Isabelle Page 2

  That’s what I had always thought, too, but everything was so different here at Anna Hart. At least I had my good friend Luisa in my corner.

  As we finally were leaving the dressing room, Ms. Hawken gave me an encouraging smile. “Isabelle, you’ve got all the skills, and you know the steps of your routine,” she said. “You’ve just got to have confidence in yourself. You’re so afraid of making a mistake that your brain and your body keep getting their signals crossed.”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “How exactly do I get that kind of confidence?” I asked.

  Ms. Hawken stroked the knot on her scarf. “I was wearing this when I auditioned for the HDC,” she said. “It’s my lucky charm. Even though it’s only a silly superstition, I still wear it when I try out for a big part. A lot of dancers have lucky charms like this.”

  Luisa spoke up from beside me. “You don’t really believe the scarf is magical, do you?” she asked skeptically.

  “Not really,” said Ms. Hawken. “But it does trick my mind a little so that it stops worrying about flubbing and lets my body do what I’ve trained it to do. Maybe you should find your own charm, Isabelle.”

  At this point, I was willing to try anything.

  On the bus ride home, I thought about Ms. Hawken’s scarf and wondered how I could wear something like that with my own dance costume. I had to wait until Mom got home from work to really figure it out, because it was Mom who was going to design and sew our outfits for the Autumn Festival.

  I ambushed her as soon as she got in the door. “Mom, could my Autumn Festival outfit have a scarf?” I asked her.

  Mom looked guilty as she took off her coat and hung it up. “I haven’t had time to design it yet,” she admitted, “so you can have as many scarves as you want.” As she pulled a clip out of her long brown hair and shook it free, she added, “But I’m glad you’re getting your own ideas about what you want. Maybe you should design the costumes for yourself and Jade this year.”

  “Me?” I asked, stunned. “But you’re the expert.”

  Mom smiled. “You’re always asking me questions when I bring work home,” she said. “By now, you’ve soaked up centuries of the best designs.”

  Mom worked at the Smithsonian conserving old textiles, taking apart and repairing gowns that were sometimes two hundred years old. I’d seen everything that she used to study antique clothing—from photos and X-rays to microscopic close-ups. And it was true—I always was asking Mom questions, because she always had interesting answers.

  “I really think you can do this, Isabelle,” Mom said as she walked into the kitchen to start dinner. “Just try it and see what you think.”

  So I went into the living room, where I had dumped my backpack. Getting out my tablet and a stylus, I sat on the sofa to sketch out some designs.

  From our bedroom overhead, I kept hearing the same excerpt from Carmen. Jade and her classmates were dressing up as gypsies for the Autumn Festival. Jade’s dancing feet made faint noises as I began to draw on the tablet. After starting over a few times, I finally sketched out a gypsy costume that I thought Jade would like.

  But it was harder when it came to designing my own. I knew I wanted a scarf or sash that might bring me luck, like Ms. Hawken’s, but I wasn’t sure about anything else.

  While I thought, I stared at the mobile—something Mom had made—that hung from the middle of the living-room ceiling. At work, Mom had to follow rigid rules and exact patterns as she reassembled old clothing. But in her personal time, she combined pieces of clothing with other fabrics and shapes to create mobiles and wall hangings. Each design was unique—and all her own.

  Mom called this mobile “Pond Dreams.” Its pieces were so well balanced that just entering the room would make them stir. Its colors and shapes kept changing before my eyes and forming new patterns, like a kaleidoscope.

  Mom had created it two summers ago after our family had visited the Aquatic Gardens at Kenilworth Park. It had just rained, and round lily pads covered the pond like shining green scales, with water lilies and lotuses scattered among them like jewels. The water was so still that it mirrored the sky, and the reflections of clouds seemed to glide dreamily among the plants. It reminded me of the Claude Monet painting we had just seen in a special show at the National Gallery.

  I had gazed at one particular flower floating among the broad green leaves. The pointed outer petals were pink and the inner ones yellow, deepening to gold near the center. Covered in raindrops, the petals looked like slices cut from beautiful stones. I tried to see the stem of the flower, but the water was too murky.

