Free The Angel & the Brown-eyed Boy by Sandy Nathan Page A

that.”
    Olga looked carefully at Bridgette and picked up first position so gracefully that those behind her drew in a breath. If she could make such a simple movement memorable, she was good.
    The work on the barre warmed the dancers up, moving slowly from one muscle group to the next, starting with the feet and going on to the larger muscles.
    Madame Mercier stood before the class, giving whatever variation of the exercises she wanted, moving down the barre to correct the lines of arms or heads, fixing the tuck of a hip or position of a leg. “Stand up. Pay attention. Listen to the music.” Shaking her head, she looked at the riding crop that hung next to the piano. The dancers stood taller.
    “Rond de jambe!” Madeleine snapped at Olga. “Don’t you know what that is? A circle of the leg. It’s elementary. Show her, Bridgette. Take first position. Extend the inside foot forward on the floor, straight ahead, leg turned out. Trace a half circle around toward the center of the room. Then drop the heel and settle back to first position. Keep your turnout. It’s easy. Now you do it.”
    Olga looked around blankly, and then did the most perfect rond de jambe ever seen.
    “Yes! I knew you could do it. Apply yourself and you’ll do fine.”
    Madeleine was so involved with the girl that she didn’t notice the shifting moods of her other students. While they might have entered the classroom curious and perhaps a bit envious of the new girl, those feelings didn’t last. Even though they hadn’t gotten past the barre work, it was obvious that Olga had no classical ballet training at all. Every time No Mercy yelled at her, or used that vicious tone to tell Bridgette to show her something, the others cringed.
    When No Mercy began looking again at the wall where her riding crop hung, little Melanie, the poorest dancer in the class, choked back tears. “No, Madame, don’t hit her. Please don’t...,” she whispered.
    The class moved to the center work. Leaving the barre, they performed carefully chosen routines, starting with easy steps and moving to very large jumps. The music accelerated. They were getting close to a semblance of dancing.
    Olga seemed to have awakened. She kept doing little jumps and jigs and had the other girls smiling.
    “Stop that! Get over here!” Madeleine grabbed Olga’s shoulder. “Don’t you have any discipline? That isn’t how you behave in class.” She shoved her behind Bridgette. “What are you so jumpy about, Bridgette? You’ve got your place back. At least you can follow orders.
    “Now, do this”—she mapped out a simple series of steps—“pas de chat, pas de chat, pas de chat, glissade, a petit jeté—
    “STOP THAT!”
    Olga had taken the simple steps she’d given them, repeated them once, and then burst across the room, spinning and leaping and... dancing! She wasn’t supposed to dance. She was supposed to do her center work, using the exercises that Madame chose.
    “Stop that, and get in line, Olga! The rest of you, begin! In order, one after the other. Pas de chat, pas de chat, pas...” They did the sequence in line, diagonally across the room. Each added some little step or jump of her own. Madeleine continued the lesson, and Olga led a rebellion, leaping and spinning and moving across the room like she’d been born en pointe. All the time, she had such a sweet look on her face that only an expert could see her true duplicity. Madeleine’s jaw worked furiously.
    First Bridgette joined Olga in the dance fest, then the rest jumped in. And, finally, the little one, Melanie, took off across the room with a series of grand jetés no one would have believed her capable of executing.
    “Stop! Stop! All of you! Leave this room,” Madeleine screamed. She stepped in front of Olga, preventing her leaving. “All but you, get out. Close the doors!”
    When they were alone, she pulled Olga around to face her. “What do you think you’re doing? This is my class. Do you think