Dancergirl by Carol M. Tanzman

warm.
    He immediately commandeers Studio A. “Got to be somewhere by nine, luv.”
    He gives Lynette a European-style double kiss and swishes into the room.
    She shrugs. “Make an announcement, will you, Ali?”
    Dancers are everywhere, stretching, bending; doing whatever they can to warm up.
    “Anyone trying out for Quentin’s pas de deux, please move into Studio A,” I shout.
    “So soon,” Samantha groans.
    I’m the last to enter. Every girl in the room turns. Nar rowed eyes, unfriendly stares. One more person to competeagainst. Not even Keisha makes room. I’m stuck watching Quentin demonstrate the combination from the far corner.
    The duet starts with a sissone, a traveling jump in which the dancer’s legs open in the air before landing on both feet. Then the guy pulls the girl into him for a deep lunge.
    Quentin demos both parts. Even in my freaked-out state, I can tell the duet rocks. Keisha’s mirrored reflection says it clearly. She wants that duet. So does Samantha. I do, too.
    I lick my lips nervously. This is what’s hard for my school friends to understand. It might help to be seen on Zube but only if you have the goods to go with it. No choreographer would risk ruining a piece just because someone’s gone viral.
    Quentin pairs us up. I’m with Blake, the only dancer taller than me. He’s way too nervous to flirt.
    “Did you get the count on the lunge?” he asks.
    Thankfully, the turns I practiced earlier are in, although we have trouble with the lift.
    “Work with my timing,” Blake whispers urgently.
    Less than ten seconds later, Quentin raps his knuckles on the barre.
    “I want full Princess Di, ladies. Up not out.” Quentin nods to Keisha and Denny. “Start right of center.”
    Keisha bites her lip. When Quentin commands, you jump.
    Which she does quite well. Samantha’s face turns so grim I almost laugh. Keisha’s solid performance puts her in the running.
    Sam recovers quickly. She takes the floor like true royalty. If she’s nervous, I can’t tell. Lorenzo, her partner, has gotten a lot better this year. They look good. Every move Sam makes is impossibly extended. Arms float like angel wings.
    “See?” Blake whispers. “She anticipated the lift but didn’t jump the gun.”
    Quentin glares at us. “Your turn will come.”
    Sam and Lorenzo leave the floor. I wipe sweaty palms on my tights. Blake and I take the opening position. As the music begins, I see Cisco in the doorway—but it’s only a figment of my imagination.
    Instead of a graceful sissone, however, the adrenaline running through my veins causes me to shoot up and away like a frightened rabbit. Surprised, Blake pulls me back for the lunge more violently than he realized. I fly forward, a tad ahead of the beat. That means I have an extra moment to fill, so I arch my back and lean away, as if afraid. Blake has no choice but to go for it. Push pull, pull push—the duet has a far edgier quality than anyone who danced before us.
    Quentin looks thoughtful. He switches partners. Blake dances with Samantha, I’m with Denny, Lorenzo is paired with Keisha.
    Some of the second duos are better than the first. Sam seems even more elegant, Keisha goes for a perky quality that’s adorable. Denny, however, is so much shorter than me that we look ridiculous.
    Quentin pops the CD from the player. “Thank you all for an interesting night. List’ll be up tomorrow.”
    He grabs his fur and sashays out of the room.
    “Lucky animals,” Blake mutters, sweating all over. “At least they’re out of their misery.”

20
chapter twenty
    Blake’s right. Only one thing’s worse than auditions: waiting for the cast list to go up. All you can do is second-guess yourself: I shouldn’t have let my nerves get the better of me. I ought to have controlled the arabesque better. Why did I wobble on the turn?
    Jacketless, I throw myself into the bitter wind. Loose garbage lids rattle against the cans. A stray cat meows piteously. A thin woman,