Chapter 2
Two
I’m sitting on the sofa, watching the fourth hour of recorded dress rehearsals. It’s a regular thing in our household, watching the videos and commenting on every single movement, scrutinizing our past mistakes so that we don’t make them again.
Two of my roommates are watching with rapt attention as they sit on the bare concrete floor, doing the splits.
“The New York Ballet company is not going to be the same if you quit,” intones Patrice. She looks at me as she lowers her upper body toward the floor, stretching her already-limber quads even more. “Seriously, don’t leave us.”
Twitching a shoulder, I pull a face. “It’s not me that wants to leave. It’s the company’s doctor. He won’t even let me practice. He makes it sound as if I’m basically walking around on a death trap instead of a knee.”
“If you leave, that means that Patrice and I will be the only black ballerinas left.” Maddie wrinkles her nose. “Your role is gonna be filled by a white girl. You know that, right?”
“I’m not responsible for the NYB’s cultural diversity problem. Besides, I just got a look at the new class. They’re hiring a bunch of new faces. Balancing out their monoculture with a bunch of Asians and Latinas.”
“That’s hardly the point I was making.” Patrice sulks.
On the screen, Maddie dashes across the stage, leaping and executing several combinations and pirouettes. Toward the end, her movements seem stilted, making the dance seem like something she’s working at.
I wince but try to keep my face expressionless.
“Ah. You can totally tell that I’m nervous. Look at how much tension I hold going into that pirouette.” Maddie points to the laptop screen, tracing her finger over the shape of her body as she moves across the stage. “I need to work on that combination today when I get some studio time.”
“You’re doing a good job of faking it, cause I don’t see a single flaw in that whole scene.” Patrice, my other roommate, looks at me for confirmation. “Right, Ella? You may be out of the company because of your injury, but you’re still Little Miss Knows Everything About Ballet.”
Casting a glance at Maddie, I shrug.
“Maddie’s right. She does need to work on that combination. Just do it until you have the muscle memory down pat.”
“See? Ella spotted it,” Maddie announces. “This is the last week of dress rehearsals before we start showing it to a live audience. I have to nail it this week.”
Heaving myself up off the couch, I open my mouth to reassure her. But before I can get a word out, a loud pounding sound comes from the front door.
Shooting my roommates a quizzical glance, I start moving to answer it. “Are y’all expecting a food delivery or something?”
“Please,” Patrice says. “Like either of us are eating any kind of junk food right now. Maddie just told you we have to be show-ready in less than a week!”
My cheeks color. Of course I knew that. I’ve been eating the same thing as them this entire time. Chicken, broccoli, and sweet potatoes, on a nearly endless cycle.
Only, I haven’t been dancing for eight hours each day to burn it off again and it’s starting to make my jeans fit much more snugly.
Shaking my head, I swing open the front door.
To my surprise, my thirteen year old sister beams up at me, with my mother and father bracketing her.
She looks perfect, her bright white dress looking prim and proper, her mahogany skin gleaming.
Her hair is in two tidy braids and she throws me the most dazzling smile.
“Surprise!” Joy shouts, throwing her arms wide for an embrace. “We came all the way from Atlanta just to tell you we love you!”
I open my arms, genuinely at a loss for words. I’m beyond glad to hug my sister. For months now I’ve wanted to see her, to make sure that she was still what I affectionately call my “Mini Me”. But my parents… they’re another story entirely.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper into Joy’s ear, hugging her tightly. “Dang, you’ve grown since I saw you for Christmas.”
“I missed you so much,” Joy says, squeezing me. She’s at the age where she’s all bones and tendons, no meat to her frame at all yet. She whispers in my ear, “And I have to tell you about my new contract!”
I look at her, frowning. “What contract?”
“Later,” she mouths, rolling her eyes at our parents.
“Sugar Bean, it’s nice to see you. We’re here to see you too,” my mother points out. She tosses her long, perfectly straightened hair and clutches at the oversized puffy pink Chanel purse she holds proudly before her like some kind of armor. “We’re fine, not that you asked. How are you, honey?”
Reluctantly, I let Joy go and look at my mother.
“I’m good. I’m—” I stop, realizing only now what a mess I must look like.
Especially compared to my mother, who is dressed head-to-toe in pink Chanel, looking like some sort of Latina Mary Kay spokesmodel.
She has deep amber skin, beautiful brown eyes, high cheekbones, and the size of her lush pink mouth is just slightly over-exaggerated by her pink lip gloss and lip liner.
My hands brush my torn leggings and ratty black t-shirt. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anybody to stop by.”
“You should always be prepared for any occasion,” my father booms. He slaps me on the shoulder in a casual way, but his expression says that he means what he says. “Are you gonna ask us inside?”
Chastened, I step back from the door and wave my family in. My father is tall and brown-skinned, in an elegant navy suit with his hair neatly buzzed. He casts a glance around the room, sizing up my roommates.
“Hello,” he nods to them. “Don’t you girls have somewhere to be?”
Tensing up, I move between my roommates and my father, diffusing the situation.
“Daddy, why don’t we go get something to eat?”
His gaze swings over to me, his eyes narrowing on my figure.
“Do you think that is what’s best for you right now?
