Chapter 1 Chapter 1 300 YEARS LATER SAN PEDRO, CALIFORNIA I COULD ALWAYS COUNT ON Patrick to attempt the impossible. In this case: the double tour en l''aire move from Swan Lake . It was one of the most difficult moves in ballet. He had already tried and failed four times, but Patrick wasn''t one to give up that easily--one of the many reasons he was my best friend. "Okay, Josie, fifth time''s the charm," he declared as he spread his arms and assumed the position. "You got this," I called encouragingly. I raised my phone and pointed the camera at him. If he did pull it off, we wanted proof.
Patrick raised his slightly pointed chin and stood in fifth position. He took a deep breath and quickly sprang straight up as he attempted to rotate twice in the air, landing back down (gracefully!) in fifth position. He groaned as he underrotated and only did one and a half turns. Even when not fully completing the move, he made it look easy, but trust--it is not! "Just try again!" I said, a smile spreading across my face. He was so close. Maybe he really would get it this time! Around the seventh try, I saw the beads of sweat begin to gather along his forehead. Patrick used to rock an Afro that had kept some of his sweat in check when we practiced here in my basement, which my parents had converted into a makeshift dance studio for me. But as Patrick had pointed out just before he''d shaved his hair off, it hadn''t been that aerodynamic.
He''d wanted to keep his turns tight and quick, and he was convinced the Afro had been slowing him down. He''d vowed he''d grow it back twice as big someday, right after he retired from dancing. But we were only twelve. Retirement was a long way off for both of us. In the meantime, I liked seeing more of his face. "C''mon, Patrick! You are so close," I called out. And that''s when he actually did both turns but stumbled out of fifth on the landing. "Dang!" he shouted once he''d regained his footing.
"Almost there!" "That''s still really good," I offered, lowering my phone. "Especially in those beat-up kicks." I glanced down at his ballet slippers that looked like they''d been in a losing battle with feral alley cats. Not that mine looked much better. You did kind of have to beat them up to make them act right. Patrick rolled his eyes. "I guess." He looked away and pretended to fiddle with the waistband on his shorts.
He would never admit this out loud, but Patrick wanted to be the greatest dancer and was worried that he never would be. You might be thinking, Big whoop. Every dancer probably feels that way . But Patrick figured if he was going to risk his relationship with his father--who didn''t really get his interest in ballet--and risk getting bullied at school over something, he''d better at least be amazing at it. "Wanna try again?" "Nah, your turn," he answered, reaching for the phone. I handed it off and did a few more stretches, checking my posture in the mirror. I''d gained an inch or two of height over the past few months and had gotten into the bad habit of slouching around friends who hadn''t hit their growth spurts yet. But my ballet teacher, Ms.
Atil, never let me get away with that. "Straighten your spine, Josephine!" she''d say in her mild Turkish accent, then tut three times while she tapped my shoulder blades with the back of her hand. "Don''t be a question mark--be an exclamation point!" How she''d ended up in our neighborhood teaching a bunch of Black and Puerto Rican kids how to do pirouettes, I didn''t know, but I was glad she had. I pushed my shoulders back, lifted my head, and took fourth position. Patrick raised the phone and hit record. "Show me what you got." With a smile as if I were onstage, I dived into the first turn. I tuned out Patrick''s voice counting down and the squeak of the floorboards beneath my feet.
I didn''t hear the TV blaring a football game upstairs. Instead in my mind I heard Tchaikovsky, the swell of violins and cellos bouncing along to the rhythm. Soon I wasn''t even Josie Davis anymore but the Black Swan, Odile, desperately trying to convince the prince that I was Odette, the one who really had his heart. Ms. Atil had told us the story behind Swan Lake so many times, I could repeat it word for word. I knew Odile was supposed to be the villain, but I couldn''t help feeling bad for her. All she wanted was love. Each turn, every leg extension, was saying, Please, please, please .
