Natural Talent, Book One, Day Seven

(Word count got messed up somewhere, or day dividers did)


Putting on dance clothes was far more challenging than I could have expected. Once I pulled the tights out of their package, I discovered they were harder to put on than normal pantyhose. They were stiff, and there were holes in the feet. I finally convinced the tights to stay over my toes long enough to get my jazz boots over them. The boots were not as comfortable as the slippers yesterday had been. It appeared you had to wear these shoes for a while to make them comfortably mold themselves around your feet. As the leather squished my toes, I hoped the process wouldn't take long. Then I pulled on the leotard, which was probably the softest most comfortable swimsuit-styled piece of clothing I'd ever owned. I felt so self-conscious. The whole outfit made me feel somewhat naked. Everything wore like a second skin.

I started pulling my long hair up onto my head like I had seen the other girls in class wear their hair. I'd never had to wear it in anything more than a ponytail or braid before, and it turned out trying to force your hair into a little round coil was not as easy as it looked. I fought with it for several minutes.

"Well, what have we here?" I looked over my reflection's shoulder. Yoli was watching me wrestle with my hair. "So, the rumor is you're here on scholarship." There was no point trying to keep secrets in a small school, so I just focused on trying to make my hair stay up. "Since you can't do anything, I wonder what kind of scholarship that is." She smiled smugly at me, as if trying to make me even more self-conscious about the bad luck that had recently taken over my life. "Oh, I know! You're here under the 'Daddy's Little Princess Scholarship'."

"The what?" If only this girl had any clue. Until the beginning of this school year, I'd barely seen my father in the past eight years.

"Everyone knows the only reason you're here is because your father is famous."

I smiled sweetly, "Actually, it's because my father teaches here."

That stopped the girl cold. She walked over to the counter where my hair pins rested in the band-aid box my mother dumped them into, and swept the box off the table in an unexpectdly elegant move. "Don't worry, dear. I'll show you what it means to deserve to be here. Come Friday, I'll dance circles around you. Watch carefully; you may learn a thing or two."

"Oh, I'm sure," I muttered under my breath. I remembered what Angela had told me, and I'd seen her dance. True, she could dance better than me, but from the looks of things, it was only because she'd had more experience. If I was going to learn anything from her, it would be how not to dance.

Her mission accomplished, Yoli glided out of the room like a river overtaken by heavy currents, and I picked up my hair pins and made one last stab at rolling my hair into a passable bun.

==

Thanks to my new "friend" and my out-of control hair, I was several minutes late to class. Everyone was already broken out into their groups. Angela waved me over, "Come on, Lindy. You're just in time!" The other girls whispered among themselves as I hid myself in the back of the pod.

Naturally, I couldn't make it into the studio without being noticed by Ms. Aeling. "Do not believe, Miss Stanton, that the fact that your father is a teacher here will keep you out of trouble for being late to class." She made her disapproval clear as she walked past our group. A laugh to my left alerted me to the disheartening realization that I was in the same group as my new tormentor. Yoli's smug smile left me wanting to either walk out of the studio or get in her face.

Fortunately, Nicola joined Angela, and they motioned for our group to gather around them. Angela introduced both Nicola and herself, and then became more serious than I'd ever seen her, even when she was tutoring me. "We'll be your pod leaders during this audition period. You'll learn the dance with your pod. You'll practice with your pod. You'll audition with your pod. Got it?" The other girls nodded. Yoli shrugged.

I sighed. As if I didn't have enough problems at Broughton already, I was now a pod person.

Angela set us into two lines of three. "We'll start with the jazz piece. Follow me." She went through a series of movements that looked familiar from the dance yesterday, but I had a hard time seeing how she was doing some of them. Yoli, standing beside me, watched me and laughed derisively. As Angela went through the motions again, I watched her carefully and tried to match as many of her movements as I could. The third time she had us do them, I felt more confident about what I was doing. Nicola didn't seem to agree. She moved my arms and legs, sometimes so slightly that I couldn't figure out why she was moving me at all. She held my head at one point, breaking my ability to keep up with Angela's counting since I'd been marking each number with a nod.

