Dream Chaser Read online

  “Willow, could I speak with you for a moment?” Ms. Fuller asked.

  I spun around. Ms. Fuller never spoke to me unless it was to tell me to stop talking. She was probably ticked we were whispering and writing notes on school property. Jilly shrugged her shoulders, grinned and shot through the doors before she, too, got called back.

  Thanks Jilly! What a loyal friend.

  I stepped aside as the choir room emptied. If I was going to be chewed out, I didn’t need an audience. Ms. Fuller stood at the piano and organized music.

  “Come on over, and pull up a chair.”

  I obeyed, not liking the feel of this. Ms. Fuller sat down at the piano bench and turned to face me. She didn’t look mad. Her grey eyes peered at me through her bifocals. She wore the same blue blazer she wears every Wednesday with grey slacks and brown shoes.

  “I heard you quit the cheerleading squad. Is that right?”

  “Yeah.” Wow, news traveled fast!

  “I’m surprised. I thought you loved cheerleading.” She seemed to be analyzing me, and I couldn’t imagine why.

  “I do, I mean I did.”

  “You played a pretty big role in the squad, and I know they were making another run for Nationals. Are you sure you don’t want to cheer anymore?”

  I wondered who put her up to this. Ms. Klahn? Jilly?

  “Positive,” I answered without hesitation. I never wanted the sensation of free falling again.

  “So there’s no chance you’ll be changing your mind and going back to the squad?” Ms. Fuller studied my reaction. Her forehead wrinkled in the spot between her eyes.

  “Nope. I’m done. Cleaned out my locker and turned in my uniform.” That part hurt more than I wanted to admit, but the relief far outweighed the pain. Jilly didn’t know I’d done it, but she’d have to accept it. Eventually. “Can I ask why you’re so interested in me quitting cheer?”

  “Actually, I was getting to that.” She smiled as if we were friends. “I’m sure you’ve heard there is an opening in the Tyson Scott Pilot Project.”

  “The what?” I asked, now more confused than ever.

  “The musical is called Dream Chaser and its being brought in by the National Arts Board. You must have heard of it. They auditioned kids from all over the city. I talked about it in class a half dozen times.”

  “Oh yeah, you mean the one Jessica Seymour got kicked out of?” I didn’t mention it happened because of pot brownies.

  “I’m on the committee, and oversee the use of our school’s auditorium for the duration of rehearsals. This is quite an honor for our school.” She pushed up her glasses. “We’re looking for someone to join the cast who can step in and hit the ground running. I only want to talk to people who are truly interested and available. It sounds like you’re available, now the question is are you interested?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it before.” This might be a way to make a clean break with cheer. Jilly would never stop bugging me unless there was no way for me to go back. If I could get in the chorus of this show, it would solve everything. “Isn’t it super dance intensive?”

  “That’s right. Mr. Scott is bringing some of the most technical and innovative dance ever done at the high-school level. If this show is as successful as he hopes, it has an excellent chance of getting picked up for Broadway. We are fortunate to have a few members of Capital High in the show. It would be nice to have another student represent the school.

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t taken dance since freshman year. I don’t know if I could keep up.” Dance had been my life for so many years, but after what happened, I dropped it and switched to cheer.

  “Don’t worry about that now. One step at a time. What I need to know is if you’re interested.” She waited for my answer as if she had all day.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. She’d caught me off guard. “It never really occurred to me.”

  Now that I thought about it, I did recall a couple months back when news of the show and the amazing Tyson Scott was all over school and the Madison media. News crews even reported outside our school about the amazing pilot program that would put our city on the map for more than the University and the Wisconsin Badgers. At the time, everyone on cheer watched with curiosity over all the attention. I heard a lot of the kids from my former dance school auditioned. They had to agree to quit all their other clubs and activities for the three months of rehearsals and shows.

  “Do you have something to do with all this new time on your hands? Did you have anything else in mind?”

  “No, it’s still pretty new.” It hadn’t been twenty-four hours yet. I still couldn’t figure out how she knew.

  “Well, give it some thought and let me know.” Ms. Fuller stood up as kids started to file in for the freshman Madrigal rehearsal.

  “Okay. I’ll think about it.” Happy to get away from her prying, I slipped past the freshman mob. What an interesting idea. There wasn’t much Jilly and the others could do if I committed to something else, like the show.

  I went to the commons to grab lunch and join the others in the atrium. Unfortunately, because I arrived late, the lunch lines trailed on forever. I joined the back and waited an eternity to reach the food counter.

  Usually I stand with half the squad talking and oblivious to everything else, but with no one to distract me, I actually noticed the surroundings of the cafeteria. Polished silver columns marked the edges of the huge room. A sea of round lunch tables filled the gleaming clean space. Bright light shone down and illuminated the students who gathered in their various clusters and cliques.

  Now, as I looked at it, the groups were so obvious. The Cross Country team took up a couple tables. The guys were all lanky and lean. They had their own nerdy confidence that long distance runners seem to have.

  The techies gathered in a far corner. These guys were mostly scrawny with pasty white skin. Some of the cheer guys loved to harass them.

