The Sugarless Plum: A Memoir by Zippora Karz Page B

she told me that Deidre and I would be moving up to the next level.
    Deidre was a long-legged redhead who danced like a gazelle and, for her age, was one of the most sensual dancers I’d ever seen. We were the only two in our class to be moved up, and we would now be in the second-highest level, which was one of the main classes from which Balanchine chose new dancers for his company. I was just getting used to my original class and was beginning to make friends. I wasn’t ready to be thrust into a class where most of the other girls were sixteen to eighteen, looked their age and were ready to become professional dancers. I was fifteen, but I looked two or three years younger. When I walked into my new class for the first time, I could feel the cold stares of the older girls, who were clearly wondering who I was and what I was doing there. Truthfully, I couldn’t blame them, because I didn’t really know what I was doing there, either.
    I found a place at the barre and set down my dance bag, which was filled with the usual dancer’s paraphernalia: practice slippers, leg warmers and pointe shoes. As I started to warm up, stretching my legs and sliding into a split, one of the older girls loomed above me and announced, “That’s my place.” The way she said it made me feel that I should just pick up my bag and leave, but I quickly apologized and found another spot. Still, my legs shook so much during the entire class that I could hardly hold a balance. I wanted to justify why I was there by dancing well, but I was an anxious mess.
    Another terrifying experience was my first partnering class, in which we were taught how to perform a pas de deux, a dance for two people, usually a man and a woman. The class was taught by the Russian-born Andrei Kramarevsky, who spoke little English and gave us very difficult combinations to perform, as all the Russian teachers would. When someone did something well, he would say, “Expensive!” meaning the dancing was good and worth a lot of money.
    It was frightening for several reasons. First of all, I was afraid no one would want to partner me. The girls who were easiest to partner—the ones the advanced boys liked to dance with—turned easily and jumped effortlessly. That wasn’t me. Besides that, except for playing Truth or Dare in sixth grade a few times, I’d never really been touched by a boy before. And, to make matters worse, the boys were the best male dancers at SAB, and intimidating because they were so cool. When I walked into the studio that first day, some of the guys broke into laughter. Oneof them had probably just told a joke, but I was convinced they were laughing at me.
    What had I gotten myself into? A month ago I was about to enter my junior year of high school, and the most important decision I thought I’d have to make was where I wanted to attend college in two years. Now I was surrounded by incredibly ambitious, competitive and talented people who seemed like they would stop at nothing to get what every one of them wanted—a career as a professional dancer. I loved dancing, and by now I was getting the sense that I was good at it, but at that point I didn’t have that drive or ambition, and I still wasn’t sure that this was the career I wanted for myself.
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    After the first day in my new class, I talked to Romy, as I did every night, and cried as I told her what a hard time I was having and that I just wanted to use one of the free tickets I’d been given and book a flight home. Although she was only twelve years old, I chose to talk to her about what was going on instead of burdening my mother with my problems. I didn’t want my mom to worry about me, and if I told her how unhappy I was, there was no way she wouldn’t worry. I felt like a fish out of water and didn’t know if I wanted to put myself through this.
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    Thankfully, I didn’t go home, because, within weeks,