Turning Point, page 5
“Where are you girls from?”
“Are you girls sisters?”
“How far is Del Rio Bay from here?”
“How long have you been dancing?”
If it wasn’t for Mila, it would have been dead silence after every question. Mo went right on unpacking, not even bothering to look up anymore. She was still listening, though. The woman went on nonstop—Brenna was an only child, Brenna had been dancing since she was two, five other girls from Brenna’s ballet school were now with professional companies.
She didn’t seem no ways tired of sharing and probing and probably would have kept on if a man’s voice from the other side of the bathroom hadn’t called out, “Hon, let’s let the girls get to know each other. We have a long drive back.”
Her lips had crimped, like she was mad that he’d blocked her investigation, then spread into a smile as she chirped, “Well, let me get back over and help make up this bed. I’ll send Brenna over to meet you ladies.”
Mo had locked the door behind her. If Brenna was coming over she was going to have to knock.
Mila giggled. “You’re wrong.”
Mo scowled. “This our room. How you just gonna come in uninvited?”
“True.” Mila took her time placing clothes into the dresser across from her bed. “She scared me.”
“Me, too.” Mo had cleared her throat, unsure whether to go on. But decided if she couldn’t be real with Mila, then it was going to be the longest three weeks of her life. “Did you hear her gasp when she stuck her head in?”
Mila frowned in thought. “No. But I guess she was surprised to see us in here.”
Mo sucked her teeth. “Surprised we was Black, maybe.”
“You think so?” Mila asked.
“How she surprised that people in here when everybody checking in?” Mo challenged. “Aren’t all the rooms gonna have people in them eventually?”
Mila didn’t take the bait. She knew Mo and hadn’t earned the unofficial title of peacekeeper for nothing. She kept unpacking as she answered. “Well then, she can give her daughter the heads-up.”
“I know that’s right,” Mo said.
They laughed about it, wondering aloud how many other people would be thrown off to meet them. Mila guessed no one else. Mo figured just about everybody would be. They balanced each other out that way.
At La May they were the two best dancers and were always in the front line during center work. At first all Mo had wanted was to be better than Mila. But Mila had never once returned that same energy. She had always been one of Mo’s biggest cheerleaders, helping her fix her form and whispering encouragement before they performed. Mo couldn’t imagine doing something like this with anybody else.
The entire ride up, Mo had gone between excitement and fear. By the time they’d arrived, it had settled into a bubbling uncertainty. Having Mila there kept the bubbles from rising into her throat and belching nervousness everywhere.
With their clothes put away, Mila ventured into the bathroom to claim a spot for toiletries. Mo sat on her bed against the two new fat pillows she’d brought. They pushed against her back as she texted Sheeda.
Mo’Betta:
OMG . . . help!!!
Rah-Rah:
Heyyyy. Missing you already.
What’s up?
Mo’Betta:
we just chillin before dinner. I think me and Mila are for real the only 2 black people here.
Rah-Rah:
wait how many people in the program?
Mo’Betta:
girl IDK.
Rah-Rah:
that’s wild.
Tell Mila I said hey!!!!
Mo’Betta:
she’s and frfr all these girls skinny the same and white the same. I can’t tell nobody apart.
Rah-Rah:
Mo’Betta:
Whut u doing?
Rah-Rah:
What else, for real? Still at church waiting on A.D. to close the kitchen.
Mo’Betta:
Oh I thought maybe it was Praising Him on High bible study time
Rah-Rah:
Wow. You wrong for that.
Mo’Betta:
A.D. would flip if she saw that. Delete that text!!
Rah-Rah:
You already know. LOL But how is it though? What your room look like?
Mo’Betta:
The room hella big. Mila took the best bed by the window. We have mad space though. Its bigger than the rooms in our row for sure.
Rah-Rah:
Pics please!
Mo’Betta:
so we share a bathroom w/two other girls. White . . . of course. So why the advisor call them sweet mates and I’m all—white people always be making up cute names for crap. But she was saying suite cause the 4 of us share the same bathroom. LMAO
Rah-Rah:
Sweet mates. How are they?