  “How tall are the water lilies?” I’d asked.

  “They’re quite tall, but we see only their tops,” said Mom, pointing to the water below. “Their roots are all the way down in the mud.”

  “How can such pretty flowers grow in such dirty water?” Jade had asked.

  “The water’s cloudy because it’s full of food for the plants,” Mom explained. “If you were a lily, living in a pond would be like living on a buffet table.”

  When a sudden gust of wind blew across the pond, the flowers bowed their heads—as if a giant hand were petting them. The clouds reflected in the water dissolved in ripples that began to race across the pond. The leaves dipped and rose like bucking horses, and the flowers began to whirl in small circles, still bound by their stems. The pink-and-yellow flower must have had a longer stem, because it moved in a much larger, more restless circle.

  Then a gap opened in the drifting clouds, and a small patch of sunlight seemed to stroll through the park. When it reached the pond, the raindrops on the flowers and lily pads began to glitter like diamonds.

  The wind must have snapped the stem of my favorite water lily, because it spun through the leaves and across the pond, bobbing as it coasted over each mini wave. And then it was gone.

  Mom seemed as taken by the lilies as I was, because as soon as we got home, she had begun to work on ideas for a new mobile. And over the next few months, anything woven or spun became the raw material for her artwork. Jade and I played our own small part by finding scraps of sheer fabric, tulle, and lace at thrift stores, flea markets, and rummage sales.

  Bit by bit, Mom had mounted the different fabrics on wire frames. Then she had hung each portion on a wire connected to the ceiling in the living room, until she had created what looked like a single water lily among many green lily pads and clouds and rippling water. Here and there, tiny crystals flashed like raindrops in the sun.

  That pond had been really good luck for us. It had inspired Mom to make this beautiful work of art. Now that pond was helping to inspire my designs—and my dancing.

  I drew eagerly on my tablet. My sash would have flowers on it. Yes, I wanted a really, really long sash so that the flowers would swirl around me as I danced. The thoughts came even faster than I could draw, and as I worked, a smile spread slowly across my face.

  I’d show Renata who Dizzy Izzy really was.

  When I felt someone patting my shoulder the next morning, I thought it was our kitten, Tutu. She’d been a birthday gift to Mom in May, but Tutu preferred sleeping in Jade’s and my room. Mom blamed it on Dad’s snoring.

  Tutu had been such a cute little white cotton ball in the shelter, but she turned out to be a real furry handful. Normally a kitten might wake you with loud meowing. But Tutu preferred to hop on top of you and stroll up and down your spine. When Jade or I would finally sit up, Tutu would jump off and twitch her whiskers in surprise, as if to say, Oh, was that your back? I thought you were the hallway rug. And just as she had planned, one of us would feed her and then play with her.

  Lately, though, Tutu spent most of her time with Jade—maybe because my sister was always sneaking her little treats. I sighed, just thinking about it. Jade is a better dancer than I am. Jade is a better student than I am. And now even our kitten likes her better than me. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

  I tried to push Tutu o
ff me. “Go bother Jade, will you, Tutu?” I murmured sleepily.

  But it was Mom looking down at me through her glasses. She’d pulled her pale brown hair behind her in a ponytail. “Come on, sleepyhead,” she said. “We want to get to the flea market before all the good stuff for your costumes gets snapped up. If we hurry, we can get our shopping done and still listen to your dad’s band play.”

  I poked my head out from under the quilt. Jade’s bed was empty, but then she always got up earlier than I did. “Flea market?” I asked with a yawn. “What about school?”

  “It’s Saturday, honey,” said Mom, gently brushing the hair away from my face. “So get dressed. There’s a bus in twenty minutes.”

  My family tried to do things together every Saturday. If we weren’t heading to a rummage sale or our favorite thrift stores to hunt for stuff for Mom’s art, we were catching a matinee at the Kennedy Center or heading down to some event at the National Mall or visiting a museum—Washington seems to have a museum for everything. Finding something to do was never a problem.

