CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter Seven

On Monday, I only spend ten minutes with Cleo. Every time I try to talk to her, she is obsessing about the dancer on Friday night.

      After lunch, I catch her slipping on her pointe shoes in her bedroom.

     “Hey,” I greet, taking a seat on the edge of her unmade bed.

      She does not look up from her feet as she muffles a greeting in reply. Then she starts to do her make-up, adding layers and layers of artificial colouring to her face. I wonder why she bothers for make-up when she is not on stage.

I cannot be bothered to put on the amount of make-up that she does.

    “What time will you and Adam be done practising?”

     “I do not know, Gigi,” she says with a sigh. “Maybe by dinner time?”  Then she adds, “Are you not going to be busy practising as the understudy?”

     I grit my teeth in ire. I hate that word, understudy. It sounds like an insult. Never in my life have I been an understudy. I would prefer any role at all than being an understudy. It means you are good but not good enough. I lace my fingers in my lap to prevent making a fist. “Nope,” I reply, popping the p as hard as I can. It helps me release a minute amount of pent up anger. “I may actually take a walk out of the school grounds.”

     Cleo frowns like I said I want to go dancing in the practise hall in my birthday suit. “Why will you do that when we have a dance coming up in a few days’ time?”

      “I will not be watched from behind the curtains, Cleo!” My voice rises into a shout that regret immediately. I clam my mouth but it is too late, Cleo’s lower lip is quavering like it always does when she is deeply upset. I want Cleo to realise that I am jealous of her role as the Sugarplum Fairy.

      “That is not fair, Gigi! You do not have to be in the spotlight all the time! Why can you not be happy for me this one time that I actually get something good?” Tears are walling up her big doe eyes. I had forgotten how emotional Cleo can get very quickly. “You always get all the roles and look, you even got Adam! Why are you so selfish?”

      “I am so sorry―”

   But Cleo was already dashing out of the room. Even when she was fuming, she was very elegant and graceful like a swan. She bangs the door on her way out.

    I rush to my bedroom and change into my baby pink leotards and sky blue tights. I decide to wear my teal green leg warmers just to piss Ms. Azizen off (if she will be present at the studio).

     When I get to the studio, I see Cleo being suspended up in the air by Adam whose hands are planted firmly on Cleo’s waist. A grim hand squeezes my oesophagus and bitter bale rushes up the back of my throat.  I want to throw up the salad I had for lunch. She looks so beautiful and . . . regal. I want to turn back the way I came and run. But I do not. Sucking in a lungful of air, I walk into the studio with my head up high like I usually do.

    Ms. Azizien  is standing by and watching the wonderful performance of the beautiful couple with a proud grin on her face. She looks like a satisfied parent. The other cast dancers are practising nearby but her attention is only on the Sugarplum Fairy and the Nutcracker Prince. The dancers who were on casted (unwanted rejects like me) are dancing away from the casted members.

    Adam spots me and sends a smile-smirk my way. I look away because I do not know what to do with my face.

     “It is so sad that she was no casted . . .”

     “I am sure she is jealous. Just look how Cleo dances!”

     I turn my eyes to the direction of the voice. My gaze lands on two dancers leaning towards each other and whispering viciously though they fail to be quiet enough. They look at me sheepishly, I shot them a glare then walk away.

     “Gigi!” It is Ms. Azizen’s voice. It booms over the music and the chatter of the dancers. Every eye searches me out and lands on me.

    I wish that I could shrink into a tiny insect and crawl away. “Yes?” It comes out as a tiny whisper.

     “Are you not supposed to be practising with us? You are the understudy of the Sugarplum Fairy, right?” At this very moment, I hate her with the entire of my being.

    “Right.” I ignore the mutters and scrutinising stares. I grasp with dread that I can never be as good as my Mum was. I am sure she never got casted as an understudy.

    “Then what are you doing over there?” she bellows. “Come over here and dance!”

    As I saunter over, her eyes take in my colourful attire and her face twists into a scowl. Somehow, that makes me feel a little bit better.