Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 042

BSC042 - Jessi and the Dance School Phantom - Martin, Ann M.

Chapter 1.

And now, mademoiselles, if you please: a pas de bourree couru, en cinquieme, with port de bras, ending in an arabesque. One at a time, please . . . and begin!" Mme Noelle banged her stick on the floor to emphasize her words.

A stranger might have thought they'd wandered into some other world - and in a way, they'd be right. A ballet studio is another world - a world where movement is everything, and where words are shorthand for what our bodies should be doing.

Pah deh boure-ay koo-roo? On sank-eeyem? With por deh brah? And an ara-besk? Sounds crazy, but what Mme Noelle, our teacher, wanted us to do was to move on our toes across the floor, holding our arms in graceful patterns, and end by standing on one toe with our arms held out to the sides. That's what all those words meant. They're French.

I don't speak French, but I know those words, and a lot of others, because French is the language of ballet, and I've been studying ballet since I was four. I'm eleven now, so that's a long time! "Jessica Romsey, please take your turn!" said Mme Noelle.

Jessica Romsey, that's me. Except most people call me Jessi, and my last name's Ramsey, not Romsey. It's just that elegant accent of Mme Noelle's; everything comes out sounding kind of - well, kind of fancy.

I closed my eyes for a second, picturing what I was about to do. I wanted to do the best pas de bourree I'd ever done. Why? Because this was the final stage in the final auditions for a big production that was going to be put on by my ballet school. We were going to be putting on The Sleeping Beauty. And I was trying out for the lead! I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and rose onto my toes. Then I began. I was so focused that I was hardly aware of Mme Noelle's attention, but I knew she was watching every single muscle in my body, checking to make sure that I was in complete control.

Normally, as I bourree'd past her, Madame would be making comments like, "Long neck, Mademoiselle Romsey!" or, "Use zee onkles!" (That's "ankles," just in case you were wondering.) But this wasn't a class. This was an audition. And I was on my own.

I finished the bourree and went into an arabesque, stretching my arms gracefully (I hoped). Then I clomped off the stage area, my toe shoes clacking with every step.

I watched the other girls do what I'd done, one at a time. There are a lot of good dancers in my class, which makes sense - it is, after all, an advanced class. Take Mary Bramstedt, for example. Right then she was bourree-ing across the floor, in perfect form. She always seems to be in perfect form. But I think (and this is just my personal opinion - I'd never say it out loud) that there's something missing when she dances. Something like - I know this might sound really silly but - passion. She's kind of like a robot, you know?

I don't think anyone could mistake me for a robot - and not just because I'm not always in perfect form. As far as I know, there aren't too many black robots running around - in fact, there are probably even fewer black robots than there are black ballerinas.

Luckily, there are a few black ballerinas now. Twenty years ago, there weren't any. And someone like me, with skin the color of cocoa and eyes like coal, could never have dreamed of joining a ballet company. But now I can dream. And it makes me glad, because I absolutely, positively love to dance.

So does Carrie Steinfeld, and it was showing as she did her bourree. She's a great dancer - one of the best in the class. She's also one of the oldest students in the class, and she'll be graduating soon. This might be her last chance to get a starring role in a production - a role that would really give her an edge if she could add it to her resume.

Without having had a role like Princess Aurora, the leading part in The Sleeping Beauty, Carrie might have a hard time getting into another dance school for older students. And she'd have hardly any chance at all of joining a ballet company. The ballet world is very competitive.

"Very nice, Mademoiselle Steinfeld," said Mme Noelle, I bit my lip. She hadn't said anything when I finished my bourree. I tried not to worry about it. It might not mean a thing, after all.

I found Mme Noelle very intimidating when I first joined this school, back when my family moved to Stoneybrook, Connecticut. That was not too long ago, when my dad was transferred to the Stamford office of his firm. The move was tough on the whole family.

It was tough for the usual reasons - leaving friends and family, coming to a strange new place - but there were other reasons that made it even worse. The neighborhood we used to live in, in New Jersey, was completely integrated. So were the schools. But in Stoneybrook, it's different. Here there are very few black families. People just weren't used id seeing black faces - and they didn't make us feel too welcome. In fact, it was the opposite.

But over time, we've all made friends in Stoneybrook, and our lives have settled down. I'd have to say that my family is pretty happy here now. And for me, one of the best parts of the move was getting into this dance school. The school isn't actually in Stoneybrook - it's in Stamford, where my dad's office is. It's one of the best on the East Coast - if you don't count the really big ones in New York City. And Mme Noelle is known throughout the ballet community as an excellent teacher. I don't find her quite so intimidating anymore.

I looked up to see that Katie Beth Parsons had just finished her routine. She looked pretty happy with herself, but then she usually does. She's kind of one of Madame's pets - she has been since she was the youngest member of the class when she joined it. Now that I've joined, she isn't the youngest anymore (she's twelve), but she's still a favorite of Madame's.

"Nice work, Katie Beth," I said as she came off the stage.

She looked at me suspiciously. "Thanks," she said, as if she weren't sure whether or not I meant the compliment. Katie Beth and I have not always been the best of friends - in fact, there have been times when we were downright enemies - but we've been getting along pretty well lately. Still, the atmosphere at most auditions isn't the friendliest.

Katie Beth pulled at the elastic of her leotard as she stood next to me, watching the rest of the students complete the routine. "I hate this stupid thing," she said. "I wish we could wear whatever we wanted instead of these." We were all wearing the exact same, outfits: a black leotard with pink tights. It's kind of like the uniform for my class. I could just imagine the scene if we were allowed to wear anything: There'd be so much neon in the place that it would look like Times Square. I myself don't really mind having to wear the same thing to each class - in fact, it's good to have one less thing to decide on as I pack my dance bag.

And it's not as if we can't express our individuality. There's room for that in how we each decide to do our hair. The only requirement is that it be "off zee face," as Mme Noelle puts it. I like to wrap mine into a tight bun or to braid it. Carrie usually has some kind of ponytail on the side of her head. And Hilary - well, Hilary's a whole different story.

SI, Hilary Morgan always has the best of everything. A brand-new leotard every few weeks. New toe shoes as often as she needs them. (The rest of us have to make them last - toe shoes are awfully expensive.) And she doesn't do her own hair - she gets it -"done" in a very fancy French braid a few times a week.

It's not that Hilary's family is all that rich (although they're certainly not poor). It's just that Hilary's career as a dancer is top priority with her mom. See, Mrs. Morgan used to be a ballet dancer herself, but she gave up her career to have a family. As I understand it (from what I've overheard in the dressing room) she's one of the worst "stage mothers" in the history of the school. She really pushes Hilary all the time; I know because I've seen her do it. She actually sits and watches our entire two-hour class sometimes! Luckily, she wasn't watching that day - we didn't need any distractions. I don't think Mme Noelle would have tolerated a visitor during auditions anyway.