You can’t eat just anything while you’re sitting on the bench because of your…
injury. No one likes a girl that sits around all day and eats bon-bons. That’s how you get fat ballerinas.”
A prickle of pain spreads through my right knee. I lean down and rub it awkwardly, swiftly changing topics.
“Right. I meant… let’s go out to the park and catch up! I could use a brisk walk.”
My mother casts an appraising glance at me.
“Yes, you certainly could.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Patrice and Maddie retreating silently to their respective rooms. The last time my family visited, my father instigated a fight with both of them. So the fact that they cleared out is less than surprising.
“I’ll just change.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, toward my room. “Joy, do you want to keep me company? You can tell me all about your adventures with trying to be an Instagram model.”
My dad clears his throat. “Actually, Ella. Change into a really nice dress. The girls are headed back to the hotel after this. But you and I have two tickets to the Friends of New York City Ballet gala.”
Freezing mid-step, I blink. That’s known to the ballerinas as The Patron’s Gala, because it is usually reserved for ballerinas who… how do I put it nicely… put on a show of what they have for sale, hoping to attract a potential mate. Or at the very least, a temporary sugar daddy.
“Dad, I don’t think—”
He cuts me off. “Go change. Wear that white number you insisted I purchase for your high school graduation party.”
Joy and I both pale a bit, sharing a surprised look. It’s a short, skin tight body con dress in ivory… and Dad threw an absolute fit when he saw me wearing it. We had the biggest argument of our lives that day and I barely made it to the graduation party because of it.
My dismay must be written on my face, because my mom shoos me toward my room.
“Go on. You’ve got ten minutes, then I need Joy to help me back to the hotel. She’s the only one that can work the app that tells you where to go. What’s it called?”
“The damn GPS, Elena,” my dad replies, his voice tart. He points a finger to my room. “You’d best mind, Ella Mae.”
He sounds like he means it. Bowing my head, I grab Joy and scurry to my room. I spend the next few minutes hunting down that dress and squeezing into it, then doing some minor primping. When I’m done, I model it for Joy.
Being all of thirteen years old, Joy is super unimpressed. “It looks like you’re going to spend the whole evening pulling it down to make sure your glory is covered.”
I wrinkle my nose and laugh.
“Daddy said it would set everyone’s hair on fire.”
“Hah! Yeah, it sure will scandalize some older folk. I don’t guess that you have a mess of church ladies to impress tonight, though.”
Grimacing, I shake my head. “No. I have a bunch of old white men to avoid hugging. That’s what they never told me when I was a little girl, doing ballet.
Nobody ever said that I would end up bowing and scraping for rich old guys to…
” I pause, remembering who I’m talking to.
My sister is young and impressionable, and she definitely doesn’t need to hear my experience with having my ass grabbed or my hips cradled at gala events just like this one.
Instead, I smile wanly. “I wonder what daddy has up his sleeve.”
She sighs. “It’s always something, isn’t it?”
“I know that’s right.”
Joy sits on my bed while I rush around, filling me in on her life.
“Did I already tell you about getting into horse camp for the summer?”
“Of course.” I sit down beside her, handing her a mirror, and start applying makeup. “We talk on the phone almost every day.”
“I know. It’s nice to see you, though. Like… in person. We don’t get nearly enough of that.”
Slicking on a dark purple lipstick, I put the tube aside. I grab the mirror from her hands and pull her into a hug. She burrows in my arms, her eyes misting over.
“I miss you, Ellie.”
Smoothing her hair back, I smile down at her. Inside, I feel turmoil rocking me to my core. I should’ve already moved back to Atlanta, for her, if not for my emotionally distant, often emotionally turbulent parents.
“You too, JoJo. But no matter where I’m living, know that I love you so, so much.”
Joy straightens, wiping at her eyes.
“I love you too.” She seems a little abashed at the display of emotion, which is like a punch to the gut. “Mom will be mad if I wrinkle my dress. It’s Louis Vuitton.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course it is. Okay, come on. We should get going. But maybe tomorrow, we can sneak off, just the two of us, and go get ice cream.”
She twists her mouth to the side. “Mom says I am supposed to be on a diet. She says no sweets and no carbs, or I’ll put on weight.”
A pang of sadness resounds in my heart at hearing her words. She is way too young to be dieting. And I should know, because I was her age only six and a half years ago.
Wrinkling my nose, I whisper. “Diets are for athletes. If you have some ice cream, I won’t tell. I promise.”
She casts me a sly glance. “Well, okay… if you insist.”
Offering her my elbow, I waltz out of the room. Not excited about tonight, but excited about getting this whole thing over so that I can spend some much-needed quality time with my little sister.
Unfortunately, the second we step out, we are split up. My mother has a stick up her butt about getting to the hotel for reasons unknown.
“Hurry up,” she says, her expression irritable. “Malcolm, you don’t keep Ella out too late, you hear?”
Daddy puts his hand on my back, propelling me out the front door. It’s everything I can do to grab my tiny black over the shoulder purse.
“We’re already late,” he grumbles. “Taxi!”
I try to play it cool, but inside I’m growing nervous. What does my dad have planned? And why does he keep impatiently checking his watch?
I can only wait and see, I guess.