Jessi and the Dance School Phantom, Page 2

  Becca was all over me, shrieking and smacking my arm.

  “Okay, Becca,” said Aunt Cecelia. “Let’s let the princess come in and have her dinner.” Aunt Cecelia likes to try to keep things calm. She’s Daddy’s older sister, and she came to live with us not long ago, when Mama decided to go back to work and realized she’d need help with Squirt in order to do that.

  At first, having Aunt Cecelia live with us seemed like a big mistake. Becca and I thought she was too strict and too mean. She treated us like babies. But she learned to give us some credit for being able to take care of ourselves — and we learned to like her better. Now we’re glad she’s here.

  At dinner, I filled my family in on the details of the audition. And over ice cream (I had a tiny bit, even though I really have to watch what I eat, especially when we’re preparing a performance) I told them all about The Sleeping Beauty.

  “You all know the story,” I said. “It’s just like the fairy tale. It starts with the christening of the baby Princess Aurora. All the fairies do beautiful dances as they present their gifts.”

  “Then the bad fairy comes, right?” asked Becca.

  “That’s right. The funny thing is that the bad fairy is usually played by a man in a wig,” I said. “Anyway, the bad fairy puts a curse on the baby, telling her that she will prick her finger and die on her sixteenth birthday. A good fairy, called the Lilac Fairy, can’t get rid of the curse. But she at least makes it so that Aurora will sleep for a hundred years instead of die.”

  “Then what happens?” asked Daddy. I guess he doesn’t remember fairy tales as well as the rest of us.

  “Well, I come on stage in the next act, which is my sixteenth birthday party. Four princes present me with roses, and I do this gorgeous slow dance called the ‘Rose Adagio.’ It’s really hard. Then the bad witch, in disguise, sneaks into the party and hands me a spindle for making yarn and I prick my finger on it and fall into a deep sleep.

  “A hundred years later,” I went on, “this prince is looking for me. He sees a vision of me — which is really me, of course — and we dance together. Then the prince tries to find me, and when he finally does, he kisses me —”

  “Ew!” interrupted Becca. “Do you really have to kiss a boy? I’d rather kiss Misty any day!” Misty is our pet hamster.

  I ignored her. “— and I wake up, and then there’s the wedding, where I dance with all these different fairy-tale characters, like the Bluebird of Happiness. I don’t really know what that has to do with the plot, but it’s a great dance. And then I dance with the prince again at the very end.” I was exhausted just thinking about it.

  “It sounds like a beautiful ballet,” said Mama.

  “It is,” I said. “And you should hear the music. It’s by Tchaikovsky, the same composer who wrote the music for Swan Lake.”

  After dinner, I headed upstairs (Mama said I could be excused from table clearing and dish washing, since it was a special night) to call Mallory. I couldn’t wait to tell her my news, and I knew she’d spread it around to our friends.

  Who is Mallory? Maybe I should tell you about her — and about my other friends, too.

  Mallory Pike is my best friend, and the first friend I made when my family moved to Stoneybrook. She’s terrific. She’s smart and funny, and we have great times together. We both love to read — especially horse stories, like Misty of Chincoteague — but Mal also likes to write. Someday she hopes to be a writer and illustrator of children’s books, which I think is a neat idea.

  Part of what makes Mallory fun is that she’s easygoing and doesn’t get fazed by much. I think that’s because she comes from a huge — and I mean huge — family. Mallory is eleven like me, and she has seven little brothers and sisters! Three of them are triplets, believe it or not. Their names are Adam, Jordan, and Byron, and they’re ten. Then comes Vanessa — she’s nine — and Nicky, who’s eight, followed by Margo, who’s seven. The baby of the family is Claire. She’s five. The Pike household is never boring. Actually, I think that Mal sometimes envies my (relatively) quiet family. She doesn’t get much private time.

  Even though she’s the oldest, Mallory feels that her parents still treat her like a kid. (I can relate to that!) She had to work really hard on her parents — just like I did — to convince them to let her get her ears pierced. Her next project is to get contacts, but I think that’s a long way off. With her red hair and freckles, and her glasses and her braces, Mal has a hard time feeling glamorous — even with pierced ears. But you know what? I bet she’s going to be a real knockout someday. She just has to be patient. (I should talk. I’m as impatient as she is.)

