Friday Night Stage Lights

  To the greatest nieces and nephew in the history of the world:

  Brooklyn, Addie, Ellie, Calvin, and Maggie

  —Love, Aunt Ray Ray

  Chapter 1

  Most people would say the best way to watch a Leighton High School football game is cheering the team on to yet another victory, in between bites of Frito pie and sips of Dr Pepper.

  I would disagree with them.

  Because to me, the best way to watch a Leighton High School football game was with the volume on your earbuds turned all the way up so you couldn’t hear anything around you.

  That’s how I watched all of my stepbrother Tanner’s games.

  Tonight, I had Tchaikovsky playing at full volume. It was easy to get lost in the music and pretend I was back home at my old dance studio. I could almost feel the creaky wood floor in the changing room and see the sunlight as it streamed through the tiny windows in the main practice space. My eyes might have looked as if I were following the players on the field, but really, I was picturing myself back in my favorite place in the world, leaping and moving so fast it would make you dizzy to watch. I’d just imagined myself taking off into a grand jeté when a finger jabbed me in the shoulder.

  “Brooklyn, stand up,” my friend Mia whispered and gestured toward everyone around us. The whole stadium was on their feet as they clapped like crazy.

  Well, everyone except me.

  “You could at least cheer,” she said and shoved one of her red-and-white pom-poms into my hand.

  “I have no idea what’s going on,” I said but waved the pom-pom in the air and yelled along with everyone so it looked as if I’d been paying attention.

  Mia rolled her eyes; she was used to my cluelessness to football, which in a town that lived football was a rare feat. I’m pretty sure the elementary school classes taught the stats of all the players who ever played for Leighton High and you couldn’t pass on to the next grade until you could recite all of the big games and their outcomes.

  “Go, go, go,” Mom shouted.

  “Yes, go, go, go!” I repeated, even though I didn’t know what was going and where it was going to. But if I had to place a bet, I’d say it had something to do with Tanner. He was the star of the team and most likely in the process of doing something that would make the town love him even more. As if that were possible. I mean, he had a pizza named after him at Reigert’s Pizza Zone, for goodness’ sake.

  “He did it again! Another touchdown! He’s unstoppable!” yelled the man behind me, and Mom clapped her hands together.

  “That’s our boy!” Stephen high-fived Mom, and the spirit buttons with my brother’s face on them that Mom had pinned on her jacket clanged together.

  Mia stuck her phone in my face and switched to her journalist voice, which pretty much sounded like her regular voice, except she used words like “eyewitness,” “scoop,” and “the source.” I’d never tell her that, though, because she planned to be a world-famous sportscaster when she was older and took reporting very seriously. She always had the camera on her phone running. In fact, that’s how I met her at the back-to-school picnic this summer: She stuck her phone in my face and said she had some questions to ask for a special feature about the new members of Leighton Middle School. I was excited to hear I wasn’t the only new person until I found out the other people were a bus driver and janitor. I’m used to her camera now, but at first it kind of felt as if I was the star in a reality show.

  “So tell me, Brooklyn. What do you think of Tanner scoring his third touchdown of the game?”

  “His third?” No wonder Mom was so worked up.

  Mia raised her eyebrows at me.

  I changed gears to make it look as if I were really into the game.

  “Incredible. His skills on the football field rival any college player right now,” I told her, which was what my stepdad Stephen always said.

  “Sources say there’s talk that he may stay in Texas to play.”

  I shrugged, figuring the vague approach is best, even if the same talk and speculation in our house was anything but. Mom and Stephen were obsessed with Tanner getting recruited to play college football in Texas, and I swear, Tanner’s phone couldn’t even ring without one of them getting all worked up that it might be a recruiter.

  “The viewers would love to hear your take on the game tonight,” Mia pressed on like she does with all her interviews to get down to the truth of the matter, which was probably why everyone at school loved her YouTube channel, Mia Speaks Sports.

  “Oh, it’s absolutely riveting,” I told her and made good use of my vocabulary words.

  “Really? Can you be more specific? What’s been your favorite play of the night?” And now I was sure she was messing with me.

  “It’s all been good. I can’t take my eyes off the game.”

  She grinned and put the camera down. “My job is to get the real story out of people. It doesn’t work when you lie to me.”

  Mia knew I didn’t watch the game, but my secret was safe with her, which is why she’s such a great friend. And it’s really one of the biggest scoops around. Could you imagine what this football-crazed town would think if Tanner’s stepsister admitted to knowing nothing about the game?

  Mia turned to Mom, who is always up for an interview if it means she can talk about Tanner’s greatness. “What do you think about Tanner’s work on the field tonight?”

  “He’s unstoppable!” Mom gushed as if she were talking about a celebrity.

  I turned away from them and watched the field. Tanner was at the end zone doing his signature dance to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.” He twisted right and left and then twirled in a circle with his arms in the air. The little kids along the fence did it with him. People sang along as the song blasted from the speakers and the cheerleaders faced the crowd and did their traditional push-ups: one for each point Leighton High had on the scoreboard.

