ELEVEN YEARS AGO
This studio is too warm. There was a lady in the lobby out front telling everyone the air conditioner is broken. It’s not ideal. The woman in front of me keeps fanning herself with her program, sending her aggressively floral perfume my way, and it’s giving me a headache. Mrs. Montgomery was kind to invite me to Olivia’s recital, but I really should be studying for my World History exam. I do want to be here to support Tiny Dancer, but I doubt that she needs or wants my support.
Monty keeps elbowing me every time a pretty girl steps out onto the floor in a leotard, but so far I’m not impressed. The girls who just performed are fourteen and thirteen, respectively. I’m sixteen now. There’s no way I could have an interesting conversation with any of them. I haven’t had interesting conversations with anyone lately. Sometimes I wish I weren’t so much smarter than most people. Or I guess I wish other people were as smart as I am. Or interesting conversationalists at least.
There’s a baby crying somewhere behind me, and his mother shushes him because the youngest Level Three dancers areentering the studio. Olivia struts out with five other girls. The other girls are wearing the usual pink leotards and tights, but Olivia is wearing a pale-blue leotard with shimmery white tights. Her long hair is down, unlike the others, who have theirs up in tight buns. It looks like she’s wearing shiny makeup too. Her eyelids are all glittery. She looks pretty.
It says in the program that she’s the featured dancer for this performance. I’m proud of her. I think it was frustrating for her before, when she wasn’t as pretty as other girls. She’s finally starting to grow into her face. Or rather, her looks are finally catching up with her sass. She’s going to cause a lot of trouble for some poor guy someday.
Olivia lies down in the center of the stage area, in a restful sleeping pose. The other five dancers take their places, standing around her in a semicircle. The lights dim. The guy who’s handling the big spotlight back there in the corner turns it on, now with a blue gel, creating kind of a magical, dreamy atmosphere. The lady at the piano starts playing a song. It’s not classical. What is it? I recognize this song.
I have a memory of driving to my grandparents’ house a few years ago for their big anniversary dinner, one of the few family events my parents actually took time off work to go to. When this song came on the radio, my parents held hands in the front seats. I never see them hold hands. The way my dad looked at my mom… I understood why they were together. I’ve never once heard them say the wordsI love you, but I felt it when I saw the look on my dad’s face.
I like that memory. It’s one of the few nice memories I have that doesn’t involve someone from the Montgomery family. OrStarCraft. Or crushing a Mathletes competition. Although I guess my memory of this song now involves someone from the Montgomery family.
The name of the song pops into my head. It’s called “Beautiful Dreamer.”
Never would have occurred to me that ballerinas could dance to it, but I guess it’s a waltz. So, Olivia has been cast as the Beautiful Dreamer. The other dancers move their arms in wavelike motions around her. Olivia rolls around gracefully with her eyes closed. The dancers flutter around, taking turns spinning, kind of like stars, I guess. Or fairies? I’m not sure, but they’re definitely protective of her.
Olivia starts to stretch her arms and point her toes. Gradually, she awakens, full of joy. They all dance in sync, traveling around with linked arms. There’s some jumping and a little bit of twirling. Olivia really does look pretty when she’s not scowling or laughing maniacally. She’s really graceful. I’m used to seeing her prancing around the house and twirling, doing the splits. But this is different because she’s dancing to the music. She is so much more than the sassy little brat who teases me just as much as I tease her. She teases me more than I ever teased her, now that I think of it.
I can feel Monty glance over at me. I pretend to cough, but I don’t want to take my eyes off Olivia. It’s strange to see her so at ease. I guess she’s in her element. It’s like me when I’m in a flow state, working on an equation or writing code. Good for her.
When the whole recital is over, a boy I recognize from our neighborhood approaches Olivia with red roses and gives her an awkward hug. It seems innocent enough, except the guy keeps whispering into her ear. I see her brother’s hands clench into fists.
As soon as the boy walks away from Olivia with a huge grin on his face, Monty storms over to him. I follow behind. I need to be there in case this kid gets aggressive. In which case—I have no idea what I’ll do.
“Hey. You!” Monty calls out.
The guy looks over his shoulder at him.
“You know who I am?”
“No,” the guy says, annoyed.
“I’m Olivia’s brother, that’s who.”
The kid looks a little worried now. Monty is only a couple of inches taller than him and so skinny, but right now he looks expansive. “What do you think you’re doing, giving my sister red roses? You think I don’t know what that means? You think she’s going to go out with you or something? She’s twelve. You stay away from her, you hear me? You don’t touch her; you don’t talk to her—you don’t look at her. You don’t breathe the same air as her. If I find out you’re even thinking about her, I will ruin your life! You understand me?”
The boy nods and runs out the door. Monty doesn’t chase after him. He just looks really, really pumped.
I’ve never seen Monty talk to anyone like that before. This may be because I’ve never seen his sister talk to a boy other than Monty, me, or their cousins. I can actually see a vein in his neck. He might try to physically harm that boy, for real, if he sees her with Olivia again.
“Well, that was weird.” Olivia is standing behind me. It sounds like she’s smiling.
“Not as weird as his face will get after I punch it,” Monty says, catching his fist in his other hand.
“Jake’s been to all of my recitals since I started dancing. It was cute that he brought flowers.Youdidn’t bring me anything.”
“I don’t have to bring you anything—I’m your brother.”
“Well, Jake was just being nice,” she says.
“That’s not going to stop me from punching him in the face if he tries anything with you.”
I step away. I’ve learned not to get in the middle of sibling arguments.
“You do realize that if you punch him in the face, it will hurt your hand,” Olivia says. “Plus, he might punch you back.”