This only delighted Yoli ever more. "Don't bother with that one," she finally hissed at Nicola, "she's not going to make it anyway."

"Eyes forward," came Nicola's icy reply.

Angela ran us through the next set of movements three times, and kept doing so until she had taught us the entire dance. As we rehearsed each bit of the dance, Nicola kept pushing and me on different parts of my body. She was more annoying than my piano teacher had been. I wanted to say something, to complain about how she was treating me, but after watching her quietly take down Yoli for talking during rehearsal, I thought better of it. I'd vent to Angela at lunch.

By the end of class, we had practiced the dance in its entirety several times. When she was no longer having us follow her, Angela started walking around the group and watching us. I noticed her watching me a few times and held my breath each time, just waiting for her to come help Nicola move me about like a doll. I didn't think we could remain friends if she tried that. To my surprise, though, she didn't even come near me. An odd look crossed her face, one that almost looked like surprise. Was I really so bad that my best friend was amazed I was still standing?

I didn't wait to find out. As soon as class was over, I raced out of the studio.

==

By the time I was changed back into my normal clothes, I was so sore that I could barely lift my backpack. My legs felt like jelly, and I couldn't imagine them carrying me out of the locker room, let alone across campus to the cafeteria. I couldn't figure out how my classmates were bouncing around and chatting so excitedly. I dragged myself to the cafeteria and grabbed a sandwich. Too worn out to handle my friends, I tried my hardest to find some nice table far away from the rest of the student body to hide at.

As I surveyed the room, I noticed Kaycee trying to get my attention. I barely tolerated the poor girl during class and was pretty sure I didn't want to sit with her when I had a choice. I pretended to not see her and kept searching for an ideal seat. I soon found an empty table near the edge of the room. I set down my tray and dropped into the chair like a heavy weight.

Nearly halfway through my sandwich, Angela sat down next to me. I mumbled an apology and started to leave, but she made me sit back down. Nervous, I nibbled at my apple.

"That was pretty intense, huh?" It was like she hadn't looked at me funny during rehearsal.

"Um...yeah...I guess so." I really had no idea what to say. I thought she'd be avoiding me after what happened in class. "Nicola could have been nicer, though."

"Nicola takes her dancing very seriously. She's been dancing pretty much since she could walk. I'm sure she was just trying to help you out, it being my first time dancing and all." That last bit ended in a questioning tone.

"Still, there had to be a nicer way to tell me I was doing it wrong."

"You weren't doing it wrong, Lindy." It was my turn to look at her in surprise. "You just don't know the finer points of dancing, and that's what Nicola was trying to fix."

"I wasn't doing it wrong?" I was certain I hadn't heard her correctly.

Angela looked at me for a long minute. "Are you sure you've never taken a dance class before?"

"Nope. I've played soccer most of my life." I couldn't see what she was getting at.

"Hmm...," she sighed and took a sip of her soup.

"What?"

"Nothing." She took another sip of soup. "But I hope you don't leave the dance program. I think it will be good for you."

That was it. Just a bunch of confusing statements. But maybe, just maybe, Angela thought I could actually survive in the dance program? It was almost too much to hope for, let alone think about.

I was so sore that I was pretty sure I wouldn't be dancing again any time soon. Even soccer practice had never left me feeling so thoroughly worked out as I was feeling at that moment.

==

The potential of a genuine ally in the dance program made science almost bearable. I settled into my seat and started doodling stick figures in a stick-figure chemistry lab. As one of my creations exploded a potion, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. The teacher, who was rambling on about something that sounded really complicated, glared at me, and I sank. As soon as he looked away, I added more stick figures to the stick-figure chemistry lab and had them conduct a variety of experiments. One, who was obviously a reject from the stick-figure physics lab, was playing with a stick-figure yo-yo. I drew a testing partner for my yo-yo wielding stick-figure scientist. As I was drawing the string to connect the yo-yo to the stick figure, the books I was leaning on tumbled out from under me. My support lost, the yo-yo's string zoomed out to attach itself to the edge of the page.

