On Pointe (8 page)

Miss Andrea found Gracie at her makeup table powdering her nose and applying bubble gum–flavored lip gloss.

“My dressing room is too small,” she told Miss Andrea. “I need more room for my stuffed animal collection. Could you maybe move some of the costume racks out into the hall? Or maybe just get me my own dressing room, so I don't have to share with all those people who aren't leads? Oh, and I'd like a big pitcher of pink lemonade before every performance …”

Miss Andrea scratched her head. “Um, I'll see
what I can do, Gracie. In the meantime, we need you on the stage. Mr. Minnelli is losing his patience.”

A young dancer who was playing a carousel pony walked by the dressing room doorway.

“Hello!” Gracie waved at her. “Would you like my autograph? It's gonna be worth a lot of money one day!”

Miss Andrea ushered her down the hall and back to the wings. But Gracie was far from finished with her list of demands.

“Oh, I also need to make sure that all my second-grade friends get the best seats when they come see me. So if you wouldn't mind asking the people in the front three rows to move …”

“Wow, what's that all about?” Anya asked, overhearing Gracie's long list of demands.

“She's become a bigheaded monster!” Bria exclaimed.

“She's become Liberty!” Rochelle chimed in.

“Oh, you flatter me.” Liberty smiled, watching her handiwork. “If only I could be in Gracie's ballet shoes.”

Gracie finally assumed her position center stage.

“I want to run through your scene with the dolls,” Marcus told her.

“Just a sec!” Gracie replied. “I wanna show you something.” She turned to face the audience. “Spotlight over here!” she said, waving at the lighting director at the back of the house. “Everybody, watch me!”

She launched into a frantic series of
fouetté
turns, leaps, and cartwheels around the stage. After she landed in a split, she sang out, “Ta-da!”

Mr. Minnelli and Marcus were speechless.

“I think he's gonna kick her out of the show,” Bria whispered. “He doesn't look too happy.”

“Ya think?” Liberty smiled. She had her fingers crossed behind her back.

“Well, that was … energetic,” Mr. Minnelli finally said. “But that is not my choreography.”

“That isn't even ballet,” Marcus added.

“Gracie, I'd like you to please take your place and do what Mr. Marcus tells you to do,” Mr. Minnelli said, flustered.

Gracie pouted. It wasn't supposed to go this way. Liberty assured her that as the star, she could add her own “Gracie touch” to the performance.

“But the choreography is boring,” Gracie protested.

Scarlett gulped. She was insulting Mr. Minnelli right to his face!

“Boring? How so?” The distinguished choreographer walked down the aisle to the stage to confront Gracie face-to-face.

“It's just … well, it doesn't feel like an amusement park. When I go on the rides, I scream my head off and laugh so hard it makes my tummy hurt. It's scarendous!”

Mr. Minnelli scratched his head. “It's what?”

Scarlett stepped forward to translate. “It's scary and stupendous at the same time,” she explained. “Gracie-ism.”

“Ah, I see,” Mr. Minnelli replied, running his fingers through his beard.

“This is not going to end well,” Bria said, covering her eyes. “Tell me when it's over!”

“You may have a point, young lady. I do feel the choreography might be a bit dated and in need of some freshening up.”

Gracie smiled. “Told ya so.”

“But that is my job, not yours. I appreciate your honesty and I will take it into consideration. In the meantime, please take your position.”

Gracie stood next to Olivier.

“What were you thinking?” he asked her.

Gracie shrugged. She didn't really have an answer. She knew that if she ever challenged Miss Toni on a dance, she'd be kicked off the Divas so fast it would make her head spin. But Liberty had told her this was different. She was the star and everyone had to answer to her.

“Liberty told me to,” she whispered.

“You know what my mom says?” Olivier asked. “If someone told you to stand on your head in a bucket of maple syrup, would you do it?”

Gracie tried to picture it. “It doesn't sound too bad—if you had a ton of chocolate-chip pancakes to go with it.”

Olivier sighed. “It means you shouldn't always listen when people tell you to do the wrong things.” He pointed to Liberty. “You sure she's your friend?”

Liberty certainly
acted
like a BFF. She paid attention to her and told her how great she was. Scarlett, Anya, Bria, and Rochelle never did that. But then again, it was kind of weird that Liberty suddenly seemed to be on her side.

“I want energy, enthusiasm, wonder,” Marcus instructed them. “This is a magical land filled with amusement park rides and cotton candy clouds.”

Gracie looked around the stage—she didn't see a single cotton candy in sight. “Where? Where?” she asked.

Marcus gritted his teeth. “All the scenery will be painted and in place for tech rehearsal. We're just going to have to make believe for now.”

If there was one thing Gracie was good at, it was making believe.

“K-dokey,” she told her director. “I got it.”

She flitted around the stage with Olivier, marveling at imaginary marshmallow mountains and gumdrop towers.

