Leap by Jodi Lundgren Page B

say for themselves?”
    Pretending to lie in bed freed me, but when I stood up, my limbs got stuck, just like she said. I couldn’t seem to break out of my rut until Petra said, “Imagine you’re swimming in a pool filled with Jell-O.”
    The air thickened and my limbs pressed against it. It felt like make-believe, not dancing. Petra kept giving us cues—“Now the Jell-O dissolves into mist; the wind is blowing so hard you can barely stand up”—and I responded from my gut. Minutes later, I opened my eyes as if waking up after a night of vivid dreams.
    We sat cross-legged in a circle. Petra hugged her knees to her chest and clasped her wrist. “Improvisation will help you to develop a new dimension in your dancing. We’ll also use these exercises to generate movement. You, as dancers, will help to build the piece. You’re co-creators.” Petra smiled and made eye contact with each of us in turn, her green eyes luminous.
    When we were leaving the studio, Ms. Kelly stepped out of the office. She had probably spent the whole afternoon looking for a knothole in the wall to spy on us. She crossed her arms and inspected us as we traipsed past her to the change room. I caught her eye by accident. “Did you enjoy yourself, Natalie?”
    I flattened my voice to sound casual. “It was all right.”
    But it was much more than all right. Inside, I was soaring.
    Wednesday, July 14th
    This morning, Ms. Kelly taught ballet again. The adagio was set to somber music and involved a lot of slow ports de bras . My arms seemed to push through water. As I stretched over my front leg in the lunge, I let my torso soften instead of holding it stiff like I usually do. This meant my fingertips actually swept the floor. I rose in one fluid motion, arms outstretched and framing my head, then arched backwards, my shoulders wide and my chest open. For once, Ms. Kelly didn’t criticize me, but she gave me a weird look. Lisa leaned into me and whispered, “That was beautiful.”
    The compliment startled me, and I jerked my head towards Lisa. She nodded, as if trying to convince me. “Really.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Later, in jazz class, Ms. Kelly hounded me. She had just started to lead the warm-up to a pounding rock beat when she spun around and pointed the remote at the stereo. Silence filled the room.
    â€œNatalie. Go change.”
    I was wearing wide-legged sweat pants and a T-shirt. “All I have is my ballet gear—it’s soaked.”
    She strode to her desk in the back corner of the studio and snatched up a flyer. “May I remind you of the studio rules?” She folded back the first page of the pamphlet and smoothed the crease between her thumb and index finger. “Rule number four: Close-fitting clothes must be worn for all classes except Stretch and Conditioning . When you registered at this studio, you agreed to abide by the rules. I’ll overlook it this time, but I suggest you do laundry tonight.”
    In the past, when Ms. Kelly pissed me off, anger sharpened my lines, made me spin faster and jump higher. It ricocheted through my body and left me feeling roughed up and edgy, like I’d been in a fight.
    It doesn’t work anymore. Today, her attack made me sloppy. I couldn’t control my limbs. You can imagine how well that went over with Sergeant Kelly. I think it reinforced her theory that loose-fitting clothes are the root of all evil.
    Thursday, July 15th
    I phoned Dad tonight. He sounded surprised because I usually call on the weekend. Well, tough. I’m not always going to stay in the little box he wants to keep me in.
    â€œI miss you.”
    â€œI miss you too, honey,” he said.
    But when I suggested that he come out and visit, he said, “You know it works better when you girls come out here.” He just means it’s more convenient for him.
    â€œSo why can’t I go out there next month?’
    â€œWe