I don’t know what’s funny. I’m just happy, that’s all.
The driver pulls into the road, and we make our slow way down the hill toward home. The bus route takes us along the ocean, where the sound of the waves mingles with the laughter and chatter bubbling around me, and it’s easy to slip into daydreaming. I can see it now: we’re onstage in the signature costume of Dana’s studio—multi-tiered ruffle skirts in bright colors, with tassel belts and matching midriff tops called cholis. The music starts, and we begin our dance. We are like birds flocking, each girl so in tune with the others that we look like one being. Our movements are graceful, and our timing is perfect. Dana watches, and as we twirl around to the front, she catches my eye and smiles, and I know she’s seen me. Me . When the music ends and we walk off the stage, she pulls me over and says, “I’m glad Amala chose you to come to me. You’re going to be one of my star students.” A shiver tingles down my spine.
The bus stops and a bunch of kids get off. It’s rush hour, and the lights and noise of downtown Victoria jolt me out of my dream. At the far end of the bus Angela is staring into space, a frown on her face. There’s something about her mouth and the way her body sags a bit into the seat next to her that makes me wonder if she’s upset.
As we near our stop, I push my way down the aisle until I’m standing next to Angela. The bus hits a bump and jostles us, and she says, “There you are.”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Sure?”
Angela smiles and flips her hair over her shoulder like she does when she’s happy. The bus pulls up at our stop, and Angela and I push past the basketball players to the door and step off. In the sudden quiet of our neighborhood, Angela and I shimmy our way down the sidewalk. We swing around cherry trees, shaking them as we pass so their pink and white petals spray over us.
“Amala’s going to choose us,” I say. “She has to—we’re the best dancers in the whole class. By far.”
Angela laughs and rolls her shimmy up her whole body.
“I can’t believe we’re going to dance with Dana Sajala. Can you believe it?” I say.
Angela stops shimmying and says, “She might not choose us. You do know that, right?”
“Spoilsport!” I say. The wind has blown cherry petals across the path and into the spruce hedge in front of Angela’s house so that it looks like a dancer’s colorful skirt. I pull some of the petals off and put them in my hair for decoration.
“Let me dream my dream,” I say as Angela turns into her yard.
“Amala has a whole studio to choose from, Lila. She might not choose you. Or me. Or anyone else from our class.”
“But she will,” I say.
“Just…” She hesitates.
“Just what?”
Angela shifts her bag on her shoulder and doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but when she sees I’m about to ask her again, she says, “Don’t persuade yourself Amala’s going to choose us, that’s all.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I don’t want you to be disappointed. I know you,” she says. “You always believe things are going to happen.” With that she walks up the path and onto the stairs in front of her house.
“But…” I don’t know what to say, so I watch her fit the key into the lock of her door. As she opens it, I say, “Don’t you think Amala could choose us?”
“She might. But she might not.”
“You think there are others in the class who are better than us?” It seems unlikely.
“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to get super excited about something that might not happen.” Angela turns the knob, enters her house and leaves me standing on the walkway, wondering, Is there someone more likely to be chosen?
Doubt gnaws at my stomach, making me feel sick. I really, really, really want to be chosen. But what if I’m not?
Three
“G irls, let’s show Dana our best,” says Amala as she opens the door and lets
The driver pulls into the road, and we make our slow way down the hill toward home. The bus route takes us along the ocean, where the sound of the waves mingles with the laughter and chatter bubbling around me, and it’s easy to slip into daydreaming. I can see it now: we’re onstage in the signature costume of Dana’s studio—multi-tiered ruffle skirts in bright colors, with tassel belts and matching midriff tops called cholis. The music starts, and we begin our dance. We are like birds flocking, each girl so in tune with the others that we look like one being. Our movements are graceful, and our timing is perfect. Dana watches, and as we twirl around to the front, she catches my eye and smiles, and I know she’s seen me. Me . When the music ends and we walk off the stage, she pulls me over and says, “I’m glad Amala chose you to come to me. You’re going to be one of my star students.” A shiver tingles down my spine.
The bus stops and a bunch of kids get off. It’s rush hour, and the lights and noise of downtown Victoria jolt me out of my dream. At the far end of the bus Angela is staring into space, a frown on her face. There’s something about her mouth and the way her body sags a bit into the seat next to her that makes me wonder if she’s upset.
As we near our stop, I push my way down the aisle until I’m standing next to Angela. The bus hits a bump and jostles us, and she says, “There you are.”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Sure?”
Angela smiles and flips her hair over her shoulder like she does when she’s happy. The bus pulls up at our stop, and Angela and I push past the basketball players to the door and step off. In the sudden quiet of our neighborhood, Angela and I shimmy our way down the sidewalk. We swing around cherry trees, shaking them as we pass so their pink and white petals spray over us.
“Amala’s going to choose us,” I say. “She has to—we’re the best dancers in the whole class. By far.”
Angela laughs and rolls her shimmy up her whole body.
“I can’t believe we’re going to dance with Dana Sajala. Can you believe it?” I say.
Angela stops shimmying and says, “She might not choose us. You do know that, right?”
“Spoilsport!” I say. The wind has blown cherry petals across the path and into the spruce hedge in front of Angela’s house so that it looks like a dancer’s colorful skirt. I pull some of the petals off and put them in my hair for decoration.
“Let me dream my dream,” I say as Angela turns into her yard.
“Amala has a whole studio to choose from, Lila. She might not choose you. Or me. Or anyone else from our class.”
“But she will,” I say.
“Just…” She hesitates.
“Just what?”
Angela shifts her bag on her shoulder and doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but when she sees I’m about to ask her again, she says, “Don’t persuade yourself Amala’s going to choose us, that’s all.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I don’t want you to be disappointed. I know you,” she says. “You always believe things are going to happen.” With that she walks up the path and onto the stairs in front of her house.
“But…” I don’t know what to say, so I watch her fit the key into the lock of her door. As she opens it, I say, “Don’t you think Amala could choose us?”
“She might. But she might not.”
“You think there are others in the class who are better than us?” It seems unlikely.
“I don’t know. I just don’t want you to get super excited about something that might not happen.” Angela turns the knob, enters her house and leaves me standing on the walkway, wondering, Is there someone more likely to be chosen?
Doubt gnaws at my stomach, making me feel sick. I really, really, really want to be chosen. But what if I’m not?
Three
“G irls, let’s show Dana our best,” says Amala as she opens the door and lets
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