goodness for headphones. Goodbye, Joni Mitchell. The thing about headphones is that you can listen to music without anyone else knowing. If Mom knew I was listening to the song Amala’s class is dancing to, she would have questions.
Ever since I saw Amala yesterday I’ve been thinking about her studio and how much I love it there. Walking into that room made me remember how much I used to love dancing. Used to. I didn’t even realize I wasn’t loving it anymore until I was in there with her, and then I remembered how much fun we had. When did dance stop being fun? Is it supposed to be fun? Can it be fun and still get me where I want to go?
That’s the basic question. Can dance be fun and still get me where I want to go?
The music soars into my headphones, and without me even thinking, my body dances. I shimmy and twirl and undulate as I dust, until the song is over.
Why do I have to make this choice? Everyone thinks I should stay with Dana. Even Amala. Even Mom. But does Dana? And do I want to?
Part of me wants to go back to Amala’s studio. I want to dance with Angela and Nini and Sarit, to giggle in the breaks with them, to laugh when we screw up, to enjoy the colors and sounds around us. I don’t want to be like Eve, taking dance so seriously that I neglect everything else, including my schoolwork. I don’t want to be stressed out about dance.
But —and this is the big thing—I also want to be a professional dancer.
I put on the song we’re dancing to at Dana’s studio to remind myself that I love that music too. And the choreography. It’s true. I do. I love the movements and how we all know them so well after all that practice. Dana has taught me many things, like how to count with better precision and how to hold my posture even in the middle of difficult moves and how to layer feet, hips, chest and arms all at once. But have I learned enough?
This whole thing might not be my choice anyway. Dana might tell me I’m not dancing in the festival with her, and then all of this will have been for nothing.
There’s a thumping sound upstairs, and I’m relieved to hear Mom calling out for me to help her. My brain hurts. It’s time to think about something else.
Fifteen
C an u come over? I text to Angela. All that dusting has made my arms sore and my eyes itchy. Even Mom can see I need to take a break and get out of the basement.
YES! NEWS! she texts back.
It doesn’t take her long to walk over, and when I open the door she barges in, heads straight upstairs to my bedroom, flops onto my bed and sighs. “Guess what?”
“Tell me,” I say. I’m not in the mood for games.
“It’s the best thing ever,” she says.
“Oh.” I sit down next to her and say, “You’re coming to dance with Dana!”
“No! It’s way better than that,” Angela says.
Okay, better than that? What could it be? “Something to do with Jonas? He asked you out again?”
“Even better. His family invited me to go with them to Mexico.”
“Wow! Mexico! ” I leap across the bed and engulf Angela in a bear hug. She laughs and hugs me back. We struggle to standing, then laugh and jump and hug all around the room. “You’ve always wanted to go to Mexico,” I say.
“And, even better, with Jonas. And I love his mom and dad. They’re awesome,” Angela says.
“And Bea. She’s nice too.”
Angela plops back down on the bed. “Bea’s not coming. That’s how come there’s room for me.”
“No way. How come she’s not going?”
Angela stands up and walks over to my closet. She opens the door and examines herself in the mirror on the back of the door. “Promise you won’t be mad when I say this?”
“How can I when I don’t know what you’re going to say?”
“Just promise.”
“Okay, I won’t be mad. I promise.”
“Bea’s not going because she decided to stay and perform with Amala’s troupe at the festival. Amala says she’s learned the choreography well enough to perform if she practices
Ever since I saw Amala yesterday I’ve been thinking about her studio and how much I love it there. Walking into that room made me remember how much I used to love dancing. Used to. I didn’t even realize I wasn’t loving it anymore until I was in there with her, and then I remembered how much fun we had. When did dance stop being fun? Is it supposed to be fun? Can it be fun and still get me where I want to go?
That’s the basic question. Can dance be fun and still get me where I want to go?
The music soars into my headphones, and without me even thinking, my body dances. I shimmy and twirl and undulate as I dust, until the song is over.
Why do I have to make this choice? Everyone thinks I should stay with Dana. Even Amala. Even Mom. But does Dana? And do I want to?
Part of me wants to go back to Amala’s studio. I want to dance with Angela and Nini and Sarit, to giggle in the breaks with them, to laugh when we screw up, to enjoy the colors and sounds around us. I don’t want to be like Eve, taking dance so seriously that I neglect everything else, including my schoolwork. I don’t want to be stressed out about dance.
But —and this is the big thing—I also want to be a professional dancer.
I put on the song we’re dancing to at Dana’s studio to remind myself that I love that music too. And the choreography. It’s true. I do. I love the movements and how we all know them so well after all that practice. Dana has taught me many things, like how to count with better precision and how to hold my posture even in the middle of difficult moves and how to layer feet, hips, chest and arms all at once. But have I learned enough?
This whole thing might not be my choice anyway. Dana might tell me I’m not dancing in the festival with her, and then all of this will have been for nothing.
There’s a thumping sound upstairs, and I’m relieved to hear Mom calling out for me to help her. My brain hurts. It’s time to think about something else.
Fifteen
C an u come over? I text to Angela. All that dusting has made my arms sore and my eyes itchy. Even Mom can see I need to take a break and get out of the basement.
YES! NEWS! she texts back.
It doesn’t take her long to walk over, and when I open the door she barges in, heads straight upstairs to my bedroom, flops onto my bed and sighs. “Guess what?”
“Tell me,” I say. I’m not in the mood for games.
“It’s the best thing ever,” she says.
“Oh.” I sit down next to her and say, “You’re coming to dance with Dana!”
“No! It’s way better than that,” Angela says.
Okay, better than that? What could it be? “Something to do with Jonas? He asked you out again?”
“Even better. His family invited me to go with them to Mexico.”
“Wow! Mexico! ” I leap across the bed and engulf Angela in a bear hug. She laughs and hugs me back. We struggle to standing, then laugh and jump and hug all around the room. “You’ve always wanted to go to Mexico,” I say.
“And, even better, with Jonas. And I love his mom and dad. They’re awesome,” Angela says.
“And Bea. She’s nice too.”
Angela plops back down on the bed. “Bea’s not coming. That’s how come there’s room for me.”
“No way. How come she’s not going?”
Angela stands up and walks over to my closet. She opens the door and examines herself in the mirror on the back of the door. “Promise you won’t be mad when I say this?”
“How can I when I don’t know what you’re going to say?”
“Just promise.”
“Okay, I won’t be mad. I promise.”
“Bea’s not going because she decided to stay and perform with Amala’s troupe at the festival. Amala says she’s learned the choreography well enough to perform if she practices
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