  On the side near the wide staircase to Level Two sat the show contingent. They consisted of kids who did theatre, dance, and music. There was an unspoken challenge from them to take the atrium from the cheer squad. I knew some of them from my early years of dance. It’s funny how much life changes and evolves. I never even talked to those kids anymore. My memories of that time were bittersweet.

  Beyond that was the atrium; I spotted my friends through the foliage. Jilly sat on one of the benches laughing.

  Finally, I hit the front of the line. I grabbed my regular lunch: a slice of pepperoni pizza, and a chocolate milk. I took a bite, inched down the line to the cashier and slid my ID through the scanner to pay. As I made my way toward the atrium, a couple girls from the JV squad stopped me. If they were good enough, eventually they’d make varsity.

  “Hey Willow, is it true you quit cheer?” asked Kelli, a short sophomore with a bob of brown hair.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “I told you,” Kelli said to Jenna who perched next to her at the table. “That is so huge! I can’t even believe it! Why’d you quit?”

  I hadn’t thought about other kids asking.

  “Jenna, stop being so nosy,” Kelli said.

  “What? I’m just asking.” She turned back to me. “I heard it’s because you got hurt really bad, and your parents made you quit.”

  Their overeager underclassmen pupils focused on me. How little they knew. My parents never make me do anything. Or, for that matter, never forbid anything either. If I told them I wanted to shoot bear in The Yukon, they’d buy me a hunting license and put me on a plane.

  “No, nothing like that. I just lost interest.” Which technically was true, but still a lame answer.

  “I heard she chickened out,” a blond said from the other side of the table.

  “I gotta go.” I turned my back on them, not willing to listen anymore. Let them gossip. That’s half the fun of cheer, talking about everyone else who wasn’t lucky enough to be one of us.

  I mean them. If this was what the saying me
ant about a taste of your own medicine, I didn’t like it. Having people gossip about me to my face, let alone behind my back, sucked.

  I took another bite of pizza when the warning bell rang. Crap. So much for lunch. At least it saved me from facing Jilly and the squad of inquisitors. I dropped my tray at the kitchen window and grabbed my pizza and milk to finish on the way to class.

  Chapter 5

  After school, I walked in the front door to discover a huge drop cloth on the living room floor and a giant canvas stretched across the room. Dad and Breezy stood on the drop cloth throwing handfuls of paint at the canvas.

  Another average day at the Thomas house.

  “Hey Willow, what are you doing home so early?” Dad asked.

  “I’m not doing cheer anymore. Remember?” He must be the only person who didn’t care one way or another.

  “That’s right. You feeling okay about that?” He paused with the paint long enough to give me one of his obligatory concerned dad looks.

  “Yup. It’s all good,” I said, only a little bit surprised at how easy it was to walk away from cheer. Knowing I’d never have to be airborne again gave me great relilef.

  “Hey, Willow, wanna throw paint with us?” Breezy stood barefoot, wearing a stained smock and a paint smudge on her cheek.

  “No thanks, I’ll pass, but it looks great!” The bright blotches looked like a nauseous dragon horked colors.

  “Thanks!” She beamed.

  “Willow, before you go, Breezy took a message for you. It’s on the fridge.”

  “Who called?”

  “You have to go read it,” Breezy yelled. “Geez! That’s why it’s called a message. So I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

  I found her message taped to the fridge with grey fingerprints smeared on it. I could barely read “Call Miss Ginny.” The phone number was illegible, but I knew it by heart. Miss Ginny owned the Davis Dance Academy, my old studio. I wondered what she could possibly want after all this time.

  I grabbed my cell phone and went upstairs to escape the flying paint. I dialed the number and asked for her.

  “Hello, Willow!” The cultured voice of my former dance teacher rang out.

  My heart ached a little as her voice immediately took me back to the many hours I’d spent with this woman. “Hi, Miss Ginny.”

  “Thank you for calling back so quickly. I knew you would. I called because I need you to stop by the studio this evening. I have something to discuss with you.”

  “Sure, I guess.” I hadn’t stepped foot into the studio for about three years. I couldn’t even make myself visit; it was too hard for me and for her when I quit, and my presence in the studio would’ve broken both our hearts.

  “Wonderful. I have a class now, so I must go, but swing by around seven o’clock; I have a break between classes then.”

  “Alright, I’ll be there.”

  “It will be so good to see you. It’s been too long since I’ve seen that beautiful face. I have to get back to class, so goodbye for now.”

  The line clicked off. Great. What was she up to? I’m barely out of cheer, and Miss Ginny is trying to recruit me back to dance? I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted to do. For just a second, I’d like to relax and take a breath, but I wouldn’t let her down, I’d be there and on time.

  At the allotted hour, I pulled our aging Prius into the crowded parking lot of Davis Dance Academy. Parents sat in their cars with the engines running as they waited for their kids to finish class. My mom and dad were part of this crowd for ten years, dutifully picking me up four nights a week. Dance had been my passion, my whole world, my identity. It broke my heart to quit, but at the time, it seemed like the best choice.

