Ann Martin - New York, New York!

I ordered a diet soda.

Quint ordered a vanilla egg cream.

I changed my mind and ordered a vanilla egg cream, too.

In case you've never tasted one, an egg cream is a wonderful drink. It's made of soda and milk and either vanilla or chocolate syrup. (Surprisingly, it does not have any eggs in it.) I have never had one except when I've been in New York.

The egg creams arrived and Quint and I sipped them slowly.

Quint didn't say much. He looked thoughtful.

So I spoke up. "There are lots of good parts in Coppelia for guys," I said.

"I know." "If you went to a professional school, you could dance in Copptlia. I have." "Yeah." "Yeah what?" "You know what, Jessi. It's everything we've already talked about." "I want to hear you say it again." Quint sighed. "Okay. I know I'm a good dancer." "You're better than just good if your teachers think you can get into Juilliard." "All right, I'm better than a good dancer. I would like to perform onstage in front of a big audience someday. Just like you have." "So?" "Come on, Jessi. You know all this stuff." "Tell me again." "I'm not going to audition because if I do get into Juilliard, I'll never be able to walk down my own street again. Not even with the bowling bag. I just don't think I can take all the comments and yelling and stuff." "There are all kinds of prejudice, Quint," I said. "I've lived with it. You've lived with it. My friend Claudia has lived with it because she's not such a great student. Mallory gets teased because — " SJtAsviS "I know what you're saying, Jessi." "And you're going to deprive America of your talent because of a few jerks?" Quint smiled. "Well, when you put it that way ..." "Do you want to go to Juilliard?" I asked.

"Yes, but — " "So go! I mean, at least audition." Quint stared into his egg cream for, like, an hour or something.

"Quint?" I finally said.

"I'm thinking." After some' more staring and thinking, Quint shifted his gaze to me. "You convinced me. I'll audition. If I get in, then I'll decide what to do?" "You'll audition?" I screeched, forgetting where I was.

"Shhh. Yes." "All right!" "On one condition." "What?" (I should have known there was a condition.) "That you'll come home with me now while I talk to my parents. I'm not sure what they're going to think about this." I thought I knew, but if Quint was worried, then I would give him moral support. It was the least I could do.

Maybe someday I would be credited with having pushed the famous Quint Walter into the spotlight when he was afraid to go ahead with his career.

We walked back to Quint's apartment. We reached it just as his father was coming home from work. Quint and I glanced at each other.

"Dum, da-dum, dum," sang Quint softly. Then he said, "Hi, Dad. How was work? Did you have a good day? Can we have a talk?" Mr. Walter put down his briefcase. "Hello yourself," he said to Quint. "Hi, Jessi." He kissed Mrs. Walter and was then tackled by Morgan and Tyler.

"How was the ballet?" Mrs. Walter asked Quint.

"Fine, but I really need to talk to you and Dad. I want Jessi here, too. But not . . . you know . . ." He gestured toward his brother and sister.

I'm sure Quint's parents thought we were going to tell them we wanted to get married, or something equally serious. They looked awfully worried. Maybe this was a good thing. Because when Quint said, "It's about my dance lessons/' his parents lost around twenty pounds, just by letting their breath out.

"What about your dance lessons?" asked Mrs. Walter.

"I sort of want to take more." "That's okay." "They'll be expensive." I was going to say, "Quint, you're avoiding the issue/' when his father asked, "How many lessons each week?" "A lot?" replied Quint.

I nudged him.

"What's going on?" asked Mr. Walter.

Quint looked helplessly at me, but I just looked back at him. I was not going to tell his parents about Juilliard for him. He had to do that himself.

"Go ahead/' I said finally. "Tell them." "Tell us what?" asked Mrs. Walter.

Quint gathered himself up. "I want to audition for Juilliard/' he said. "I mean, if you can afford to send me there." "Juilliard!" exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Walter at the same time.

"Yes," said Quint. "My teachers think I can get in. So I'd like to try." "All right/' said Mr. Walter. "I think we can manage it. Especially if you look into scholarships." "All right?" repeated Quint. "You mean you don't care?" "Of course we care," Mrs. Walter replied. "We're so proud of you. And if you got into Juilliard, well, just imagine." "Besides, we're behind whatever you want to do," added Mr. Walter. "We'll stand behind Tyler and Morgan, too." "That's not what I meant," mumbled Quint. "I'm glad you're behind me. And I'm glad you're proud of me. I really am. But do you realize what's going to happen if I go to dance school every day? Do you?" "You'll develop huge muscles in your legs?" suggested Mr. Walter.

"Dad, this is serious!" "Okay. I know some of the kids tease you. You have to decide whether you want to put up with that. Or else, you have to find a way to change things." "Right," said Quint. He didn't smile. He stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. He walked around the room. At last he came to a stop in front of me. "Thaf s pretty much what Jessi said." "You're not worried about the audition at all, are you," I said.

"Nope." "Just the kids?" "Yup." There was a moment of silence. Then the four of us began to laugh.

"Get through the audition first," said Mrs. Walter.

"Yes, Mom," Quint replied politely.

"Hey, Ma!" yelled Tyler from somewhere in the back of the apartment. "Can we come out now? We can hear you guys laughing." Tyler and Morgan were allowed back in the living room.

I looked at my watch. "Oh! I have to go!" I exclaimed.

"I'll walk you home," said Quint. He turned to his family. "See you later. I'll be back soon." Quint and I left the Walters' apartment. We stepped into the hallway. "Will I see you tomorrow?" I asked as we waited for the elevator. "I have to go back to Connecticut on Saturday morning." "Saturday morning?" Quint looked dismayed. "I don't believe it. We're going to visit my grandparents tomorrow. We won't come home until Saturday afternoon. Or maybe even Sunday." "That means we have to say good-bye now/' I whispered.

"Yeah." The elevator had not arrived yet. Quint and I were leaning against the wall, our shoulders touching. Slowly, Quint turned to face me. He took my hands in his. Then he tipped my chin up ... and kissed me gently.

My first kiss.

"We'll keep in touch, won't we?" I asked.

"We better," Quint replied.

Stacey.

Chapter 22.

Our Friday outing with Alistaire and Rowena turned into quite an affair. First, Laine and the rest of my friends decided to come along with us. Mal and Claudia were finished with their art classes and, after all, it was our last day together in New York. This was not the morning surprise, though.

The morning surprise began when Mary Anne and I entered the Harringtons' apartment to pick up Alistaire and Rowena. (The two of us went by ourselves. We thought we would overwhelm the kids if all eight of us showed up. Also, we wanted Mr. and Mrs. Harrington's permission for our friends to spend the day with us.) As you might imagine, Mary Anne and I were pretty nervous. We had to have "the talk" with Alistaire and Rowena's parents. We knew we did. Rowena and Alistaire were being followed, and the Harringtons should be aware of it. What if the guy followed them back to England?

"Let's just hope Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are at home," I said to Mary Anne as we waited for someone to answer the doorbell.

"Do we have to hope?" asked Mary Anne. "I don't want to give them this news. It's too weird." "We already decided," I said. "We're going to do it." At that moment, the door was unlocked and opened.