On Pointe by Lorie Ann Grover

getting worried about you.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I needed to do some shopping.”
    He rummages through the medicine cupboard
    and pulls down his pills.
    I pack the freezer with our dinners.
    He swallows his medicine
    with some water.
    â€œAnd I stopped at the clinic.”
    I shut the freezer. “Is everything okay?”
    â€œYes.” He sets his empty glass in the sink.
    â€œThey wanted to check my blood pressure.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œAnd how is your blood pressure, love,
    considering auditions are a day away?”
    â€œAll right. I haven’t been very hungry though.”
    â€œNerves.”
    â€œYeah.” I cram the grocery bags
    into the recycle bin.
    â€œNerves.”
    I dump our microwave dinner dishes.
    â€œWant to go for a walk, Grandpa?”
    â€œI’m not really up for it, Clare.”
    â€œOkay. I guess I’ll go to bed early then.”
    â€œGood night.”
    â€œNight.”
    I take a quick shower,
    crack my windows for some fresh air,
    and climb into bed.
    The fir trees shush outside.
    My mind is stuffed with
    Rosella saying those awful things,
    Elton saying such a sweet thing,
    Dia saying she’s ready to move on,
    and my mom saying it’s our dream.
    Why hasn’t that bothered me before?
    Why now?
    Have Dad and Grandpa
    ever really used those words?
    Nope.
    Dad’s always saying I won’t fail if I try hard,
    and Grandpa says I’m already a dancer.
    Even though that bothers me,
    it’s not like what Mom says:
    our dream.
    It makes the pressure twice as much.
    Ugh.
    I cover my head with my pillow
    and try to suffocate my mind.
    Grandpa’s note says he’s off to the library.
    SEE YOU LATER,
    I write across the bottom.
    I clean up the kitchen
    and toss a load of whites in the washer.
    I shove up my covers
    so the bed looks mostly made.
    Where’s my bag?
    There, under the dresser.
    I grab it and hurry out the front door.
    â€œHey, Mija.”
    Her black fur warms my fingertips.
    She stretches and purrs,
    then curls back into a ball on the stair.
    Mmm. I’d love to curl up in the sun.
    My bag slips from my shoulder.
    Class!
    I hurry out of the garden
    and race down the sidewalk.
    Tension zings around
    the dressing room.
    Bobby pins are shoved into buns.
    Elastic is snapped at the waist.
    Bags are kicked under chairs.
    If the tension
    is this bad today,
    what will it be like
    tomorrow?
    I tug my tights up.
    Rosella tries to slip past,
    thin as a garden snake.
    â€œRosella—”
    â€œHey, forget it.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œWe’re fine,
    if you stay off my back
    about my weight.
    Come on.” She drags me
    by the wrist to the barre room.
    It wasn’t about your weight, Rosella.
    It was about puking
    and how rude you were about Dia.
    And I wasn’t apologizing.
    But if you want to think so,
    I don’t care.
    I have enough to worry about.
    â€œCan you believe auditions
    are tomorrow?” she asks.
    I shake my head.
    Everyone is waiting for Madame.
    Rosella and I
    end up on opposite sides of the barre.
    â€œAgain.”
    â€œHigher.”
    â€œFaster.”
    â€œControl.”
    â€œTaller.”
    â€œStretch.”
    â€œLean.”
    â€œReach.”
    â€œBend.”
    Translation:
    Be
    better
    than
    you
    are
    or
    you
    will
    be
    nothing.
    We grasp the barre
    while we balance
    on one foot.
    One leg is bent and lifted
    to the front.
    I love holding the attitude pose.
    Everyone is solid.
    â€œAnd release the barre,” says Madame.
    We do
    and stay balanced.
    Rosella
    and Tommy
    drop out of form.
    They mutter under their breath.
    Then everyone else collapses.
    Margot, Elton, and I
    are left balancing.
    Madame walks slowly around us
    looking down her nose.
    â€œOther side,” she snaps.
    We come down and turn.
    Margot glances at me.
    I risk a smile.
    She doesn’t return it.
    But Elton winks.
    The adult class
    laughs and chats
    as they head
    to the dressing