Dancing For the Stars
Eloise Chin
Prologue
A sizzling hot day in New York, the air so hot with humidity perspiration formed on your forehead while you sat. The cerulean of the sky reflected blindingly down to the earth, while within a locked door, a girl flew with wings as broad as an albatross.
Part 1
It was going to be a long class, she knew. Rebecca Wilson carefully separated out the soft merino lamb's wool, pulling and stretching it out into a long thread as if it was candy. Her toes were deformed and sore, the joint in the big toe sticking out painfully, her metatarsals ached from hard work and her pinky toenail was black from bruising.
The lamb's wool could not do much to help her feet, it simply eased the discomfort a little. Her gel toe pads did most of the work. As Rebecca placed her foot inside the layers of hardened canvas, she began to remember the familiar feeling of her toes cramping. Pointe shoes were what every young ballerina dreams of, the ability to dance on the very tips of your toes and appear graceful and weightless. But the novelty of dancing on pointe soon wears off, and the harsh reality kicks in.
Rebecca was warming up at the barre. 'Gently dynamic' she thought. 'Leg on the barre, cambre over the leg then onto the other side'. She rolled through the toughest part of the pointe shoe; right under the ball of her foot, using her strength to slowly resist as she rolled up and down, onto pointe and back off.
The class always started with simple exercises at the barre, progressing onto adage and petit allegro. Concentration was essential in ballet, you had to make sure that every muscle, bone and ligament in your body was positioned correctly in order to maintain flawless, safe technique. Rebecca pulled up her body, her back was straight, ribs in but lifted, shoulders wide and open, bottom in, legs straight, arms supported, feet turned out and not sickled, the list went on! Her hair was pulled straight back into an elegant coil at the crown of her head, the skin of her forehead stretched tight against the strength of the hair elastic.
Rebecca had long, straight chestnut brown hair that could look pretty in warm lighting, or mousy in dull light. Her complexion was quite pale, with just a tint of peach and a smattering of freckles over her nose. Rebecca was tall for her 15 years; slender, but with an athletic frame which was perfect for ballet. Her legs were muscular and long, and her feet were strong with good arches.
It was during pirouettes that Rebecca truly let herself dance. The feeling of the turns, free but with control. It invigorated her as she felt the air swish around her hair, the ball of her foot swiveling on exactly the same spot on the wooden floor as she singled, doubled, tripled. Pirouettes were Rebecca's favourite.
Part 2
Rebecca was walking home from ballet class. Her arches throbbed slightly every time she put her foot down onto the rocky pavement. It was just 6:30 in the evening; the sun was just kissing the horizon. The late Auckland light was morphing into different shades, shades of gold, burnt orange, ruby, magenta. The tiny waxeyes were flittering around in the trees, blossoms just opening to signify spring.
Rebecca flopped onto her bed. Her bedroom had dark green wallpaper (her favourite colour) and one large, open window that let in the sun's light. She was exhausted. After completing her Advanced 2 Ballet exam, she had classes everyday. Rebecca knew she had to be careful, had to get enough sleep and rest time each day in order not to burn out or get an injury. In the summer, she would be leaving to audition for the Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts (La!) in New York City. Until then, it would be classes, hard work, and more classes
She had begun ballet lessons at the age of three, starting at the local ballet school across the street from her house. Back then she wore poofy tulle skirts, little pink leotards and pink satin slippers as she hopped and skipped around the studio. Now she had almost finished her Royal Academy of Dance education, wearing a black leotard and pointe shoes, fouette-ing and brise-ing and grand jete-ing.
Rebecca's parents had continually tried to persuade her to not bother going to New York. They said it was a waste of time, that she shouldn't persue such a short-lived career in the arts. But La! Had been Rebecca's dream since she was 7; when she first went to see the film 'Fame' which follows the lives of students at the La! School. She knew that she wanted to 'make it to heaven', 'live forever' and 'learn how to fly'. The arts were in her blood and in her soul, they were what made her happy.
Part 3
Now it was late October, the end of spring. Rebecca was packing her bags to leave for New York. She was a methodical kind of packer, arranging everything into neat piles according to what she would be wearing them for. The tights, leotards, warm-ups and shoes went in on side of her suitcase; the everyday clothes went on the other. Her toiletries fitted perfectly into the rectangular pocket on the front.
