On Pointe Read Free Page B

threat,
    trying to be one in sixteen.
    If sixteen of them
    make it,
    my dream dies.
    I slip off my jeans and T-shirt
    and tie on my black chiffon miniskirt.
    I kick off my clunky clogs
    for thin, leather, flat shoes
    that glove my feet.
    My bones and muscles
    poke out all over.
    Here
    everything has to be uncovered.
    Margot walks by
    in the dressing room,
    wearing nothing
    but a dangling tampon string.
    Is she so used
    to people staring
    at her body,
    correcting and directing,
    that she believes
    it doesn’t matter
    if anyone looks anymore?
    Is she so confident
    of her body
    that anyone can look
    at everything?
    Why am I the only one
    blushing?
    Willow never gets ready alone.
    Her mother swoops into the dressing room
    for final touches,
    like a splash of rose water.
    We are bumped aside
    for Willow’s completion.
    â€œThere.” Her mother sighs.
    â€œNow go dance,
    my prima ballerina.”
    Willow parades out to the barre room,
    wearing the only smile around.
    Yeah, my mom might call me
    her little ballerina,
    but at least she doesn’t smother me
    like Willow’s mom.
    Shoving in,
    telling me what to do
    and how to get better.
    That’s got to be a ton of pressure for Willow.
    Her mom needs a life.
    At least mine’s got the bookstore with Dad.
    She has something other than me.
    Doesn’t she?
    Willow’s mom scuttles out
    while Rosella charges in.
    â€œI guess Prima
    is ready for class,” she mutters.
    â€œMommy made her smell like a rose today.”
    Rosella snorts.
    If we throw our anger at Willow,
    we can pretend we didn’t argue yesterday.
    â€œI didn’t eat yet.” Rosella dumps her stuff
    and peels open a yogurt container.
    I fight my smile
    because she’s making an effort to eat.
    I retie my skirt.
    She gulps the pink stuff down until
    we hear Margot retching in the bathroom.
    â€œSee, I’m not the only one.” Rosella smirks.
    â€œWhatever.” I hope she’ll eat more.
    The toilet flushes,
    and Margot walks by us
    straightening her leotard.
    Her pale face
    stretches over her
    sharp cheekbones.
    Rosella tosses her half-eaten yogurt
    into the garbage.
    Thunk.
    We both
    follow Margot
    out of the dressing room.
    The barre
    is cool
    under my hot fingertips.
    I choose a place
    to stand.
    Point hard, and harder.
    I crunch the top of my toes
    under.
    One foot
    and then the other.
    First position,
    turned out from the hip
    as far as I can go
    without my feet rolling inward.
    My turn-out is
    better than Rosella’s,
    but not as good as Margot’s.
    We haven’t even begun,
    and I know how I measure up.
    I have to work harder.
    I slide my hand forward
    to a cooler spot.
    We each feel it.
    Without mirrors in the barre room,
    we can’t check ourselves.
    Even the girls who don’t believe what they see
    want to look in a mirror.
    I twist and check out my rear.
    My leotard’s creeping.
    I snap the elastic.
    Dia stretches
    to be sure her short chest sweater
    stays down.
    Willow examines her plié
    and adjusts her turn-out.
    Rosella reties her skirt.
    She’s measuring to see if her waist
    is bigger.
    All of us wonder if
    we look okay
    without mirrors
    saying so.
    We for sure can’t ask
    each other.
    Black leotard—
    V neck,
    square back,
    high-cut legs;
    pink tights—
    not too pink,
    not too white;
    no underwear
    but a thin bra;
    chiffon skirt—
    cut from one piece
    of cloth;
    optional leg warmers
    with a foot strap;
    rubber pants or short sweaters
    if you’ve gained a pound;
    flat ballet slippers
    for barre work;
    European custom toe shoes
    for floor exercise;
    a bun;
    no bangs;
    no jewelry;
    no identity.
    No one
    breaks the silence
    until
    Tommy and Elton come out
    of the boys’ dressing room.
    â€œYou are kidding!” says Tommy.
    â€œNope.” Elton grins.
    They bust up laughing
    and join the other boys at the barre.
    â€œWhat?” asks Nathan.
    Tommy fills him and the other guys in.
    I wonder