Mo’Betta:
IDK only met the one girls mother. I swear her eyes popped when she saw me & Mila was Black.
Rah-Rah:
you think they prejudice?
Mo’Betta:
they can be on some nonsense if they want and catch these hands. But IDK. Mila think she was just surprised cause she was being nosy sticking her head in our room and didn’t know we was in here already. So
Rah-Rah:
I mean even if the mother is racist don’t mean the daughter is
Mo’Betta:
Don’t make me no difference. If she don’t like black people then she don’t need come in my room. It’s w/e
Rah-Rah:
I’m kind of tripping that you living with white people.
Mo’Betta:
You?! Girl I’m on another planet right now fr fr
Rah-Rah:
just promise you won’t replace me with Becky
Mo’Betta:
I won’t . . . cause my sweet mates names are Brenna and Katie
Rah-Rah:
Of course Katie. It had to be Katie.
Mo’Betta:
Right? And Brenna’s mother did a real life “Jamila? Oh that’s an interesting name.”
Rah-Rah:
Jamila is an interesting name? Umph imagine if I was there. She’d be like, Rah-She-Da . . . *pretends to think of something not racist to say . . . and fails*
Mo’Betta:
I can’t w/you rn
Rah-Rah:
Remember when Ms. Hopkins called me RahSEEda the entire year? Like there’s an actual H there, pronounce it!!!
Mo’Betta:
But you let her tho.
Rah-Rah:
Cause I’m really gonna break on my English teacher?
Mo’Betta:
anybody can get it!
Rah-Rah:
Remember when Tai went off on Mr. Berk for telling her she owed it to herself to learn more about her Korean heritage? Lawd!
Rah-Rah:
She almost got suspended for that. Thas exactly why I wasn’t about to do all that w/ Ms. Hopkins. RahSEEda close enough.
Lolz
Rah-Rah:
Where’d you go?
Rah-Rah:
Wow
Mo had stopped texting because the door leading to the bathroom creaked open. “You didn’t lock the door,” she whispered, gauging whether she could shut it on the person before they popped in.
“I forgot.” Mila stared at the door, too, erect on her bed like she was ready to bolt depending on who walked through.
Mo put her phone down. “Hello?” she said with bass in her voice.
The face of her suitemate filled the narrow opening. “Hi. I’m Brenna. Can we come in?”
Mo wasn’t sure she was going to say no, but she wasn’t sure she was going to say yes, either. Mila answered, relieved smile on her face, with a cheerful, “Hey. Yeah.”
Mo sized up her new roommates. Brenna had a face full of freckles and straight ashy brown hair to her shoulders. She was about Mo’s height, but both her legs equaled one of Mo’s.
The other one, Katie, had thick and wavy auburn hair that stopped at the middle of her long neck. Her face had some color to it, like the sun had kissed it then ran. Her brown eyes took in everything, including Mo and Mila, unapologetically. She towered a good four or five inches over Brenna.
“What you guys up to?” Brenna asked. “I mean, obviously you’re not guys. But saying gals feels weird. What? Are we in a production of Oklahoma?”
“Chilling,” Mo said, thinking it would stop Brenna’s nervous flow and that they’d see nothing was going on and go back to their side of the bathroom. But Brenna held up two pairs of pointe shoes.
“Anybody else need to sew? It’s so much easier when I do it with other people.” She frowned at Katie. “Ms. Perfect has already sewn all her shoes. I hate her.”
In between Brenna’s mother’s eleventy million questions she kept saying, practically praying, that she hoped Brenna and Katie would be compatible roommates. Mo knew Brenna was joking about hating Katie, but still, how are you gonna joke like that with somebody you didn’t know?
Katie didn’t seem bothered by the comment. She trailed behind Brenna. What else was she going to do when she didn’t know anybody else but her roommate? It made Mo even happier that she had Mila.
