He fumbled with the keys, while I tried to ignore the magnetic charge urging me to grab Cal by the collar of his shirt and shove him up against the door. It took him three tries to get the key in the lock. Hitchcock and his train speeding through a tunnel would never have accused us of subtlety.
The door opened. Cal stayed on the top step.
“Well,” I said.
“Well,” he said.
It would take one, two, three steps to get inside his apartment. Four or five to get the door closed. I didn’t know where his bedroom was, but the entryway floor would probably be fine.
But then I remembered Harriet. Remembered the show. Remembered the complicated power dynamics at play. Remembered all the reasons we couldn’t. We shouldn’t.
An apology was nice, but it didn’t erase the past.
“Good night,” Cal said.
“Good night,” I said.
He didn’t move. I didn’t move.
Three steps.
“Go inside, Cal,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Yeah,” he said.
I didn’t wait to hear the lock turn before I left.
DREAM BALLET
Thwack!
“Again!” Ms. Spiegel ordered.
Thwack!
“From the top.”
Thwack!
“And this time with feeling!”
I caught Cal glaring at her, but he said nothing as we went back to one. The music started, the hot, jazzy rhythm that made you want to dance. Unfortunately, no matter what we did, it never seemed good enough for Ms. Spiegel. We barely got three lines in before she was hitting pause and smacking her baton on the table.
“No. No. No,” she said.
Cal and I stood there, waiting for her to say more.
“I should just cut this number,” she said.
“No!” I protested.
I still had the solo, which I had been working on with another instructor, but the more I was in front of scouts during the showcase, the better chance I had to impress them. And there wasn’t any dancing in “Memory,” whereas “Easy Street” was about fifty-fifty.
Ms. Spiegel glared at me.
“Then get it right,” she said.
We practiced for another hour and didn’t seem to get any better.
“If I were you, I’d spend all my free time working on this number,” Ms. Spiegel said before she left.
I looked over at Cal.
“What are we doing wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “That’s just her way.”
“What?”
“She tells everyone they’re terrible,” he explained. “It’s supposed to make us work harder or something, but it’s stupid. We’re fine. The number is fine.”
“But fine isn’t good enough,” I said, my voice pitching upward. “I need to be amazing.”
Cal looked at me. “You are amazing,” he said. “You’re great.”
“Really?”
It was the first real praise I’d gotten from him—from anyone really—since I’d been given Rachel’s parts. It was nice.
“It’s one of my favorite numbers,” I said. “I was always disappointed that my parents wouldn’t let me do theatre when I was young enough to play an orphan or Annie, so I started memorizing the adult parts so I’d be ready.”
Cal blinked at me.
“Wow,” he said. “You’re really determined.”
“I need to go to Broadway,” I said.
“What if you don’t?” he asked.
“I will,” I said. “I have to.”
He gave me a long look. “Want to practice again?”
“Always,” I said.
He laughed. “You never stop, do you?”
I shook my head. “One day, maybe, but now? No. I can’t.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go from the top.”
“But with feeling,” I said.
He scowled and pressed play. I gave myself a little shake to warm up and then took my position. The choreography involved a lot of shoulders and fancy footwork, but Cal was good. He was great. There wasn’t a combination he couldn’t do, and he always seemed to make it look effortless.
It more than made up for his tendency to sing flat.
We were a good team—my voice could cover up any hiccups with his, and he was able to tweak the choreography to make it work better for me.
“Try this,” he said, halfway through the number. “Left first, and then spin.”
I gave it a try.
Cal watched, hand tucked under his elbow, chin resting in his palm. He looked like a real choreographer.
“I think that works,” he said. “Besides, your left side is stronger than your right side.”
“It is not!”
“Okay,” he said.
I glared at him. He shrugged.
“It is, but I’m not going to argue with you,” he said.
I had called him flat. I supposed it was possible that my left side was stronger.
“Won’t Ms. Spiegel care that we’ve changed her choreography?” I asked.
“She’s never noticed before,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Before?”
“It’s not my first time working with the old bat,” he said.
I was scandalized—Ms. Spiegel was a Camp Curtain Call icon—she was known for her discerning eye and her ability to turn raw talent into polished skill.
Cal caught my look.
“She’s not that good of a choreographer,” he said.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“But…but…but…she was in A Chorus Line!”
She reminded us constantly. She’d played Cassie.
“She was in a touring company, and she started as an understudy,” Cal said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but if she was such a talent, then why is she tormenting a bunch of kids instead of being on Broadway?”
I’d never thought about it like that. As far as I was concerned, the counselors at Camp Curtain Call were gods, and we were all lucky to work with them.