Quint’s letter made me feel better. At least Mary wasn’t the only person with this problem. “Weight can be a big problem in dancing,” Quint went on. “A lot of people say that the physical standard for ballerinas isn’t realistic. If you look at pictures of old-time dancers — ones that were stars — you see that they’re not nearly as thin as dancers today. I think the trend now is for dancers to be a little heavier than they have been recently. It’s happening slowly, but you can notice it when you go to the ballet.” (I’m really envious that Quint lives in the city and goes to see the top ballets all the time!) “Maybe if you tell this to Mary, she’ll feel better.”
I was definitely going to tell that to Mary. If she would talk to me, that was!
“Oh, I had a great idea the other day,” Quint wrote in the next paragraph. “You made me think of it when you asked about the minority thing. Yeah, it is rougher if you’re a minority. There’s no sense saying it’s not. And in ballet it’s for the same reason that some girls find themselves dieting like crazy. There’s this idea that everyone in the corps de ballet should look alike. People used to be (and sometimes still are) afraid to pair a non-white guy with a white ballerina (or vice versa) in a pas de deux. That’s changing, though. There are non-white dancers in the corps de ballet now, and more and more mixed couples dancing — especially in the modern pieces.”
This was all very interesting, but I was getting impatient to hear Quint’s great idea. Finally he came to it.
“Here’s my idea. Why don’t you talk to Mme Dupre about offering a scholarship to a couple of the kids who seem very gifted. They might be white or not, but the point is, they would be kids who otherwise couldn’t afford class. The school probably won’t go for it, but it’s an idea, anyway.”
Quint finished his letter with some encouraging thoughts about spring break and how we could arrange to meet. He writes such great letters. This one was a little more formal than most of them, but that might have been because of the serious subject.
His scholarship idea was pretty awesome. Did I have the nerve to suggest it? I wasn’t sure. Mama always tells me just to speak up. “The worst that can happen is that someone will say no,” she tells me. Which is true. But sometimes shyness gets the best of me. I’m not shy with kids my own age. With adults sometimes my tongue ties up into a knot. I couldn’t exactly picture myself walking up to Mme Dupre and suggesting the school donate thousands of dollars worth of scholarship money. Besides, Mme Dupre would probably tell me to discuss it with Mme Noelle. Now there was an intimidating thought! I really didn’t think the school would give out scholarships just because an eleven-year-old told them to.
Or would they? I had to think about it some more.
I was folding Quint’s letter when the phone rang. “It’s for you, Jessi,” Aunt Cecelia called from the kitchen. I picked up the extension in the living room.
“Hi,” Kristy said. “How’s it going?”
“Okay.”
“Listen, are you free to sit at my house this Saturday?” she asked. “Or are you going to the fair at Shannon’s school, like everybody else?”
“Oh, yeah, they asked me to come but I have some studying to do,” I said. “I could sit for a couple of hours, though.”
“Good, because I promised to go to a planning meeting at school for the spring dance. I’ll only be gone a few hours myself. Can you come over at two?”
“No problem,” I said.
“Thanks, ’bye.”
“ ’Bye.” I laid the phone down gently as Aunt Cecelia came in.
“You look pretty faraway,” she commented. “What’s on your mind?”
“Aunt Cecelia, what would you do if someone you knew was hurting herself and she didn’t even realize it?” I asked.
Aunt Cecelia sat on the chair across from me. “Does this have to do with drugs?” she asked.
“No, dieting,” I told her. “Too much dieting.”
“Hmmm.” Aunt Cecelia sat back in the chair thoughtfully. “You might have to tell an adult who knows this person about what’s happening with her.”
“Isn’t that tattling, though?”
“Not if your friend’s health is at stake. Doesn’t anyone else around her notice this?”
“So far, no one seems to think anything of it,” I told her. “My friend is pretty good at hiding it. She pretends to eat and she wears big clothes.”
“Are you sure there’s a problem?” Aunt Cecelia questioned.
I thought about this. “Eighty percent sure,” I estimated.
“You have good instincts, Jessi. Go with your gut,” said Aunt Cecelia. “I think you should tell someone.”
“Thanks. That’s what I was thinking. I was just hoping there was another way.”
“There’s an expression,” said Aunt Cecelia. “You have to be cruel to be kind.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that the best thing to do for a person you care about isn’t always the easiest thing. It might even make the person mad at you.”
“Oh, it will!” I assured her. “She will be super mad at me. That’s for sure.”
“Someday she’ll realize you were being a true friend,” said Aunt Cecelia.
“I hope so,” I replied. Somehow I had my doubts about that.
Snow! That was the good news when Claudia sat for the Kormans before our Wednesday BSC meeting. The Korman kids have lots of energy, so taking them outside to play in the snow is a terrific way to keep them busy (and also tire them out a little).
They were already bundled up and ready when Claudia arrived. One-and-a-half-year-old Skylar was so excited about going out that she didn’t even cry when Mrs. Korman left. (She did yell, “Mommy!” and look pitiful for a while, but that’s much better than usual.)
Snow had been falling all day. Now it was just flurrying and almost four inches of crisp, feathery snow lay on the ground — the perfect kind for packing.
Nine-year-old Bill and seven-year-old Melody immediately began rolling a ball for a snowman in their large front yard. (The Kormans live in Kristy’s neighborhood where the houses all have huge front and back yards.) They hadn’t gotten very far when a snowball came skidding past them.
“War!” Bill cried gleefully as he began packing a snowball for his retaliation on this unseen attacker.