I recovered quickly, blaming myself for leaning too hard on the books. Laughter erupted around me, but it was loudest at a nearby table. Two of the Ducks sat there, Yoli headed toward them. When she looked back at me a flashed that aggravating smile, I knew she'd knocked my books off the table on purpose. As the Ducks continued to laugh, I picked up the scattered books and put them more toward the center of my table.

The teacher was writing something on the board. He'd missed the entire thing.

==

My second day with the props team was almost more painful than the first. My teammates were even less cohesive today. If I hadn't been in such pain, I'd have probably just taken the notes our team had been given and found myself a nice corner to read them over. As it was, I just laid myself down on one of the benches and listened to three of them argue over the props. Each one of them had a different understanding of what each department was asking for, and each one wanted to put their own spin on the props, regardless of what the notes actually said. By the time it was all said and done, I was convinced that no department was going to get what it requested.

Fed up, I went to the teacher in charge of the props team. "Can I go to a different team?"

"What's the matter, Lindy? You've seemed perfectly happy with your other teams."

"I know." I didn't want to tell her it was because I'd found friends on the other teams. "I just don't think props are my calling." I was still pretty sure nothing at Broughton was my calling, but I wasn't going to point that out, either.

"Lindy, if you can't find a way to work out whatever problem you have with your team, then you're going to fail."

"My grade depends on working with my team?" I didn't know that. I'd been in technical theater class for half the school year now, and I was just finding that out. Of course, it had never been an issue with my other teams.

The teacher smiled. "I know you can make this work. You've done a great job in this class so far."

"Great," I repeated as I headed back to the group, who were all now sitting quiet, a war-like air wrapped around them. "Yeah. Just great."

==

After school, I met Angela for our usual tutoring session. We worked on homework for a bit. Angela had to repeatedly stop and show me how to work my math problems correctly. When we were done, she dragged me into one of the smaller studios. We kicked off our shoes just inside the door, and then she led me through a number of warm-up activities I'd seen the other girls do.

"What's wrong with how I warm up?" I asked defensively. My old soccer warm-ups seemed to be working out just fine for me.

"Well, they aren't preparing you correctly for class. Remember how much pain you were in at the end of rehearsal?" That was something I wasn't likely going to forget any time soon. "OIf you do these stretches instead, you'll feel better after class." It sounded crazy, but I was willing to give anything a try.

Then, she made me run through my jazz dance a couple of times. When I finished, I didn't feel nearly as dead as I had after class. Angela just stood there smiling at me, but there was something in her smile.

"You keep looking at me like that! What is it?"

"I'm not sure." Her smile suggested otherwise. "Remember, we're doing boot camp this weekend."

That was something else I wasn't likely to forget. Nicola was going to be there, and she'd probably spend most of the night pushing and pulling me again.

Angela walked over to the door and put on her shoes, "I'm bored. Want to grab some coffee or something?"

It had been one of those weeks. Time with a friend sounded like the best idea in the world. "Sure. Let's go."

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Couer D'Arte, sipping lattes and talking about school. Angela felt I was coming along in both well in my math for both classes, even if I didn't agree. She then asked me how technical theater class was going.

"It's horrible. I think I'm with the worst team in the world."

"You normally love that class. What's going on? Is Miguel not saving the world again?" She looked worried.

"I'd kill to have Miguel on this team. He would have taken over from the start, and we'd actually be doing something productive!"

"Oh, no! Who'd you end up with?"

"I think their names are Francine, George, and Ravi. I really don't know, though. We've never managed to have a civil conversation."

She was cringing. "And you won't. Those three hate each other. There are horror stories about those three because they keep ending up in the same ensembles."