“Good,” Marcus told them. “Take five.”

Liberty skipped over to her. “That was so great, Gracie!” she cooed. “I just have one itsy-bitsy suggestion.”

Gracie raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I think you should tell Mr. Minnelli you need an understudy. All the big stars have them on Broadway.”

“They do?” Gracie asked. “How come?”

“In case the star can't go on—which won't happen in your case, of course. But it sounds very official if you have one. I could be yours if you like—that's what friends are for.”

“I dunno,” Gracie said, shuffling her feet. “I don't think I need one, Liberty.”

“Okay, okay, no prob. I just thought you wanted to be treated like a star—not just a little kid like Scarlett and Rochelle think you are.”

“I am a star!” Gracie insisted.

Liberty took her by the shoulders and pointed her in Mr. Minnelli's direction. “Then go act like one.”

Miss Toni had promised her Divas she'd be there for the final dress rehearsal of
The Nutcracker
, and Scarlett spotted her making her entrance to the playhouse right on time. She was dressed in a long black coat and black earmuffs placed precisely over her perfect ballerina bun. Even on a frigid, blustery day, her teacher looked regal and neat as a pin.

“Hi, Miss Toni,” Scarlett said, waving to her. She nudged Anya, who immediately snapped to attention.

“Girls, how's the dress rehearsal going?” Toni asked.

Anya shrugged. “Oh, you know. Just mousin' around.”

“I always enjoy watching the mice in
The Nutcracker
,” Miss Toni told her.

“Really? Why?” Anya asked.

“Because it's a scene that's fraught with drama and tension,” Toni explained. “And it requires a great deal of acting ability to play a mouse.”

Anya sighed. “You can't even see my face under the fuzzy head.”

“But I can see the emotion your body conveys through dance,” Toni explained. “And I will know which mouse you are even without seeing your face—I guarantee it.”

Anya suddenly felt a little better about her role. “Well, when you put it that way …”

“I will be watching, so I hope you girls make me proud,” she said, warning her students. “My reputation is riding on it.”

Scarlett nodded. “We won't let you down, Miss Toni,” she said. “We've worked really hard, and Marcus says we're doing a great job.”

She noticed that her dance coach flinched when she mentioned Marcus's name.

“Yes, well, I'll be in the back, taking notes.” She held up her dance journal. “Remember what I always tell you: strength, grace, precision.”

At the ten-minute call before the curtain rose, Scarlett snuck a peek at the audience from the wings. In the front of the orchestra was Mr. Minnelli, Miss Andrea, and of course, Marcus. She scanned the darkened theater for Miss Toni and saw her way back in the last row—as far away from Marcus as she could get.

“Places! Places! Party Scene dancers to the stage!” the stage manager announced over the backstage speaker.

“That's you, Gracie,” Liberty said, shoving her toward the curtain. She raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You don't look so good. Are you coming down with something?” She felt Gracie's forehead.

“I'm okay,” Gracie insisted.

“Oh good,” Liberty replied. “I wouldn't want you to get all panicky and forget your dance or anything like that.”

Gracie gulped. “I … I won't.”

“K-dokey,” Liberty said and grinned at her. “Good luck! Oh, wait! I shouldn't have said that! Good luck is a really bad thing to say to a dancer. Oops!”

Scarlett noticed her sister pacing in the wings. “Gracie,” she told her. “I just wanted to say—”

“Oh no!” Gracie shrieked, interrupting her. “Don't say good luck! It's bad luck!”

“I just wanted to say you're going to be amazing,” Scarlett said.

Gracie looked worried; her old stage fright seemed to be acting up. “You really think so, Scoot? This star thing is kinda scary.”

Scarlett bent down and hugged her little sister. “I don't think you can. I
know
you can! Just be yourself.”

Just then, she noticed another figure making
her way through the rows of seats in the orchestra section.

“Is that?” Anya gasped.

“Oh, yes it is!” Rochelle finished her sentence. “What is Mean Justine doing here?”

“She's here to see me,” Addison said as she appeared behind them. “Everyone wants to see me. I'm the lead.”

“But I'm Clara,” Gracie piped up.

Addison waved her hand at Gracie dismissively. “As if you could ever be as good as me.”

Gracie gulped. She wished she could think of something to say back to her, something that Liberty had taught her. But all she could do was fight back the tears. Maybe Addison was right. Maybe she had been lying to herself all along.

“You take that back!” Rochelle stood nose-to-nose with Addison. “Or else.”

“Or else what? You'll go running to your dumb Divas coach and tell on me? Who cares? Marcus listens to Justine, not to Toni.”

She pointed to her City Feet coach in the
audience. She did look very cozy with the
Nutcracker
director. She was leaning close, whispering something in his ear.

“He obviously listened to her when she twisted his arm into giving you this part,” Rochelle added.