  When I first moved to Stoneybrook, I felt so lonely. I’d just left my best friend, Keisha (who also happens to be my cousin), and I wondered if I’d ever find another best friend. But as it turned out, I not only found Mallory, which was great, but a whole bunch of other friends. These friends are all very different from each other, but they have one thing in common. They love baby-sitting, just like I do. And that’s why they formed the Baby-sitters Club. I’m lucky to be a member and to have them all as friends. Mallory and I are the youngest in the club, by the way. Everyone else is thirteen.

  Kristy Thomas is the president of the BSC. She’s something else. When I first met Kristy, I was a little intimidated — she’s very straightforward (sometimes she’s even got a big mouth) and energetic. But now I like her, and admire her, a lot. She’s always having these great ideas — and she acts on them, too. She’s not just a dreamer.

  Kristy’s family is pretty complicated to describe, but here goes. First of all, her parents got divorced years ago after her dad walked out, leaving Kristy’s mom to take care of Kristy and her brothers. (She’s got two older brothers, Charlie and Sam, and a younger one named David Michael.) Mrs. Thomas did a good job of being a single parent. But then she met Watson Brewer, who is a real, true millionaire. They fell in love and got married, and Kristy and her family moved across town to live in Watson’s mansion.

  But it’s not just the six of them in that gigantic house. Watson had also been married before, and he has two kids — Karen (she’s seven) and Andrew (he’s four). They stay with the Brewers and Thomases every other weekend and for two weeks in the summer. Karen and Andrew love Kristy, and she loves them, too. No wicked stepfamilies here!

  You’d think that a family that size would be enough. But you’d be wrong. Kristy’s mom and Watson recently decided to adopt Emily Michelle, this two-and-a-half-year-old Vietnamese girl. (She’s an absolute doll!) And then Nannie, Kristy’s grandmother, moved in to help take care of Emily. Wow. Now that’s a big family. And I haven’t even told you about Shannon and Boo-Boo. (Don’t worry, they’re not more kids. Shannon’s a dog and Boo-Boo’s a cat.) Plus, there are some goldfish.

  So that’s Kristy. Oh! I forgot to tell you what she looks like. Kristy is on the short side, and she’s got brown hair and brown eyes. And she’s kind of a tomboy — that is, she doesn’t care much about clothes or makeup, she likes to play baseball, and she’s not all that interested in boys.

  Kristy’s best friend (I think they’ve been best friends all their lives) is Mary Anne Spier. She and Kristy look alike, with their brown hair and brown eyes (although Mary Anne cares a little more about clothes), but other than that they are very different. You’ve heard the saying “opposites attract”? That describes Mary Anne and Kristy. While Kristy is assertive and loudmouthed, Mary Anne is very quiet and shy, and incredibly sensitive.

  I’m not sure why she is that way, but sometimes I think it may have to do with the way she grew up. Mary Anne’s mother died when Mary Anne was tiny, and so her dad was the one who brought her up. I’ve heard that he used to be very strict with her — but he seems to be pretty loose now. He even dealt well with the fact that Mary Anne had a steady boyfriend for awhile (she’s the only one of us club members who did). I guess it helped that he likes Logan. (That’s Logan Bruno, Mary Anne’s ex-boyfriend. He’s in the club, too, actu
ally — but I’ll tell you about that later.)

  Maybe part of what loosened up Mr. Spier was falling in love and getting married again. Now, that’s a romantic story. He met up with an old girlfriend from high school, started to date her again, and then he married her. And the best part of the story is that the old girlfriend happens to be Dawn Schafer’s mother! Who is Dawn Schafer?

  Dawn is another member of the club, and she’s not only Mary Anne’s stepsister; she’s her best friend, too. (That’s right, Mary Anne has two best friends.) Dawn’s mom grew up in Stoneybrook but then moved to California, got married, and had two kids — Dawn and her younger brother, Jeff. But then she got divorced and moved back to Stoneybrook — a fact for which we are all thankful, since that move brought us Dawn. The only bad part about the move was that Jeff missed California and his dad so much that he ended up moving back there to live. So her family’s split up, but Dawn handles it well.

