying to stay in line with the girl in front of me, while copying her steps out of the corner of my eye.”

  My eyes are wide, I can imagine how nervous I would be in that situation. Thrown on stage, expected to be perfectly in sync with twenty-three other women, all of us dressed in identical long white tutus. Just thinking about it now, having to perform such exacting choreography with only one rushed rehearsal? I would be out of my mind with nerves.

  “So, there I am, the last Wili in line, we’re almost to the end of the act and I’ve only made some little mistakes. The girl in front of me was so kind, coaching me through it, by the way. So, the only thing left to do is exit. In the CBC version, as the sun was rising,” Ms. Parker’s air quotes make me smile, “we would stand and drift backwards into the wings and off the stage, the ghosts of betrayed girls disappearing with the sun, you know. Since I was on the end of the line, I was the first girl off. I was almost done. I was so close I could taste it.”

  I’m already cringing, I know she’s about to tell me something horrible. Something terrible happened, I just know it.

  “So we stand up, and start to bourre backwards. Right as I was passing the wings, my skirt caught on the scenery. I didn’t stop moving, which pulled it a little sideways, and the girl in front of me crashed into it hard. I managed to get free but I was mortified. I ran to my dressing room as soon as I was off stage and hid, waiting for the Director to tell me I was done—I was too young, too unprofessional, too inexperienced and I was being demoted back to a student.”

  “Did he?”

  “Nope. The girl who had been in front of me, the one who coached me through it and who’s performance I thought I’d ruined, came and found me after the curtain call with a bunch of the other girls in the corps. They took me out to dinner, fed me pasta and spent all night telling me about all the times they’d done something just as dumb.”