I could relate. I heard the music in my head pause as I finished with a flourish, extending my arms like the wings of a bird. Patrick lowered the phone and frowned at me. "I hate you. You know that, right?" "Did I do it?" I panted as I lowered my arms and went back to being just Josie. "You know you did. You didn''t even break a sweat, you jerk. You make me sick.
" He paused. "You''re amazing." We were still grinning at each other when someone cleared their throat from the foot of the basement stairs. We both looked up to see our mothers standing there, each of them waving a thick white envelope. "Mom? What are you--" Patrick started. "They''re here," my mom cut in with a huge smile. "The letters from Star Fire!" Patrick and I gasped in unison. Two months ago, we''d both auditioned to be admitted to the legendary Star Fire Academy for the Performing Arts for the upcoming school year.
They''d told us it would be a while before we got the news, so we''d tried not to think about it. But it was hard not to picture what it would be like to head off to a boarding school in New York City, clear across the country, in a place packed with other artsy kids like us--a place rumored to be infused with magic. Some may think that''s silly, but if you''ve ever seen a former student perform before Star Fire and then after, it''s hard to argue there isn''t something supernatural going on there. I knew it was a long shot that even one of us would get in. The odds of them admitting two of Ms. Atil''s knuckleheads were pretty slim. But I''d held out hope anyway. Patrick and I had been dancing together for years.
I didn''t want to stop now. We ran forward and snatched the envelopes out of our mothers'' hands. I could see our fathers lingering just behind them now on the steps, looking almost as excited and anxious as we were. "No matter what happens.," I said, turning to Patrick, biting my bottom lip. "No matter what," he answered. He held up his index finger and smiled--our way of saying that we were Day One friends, and that would never change. I turned my eyes toward the envelope, carefully sliding one finger beneath the seal, then slowly pulled out the letter inside.
As soon as I unfolded the thick cream-colored paper, a swarm of paper ballerinas rose up into the air like butterflies, twirling and spinning above my head. "Wow!" I breathed out. "Josie? What are you looking at?" I glanced at my mom, who was staring back at me, confused. I gestured over my head. "What do you mean? Can''t you see." I trailed off when I glanced back up to where dancers had spun in the air moments before. They were gone now. Had they really not seen it? "N-nothing," I stammered.
"I saw. Never mind." I shook my head and continued to unfold the letter. Even without the floating dancers, the letter seemed like something out of a dream. The surface of the paper shimmered as if it had been dusted with a fine coat of glitter, and the words seemed to have been handwritten with dark gold ink, so thick that it rose slightly off the page. At the very top was the Star Fire logo--a blazing star with the silhouette of a dancer in an arabesque position at the center. I stared at it so long, I could have sworn I saw it move. "Josie, you''re killing us," my father said with a groan.
"What does it say?" I blinked, fighting to regain my focus. Even then, the letters seemed to lift up off the page and swim around, rearranging themselves until they finally made sense. "It says, " ''Dear Ms. Davis , Thank you for auditioning for admission to the Star Fire Academy for the Performing Arts. We are pleased to inform you.'' " "You''re in!" Mom shouted. "You''re in!" I didn''t even get to finish reading the second sentence before Mom and Dad swept me up into a lung-crushing hug. Dad laughed and said, "I knew it! Didn''t I tell you, Erica?" "You did, baby," Mom answered, tears welling in her eyes.
It was several moments before they pulled away and I remembered Patrick. He was still standing there, staring down at his letter. Not saying anything. My heart sank. "Oh, Patrick. I''m so sorry." I reached out to touch his arm. He glanced at my hand, then looked up at me with one thick black eyebrow quirked.
"What are you sorry for? That I''m about to show you up in all our dance classes at the academy?" The corners of his lips curled into a slow smile. " Our? You mean." "I''m in too!" He flashed his letter at me, which contained the same welcome message. I squealed loud enough to wake all the old dogs in the neighborhood. After his parents hugged him, I moved in for mine, squeezing him as hard as his wiry frame would let me. "We''re going to run that place!" I whispered into his ear. "And you know this," he replied. "Even the invitation was incredible," I said.
Pa.