Read Online On Pointe by Lorie Ann Grover - Free Book Online

braced on all sides of my body
    by the rhythm.
    I can do this
    totally alone,
    as long as I have the piano music.
    So far so good.
    I wipe down
    and watch Margot’s group
    move through the complicated
    combination.
    She’s definitely the best.
    Her line is perfect
    from her fingertips to her toes.
    The judges have to see that.
    Even the girl who cracked her knee
    is moving well.
    I saw her wrap it before she took the floor.
    Where’d she get the bandage at the last minute?
    Doesn’t look like her knee’s bothering her a bit.
    Sweat drips into my eyes.
    I rub the acidy burn away.
    The judges’ pencils
    scratch along with
    our quiet panting,
    gritty shoe leather
    brushing the wood floor,
    and someone cracking their back.
    I hand Rosella her towel.
    â€œThanks,” she mouths.
    I smile.
    â€œGroup One,”
    calls a judge with fake eyelashes
    that curl up to her brows.
    Yuck.
    I hurry out
    to the floor
    for my turn.
    What will they each scratch
    about me?
    The fifteen guys are grouped together.
    It’s weird to see
    so many in one place.
    Tommy is doing well
    despite all the new girls around.
    Nathan nailed his tour en l’air,
    spinning high in the air
    and landing in the same spot
    he started from.
    But Elton moves to the music
    like no one else.
    Those judges have to see his power
    and grace.
    He loves what he’s doing.
    Absolutely.
    We line up for grands jetés
    across the room.
    I twist to stretch my sides
    and catch Elton giving me a thumbs-up.
    I smile, turn back,
    take a huge breath,
    run, and take off
    in the highest, clearest leap
    I’ve ever done.
    I’m flying across the room
    like the deer I saw with Grandpa!
    The judges have to notice.
    I’ve left everyone else behind.
    I’m turned inside out.
    This is me!
    Beautiful!
    The girls in the second group
    are like small twigs
    twirling in the wind.
    I feel a bit faint.
    Must be the tension
    and not enough water.
    I get a sip at the fountain,
    then slide down in a corner
    and close my eyes.
    Satin pointe shoes squeaking
    on wood,
    rapping,
    clunking,
    thudding
    over the creaking floorboards.
    I open my eyes and feel
    the girls land hard,
    even when it looks like
    they haven’t landed at all.
    Rap, rap, thud.
    I’ve heard through
    the illusion.
    We all take the floor
    and bow to the judges,
    and then to ourselves
    in the mirror.
    I danced in here.
    I rocked this place.
    No one is going to tell me different.
    We rise.
    â€œHigh-five, Rosella.”
    She smacks my palm. “Yes!”
    It’s over.
    All the work
    I’ve done for ten years
    made me ready
    for this audition.
    And now it’s over.
    My dream is beginning.
    We untie and unwind
    our pointe shoes
    the same way.
    We fold in the heel
    and wind the ribbons
    around the shank.
    Doing the same thing alike,
    we are one dancer
    scattered into pieces,
    waiting to be put together
    as the corps
    of City Ballet Company.
    That one girl
    unwraps her knee
    and there’s a huge goose egg
    sticking up.
    She hops to the wall to balance.
    Man. That’s tough.
    â€œPlease wait in the barre room.”
    Madame rolls her cane between her palms.
    â€œThe judges will post the City members
    in half an hour.”
    We flow out the door
    and through the hall
    like a real ballet corp.
    Cameras flash
    in the barre room,
    and we pull apart.
    Newspaper reporters
    want interviews.
    I move away to the window
    as they speak to Rosella.
    She doesn’t seem to mind.
    â€œR-O-S-E-L-L-A,” she spells.
    Each journalist has found someone
    to interview.
    I’m safe for now.
    Introverted and left alone.
    Just the way I like it.
    But a little lonely.
    Elton’s talking to Tommy
    and Margot.
    How do they think they did?
    I could go ask.
    I start to make my way toward them,
    but the reporters push me aside
    and gather in a tight circle.
    What’s going on?
    I get a look through their legs
    at a girl on the floor
    huddled in a