  Dawn is truly gorgeous. She’s got incredibly long, white-blonde hair and she dresses in a style all her own. She wears all these great, casual clothes in bright colors. Nobody else in Stoneybrook dresses like that — you could pick Dawn out as a California girl in a minute. She’s different in other ways, too: She loves the sun and the sea, and she adores health food. Bean sprouts are to Dawn what Ho-Ho’s are to Claudia.

  Claudia — that’s Claudia Kishi, the vice-president of the BSC — is the Junk Food Queen. I’ve never seen anyone eat the way she does and still have such a great figure and perfect skin. I don’t know how she does it, but Claudia always looks great. She has an incredible sense of style. She’s also a great artist, which might have something to do with it.

  Claudia is Japanese-American and very exotic-looking. She’s got this long, silky black hair that she wears in a million different ways, and gorgeous almond-shaped eyes. Her family is pretty small — there’s just her and her sister, Janine (who is a real — I swear it — genius), and their parents. Claudia’s grandmother Mimi used to live with them, but she died not long ago. I get the feeling that Claud still misses Mimi all the time; they were very, very close.

  Unlike her genius sister, Claudia is not a great student. It’s not that she’s dumb, but there are other things she’d rather do with her time than study — like sculpt or paint or make collages. She’d also like to spend her time munching on junk food while reading Nancy Drew books, but there’s a limit to how much of that she can do, especially since her parents disapprove of both activities. Which is why you never know when you’re in Claudia’s room where you might find a Devil Dog or a Twinkie or a Three Musketeers. She hides them. Everywhere. Just like she hides her Nancy Drew books.

  But even though Claudia’s parents are strict about some things, they’re pretty easy about others. Like clothes. Mallory and I are always fighting with our parents for the right to wear certain things — like miniskirts or big T-shirts over leggings. But Claudia’s parents seem to let her wear whatever she wants. I think they see her outfits as part of her artistic expression. (I’m so jealous!)

  Stacey McGill is a really cool dresser, too. In fact, I think that’s why she and Claudia became best friends at first. And one of the reasons Stacey’s a sophisticated dresser is that she grew up in New York City. That’s right, New York City — home of some of the best ballet companies in the world, not to mention the greatest restaurants, dance clubs, department stores …

  But Stacey likes Stoneybrook. She first came here when her dad was transferred to Stamford, but then she actually moved back to New York when he was transferred again. The rest of the club members thought they’d lost Stacey forever. But then they heard bad news and good news. The bad news was that Stacey’s parents were getting a divorce. The good news was that she and her mom were moving to Stoneybrook again!

  Unfortunately, they couldn’t move into their old house. Why? Because my family had moved into it in the meantime! They did find another nice house, though, and of course Stacey was back in the club right away.

  Stacey’s very cool, as you might expect her to be. She gets her blonde hair permed every now and then, and as I said before, she rivals Claudia for “Trendiest Dresser in Stoneybrook.”

  There’s one other thing about Stacey — she’s a diabetic. That means she has to take really good care of herself, watch her diet like a hawk, and (I could never do this!) give herself daily injections of insulin. Stacey doesn’t seem to let it get to her, though — she’s usually in a great mood.

  Speaking of great moods, that night I was in about the best mood possible. The time right after you learn that you’ve won a great part is always the best — before the hard work of rehearsal begins. As I passed the hall mirror on my way to call Mallory, I gave myself a big smile. “Hey, Aurora!” I said. “What’s new?”

  “Love your leg warmers, Lisa,” said Carrie. “Are they new?”

  We were all in the dressing room, getting ready for our first day of rehearsals for The Sleeping Beauty. I was still pretty excited about being chosen to play Princess Aurora, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. Most of my classmates were probably happy for me, but nobody likes a gloating prima ballerina.

  “They really are great, Lisa,” I said. “Where’d you get them?”

  “My mom got them in the city,” she answered. “At Capezio’s. She gave them to me last night. They’re lilac, because I’m playing the Lilac Fairy.”

