Wednesday, March 13
WEDNESDAY
Me: Pippa. Eleven years old. Not an interesting age or number, unless you are doing multiplication tables, in which case it’s handy.
Current Location: the great city of Toronto. Dad calls it the New York of Canada, only much, much smaller.
Actual Location: cold, hard, greenish linoleum floor outside Studio C of the National Ballet of Canada.
Why: The National Ballet of Canada has its own company of professional dancers and a school where students can take ballet classes.
One of those students is my older sister, Verity, which means Mom has to bring her to class, which means I have to tag along. Every. Single. Wednesday. Sigh.
Escape Plan: none. Mom has a very strict no-complaining rule.
Upside: the vending machine and … MY SKETCHBOOK.
I like to draw fashion: ball gowns, outfits, and shoes. Mom thought it would be a good idea for me to get a head start on my homework while we waited for Verity. I said using the time to draw was an even better idea, especially since it was Mom who enrolled me in art classes at Le Studio in the first place.
On the first day, our teacher, Ms. Von der Bleek, gave each of us our own sketchbook, because “art is always waiting to be discovered.” What I discovered was how much I liked drawing in a sketchbook.
* * *
I didn’t exactly keep this information to myself, which turned out to be a good move because …
I have a grandmother who lives in London. Her birthday presents can be a little hit or miss, but this one came from a store with three names and a bunch of hyphens. The box was an incredible shade of blue, which I was told is the store’s signature color. I figured even if the gift was a bust, I could use the box, but when I opened it, there was a sketchbook with a real leather cover in the same signature blue and thick, cream-colored paper inside.
I called my grandmother right away to say how much I loved my present. She is a stickler for spelling, speaking clearly, and manners, especially in the thank-you department. I knew I still had to write a “proper note,” but this time I didn’t even mind.
“I heard you were taking an art class, so I thought this might be just the thing for you,” she said. “It is sooo important to have an interest and the right accessories.”
I agreed with the part about the right accessories, but the “interests” part was a touchy subject.
Unlike Verity, who sticks with everything she has ever tried, I don’t have the best track record in that department. A few of my uninterests (a word my grandmother would say is incorrect):
Theater Lights Group
Loooong rehearsals so I could develop stage presence and learn to PROJECT my voice—all so the entire audience could hear me say one line: “Nobody new has been in these parts for years.” (Pronounced yars.)
Soccer Stars
I am not much of a soccer fan, but it is the game of choice at my school. Every kid belongs to at least two teams, and Mom was worried I would feel left out. I did not feel left out, as cleats are not my thing. Or kicking. Or running up and down a long field. I gave it two weeks. Two very long weeks.
Tenley Aquatics
Swimming in freezing-cold water in the middle of winter. Add in a bathing cap, the green mold in the locker room showers, and the little kids from the next class running around, screaming … Need I say more?
* * *
Anyway, back to Le Studio. Ms. Von der Bleek took us on a mini field trip to draw some of “nature’s wonders,” which were conveniently located in a nearby park. The inconvenient part was when we found out that, along with our sketchbooks and drawing tools, we each had to lug one of those wooden easels with the legs that stick out. When we started grumbling, Ms. Von der Bleek said, “All great artists suffer for their art.”
I hope all great artists get distracted, too, because even though I knew I was supposed to sketch the ficus tree, I ended up drawing a lady sitting near the tree who was wearing the most incredible hat.
I was worried Ms. Von der Bleek would be mad that I didn’t follow her directions, so I explained to her that a hat with a brim that wide should count as one of nature’s wonders.
She just said, “Follow your muse,” which was a good thing since Mom would not have been “amused” if this class turned out to be another bomb.
* * *
When Ms. Von der Bleek found out my sister was in ballet class, she told me that this was an opportunity to draw inspiration from the dance world in the tradition of great artists like Édouard Manet and Henri Matisse.
“What if Edgar Degas had been forced to work on a dull little worksheet from school instead of creating his paintings and sculptures? There would be no Dancers Tying Shoes, Ballet Dancers in the Wings, Ballet Rehearsal on Stage, Dressed Dancer at Rest, Little Dancer, Two Ballet Dancers, Three Dancers in an Exercise Hall…”
And now we can add Girl in Hallway with Sketchbook.
* * *
It was getting close to the time when the classes turn over. Grown-ups were sitting in chairs waiting for their kids, while students in teal, violet, and blue leotards clustered outside the studios.
In ballet school, all the dancers have to wear a “uniform”: black tights and slippers and a leotard in the color of your level.
Verity is in level four and wears a black-colored leotard with cap sleeves.
All of a sudden there was a loud ruckus from Studio C. The door opened, and the ruckus turned out to be Verity and her two friends, Enid and Noelle, jumping up and down and talking at the same time. It took a few minutes, but Mom finally got a complete sentence out of Verity: “We got picked to be in Sleeping Beauty!”
