Free Ella of All-of-a-Kind Family by Sydney Taylor Page B

the tunes. Hand out the music sheets, somebody.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s go, Harry,” and the pianist plunged into the first song.
    The melodies were lively and simple enough for everyone to follow—but what voices! Ella couldn’t help thinking Professor Calvano would have grabbed his hat and made a hasty exit.
    Over and over they sang, till everyone was familiar with the lyrics.
    “All right, kids, you can take a break now,” Mr. Trent announced. “Not you, Miss Ella. You’ve got a solo to learn. And there’s a duet with Jack, too.”
    Immediately Ella could sense some lifting of eyebrows, an exchange of glances.
    “Miss Ella’s solo, Harry,” Mr. Trent directed. “Take it from the top.”
    Ella listened intently to the introduction, then followed the music and words on her song sheet. What a silly tune, she thought. Nevertheless, she sang it with as much feeling as she could. When she’d finished, Mr. Trent was smiling, all friendly. “That’s good. A little more swing, maybe. But that’ll come as we work on it. Now let’s try the duet.”
    Jack’s was not much of a voice, Ella decided, but she had to admit he did know how to put over a song in a slambang style.
    “When both of you have got it down pat,” Mr. Trent said, “we’ll put in the dance steps. Jack, that routine we worked out, you’ll teach it to Miss Ella.”
    “Be my pleasure, baby,” Jack whispered in her ear, sliding his arm around her. Ella stiffened.
    “Now let’s see.” Mr. Trent turned to the girls. “You,Irene,” pointing to a pert redhead with a turned-up nose, “you’ll be Miss Ella’s understudy. We’ll rehearse you in the song next time. Harry, give her a song sheet.”
    Did Ella imagine it or did Irene’s nose tilt a bit higher? I guess she doesn’t like the idea of playing understudy to a mere beginner like me.
    “Okay now, girls! Line up for the dance. Snap into it! Size places. Miss Ella, you’re the smallest. You’re first.”
    Ella was in a panic. She wanted to cry out “I’m not a dancer!” but Mr. Trent was already demonstrating the first step. “You come on in a pony prance with your knees up high. Like this.”
    Thank heavens, the step looks easy enough, Ella thought, relieved.
    But the dancing was far from satisfying to Mr. Trent. “Go on back—all of you—and try it again,” he shouted.
    Over and over the girls pranced till Ella found herself gasping for breath.
    “Take ten,” Mr. Trent finally yelled.
    Now what does that mean? Ella wondered. When she saw the group dispersing around the room and Mr. Trent relax against the side of the piano, she understood it meant a ten-minute rest. Gratefully she sank into a chair.
    All too soon, the ten minutes were up. Rehearsal of the dance routine resumed. It seemed easy enough for the others, but Ella found the steps a crazy patch quilt of legs. I’ll never get it! Which foot? Right? Left? Kicks, endless circles. My legs are dropping off.
    “Step and kick and circle in the air!” Mr. Trent barked out anew.
    The line of legs bobbed up and down like a jumping centipede. Ella, in desperation, kicked too hard. Her rightleg shot up and, unbalanced, she started teetering backward. Immediately, one after the other, the girls fell back like a row of falling dominoes.
    By a stroke of good luck, Jack, seated on a chair at the line’s end, was able to put out his hands just in time. He caught the last dancer as she promptly collapsed in his lap. The pianist stopped playing and looked inquiringly at Mr. Trent as the group disentangled itself amid a grumble of taunting remarks.
    Ella burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry,” she kept reiterating.
    But to everyone’s amazement, Mr. Trent was all smiles. “Great!” he cried.
    Ella’s mouth dropped open in the midst of a sob. She smiled at Mr. Trent uncertainly.
    “Miss Ella, you’ve given me a great idea!” Mr. Trent went on. “We can use that whole setup in the finale for the