Next thing Mo knew, Katie and Brenna were on the floor, Katie with her long giraffe legs stretched out, leaned back on her hands. Her eyes scanned their desks, under their tall beds, even their walls, taking inventory of their stuff. Brenna sat cross-legged with thread, ribbons, and shoes scattered around her. Mila took a pair of her own shoes out, deciding to join Brenna. They exchanged tips on the best stitch, and Brenna showed her battle wounds from sticking herself—something Mo never did because she sewed so incredibly slow.
When the sewing lesson was done, there was silence.
Nobody seemed to know how to break it.
Right before it got awkward, Brenna said, “Sorry about earlier. My mom’s such a ’copter parent.”
“A what?” Mo asked, then, feeling her face was twisted, she softened it to what she hoped was just confusion and asked again, “What’s a ’copter parent?”
“Like helicopter,” Brenna said. She hopped up and ran around in a small circle, arms out, making deep humming sounds, then burst out laughing.
“That’s more of an airplane, though,” Mo said, eyeing Mila for confirmation that Brenna was a little wacky.
Brenna thought about it, laughed, and plopped back down on the floor next to her stack of pointe shoes. “True. Just saying my mom is a little overprotective. Also, this is my first time going to a residential intensive. Her biggest fear was that I’d end up with suitemates that were going to be a bad influence . . . whatever that means.”
Katie’s head bobbed in agreement. “My mom is worried I’m going to come back with an eating disorder.”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “Forever conversation in our house.”
“You already pretty thin,” Mo said talking to Brenna, but meaning both of them. All three of them, really. Her and her muscular legs were the odd girl out.
The one thing she’d loved about watching Ailey dancers was how strong they were. If there was one thing she knew she was better at than Mila, it was jumps. Ms. Noelle had even tapped her thighs one day and said, “Such lovely strength.”
How many meals would she have to miss to shrink her thighs? She didn’t even want to know.
“Yeah, and it’s just my natural size. But let me say I’m not hungry and my mom is all ‘Bren, you’ve got to eat. How are you going to have the energy to dance if you don’t eat?’” Brenna’s fingers expertly moved the needle through the shoe’s canvas as she talked. “I mean, God, can I not be hungry sometimes?”
“We’re all going to lose weight, though. The food here is gross,” Katie said.
Mo could already tell Katie was going to be the know-it-all. She had a way of talking like everything she said was word. But Mo actually cared about the food. “Gross how?” she asked.
“Just like junky food. Dinner is always hot dogs or hamburgers and pasta.” Katie’s mouth turned up like she’d just named rat tails and roach legs.
“I like those things,” Mila said.
Mo happily cosigned. “I mean, for real, so do I.”
“But not every night,” Katie said, with a hard shrug of her shoulders like it should have been obvious what she meant.
“Well, if it’s all that bad, why is a dance program serving it?” Mo asked. She sat back against the wall on her bed cross-legged, liking that she towered over the girls on the floor.
“Because the food at the Ballet America café is different. Healthier. We eat breakfast and lunch there and dinner here at the college. So for dinner we eat whatever the college dining hall fixes, and it’s always fast foodish,” Katie said.
Mo had forgotten that the older dancers stayed at the Ballet America studios, in their dorms. They ate healthier, huh? That was code for no taste, far as Mo was concerned. And they could have that. She’d take the hot dogs and burgers. Every day, too.
“So who all is interested in BA’s pre-pro program?” Brenna asked, intently eyeing each of them.
Mo squinted, confused. “Pre-pro?”
“The pre-professional program?” Katie said, like she didn’t get why Mo didn’t understand.
“Their all-year program?” Mo said.
“Yes,” Katie said.
Mo’s eyes rolled. “I just didn’t know it was called a pre-pro.”
“I’m def interested,” Mila said, when she saw Mo’s eyebrows raising. “But I heard it’s really competitive to get in.” There was nervousness in her laugh. “I read up a lot before coming.”
“Same,” Brenna said. Words rushing like she’d been waiting on this conversation. “BA has one of the best pre-pro’s on the East Coast. Congrats to all of us getting into the Summer Experience. We’re halfway there.”