She dragged her heavy bags outside, including her carry-on. Her flight was at 9:20am, so the light still had that early morning brightness about it. Her mother, father and two brothers were already outside waiting for her. 'Are you still sure you want to do this?' said her mother. Rebecca sighed; she knew her mum would be getting all nervous about her daughter going away. 'I'm sure mum. Trust me, this is what I want to do'. Rebecca kissed her mum and dad goodbye, hugged little Jamie and Christopher before climbing into the shiny white taxi. She waved through the glass of the window as her family, her home, her life disappeared; enveloped by the opaque exhaust smoke that billowed skywards.
The inside of the Auckland International Airport was boring. The synthetic carpet, white walls and dozens of black timetable billboards filled the area. Rebecca was passing through security, past the x-ray machines, up the escalator and into the waiting room. Rebecca sat in one of the squishy blue chairs and started people watching.
She could see a short, bald man standing over by the vending machine. A little girl dressed in a pink and purple sparkly fairy dress sat on her mothers lap, eating jet plane lollies. A tall young man was napping in a chair, the morning sun gently shimmering on his face. Then there was a lady wearing an expensive-looking fur stole, a leather skirt and a pristine, white shirt. Standing next to her was a girl who looked about Rebecca's age, hair like a flame and green eyes wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Surely they couldn't be mother and daughter? They were so different! But, as the electronic voice sounded over the speakers 'Flight 030696 boarding now' Rebecca could hear the posh woman say 'Come on Catherine. I want to board first'. That confirmed it. They were mother and daughter.
Cramped up in one of the tiny little aeroplane seats, Rebecca took one last look out her window. Tiny men in flourescent jackets were unloading the bags from a Qantas plane that had just arrived. The sun was fully awake now, the rays were strong and golden on the black tarmac.
She was going to miss Auckland. She was going to miss the greenery, the trees and most of all, her family. There would be no shoulder to cry on, no annoying little brother running into your room without knocking, nothing. Rebecca felt the makings of a tear in her eye. She swiftly dabbed the tiny droplet away. She knew that the La! School would be a great opportunity for her. If she was accepted, that is. Only if she was accepted.
Rebecca got out her ipod, put in the earphones and closed her eyes.
The flight was 21 hours long. When the plane arrived at the John F. Kennedy International Airport it was 1:30 in the afternoon. Rebecca was drowsy from the flight. She knew her hair was probably a sight, her eyes bleary and her skin a mess. 'Oh well.' She thought. 'Nobody will know me here'.
Dragging her handbag from under the seat in front, Rebecca stepped out into the narrow walkway then onto the tarmac. The New York sun was at its peak. It was very hot, humid. She blinked as her eyes got used to the bright light.
Part 4
Rebecca would be staying in a rented apartment while in New York. It was a tiny flat, with a small window and not much furniture, but it would do the job. As she unpacked her bags, she looked out of the tiny window and into the grey urban environment outside. There were pigeons pecking at the dry grounf beneath them, and rats scuttering around in the litter. Rebecca sighed.
The La! Building was large; a block building that was dull grey in colour. Not very interesting at all really. Rebecca just hoped that what waited inside was a tad more interesting than its exterior.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the doors. The front desk was made of black-stained wood, with a thick glass layer over the top. The lady sitting behind it was of medium hight and had short, glossy black hair. Rebecca walked up to her.
'Excuse me; I'm here for the audition. My name is Rebecca Wilson.'
The lady brought out a sheet of paper from the pile on the desk.
'Rebecca Wilson… yes, here you are. Please fill out this form first, then I will escort you to the waiting room'.
The form was the usual, things like your height, weight, and performance experience. Rebecca quickly filled out the form and handed it back to the raven haired lady. She was then taken to a large, open room where dozens of other teenagers like herself were waiting. From the look of it, there were more girls than boys. It was going to take a while. As she looked around, she noticed a girl standing by a large window. The girl had bright red hair. 'No way...' thought Rebecca. She went over for a closer look. It was only when she was 2 metres away from the window that she spotted a tall woman standing next to the red- haired girl. The woman was wearing silk pants and a cashmere sweater this time. 'Hey!' said the red- haired girl. 'I saw you at the airport, right? I'm Cath. What's your name?'. Rebecca was a little stunned. This girl was so confident! 'I'm Rebecca, Rebecca Wilson. Call me Bex if you like' she said tentatively.