Leap by Jodi Lundgren

now—but that doesn’t mean everyone at the studio sides with her. “How’s your latte?”
    I’d forgotten to try it. I took a sip: It tasted way more like a milkshake than I was expecting. “Delicious.” Being a grown-up might not be so bad.
    Before I knew it, I was telling Lisa about seeing the fireworks with Kevin, the phone call asking me to sneak out, the trip to the lake—and the pain of having to keep it all from Sasha because of the Gina Incident.
    No one had ever listened to me like Lisa. She radiated compassion like a heat lamp. It made me dissolve. My torso jerked and tears streamed down my face, warm and wet. I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of someone. I let my hair fall forward to hide my face.
    I wanted to ask Lisa so much more—was she having sex with her boyfriend, Luke? Had he pressured her into it, or did she really want to? When they were making out, did her skin ever feel numb, like it belonged to somebody else?
    On second thought, there was no way Lisa was a “Doing it to stay together” sort of girl. I grinned at her and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
    â€œFeeling better?”
    â€œA little.”
    â€œWhy don’t you rinse off your face, and we’ll head back for ballet?”
    As we approached the studio, Lisa grabbed my hand. “ Merde .”
    â€œHm?”
    â€œThat means ‘good luck.’ Dancers say it to each other before going on stage.” She chuckled. “But really, it’s French for shit .”
    Recorded piano music was drifting out the window. We were late for class.
    â€œThen merde to you, too.” I returned Lisa’s hand squeeze. “We’ll need luck, ’cause we’re in shit.”
    We slipped into the studio when Ms. Kelly’s back was turned. Without even turning around, she snapped, “Have you girls decided to grace us with your presence? How lucky we are!” Some of Lisa’s strength must have rubbed off on me because Ms. Kelly didn’t really get to me. I just took a deep breath and sucked in my belly.
    At lunch, Sasha and Jamie left and didn’t return for the afternoon. The way everyone keeps skipping classes, Ms. Kelly must think it’s mutiny. She’ll probably sit us all down for a lecture tomorrow.
    Tuesday, July 13th
    She walked into the studio like she was riding on wind. Her pants, cropped at the shin, billowed around her legs as she moved. Her torso bloomed out of her waist and branched into long, expressive arms. “Hello girls, my name is Petra. Welcome to Advanced Ballet. We’ll start in the center.” Her voice rang with silvery tones: church bells, waterfalls.
    We raised our eyebrows at each other, and not only because of her voice and her posture. No. We were shocked because every ballet class in our collective memory had started at the barre. Not Petra’s. She led us in a series of arm swings and shifts of weight from leg to leg—to establish range of motion and center of gravity, she explained. She circled the room, oozing enthusiasm, and asked each of us our name and our favorite ballet step. As the class progressed, she worked each person’s choice into the exercises.
    At the end of class, Petra said, “It was my pleasure to teach you this morning, girls. Thank you for sharing your energy so generously. I look forward to working with such a gifted group of movers over the coming weeks.”
    We gaped at each other as we filed into the change room. It was my pleasure. Thank you for sharing. No one had spoken to us like this before. We were all in so much shock that the tensions from yesterday were forgotten for the moment. We gathered on the lawn to eat lunch and pool our knowledge: Petra studied with Ms. Kelly up until five years ago. She belongs to the Vancouver company Ballet Now. She also creates and performs her own work as an independent choreographer. Ms. Kelly persuaded her to