  “You don’t think this is a bit over-the-top?” I asked Mia, who simply laughed, threw her arm around my shoulder, and joined in to belt out the song with everyone else.

  It was unbelievable.

  This was a high school football game.

  High school.

  But you’d think that the biggest NFL star in the world had walked across the field.

  And I happened to live in that star’s house.

  It was as if the moment you stepped into this town, the sport infected you. Everyone ate, slept, and breathed football, and if they didn’t show up at the stadium on Friday nights, there was no doubt they were listening to it on Sports Radio.

  Well, everyone except for me.

  Because I only had room for the one love in my life.

  Ballet.

  I’ve been dancing since I learned to walk and fully intended to get a spot in the Texas School of the Arts freshman class. The idea of it began the familiar tingle of excitement about what my life could be like. Not only would I get to go to a school that focused on dance all day long, but the teachers there were some of the best in the state. The school graduated amazing dancers who went on to do incredible things. Going to TSOTA would get me one step closer to my ultimate dream of getting into Juilliard’s Summer Dance Intensive and one day dancing in a professional company.

  The crowd exploded into another round of cheers, and instead of bleachers full of football fans, I pretended it was from the audience in a packed theater giving me a standing ovation. I turned my music back up and dreamed about a world where it wasn’t Friday-night lights that shined down on me, but the bright lights of the stage.

  Chapter 2

  My alarm blasted way too loud from across the room early the next morning.

  “Quiet,” I mumbled and tried to
burrow back under my sheets. But the alarm wasn’t stopping, and I didn’t want to wake up the rest of the house, so I crawled back out of the cozy warmth of my bed.

  It was still dark outside, so it took me a few seconds to stumble toward it and turn it off. Mom thought I was nuts to get up so early—she always said that sleep was her one true love—but there was no way I was going to let the sun wake up before me. The early bird gets the worm, as they say, and I was ready to get all the worms.

  Besides, I had a date with someone special.

  I crept downstairs into the basement, which was my favorite place in the house because I had my own ministudio.

  It sounds crazy, but it’s true. It was a surprise that I found out about when we moved here. Mom and Stephen had converted a corner of the basement with a sprung dance floor, giant mirrors, and a ballet barre. I couldn’t believe it the first time they took me to see it. I may have broken down in tears, but can you blame me? When dancing is your life, there is nothing more incredible than having your very own studio.

  Not to mention that it was such a nice thing for them to do, even if it was near Tanner’s stinky weight-lifting stuff. I went down every single morning to work on my stretches and positioning. Dancing there was like a giant hug; it was a place where I belonged, and I loved Mom for it. So while moving here was the worst ever and I missed my old life like crazy, this was a tiny silver lining that could make even the most homesick of days seem better.

  I set up my iPad on the tiny table I had against the mirrors and sat on the floor. I was in the middle of a spine stretch when my iPad rang. I pressed the screen and my best friend from home, Dasha’s, face filled the screen.

  “Brookie! I’ve missed you,” she exclaimed and placed her hand against the screen. I did the same—a virtual high five. Dasha was the only person I’d ever allow to call me Brookie, and coming from her, it was like a little piece of home.

  I laughed. “It’s only been a week since we last FaceTimed,” I told her.

  “That’s another week I’ve somehow survived without you,” she said, and I couldn’t agree more. The two of us had been friends since we were three and our parents enrolled us in our first dance classes together. It was love at first sight for each of us, and we both intended to get a spot in the Juilliard Summer Dance Intensive once we were in high school. We had planned it all out: the days spent studying under some of the best teachers in the world, nights going to the free outdoor performances at Lincoln Center, and weekends spent searching for the best pizza in New York City.

  So my first thought when Mom told me we were going to move was, What am I going to do without Dasha? It wasn’t easy, but we made it work. The two of us might be thousands of miles away from each other, but we weren’t going to let anything stop us. Nope. Not a chance.

  That was why every Saturday we got up early and taught each other any new steps, positions, and choreography that we’d learned from our teachers. It was like taking a private class with each other and, if you thought about it, pretty brilliant. Besides, FaceTiming with Dasha took a tiny bit of the sting away from missing her so bad. I might not be able to see her in person, but at least I could still dance with her and the two of us could get some girl talk in.

  “How is your ankle doing?” she asked, which was the same thing she always asked when we talked.

  “It’s okay,” I said, which was the same thing I always replied back. Short and sweet. I hated talking about my ankle, because for so long it was the only thing anyone talked about. And it had been sore for the last few days, which always made me nervous.

  “What about your stepbrother and stepdad? How are things going with your new family?” she asked, checking in on everything that was now so different in my life. That was part of what I loved about talking with Dasha: I could tell her about life in Texas and not have to worry about Mom reminding me to give everything a chance. She’d talked me through my first day of school and listened to me share my fears about joining a new studio.

  “They’re pretty much the same,” I told her. “Which means football, football, football.”

  “How can so many people be obsessed with one thing so deeply?”

  “I know, right? It’s not like we’re obsessed with one thing.”