  Jade came into our room, nibbling on a sliced bagel. She was already dressed in capris and a blouse. Her long blonde hair hung down past her shoulders, held neatly away from her face by a light blue barrette. Tutu trotted at her heels.

  “What do you want on your bagel, Isabelle?” Jade asked.

  “I…uh…” It was hard to string thoughts together, let alone words. I had stayed up late sketching on my tablet. It wasn’t until almost eleven that I’d finally come up with an outfit design that I liked. By then, though, Jade had already been asleep, with Tutu resting next to her.

  I felt like closing my eyes again, but I couldn’t resist the smell of a freshly toasted bagel. “Stuff,” was all I could say.

  Jade was an expert at Isabelle-ese. “Gotcha,” she said. “Jelly with cream cheese.”

  “Me-owr?” Tutu flicked an inquiring ear at my sister.

  “I already fed you,” Jade scolded. When Tutu rubbed against Jade’s calf, though, my sister relented. “Okay,” she said. “Maybe one little snack.”

  As Jade turned back toward the kitchen, she rose on her right foot, extended her left leg almost parallel to the floor, spun in place, and then stepped over Tutu. Jade made it look so easy. Dancing came as naturally to her as breathing.

  Then Jade high-stepped out of the room, arching each foot in a perfect curve with every step. She was often complimented on her “banana feet,” which is a good thing to have if you are a ballerina. As Jade walked, Tutu wove back and forth between her ankles, picking up and lowering her paws like a ballerina en pointe. It was almost as if the two of them were performing a pas de deux.

  My throat caught a little as it sometimes did when I saw Jade dance. She was so graceful in everything she did—whether she was performing a ballet step, striking a pose, or just teasing our kitten. Even with all the lucky charms in the world, I’d never be that graceful.

  Mom misunderstood my silence. She ran her fingers through my hair like a comb, taking out the snags. “You look tired, honey,” she said. “Are you worried you won’t get into The Nutcracker?”

  Several weekends ago, the HDC had held auditions for its holiday show, The Nutcracker. Jade had suggested we both try out for the show. I didn’t think I had any chance to get in, but I’d gone with her and Luisa to keep them company.

  I forced myself to wake up now. “There’s no way I’m going to be chosen for The Nutcracker,” I said.

  “You don’t know that,” Mom replied as she pulled a pair of capris from my closet. “You were good. And since there are three casts, you’ve got three times as many chances to get a role.”

  Six evening shows and three matinees each week would wreck even the strongest dancers, so different casts would take turns performing. Mom was right—having three casts for the show did improve my chances.

  “But I wasn’t as good as a lot of other dancers,” I said, thinking of Renata—who had unfortunately auditioned for The Nutcracker, too. I slowly pulled off my purple pajamas. Then I opened my dresser drawer and pulled out my lucky coral shirt with the dancer design on the front.

  “You were good like you,” Mom insisted as I tugged the shirt over my head. She sat on the bed while I pulled on the capris, too. “When you were a baby, it was like you were full of dance juice. You were always kicking your legs, so we could never keep you covered up with a blanket. And when you were two, you’d leap around whenever you heard music. We had to put everything breakable out of reach.”

  I quickly brushed my hair. “I know,” I said. “I’ve seen the photo.”

  There was a picture of Dad and me from when I was small. I was just a blur in it, my face hidden in a whirlwind of hair as I turned away from the camera. Poor Dad was standing up, holding his laptop on one palm while he worked on it with his free hand. He hadn’t dared to set it on the coffee table because it would have been in range of my kicking feet.

  I checked the mirror. My hair was as blonde as Jade’s, but I decided it needed something a little extra exciting that morning. So I picked up some pink hair extensions. I tried them in several different places before I settled on the right spots, and Mom helped me put them in.

  Mom held up some sneakers, but I shook my head and reached for my glittery silver and gold sling-back shoes. Finally, to show everyone that I meant business, I shrugged into my black jacket.

  “What do you think?” I asked Mom, inspecting myself in the mirror again.

