Out of Step: Chapter 4
He turns around and gives me a look, the kind of look that says, “please don’t be a terribly selfish human being.”
Atara walks dramatically toward me, on pointe, as I enter the studio. She’s already dressed for class, thick hair swept into a topknot, and I’m still in my Bais Yaakov uniform. Typical.
I watch her for a second; she looks so elegant, and while my pointe shoes feel like a second skin, sometimes, late at night, I stare in the full-length mirror behind my door and think I don’t look graceful enough to be a ballerina.
It’s crazy talk, I know. I’m a wonderful dancer, and ballet is about dancing with your heart, not about your hair or bone structure. But it’s just hard, when some people just look like typical ballerinas and others don’t.
I shake off my insecurities and grab the lavender-colored flyer Atara is now waving in my face.
“What,” I say, shrugging off my backpack, “is that?”
Atara steps down hard, rolls her neck, and says, “That is our new Sunday activity.”
I squint at the flyer as I kick off my Todds — major find in Century 21, and I only had to beg Mommy for like three weeks before she bought them for me — and read aloud:
Pouf! Hair Course by Fraidy Steinberg
Sundays at 10
Six weeks
Learn hair styling, cutting, extensions, etc
Wig course: Extra three weeks.
I stare at Atara blankly. “Um, why are we doing a hair course?”
Atara grabs the flyer back and sighs. “Oh, Bella. Because, uh, hello, seminary is like in three years and then shidduchim, and it’s never too early to learn how to make our hair and future wigs look ah-mazing. Besides, it’s Fraidy Steinberg. Like, The Fraidy Steinberg.”
Fraidy Steinberg is huge, she’s booked like years in advance and has the hugest following.
I turn to look in one of the millions of mirrors the studio is adorned with and finger my thick, straight hair. I would love to figure out how to put some oomph in it….
“Okay, you convinced me.”
Satisfied, Atara pirouettes off, leaving me to change into my favorite navy leotard.
Shayna comes over to me as I step out of the dressing room.
“Bella Rena, there you are. We must discuss recital themes.”
I flush happily; I’ve been chosen to pick the winter recital theme and have been brainstorming for the past three months. I wipe a sweaty hand onto my dance skirt and follow the instructor into her office.
It’s a great room, with light pink walls, a white desk, and framed pictures of all of her graduates in the same pose: Arms upward, neck stretched elegantly, one leg out to the side, toes pointed.
There are over one hundred photos, and I know, one day in the not-so-far-off future, my image will grace the very same wall.
The idea fills me with excited chills. What will I do once I graduate? Will I become a ballet instructor? Or join one of the frum all-women dancing companies, putting on Chol Hamoed shows? Or move somewhere far away and open my own dance studio?
“So, Bella, hit me with your ideas,” Shayna says, interrupting my daydreaming and smiling warmly.
“Kay. I don’t feel I’ve actually hit upon the right one yet, but I’ll tell you where my mind’s been,” I say as I come back down to Earth.
Shayna nods.
“One: Sheishes Yemei Bereishis. A light and dark dance, a flower dance, water, et cetera.”
Shayna’s face is unreadable, so I continue.
“Two: Jewish calendar. Rebirth for Tishrei, freedom for Nissan, you know.”
Still no response, so I charge forward.
“Nature, obviously with a hashkafic twist, but storms, seas, sunshine.”
I don’t even pause. “My last idea isn’t fully formed, but something about ‘overcoming.’ Maybe with something about galus, then smaller battles, like keeping Shabbos despite being fired every week. Or choosing not to have a smartphone in today’s generation, stuff like that.”
“I love it.”
I blink, Shayna’s smiling. “Fine-tune that last one, Bella. Really work out the kinks, let’s meet in a week to discuss it.”
I curtsy gracefully, Shayna applauds, and I hurry out to class.
Gosh, I love her. She’s just so different than every other adult I know.
I join Atara at the barre as we start warmups and fill her in on our conversation.
“I’ll help you,” she promises.
Gosh, I love her too.
***
I’m finishing my homework when Yehuda walks in. “Hey,” he says through a mouthful of something chocolatey. This doesn’t faze me; my brothers spend most of their lives eating.
“You heard we’re going to visit Babby in the hospital tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “Nope, no one tells me anything.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right.”
I look back down at my Lit book. “What time?”
He’s already leaving the room. “I think six.”
“But then I’ll miss ballet,” I say automatically.
He turns around and gives me a look, the kind of look that says, “please don’t be a terribly selfish human being.”
I’m pretty used to that look, but I still blush.
“Fine, thanks for telling me.”
I sit back in my chair. No ballet, totally terrifying hospitals, and double math period.
Tomorrow’s gonna be a fuuuuun day.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 780)
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