  I squeezed the car into a spot with the right side parked up on a snow bank. This left the car hiked at an angle. Parking was not my strength, especially when winter snow crowded all the spots. Unexpected emotions clouded my eyes as I grabbed my bag and approached the doors. Three years was a long time to stay away from what had literally been my second home.

  The heavy front door still stuck when I pulled it open. Three young girls rushed past, twittering away with dance bags over their shoulders and their winter coats hanging open to the frosty elements. Inside, dozens of girls loitered in their leotards and tights. Many took up camp in the corners, changing shoes or doing homework between dance classes.

  “Willow is that you? I don’t believe my eyes!” Miss Kathy, one of my former teachers, rushed over and hugged me. “Look at you! You’re all grown up.”

  I suppose I had changed a bit since freshman year. I hugged her back, filled with nostalgia.

  “What are you doing here? Are you coming back to dance with us?”

  “Miss Ginny asked me to come in. I’m not sure why.” I glanced around the lobby. Dance pictures and posters lined the walls.

  “I’m sure it must be something important for her to call. She’s in Studio C. Go on over. I hope this means you’re coming back. We could use more dancers like you. I’ve got a class, but don’t be stranger.” Miss Kathy rushed off.

  A crush of pint-sized dancers squeezed past as I made my way to Studio C. Miss Ginny stood near a large stereo, organizing CD’s, garbed in her standard studio uniform of pink tights, black leotard cinched at the breast and her trademark chartreuse wrap. Mirrors covered one wall and ballet bars lined the other three. The worn wood floor reminded me of my endless hours spent practicing.

  She turned and spotted me. Warm kinship shone in her eyes. “Willow,” she said like a melody. Miss Ginny offered a warm smile that felt like a welcome home after a long journey. Her lips were stained red and her bright eyes rimmed with black liner. She still wore false eyelashes, as if she were about to step out under the bright stage lights.

  “Come let me take a look at you,” she said, back in her business mode. “Take off that coat.”

  I grinned at my former mentor, tossed my coat aside, and stepped before her.

  “You’re taller,” she stated as she examined me.

  “Yes, that happens.” I fought the urge to hug her.

  “How are your parents?” She gripped my biceps and triceps. “Look at these muscles. Tsk.”

  “Same as usual.” I bit back a response about the muscle comment. Cheerleading demanded a lot of strength.

  “Are they still blending tea?”

  “Oh yes, and they’ve expanded to some new flavors.”

  “And your sister? I haven’t seen her in my studio.” She continued to examine me, nodding approval.

  “She’s a free spirit, but maybe someday.” Breezy didn’t seem like the dancing type. Drama, yes, but the discipline of dance? I didn’t see it.

  Miss Ginny harrumphed.

  “You quit that cheerleading thing,” she stated, but arched an eyebrow like it was a question.

  “Yes, just yesterday.” Here it was again. Did everyone in the entire city know I quit?

  “Good,” She said with satisfied finality. “You must go home and stretch out those muscles. Don’t worry. They will be long and lean in a couple of weeks. Have your father teach you some yoga.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but Miss Ginny, will you please tell me what this is about?”

  “Tyson Scott needs a new dancer for his pilot project Dream Chaser. Of course, Jessica threw her opportunity into the toilet as she often does. A talented girl with no drive. What a waste. Now everything is a mess. He must find another dancer immediately. He has all my best dancers, but he doesn’t have you.” She drilled me with a look like a nun at a Catholic school. “I told him you can step in immediately.”

  “What?!”

  I had thought about it since Ms. Fuller mentioned the idea this morning, but step in immediately? Let’s slow this train down.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked. “Tyson needs a dancer, and you need to dance. You’re done playing cheerleader, so what else are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know if I have time to do a show right now.”

 
“Nonsense. Of course you do. Tyson is a former student of mine. He is a brilliant choreographer with the most innovative mind to hit Broadway in twenty years. This show will put Madison on the map as an excellent location for the arts.” She paused and peered over the top of her glasses. “If his show garners the critical acclaim it deserves, great things will happen to all involved. You must be a part of it.”

  “Yeah, but...”

  “No, no. No more disagreements. I want you to go home and do some warm ups. Practice your last competition routine, the one you performed at the Joffrey summer workshop. Play some classical music, and for goodness sake, stretch out those muscles. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you will not be left behind! Do you have a problem with this?” Her head held high and her posture perfect, she awaited my answer like a ticking bomb.

  “No, ma’am.” What was the point in debating? When Miss Ginny got something in her head, she always got her way. Except when I quit dance. That was the hardest thing I’d ever done, much harder than quitting cheer, and Miss Ginny took it personally. But it had nothing to do with her.

  “Excellent. Be ready to audition for him after school tomorrow. It’s in the Capital High Auditorium. It will be a private audition before the full cast rehearsal.”

  My eyes bugged out. An audition tomorrow! I needed time to prepare. It had been three years since I last danced. Miss Ginny assumed too much if she thought I could be polished enough for an audition by then!

  “Now what is this? You can’t expect to just walk in and get the part.”

  “But I need a lot more time!”

  Young students wandered in. “I wish I had time to work with you now, but the night is filled with classes. Here is a DVD of your last competition routine. The one you took first place with. Do you remember?”