  Mom’s reflection appeared behind me as she studied me. Then she nodded her approval. “Very nice, very creative. Very you. You’ve got a good eye for style,” she said. “But then, you insisted on choosing your own clothes almost as soon as you could walk.”

  I grinned. “Sorry that I was such a brat back then,” I said. “I mean, not just about the clothes but about the dancing.”

  Mom hugged me from behind. I felt her laughter as well as heard it. “Don’t be,” she said. “You said you had wings and were flying.”

  I studied my outfit from all angles in the mirror. It was a great outfit, and it made me feel as if I could handle anything. I slipped off my shoes and spun in a graceful pirouette, watching my room and Mom whirl past my eyes. I took a couple more steps and then launched into a leap, my arms spread like a sail catching the wind. For a moment, I felt like I was floating.

  When I landed on Jade’s bed, Mom warned, “Better not let Jade catch you.”

  But I was brimming over with that dance juice Mom had talked about. I couldn’t stop moving my arms and legs. So I hopped along the bed, kicking up my feet as I went.

  Lunging forward, Mom caught me around the waist and, with a laugh, swung me back down to the floor. “Make up Jade’s bed again before she sees what you did to it, okay?” she scolded.

  I kept dancing as I straightened the covers. It was great to dance just for the fun of it. If only I could feel like this when I’m a waltzing flower, too, I thought as I smoothed the last crease from the bed.

  I finished my bagel as we stepped out the door and onto the stoop. We lived on the edge of Georgetown, about as far southeast as you can get and still be in the district. Dad’s grandparents had bought our house a long time ago, but Dad said the street looked pretty much the same then as it did now: with lots of cozy little two-story brick homes squeezed together like lines of dancers dressed in warm, red wool.

  All around me were the usual signs of autumn. A strong wind last night had shaken down lots of leaves from tall gingko trees, some as old as the homes around them. I could barely see the diagonal pattern of the brick sidewalk for all the yellow, fan-shaped leaves. On one bare branch, a wood thrush sang a last farewell song before leaving for the winter. A squirrel, fat from summer meals, was waddling around searching for last-minute snacks.

  As we walked quickly down the sidewalk, I wondered how I could capture autumn in a dance routine. How would I turn the thrush’s song and the squirrel’s hunt into steps?

  Mom urged me along to cat
ch the waiting bus. When we stepped onboard, Mom showed the driver her bus pass, and Jade and I showed our student passes. I rode this same public bus to school five days a week. We found seats about midway down the aisle. Mom sat beside me, and Jade took a seat behind us.

  “Let’s see your designs,” Mom said, so I pulled my tablet from my backpack and handed it to her.

  She was so busy examining my designs that she barely noticed as the bus crossed 35th Street. But both Jade and I swiveled our heads to look a couple of blocks north toward Helen Tischler, the performing arts high school. Jade was bound to go there, but this was probably as close as I was going to get.

  The bus turned south, skirting the edge of the Georgetown University campus. We saw only a few students scattered around the stately old brick buildings. Mom never looked up. She was still examining my designs.

  The longer Mom didn’t say anything, the more anxious I got. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. “If you don’t think they’re any good—” I said.

  “I think they’re excellent,” Mom said. Turning, she held out the tablet to my sister. “What do you think of your gypsy outfit, Jade?”

  Jade was tugging at her sweatshirt sleeve. She looked up with a start. “Sorry…what?” she said.

  “Why are you fidgeting?” Mom asked, staring at the sweatshirt. It didn’t quite cover the cuff of Jade’s lavender blouse. “Jade, have you grown a little?”

  Jade shook her head. “No,” she said quickly, and then, as if to change the subject, she leaned forward to inspect my designs.

  I waited, hoping for some praise from Jade. Instead, what I got was a shrug. “The gypsy’s okay,” Jade murmured, but then she tapped the design for my costume. “Isabelle, you should make the sash for your outfit a little shorter.”

  “It has to be long,” I insisted. “It’s the most important part of my costume.”

  Jade wouldn’t let up, though. “It could be hard to dance with something that long,” she said again. Sometimes my big sister went too far and tried to bully me into what she thought was right.