"Choir or orchestra?" I wondered, not that it would matter either way.

"Orchestra. They're all piccolo players." The way she said that suggested that I should lose any respect I might have had for them. "They're always fighting over everything. Lockers, chairs, stands. You name it, they've probably fought over it."

"That's great."

Angela laughed. "Hang in there. At least you're only stuck with them until the Spring Gala is over."

That seemed far longer than I was willing to put up with those three.

==

My week got worse fairly quickly. Ms. Lemert had to teach the intermediate and advanced classes during class time. To my dismay, Ms. Aeling had to take over our class. As we stretched, she walked around. I was about halfway through the exercises Angela gave me when she passed me.

"Don't even bother."

I didn't understand what she meant, but I guessed it was something along the lines of Yoli's taunts.

She ran us through a brief warm-up and had us do a few exercises. Then she organized us into groups and asked us to practice our audition piece for her. We weren't in our pods, and she had each group go once. It seemed a bit odd after Angela made the pods sound like such a big deal. Naturally, Yoli and her Ducks were in a group of their own. I was in a group with two girls I hadn't met before, but they both glared hatefully at me nonetheless. After all the groups ran through the dance, Ms. Aeling announced that she had actually organized us into our groups for the Spring Gala. I wasn't about to argue with an audition that didn't make extremely nervous, but a number of the girls around me seemed disturbed by this turn of events. She walked around and told each group what they would be doing, and then told my group that we would be sitting out the performance unless one of the other girls was injured.

Pata Fuega wold be doing their own dance. I was in the group of alternates.

I couldn't decide what to be more upset about. I thought being trapped in a class with Ms. Aeling was torture. I was nearly in tears when I found out I was an alternate, although I couldn't figure out why. I knew from the start, though, that Ms. Aeling never liked me from the start, so I should have seen it coming, but I thought alternates were just a sports thing.

==

By the time I got to lunch, I was fuming. Angela, Miguel, and Nicola had already claimed a table, and I was only to happy to join them.

Angela took one look at me, "What happened, Lindy?"

"Ms. Aeling set the freshman dances for the Spring Gala," Angela and Nicola exchanged uncertain looks. "and I'm not dancing." I nearly choked on the words as I said them. Although I was just learning to dance and really never wanted to be anywhere near a stage, I was upset about not getting to perform in the Spring Gala.

"She knows the auditions are tomorrow morning, and that every level auditions together," Angela hit the table. "This is not cool."

"I could talk to Ms. Lemert. She had no right to pull this secret audition, and she knows she's not allowed to leave students out of performances." Nicola, sitting there primly sipping her water, had a fire behind her eyes. I didn't know what she was planning to do, but I felt very sorry for Ms. Aeling. She was actually as angry as I was, maybe more.

"Nicola, please don't. Somehow, it will just make everything worse." I knew Ms. Aeling would think that I went crying to Ms. Lemert, and I'd pay for it in class. "Besides, it's not like I won't be at the performance. I'll still be doing the tech work!"

"You should be on the stage with us," Angela looked at Nicola, who merely nodded. "We'll go talk to Ms. Lemert after school."

Before I had a chance to protest, my day got worse. My father picked that moment to join my friends and me for lunch. We were all dead silent when he sat down, so he started talking to Angela about her work in class.

"I was looking over notes from your teacher last year, Angela, and it looks like you're really doing well this year." She smiled. "So the Spring Gala is coming up, and I was thinking I might give you the chance to perform a solo."

Her green eyes widened. "Me? Really?" Miguel quickly hugged her.

"Congratulations," Nicola offered. "You deserve it after all the work you put in over the summer."

"I couldn't, though." I don't think any of us looked more surprised than my father at Angela's rejection. She'd been playing the violin since middle school. She played for her Scottish Highland dancing group at times. None of us could imagine why she would turn down the chance to perform a solo in a major school performance.

