Free Ripped by Lisa Edward

Pointe that’s always full of dancers. We can go like this.” She indicated to her sweatpants and hoodie. “It’s like standard dress-code for that place.”
    I gave myself a once-over. Sweats and zip-up track top should be fine then. I sniffed under my arms before screwing up my nose.
    Tiffany laughed. “Here.” She tossed me her deodorant from her bag. “Never leave home without it.”
    A loud whistle made me jump, and I spun around to find the source.
    “Anyone coming to Pointe, we’re leaving now,” Becca announced from the stage. “Let’s go, ladies. I, for one, need a drink.”
    I couldn’t wipe the broad grin from my face as seven other dancers, six girls and one guy, made their way toward the stage door. So this was my chance to make friends with all of them, to not only be another dancer in the show but someone they might consider socializing with. During breaks I’d heard them talking about going shopping in the East Village together, or a Broadway show a couple of them had been to. I wanted to be a part of that. I wanted to be able to walk up to Tiffany or Becca or any of the others and invite them out for lunch or a jog in Central Park without feeling self-conscious and like a try-hard.
    We were filing through the door when a familiar voice called out. “Wait for me, my little doves.”
    I didn’t need to turn to see whose voice that was. I had heard it barking out steps and whispering in my ear for weeks now.
    “Is Pierre coming?” I asked Tiffany in a hushed voice, already knowing the answer.
    She rolled her eyes. “Apparently.”
    I giggled at her response, feeling the same way.
    She giggled back. “I can’t stand him. He’s such a sleaze, but he’s a brilliant choreographer and if you cross him you’ll never work again, so, you know.” She shrugged, leaving what I was supposed to know unsaid.
    I nodded, hopefully convincingly, because I had no idea what she was talking about.
    A nondescript brownstone hid what was a treasure trove of stage memorabilia. I would have walked straight past Pointe and never known what gems the walls concealed. The girls smiled knowingly as I slowly walked the circumference, reading the signed pictures and plaques on each framed piece of costume or small prop that hung on the wall.
    There was a fan from Madame Butterfly . A mask from Phantom of the Opera that had been signed by Michael Crawford. A pair of red glitter shoes from The Wizard of Oz . The list was endless and I ohh’ed and ahh’ed in awe with every new piece I discovered. How had I never heard of this place before? I could spend the entire night just absorbing the plethora of keepsakes from the world’s most famous Broadway musicals.
    A friendly hand rested on my shoulder. “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” Tiffany asked. “First time I came here I was worse than you. I’d been dreaming of being Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz since I was six, and to see those shoes …” She indicated with a nod to the glittery pumps on the wall. “I burst into tears.” She laughed. “Yes, I know, I’m pathetic.”
    “You wanted to play Dorothy. Do you sing as well as dance?”
    She smiled. “I do sing, but I actually wanted to not only play Dorothy, but be Dorothy. I grew up in Kansas and watching that movie was a Sunday afternoon staple in my house. I used to dream of being Dorothy and being whisked away to the magical land of Oz.”
    “I’ve wanted to dance Odette in Swan Lake since I first put on ballet slippers at the age of three.” I sighed. “Maybe one day.”
    “Come over here. This will blow your mind.” Tiffany grabbed my hand and led me across the bar to the opposite wall. There were ballet pointe shoes in a box frame with a brass plaque beneath that read ‘Galina Ulanova’s ballet shoes, worn for her performance of Odetta in Swan Lake, 1932.’
    To any regular person they were just a pair of second-hand ballet shoes, the ribbons tied in a bow, the toes dirty and worn. But to me they