“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—Ficti
on. 2. Grandfathers—Fiction. 3. Change—Fiction. 4. Self-perception—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G9305On 2004
[Fic]—dc21
2003009963