"You're more than ready to take on this solo, Angela," my father prodded, clearly not willing to let her back out of it.

Angela shook her head. "I can't play a solo while Lindy gets left out of the performance!"

My father turned to me, confusion marring his face. I could see he wanted to ask me why and to tell me everything was all right. It was enough to send me storming out of the cafeteria, my lunch barely touched. I didn't need any reassuring words of wisdom from the man I'd barely seen throughout my childhood because he was always off performing, the man I hadn't planned on telling about the alternate situation.

==

Frustrated, I went and hid in my science classroom and doodled while I waited for class. My stick figures were trying to drop various parts of the stage on a stick figure that had a few too many things in common with Ms. Aeling. I was angry. I was angry that I wasn't dancing. I was angry that Ms. Lemert wasn't teaching the freshman dance class.

I was just angry.

Before long, my classmates started filing into the lab. Angela started to head toward me, but I ducked behind my notebook as soon as I saw her, and so she continued on to her lab table. After my hiding in the silent classroom, the quiet chatter in the room threatened to explode my ears. Maybe it just everything from this morning, but I felt like the walls were closing in. The teacher came in and handed back the tests we'd taken before the Winter Performance and the break. My stomach sank to my feet. I'd failed this test because I couldn't do the math. Angela had worked so hard with me to make sure I understood it. I thought I had the hang of it. If I couldn't figure out how to work these problems...

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It didn't matter right now if I failed every single class. I was already out of the Spring Gala, and my grades would keep me backstage for the rest of the year. It occurred to me that I could actually get kicked out of Broughton because of my math woes, and I wasn't so eager to leave anymore. I wanted to stay with my friends. I wanted to keep doing technical theater. I even wanted to keep trying to dance.

==

Three minutes into technical theater class made me seriously reconsider how badly I wanted to stay at Broughton. The props team was scattered across a large storage room, each one building a heap of things, although I couldn't determine a theme within each stack, or a connection between the three.

"Hey, Lindy, want to give me a hand?" Francine waved me over to her pile. I just need you to make sure I have everything on this list, and tell me what's missing." She handed me a loose piece of paper. It seemed like a simple enough task that would keep me out of the middle of the bickering, so I sat down and started inventorying the pile. The weird collection of items made me wonder what the drama department was planning. I finished the task quickly enough and handed the marked-up list back to Francine, who then pulled me into helping her find the missing items. Not too far away, both George and Ravi shot sidelong glances at us. I could tell they were both looking for the argument to pick with Francine, and possibly me.

==

Against my will, Angela and Nicola dragged me to First Friday. Angela thought it would cheer me up. I personally thought she needed to just let me be.

It didn't take long, though, to figure out why she wanted me there. While I sat there brooding in my latte next to Miguel and Nicola, Angela vanished to the stage. To the music of a hard rock band with a definite Irish flair, Angela performed an energetic dance that I suspected was a Scottish Highland piece. Where Nicola's interpretive dance had been beautiful in its jaggedness, Angela's dance was completely intense. I was so impressed, and it just added to my feelings of worthlessness. The audience went wild when she was finished, and she curtseyed with her usual confident, playful arrogance.

The Milhouse students performed a variety of scenes and songs. They were enjoying a Renaissance festival at school; much of their work was introduced as being an interpretation on something from that time period. It was pretty interesting, and I wondered why Broughton couldn't do something like that. Some of their performances were actually better than the Broughton students who brought musical performances.

Toward the end of the evening, Joe took the stage to sing a song he'd written. It hadn't taken me long to recognize at the beginning of the school year that Michael was talented; it took me even less time to realize Joe let his best friend overshadow him. Sitting there singing a quiet ballad, Joe held the audience captive. There was no question what he was doing at Broughton, but a million as to why he wasn't taking his family's advice and pursuing professional work outside of the school. When the song drew to its close, the audience jumped to its feet, clapping and whistling. He smiled an adorably shy smile and placed his guitar back in its case before he left the stage and joined our table.

