| Out of Step |

Out of Step: Chapter 12

By Ariella Schiller | December 4, 2019

“Hello? Hello?” And then I realize that Atara’s crying

Isit on my bed and survey the room through slitted eyes.

Step one to Operation Tackle Tornado: assess the damage. I do a 360 with my eyes, taking in the pile of tutus on the floor, the bags of ribbons and slippers piled behind the door, the chair hidden by upsheren wardrobe options, the nightstand littered with chocolate wrappers and plastic cups, and the unmade bed I am perched on.

Aha.

I have my work cut out for me. I grin, remembering how on the first day of high school, Perel from math class asked me if I was super neat because I did ballet. Um, hi, misconception, how are you?

But Ma, on the other hand, is very neat. And she has informed me, in no uncertain terms, that if I don’t get my room clean, she is canceling all future ballet classes. And dinner. I think she was joking about that last one. I hope.

Step two is to stand up, which I do very reluctantly. Okay, I can fold clothes. I gather the pile up from the chair and make my way back to the bed. I hum as I fold, and before I know it, I’m done. “Woo-hoo!” I cheer.

Ugh, but now I need to put them all away. Time for a break.

I press play on my speakers; the track for my dance solo comes on. Mmmm, yes.

I get into position and wait. The music swells, I rise onto my toes — pointe will have to wait until I’m wearing ballet shoes — and extend my arms. Slowly, slowly, I start the first turn. And… ow! Not again!

I sink to the floor, massaging my leg. I must tell Mommy I need more muscle cream. Hobbling toward the nightstand, I take it as a sign that I should not be dancing right now, but listening to my mother instead. Turning off the music, I snatch up the garbage bin and am just sweeping everything inside when my phone rings.

I glance at the screen. Atara Bestie <3

Ha, she’d entered herself into my contact list.

I pick up, tucking the phone behind my ear as I continue my cleaning attempts.

“Well, hellloooo Atara Bestie.”

All I hear is silence.

“Hello? Hello?” And then I realize that Atara’s crying.

Abandoning my garbage bin, I sit back down on the bed. “Atara? Tar? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

She continues to cry and I am at a complete loss for words.

“Atara? Should I come over?”

Even as I offer, I know I can’t; there’s no way Ma will let me go until I finish my room.

“N-n-noo,” she chokes out. “Do not come over.”

“Is everyone okay?”

She half-laughs, half-sobs. “Define ‘okay.’ ”

“Um, alive and breathing, all limbs intact, not being held at gunpoint?”

She choke-laughs again. “Oh, if that’s okay, then we’re all fine.”

“Atara.”

“It’s fine, Bella Rena. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry. I just — I need to go.”

And then my best friend hangs up on me.

***

“Bella Rena. That’s the third time I’ve asked you to pass the mashed potatoes.”

I look up, startled at Mommy’s exasperated tone. “Oh! Sorry!” I pass her the bowl, fingers clumsy in my haste. “Was just, uh, thinking about something.”

“Yes,” Chemia says in an unflattering falsetto. “I was just thinking about doing cannolis and parrots during my dance solo.”

Shimshon cracks up, even though he doesn’t get the joke; he chokes on his juice and needs to be pounded on the back.

Naftoli grins. “Why, sister dear, do you have a dance solo coming up? No one has mentioned a word!”

Chemia flutters his hand. “Ah, I am simply being my usual modest self, brother dear. For I have landed the solo of the year! The solo of the decade! Why, it may very well be the solo of the cent—”

“That’s really enough, boys,” Ma says, but her reprimand is sort of lost by the fact that her voice is shaking with unspilled laughter. Nice. Everybody make fun of Bella Rena at once, that’s really nice.

I contemplate storming out, but here there’s fried chicken wings and potatoes and in my room there’s just one bag of stale licorice that I found underneath a pile of dirty towels. I opt for the high road.

“If you all must know, I was actually thinking about a friend in trouble.”

That quiets them real quick.

Ma raises a surprised eyebrow. ‘Everything okay, Bells? Who’s in trouble?” She looks so concerned, and for some reason that really bothers me.

“Nobody, nothing. Thanks, though. Can I go? I need to finish cleaning my room.”

And without waiting for an answer, I mumble a quick borei nefashos and take the stairs two at a time.

I need to try Atara again. I need to know what’s wrong.

Voicemail. Over and over and over.

I flop backward on the bed and close my eyes. I can be self-centered, yes, but when my normally totally perky BFF calls me crying, I get shaken. Her problem is obviously family-related, right? Unless it’s school-related? It can’t have to do with dance, can it? Although it’s pretty obvious she’s jealous of my solo. Which she shouldn’t be. Who knows, maybe she’ll be the spring soloist! I’ve been taking ballet two years longer, plus I take it way more seriously. Yes, I take everything more seriously, but still.

Sigh.

“Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all. You see what you can do when you put your mind to it?”

I sit up; Mommy’s in the doorway, taking in my cleaning progress.

“I’m so glad I didn’t have to cancel dinner,” she jokes.

Ha ha.

She comes and sits next to me and puts a hesitant hand on my knee.

“Bella Rena, what’s going on?”

I shrug, the frustration and confusion building up inside of me.

“Honestly, Ma, I really have no idea.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 788)

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