Shimmy by Kari Jones Page A

And I wish you were dancing it with us.”
    “I…” There’s a crash about to happen in my mind, which I know I can’t do anything about. I can feel it coming, so I study the tiny mirrors on Angela’s costume, counting them one by one, but the crash comes anyway, and suddenly I’m faced with the thought that I was happier when I danced with Amala. I think I’ve known this deep down for a while, but now I can’t hide from it anymore. Not with her music and choreography still in my body. It makes my throat tight to think about it.
    “You…?” says Angela.
    “Nothing. I love that music. I’d forgotten, that’s all.”

Thirteen
    T he room is quieter than usual when Dana walks in on Saturday morning. We’re practicing every day now, since the festival is only a week and a half away. We’re all standing in our positions, which means we can’t help seeing the huge hole where Bea used to be. I’m not the only one who keeps glancing at the empty spot.
    Dana surveys us from the front of the room, then says, “Eve, Sam, both of you move closer to each other by about a foot.”
    The two girls each take a step toward each other.
    “There we go,” says Dana.
    “We’re off balance with two,” Sam says.
    She points to the other clusters of girls, but Dana says, “We’re going to have four groupings, three of three and one of two.”
    No one responds with words, but suddenly there’s a stiffness to the way most of us are standing. We glance at each other, and I know we’re all wondering who’s going to be next to go, and what the groupings will look like then.
    We drill for the whole class, stopping frequently to make corrections in the new formation. On the surface it’s the same as ever, but underneath something has shifted. It seems like we’re not as friendly as usual tonight.
    When the class is over, Dana says, “Good work, ladies. You are all beautiful dancers, and don’t you forget it.”
    I catch the bus home with Robin and Alex. None of us says much until Robin asks, “If we’re all such beautiful dancers, how come she has to choose only ten of us?”
    It’s what we’ve all been thinking, I know.
    “I think it’s a rule of the festival—only ten on the stage at a time,” Alex says, but I say, “It can’t be, because Amala has eleven dancing for her.”
    “Oh,” says Alex. “Well, I just wish Bea hadn’t quit.”
    “Yeah,” I say.
    Robin sighs. “Me too.”
    We’re silent again as we pass another couple of bus stops.
    Robin and Alex get off at their usual stops, but I get off near the high school and transfer to another bus. I need to talk to Amala.
    * * *
    The route is familiar, and it should feel natural to step off outside Amala’s studio and take the three steps to her door, but my hand shakes as I reach out to turn the knob, and the stairs to the second floor loom long above me. My breath fills my throat as I climb, and I almost turn around before I reach the top, but as I come to the last step, Amala opens the door.
    “Lila, what a lovely surprise!” she says. She’s carrying the jug she uses to water the plants. There’s a little wall alcove at the top of the stairs, next to the door to the lobby, and she always has flowers growing in it.
    “These anthuriums are not thriving. Maybe I need to change them for something else,” she says as she pours water into the bowl.
    It’s warm and sunny up here, and when I take my shoes off, the wood floors feel smooth under my feet. Amala smiles at me, and my breathing slows to a normal rate.
    “I was hoping you’d come by to tell me about dancing with Dana,” Amala says. “I hear her choreography is really something. And she showed me the costume. Stylish!”
    I nod.
    “Has Angela shown you her costume? I think the girls like it, and they look fantastic, especially Angela. The troupe’s like a carnival, or a rhododendron garden.”
    “It’s beautiful. I saw the costumes before I left, and yes, Angela showed me hers,” I