Michael didn't take long to get from wherever he'd been hiding in the coffee shop to our table, anxious to congratulate his best friend. We were all pretty appreciative, and Joe looked like he might die from the attention. It quickly died back down, and Michael vanished again. Miguel started talking with some of the Milhouse students at the next table, and soon moved to continue the conversation more easily. Angela and Nicola went to find snacks, leaving me alone with Joe, which didn't seem like the worst place to be at the moment.

"I feel stupid for asking, but are you Melinda Stanton?" His emphasis on "Melinda" told me he already knew the answer to his question.

"Yeah, but I always preferred to be called Lindy. It seems less stuffy."

"Melinda isn't that stuffy," he assured me. "And Matthew Stanton is your father." I nodded. "I mean the new violin teacher, the world renowned violin player."

"Sadly, yes. Both are my father. What are you getting at?"

"I hadn't actually put two and two together," he laughed half-heartedly. "Michael had to tell me. For some reason, I thought your father was away or something."

"Yep, he used to do that. Now he teaches one of my best friends."

His face lit up in a boy-next-door smile. "I've been trying to find Matthew Stanton's daughter all year. Who knew she was right under Michael's nose the entire time?"

"You were looking for me?"

"We have something in common, and I thought you could probably use a friend in this place."

"Friends are good," I responded lamely, trying to figure out what I could possibly have in common with Joe Langford.

"Yeah, they are," he agreed. "So, what's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Being the child of a famous performer?" There was something in the way he asked the question, something that seemed almost mocking, but the same time sympathetic.

"Oh, it's great." I couldn't stop the anger from pouring out. "I barely saw my father when I was younger because he was off rehearsing or performing or touring. I had to go to performances i didn't want to go to, and now I'm stuck in a school I don't want to be in because of him." It all came out more quickly than I intended, and I'd said far more than I ever meant to.

Joe started laughing, though. "You resent your father that much?"

His question caught me off-guard. I thought about it for a moment. "Well...no. Not really. He's actually really good, and I love listening to him play. He used to play for me when I was really little. Mom says it was the only way they could get me sleep when I was a baby." I took a deep breath. "I'm proud of him for all that he has accomplished, but it's really hard being his talentless daughter."

Joe looked thoughtful for a moment. "First, his daughter isn't all that untalented."

"How would you know?" I demanded. I was pretty sure Joe had never actually seen me try to do anything besides sing, and he was the one who told me I was spectacularly bad at it.

He ignored my question. "Secondly, I know what it's like to live in the shadow of a famous performer."

"What?"

"Remember, I said I was trying to find you because I thought we had something in common. My mother is a famous dancer, and I grew up in her shadow. Her talented guitarist son. When I started writing my own songs, it was a mail in my own coffin. I was invited to perform with her troupe, and then I was invited to enroll here. If Michael hadn't already been enrolled, too, I never would have agreed."

There was someone who understood my aggravation at my current situation. Joe was right, I did need a friend like that.

"I guess you wanted to find your own way?"

"Actually, I got here and found out that my own way is my music. Whenever I'm angry or frustrated or upset, I lose myself in my music, and everything goes away. It's funny. I came here expecting to wash out, to go back to writing and playing for fun, and now I'm studying it seriously." He looked me straight in the eyes. "Maybe you won't dance after you graduate, but aren't you glad you're getting the chance to explore it? There has to be a reason why you decided to stick it out here, Lindy."

"Yeah, to get away from my father...except I've failed miserably at that." This earned another laugh.

"Joe!" We looked over to where Michael was sitting by himself and waving.

"Come over here," Joe invited. Michael shook his head. "That loser. Can't even walk across a room by himself unless he's got a purpose. It's embarrassing." I giggled. "I'll check in on you later, Lindy."

I smiled. Joe Langford was in the same boat as me. I had someone who could actually understand.

But he'd understand it better if his mother actually taught at Broughton.