Oh boy. Verity is the kind of person who always gets picked. If one kid is going to read a poem in front of the school, you can bet it will be Verity. At Emma Blum’s wildlife-themed birthday party, Nature Guy even chose Verity to be his assistant instead of the birthday girl and hold the snake.
Verity is good at a lot of things, but ballet is her absolute passion. I feel sorry for anyone who ever gets stuck in an elevator with her, because she can barely let five minutes go by without sharing something she knows from the world of ballet.
Verity has tickets to see every single performance by the National Ballet of Canada, so I knew one of the ballets they were going to perform this spring was The Sleeping Beauty. What I didn’t know was how Verity managed to outdo herself by getting picked.
“Oh my goodness!” said Mom. “I didn’t realize they chose students to perform with the company.”
When it comes to ballet-ology, Verity’s only rival is Encyclopedia Enid, who wasted no time in telling us, “There are a hundred and ninety parts in Sleeping Beauty. The company dancers play all the principal and important roles, but there are some smaller parts given to students in the ballet school.”
“It’s easier to get picked if you’re a boy,” said Noelle, pointing one foot and sliding it along the floor in the shape of a fan.
I knew that boys took separate classes from the girls, but I didn’t know why that made it easier for them to get picked.
Enid saw that I looked confused. “It’s just that because there are so many more girls than boys taking ballet, they have a better chance of getting picked for a male part.”
“You still haven’t told us your parts,” said Mom.
“Don’t tell me you’re Sleeping Beauty?” I asked Verity.
“Oh no, not Sleeping Beauty,” said Verity, shaking her head and looking shocked that I could even suggest such a thing. “And she’s called Princess Aurora in the ballet, not Sleeping Beauty.”
“Only a principal dancer gets to dance the part of Princess Aurora,” said Noelle, gliding down the hall. “In fact, there is more than one dancer for each lead role since there are so many performances.”
If there was a part for a broom, Noelle would be a shoo-in.
Enid filled in the gaps. “A ballet company is broken down into different ranks, with the principal dancers at the top. They get the main parts and are the stars. Next are the soloists, who—well—perform solos and understudy for the principal dancers in case one of them gets sick.”
Verity interrupted Enid. “There’s the coryphées, or first artists, who are a group of about six dancers. They have big parts but aren’t stars.” She used a fancy French accent so it sounded like she was saying kaw-ree-fey.
Not ready to give up as the official spokesperson, Enid swung back with “And at the bottom is the corps de ballet, which is the biggest group of dancers. The name is French for body of the ballet.” Enid showed off her French accent, too, pronouncing corps like kors.
I was beginning to wish I hadn’t asked anything.
Noelle swooshed in to add, “Don’t forget character parts.”
“A character dancer helps tell the story by acting through mime,” said Enid.
“So did you get a character part?” I asked.
“No,” said Verity. “Those parts go to senior dancers who are semiretired.”
Noelle, worn out from dusting the hallway with her feet, flung herself to the floor. “Then there are the storybook characters, like Little Red Riding Hood and Puss in Boots, who appear during the wedding scene between Princess Aurora and Prince Florimund. That’s when everyone dances.”
“Are you Little Red Riding Hood?” asked Mom.
At this rate, we’d spend the night going through all one hundred and ninety parts. So I said, “If none of you are stars or soloists or first artists or dancers who mime or fairy-tale characters who go to a wedding, then WHAT ARE YOU?”
“We’re supernumeraries,” said Verity.
“That’s fantastic,” said Mom. “But what is that exactly?”
“It’s what you call all the extra people in a scene,” explained Verity. “We’ll be performing with the entire company. Those dancers had to audition, but we were lucky, because our teacher recommended us.”
“We get to be in the court scenes and the wedding scene,” said Noelle. “But the supers—that’s us—really do more standing and moving than dancing.”
“But we’ll be onstage and we have to go to rehearsals since it’s a REAL PERFORMANCE. And not everyone got picked,” said Verity.
“Well, I think it’s super that the three of you are supers,” said Mom. “Right, Pippa?”
“Superduper,” I said flatly. “Now can we go?”
My fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Greenberg, likes to use the word hullaballoo when the whole class starts talking at once. So I can say there was quite a hullabaloo when Mom gave Enid and Noelle a ride back with us. But the real hullabaloo happened when we got home and I didn’t have my sketchbook.
I pleaded with Mom to take me back to the National Ballet, but she was trying to make dinner while Verity was standing on one leg, reading the rehearsal schedule and waving the forms she needed to get signed.
“Sorry, Pippa, but it’s nearly dinnertime and you both have homework to do,” Mom said. “Verity, why don’t you write the rehearsal dates on the calendar, and I’ll sign the forms later.”
“The performances are from June twelfth to June twenty-second,” said Verity, flipping the calendar pages. “And it’s mid-March right now, so there are thirteen weeks till opening night.
“The week before we open is tech week,” she continued importantly, “and we have rehearsals every day that week.”
Mom always says she can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and right then a chicken was getting all of her attention.
Text copyright © 2019 Claudia Logan
Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Chesley McLaren
