On Pointe

From Chapter One WillowI dance because Mother says I'm her prima ballerina. City Ballet Company? Please. I'm going to New York. Soon I'll be the youngest professional dancer in American Ballet Theatre. Mother says so.RosellaI dance because money won't buy my spot in City Ballet. I want this so bad I'll do anything. I get whatever I want.DiaI dance to feel beautiful. But all of a sudden I've grown. Not taller or fatter. But now I need a big bra and my hips are huge. I have to cover up and hide everything. Otherwise they won't let me dance anymore. I know it.MargotI dance because I always have. What else would I ever do?EltonMost guys don't dance, but I like to. None of my friends get it. Who cares? Ballet makes me strong. Besides, I like hanging out with so many girls. ClareI work half an hour at the barre and an hour on the floor, six days a week. I stretch every sinew and sweat from every pore, proving I'm in control. This is our dream: me, my mom, dad, and grandpa's. We dream that I'll be a dancer in City Ballet.I let go of the barre,press my salty lipsto my towel,and breathe in my sweat.Willow pitty pats her face dry.Elton wipes upwhere he dripped. "Here, Clare."Rosella hands me my toe shoes."Thanks.""And now move to the floor room,"says Madame. Little girlspour out of the dressing room,racing for the barreswe've stepped away from. We hurry with our classdown the hallto the floor roomand watch the adult class end."How sad," whispers Rosella.The men and women are liketwenty years old.A few could be thirty or forty.Who knows?They don't use pointe shoes.Their bodies sag.Bits of fatbounce on their bones.Their tights and leotardsblare color.Half of them can barely stumblethrough combinations.Their instructor with the little goateemust be sick to his stomachafter trying to teach them.Why are they even here?Why do they smile?I shrink backas they brush byto leave. The guys get extra time to stretchwhile we girlsdrop down against the back wall.Without our flat shoes on,we area row of feet,bulging in tightsspotted red and brown with blood.The holes we cutlet us peel the fabricback from our toes.The tights tug uploose skin and coagulated blood."Huhhhhh!"We grind our teeth and blink backthe stinging pain. Blisters pop.Clear liquid runs.Fresh blood oozes. Gauze,tape,moleskin,and spongy pink toe capshold the skinand blood in place. "Hppp!"We hold our breathand stretchthe tightsback over our toes. Our feet slipinto satin shoeswith stiff shanks,hard boxing,tight elastic,and slippery ribbonsthat wrap and endin hard knots.The frayed edgesare crammedout of sight.We stand. A row of bound feetrisesto its toes."I'm lookingfor a four/four piece,"Madame says to the pianist,the old guythat's here everyday,that no one ever talks toor really looks at."No, not that one," says Madame.She shuffles through his music.Rosella and Ilean against the window.A breeze tickles a couple stray hairsagainst my cheek.I press them back into placeand look outside.The Cascade foothillssnug up close against my grandpa's townsitting low in the valley.Mount Rainier is peeking outof the top of the cloudshovering above us.It looks huge."I'm definitely fat today, Clare," says Rosella."You are not," I whisper,and look away from the window.She turns sidewaysand stares at herself in the mirrorsthat cover the wall.They show the truthevery second we are in this room.But even so,some girls can't see themselvesfor real."Yes, I am," she says. "Fat."I shake my head.Even her necklooks skinnier today."OkaGrover, Lorie Ann is the author of 'On Pointe', published 2004 under ISBN 9780689865251 and ISBN 0689865252.