“I don’t know about halfway,” Katie said, eyebrows knitted. “But yeah, I’m interested, too. My mom wouldn’t let me audition for anything more than three hours from home.”
The conversation raced on with ballet schools Mo had never heard of dropped left and right. She hadn’t looked at other schools. Hadn’t thought about how competitive it was going to be to make it into BA’s pre-pro until that moment. She figured if they were all good enough to get into the summer, then they were good enough for the whole year.
There wasn’t any way to hide how much she didn’t know about ballet or being at an intensive. But, for real, Katie had one more time to talk with that unsaid “obviously” in her voice. After that, Mo wasn’t responsible for how she was going to get her put in her place. Sweet mate or not.
Rasheeda
Sheeda lay still, eyes closed, letting the sun warm then burn her forehead. It was official. This was summer. The house quiet, because Auntie D had already left for work. Getting to feel the sun instead of being up and dressed before it rose. Having the whole day ahead of her to . . . do what?
The day stretched out long and lonely.
The only good thing was Lennie had hit her up before she went to bed. The messages had been innocent:
DatBoyEll:
the house gonna be mad quiet tomorrow
Rah-Rah:
aww u gonna miss Mo too
DatBoyEll:
dang why that emoji tho? I mean yeah imma miss her. Thas my baby sis. But c’mon man u clowning. lol
Rah-Rah:
DatBoyEll:
naw I hope she do her thing tho. I can’t hate on her grind. How come u ain’t going to this dance thing?
Rah-Rah:
I didn’t get in TAG so I guess Ms. N didn’t think I was right for it.
DatBoyEll:
u dance tho right?
Rah-Rah:
At church yeah
DatBoyEll:
Oh u one of them people thas church good? LMAO
Rah-Rah:
ok bye
DatBoyEll:
I’m teasing shawty. But u know how people be good singers in church but then u hear ’em try tear up a song from the radio and be like ay maybe this ain’t ur thing
Rah-Rah:
fax
DatBoyEll:
I ain’t trying take ur shine. I seen u dance at the rec. u got the goods
Rah-Rah:
thanx!! Me and Tai the only ones from the original La May group that didn’t make it into TAG.
DatBoyEll:
kind of messed up
Rah-Rah:
big fax
She had settled good into the conversation, then her bedroom door swung open. Her eyes, already dripping with guilt, raised to meet Auntie D’s inquiring face. With her clear brown-sugar skin, hair coiffed to the gods, Auntie D was what people called cute. It was the two deep dents in her cheeks, dimples that showed up when she smiled or frowned. Not that a lot of people saw her smile. Unless she was in church talking to the pastor, deacon, or one of her fellow sisters in Christ, her face stayed frozen—right eyebrow arched, lips perpetually pressed together like she was worried somebody was going to force-feed her, dimples popping in displeasure. Her aunt was quick to judge and quicker to put you in your place—in the most godly way possible, of course.
Sheeda had stood up, properly respectful, her arms to her side so her phone’s screen warmed her legs. “Ma’am?”
Auntie D’s right eyebrow peaked. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Eleven thirty,” Sheeda said.
“Exactly. Obviously you forgot that I get notifications when you text after eleven p.m. I’m ready to go to bed, I don’t need this thing pinging me this late.” With laser-pointed interest, she stared at Sheeda’s phone. “It’s summer, but that doesn’t mean you need to be up texting all hours of the night. Who in the world are you talking to this late?”
As she lied, Sheeda prayed her aunt wouldn’t ask to see the phone. “Just talking to Mo.”
Auntie D folded her arms. “The number I have for her isn’t this one.” She peered at her own phone, then back at Sheeda’s.
It wasn’t anything for Auntie D to go through her stuff. The only reason she didn’t go through Sheeda’s phone was because she didn’t have to. Thanks to notifications, she knew if Sheeda was texting at school or at night and had access to her social media. Also, she knew every one of her friend’s phone numbers so when she looked at the phone bill, she would know who Sheeda was texting.