  Lisa seemed happy with her role, and I was glad. I have this weird thing sometimes, where even though I’m thrilled to get the lead, I kind of feel bad about it, too. Because if I got it, that means that somebody else didn’t. Does that make any sense?

  I threw my dance bag down next to my locker and started to change. It seems like I’m always in a hurry in the dressing room, but so is everybody else. There’s this feeling that Mme Noelle is waiting for us in the studio, getting more and more impatient by the minute. And having Mme Noelle in a bad mood is bad news.

  I threw off my school clothes (jeans, a new red sweater, and my red high-tops) and stuffed them into my locker. It’s never a good idea to put things on the benches in the dressing room, even for a minute. They’d get all mixed up with everybody else’s stuff and there would be mass confusion.

  Then I groped around in my dance bag and pulled out my leotard and tights. I shimmied into them in about three seconds (after years of practice) and then reached for my toe shoes. I could put them on in the studio while I was listening to Mme Noelle give us the rehearsal schedule.

  My toe shoes weren’t in the bag.

  I checked again. No toe shoes. My red high-tops were in there, but no toe shoes. Now, you have to understand that I have been dancing for seven years. For at least the last four I have packed my own dance bag. And I have never, ever once forgotten anything. Other girls would have to dance with bare legs when they forgot their tights, or in old bathing suits when they’d left their leotards at home. Not me. Never. I was always prepared. It’s just the way I am.

  “Mademoiselles!” called Mme Noelle from outside the dressing room. “Are we plonning to donce today?” She clapped her hands loudly, just once. That meant, in Madame’s special shorthand, “Get into the studio, NOW!”

  I panicked. I bent over my dance bag and practically turned it inside out. They had to be in there! I clearly remembered putting them in the bag the night before, after they’d aired out enough so that they’d be ready to wear again.

  I looked around the dressing room. There were heaps of clothing everywhere — tangled leg warmers on the benches, leotards hanging by one sleeve from a locker door — but not a toe shoe in sight. What was I going to do?

  Everybody else was hurrying out of the dressing room. Mary stopped for a moment as she passed my locker.

  “What’s the matter, Jessi?” she asked.

  I told her that my toe shoes were missing. Her eyes grew round. She knew how serious this was.

  “I wish I could lend you a pair, but my spare ones are at home,” she said.

  “That�
€™s okay,” I said. “I really couldn’t dance in anyone else’s shoes anyway.” My toe shoes are unique — everybody’s are. And every dancer has a different way of taking care of them. There’s a whole routine with toe shoes — you have to break them in (I do it by banging them against the banister on the staircase at home), and sew ribbons onto them, and stuff the toes with lambswool. So even though they don’t last too long (I usually need a new pair every week or so), each pair has a lot of time invested in it. And each pair ends up fitting your feet, and your feet alone.

  I do, of course, have a spare pair of toe shoes. But guess where they were. Right — they were at home.

  “This is terrible,” I said. By then I was alone in the dressing room. I could hear Mme Noelle’s voice, just faintly. She was taking the roll in the studio. In about three seconds she’d realize that I wasn’t there.

  I was going to have to go into the studio barefoot.

  I took a deep breath and started to walk. I stopped at the dressing room door and took one last look around the room. There was not a single toe shoe anywhere. I looked down at my feet. This was going to be humiliating. And Mme Noelle wasn’t going to like it at all.

  At least my entrance was quiet. Bare feet make a lot less noise than toe shoes, which tend to make clunking noises when you try to walk normally.

  But, as quiet as I was, everybody, including Mme Noelle, looked at me as I walked into the studio.

  “Ah,” said Madame. “Zee Princess Aurora hos decided to join us.” She gestured to a spot on the floor. “Please, your highness, take a seat.”

  Then she saw my feet.

  “But where are your shoes, Mademoiselle Romsey?” she asked, her eyebrows raised high.

  I felt so ashamed. “I — I don’t know,” I said. “I packed them last night, but now they’re not in my bag.” I felt hot, then suddenly cold, all over.

  “But you cannot rehearse wizout zem!” she said. “And we cannot rehearse wizout you.” She stood up. “You must look for zem again. Perhops zey are benease some ozair girl’s clothes. Come!” She clapped her hands and gestured to the class to follow her.