  “No, not at all,” she agreed, and the two of us laughed, our mutual passion for ballet stronger than most anything out there.

  “So, what’s new with you?” I asked. “What did you work on this week in class?”

  “Oh my gosh, wait until you see it. I’ve been dying to talk to you because yesterday Miss Gretchen showed us some of the choreography for our autumn recital, and it’s incredible.” She backed away from the camera so I could see her entire body and launched into a series of leaps and turns that made me wish even more that I was back home learning this with her. My favorite teacher from Oregon, Miss Gretchen, dreamed up the most amazing choreography, and it stunk that I wouldn’t be able to dance any of it live onstage. She was the one who got Dasha and me obsessed with the Juilliard intensive in the first place. She attended when she was in high school and thought we’d be the perfect candidates for it, and I couldn’t agree more.

  Dasha didn’t have a studio space like I did, but she didn’t let that stop her. Instead, she danced in her garage. Her parents had put in a space heater and parked outside. They understood how serious she was about her training and wanted to provide a space where she could work. We discovered that if she put her iPad on the shelf above her dad’s tool bench, it showed the entire room, which made it easy for us to go over choreography together.

  “That’s beautiful,” I told her when she stopped dancing. I imagined my friends’ excitement in my old class when Miss Gretchen had introduced it to them. The days when we first saw a new routine were like presents—unwrapping them to discover the magic inside.

  “Miss Gretchen outdid herself,” Dasha agreed. “Now let’s make sure you learn it too.”

  And that’s what a good friend is for. The two of us marked the steps over and over again until I was able to dance it as well as Dasha could. We moved together, connected through our screens, and even if we were hundreds of miles away, it was as if we were dancing side by side.

  After practicing the song a few times, the two of us paused to catch our breath, and Dasha grinned at me through the screen.

  “We’re pretty awesome, aren’t we?”

  “Completely,” I agreed. “Juilliard isn’t going to know what hit them when they see our audition tapes.”

  “Forget the intensive; they’ll probably offer us full scholarships to the school,” she joked.

  “And name a building after us,” I added. We laughed together so hard that my stomach hurt.

  “Okay, you know the drill,” Dasha said, growing serious. “Before we say good-bye, it’s solo time. Let’s see it!” She clapped her hands together as if she were Miss Gretchen getting our dance class’s attention.

  “Do we have to?” I moaned. “I really don’t think I need the practice. I could dance it in my sleep. In fact, I’m pretty sure I do.”

  “Don’t even bother trying to get out of it. You know I’m going to make you run through it,” Dasha said and placed her hands on her hips. Even though I was talking to her through a screen, I could feel her stare burning into me, making it clear that she was not going to put up with my excuses.

  “All right,” I said with about as much conviction as someone headed into a tank full of sharks.

  “Come on, show me what you’ve got. I can’t remember what it looks like,” Dasha said, which got a smile from me, because the solo I’d been practicing was the exact same one I’ve danced for over a year. The one I’d performed at my awful, horrible recital. The one I would like to bury somewhere far, far away and never think about it again.

  But instead, I danced it every week for Dasha to keep it fresh in my mind. And it would be the dance that I would use as my solo for the All-City Showcase.

  Instead of running from your
fear, you race headfirst into it.

  Isn’t that the way it was supposed to be?

  But that was easier said than done. Dasha was the only one who had seen my solo since that awful night, and if I had my way, she’d stay the only one. After everything that happened the last time I performed it, the idea of dancing alone in front of an audience again terrified me. And I was doing a good job not having to do just that. I’d promised Mary Rose that I had everything under control, and she said she trusted me, but the problem was that I wasn’t sure I trusted myself.

  Chapter 3

  After I ran through my solo twice, Dasha and I said good-bye and I spread out on the floor to catch my breath. My ankle ached slightly, and I made a mental note to ice it. I was covered in sweat, and my muscles felt as if they were made out of rubber, but that’s what I lived for. It meant I had an extra good workout.

  I headed upstairs to get something to eat. Mom always made a huge breakfast on Saturday morning for everyone, including a veggie-packed omelet for me to recharge after dancing.

  Except today, when I got to the kitchen, the only person there was Stephen. He sat at the table and read the paper with a steaming cup of coffee.

  We’d been here for a few months now, but it was still hard to get used to this bigger family. After eleven years of only Mom and me, it was odd to have the size of our family suddenly double. I wasn’t used to walking into a room and finding Stephen or Tanner there. And it was all kind of awkward. Mom might have fallen in love with Stephen, but I didn’t know him or Tanner the way she did. It’s almost as if someone forced you to be friends with someone. Someone who lived in your house, so even if you wanted to avoid them, it was impossible.

  And don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I didn’t like Stephen. If I had to pick someone to be my stepdad, I’d most certainly pick him. He was always in a good mood, thought up funny lyrics to songs he sang out loud, and made Mom laugh. She seemed so happy when he was around, so Stephen got my vote. But I definitely would’ve liked him a lot better if he lived in Oregon, and we hadn’t had to move our entire lives here.