Linny and Hannie Papadakis came laughing into the yard, their arms loaded with snowballs. Linny and Bill didn’t waste a minute. They began bombarding one another with snowballs, ducking and shouting all the while.
“Hey! Hey! Be careful,” Claudia cautioned, half laughing as a snowball flew past her shoulder.
“Ow!” Melody cried. A snowball had hit her smack in the chest.
“Take this!” yelled Hannie, hurling a snowball at Linny. Her snowball flew high into the air and crumbled before it dropped to the ground. Hannie isn’t exactly the world’s greatest snowball maker, or much of a pitcher.
“Girls against boys!” Bill cried, joining forces with Linny. They lobbed a hail of snowballs at the girls, packing them as quickly as they threw them.
Melody and Hannie knew a losing battle when they saw one. They fought back for about two minutes and then ran for cover behind Claudia. “No fair!” Claudia protested as she held up her arms to ward off the shower of snowballs the boys were now directing her way. “I’m not a human fort.”
“Are you building a fort?” cried eight-year-old Maria Kilbourne who had come running into the yard. “Can I help? I’m good at it!”
“That’s a great idea,” said Claudia as a snowball flew past her ear.
The snowball hit Maria’s shoulder. “That’s enough,” Claudia told the guys. “You win. We quit.”
“Ah, come on, don’t be chicken!” Bill cried.
“Someone’s going to get hurt,” Claudia insisted firmly. “Help us make a snow fort, instead.”
At that moment, Shannon and her eleven-year-old sister, Tiffany, ran into the yard behind Maria. “What
is this? The winter fun headquarters?” Shannon asked with a smile.
“It’s turning out that way,” Claud replied. “Are you up for building a snow fort?”
“Sure.”
Shannon and Tiffany joined the others who were packing snow into four walls. Then they dug out a small doorway and some peek-hole windows. “Now what?” Melody asked, when that was done.
“Let’s have another snowball fight,” Linny suggested. “You can stay in the fort and pack snowballs while Bill and I sneak up on you.”
“Not!” called out Maria.
“Yeah, that’s a crummy idea,” agreed Hannie. “We’re not going to sit inside a fort and let you cream us with snowballs. That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“We should do something special,” Claudia said, thinking hard. “There probably won’t be too many more winter days with as much snow as this one.” Her eyes lit with an idea. “Why don’t we make a snow village?” she suggested.
“A what?” Hannie asked.
“We’ll sculpt a village out of snow,” Claud explained.
“Can we drive trucks and stuff through it?” Linny wanted to know.
“Why not?” Claudia said. “We can do whatever we want.”
“Cool!” said Melody. “Let’s do it.”
The kids set to work building the snow village of their dreams. Shannon built a block of shops while Claudia sculpted a big old-fashioned church.
Melody and Hannie built a ranch and then Melody ran inside and came out with an armload of plastic ponies and horses. “Whoever heard of a horse ranch next to a church?” Shannon asked as they lined up the ponies in the corral.
“In the church they pray and at the ranch they pray-ey-ey-ey,” said Hannie neighing like a horse.
“This is turning into a very interesting village,” said Claudia. It was, too. The boys had built a multilevel garage and stocked it with Bill’s Matchbox cars and trucks. Maria had contributed a haunted house complete with a tall round tower and a front porch. And even Skylar had built a mound of snow.
“That mound is the local ski mountain,” Shannon suggested. “This is a haunted, western, ski resort with a magnificent cathedral and excellent parking.”
“And horseback riding,” added Hannie.
“What more could anyone ask for?” asked Claudia.
“I know what it needs,” said Shannon. “A luxury condo for all the movie stars who come here.”
“You’re right,” Claudia agreed. “It has to have a big pool with a chic club next to it.”
Shannon and Claudia started piling up snow to build their condo. After a moment, they realized the tower tilted decidedly to the left. “This looks more like the leaning condo of Pisa.” Shannon giggled at their crooked tower.
“Only crooked people can come here,” Claudia replied. “Thieves and con artists.”
“Then we need a jail!” Linny cried excitedly.
“And a police station,” added Bill. The boys began creating two square buildings out of snow.
Shannon eyed the leaning condo. “Maybe we can straighten this thing out.”
They were laughing over the condo when they saw Kristy across the street. Her face clouded into a frown as she caught sight of them working on their village.
“Hi!” Claud called to her.
Kristy walked into the yard. “What are you guys doing?” she asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Shannon said cheerfully. “We’re building the snow village of the future.”
“Oh, I see. Very nice.” Kristy’s eyes went from Claudia to Shannon and back again.
“Have you got any ideas for our village?” Shannon asked.
“No,” Kristy replied.
That’s when the alarm bells began ringing in Claudia’s head. Kristy didn’t have an idea? No way! Kristy always has ideas — about everything. And she just about always volunteered them, whether she was asked or not.
Claudia knew something was wrong.
Shannon must have, too. Because when Kristy turned to leave without even saying good-bye, Shannon ran after her.
Claudia watched for a moment as they talked heatedly out on the sidewalk. “Would you keep an eye on Skylar?” she asked Tiffany. Then she followed Shannon and Kristy. She reached them in time to hear Shannon say, “I want to know why you’ve been so rude to me. Don’t tell me I’m imagining it. I’m not.”
“All right, if you want the truth.” Kristy spoke angrily. “You wouldn’t know anything about the BSC or my friends if it weren’t for me.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So I don’t need you coming around trying to take my place and steal my friends!” Kristy blurted out, her face turning a deep red.
Shannon’s jaw dropped. “Steal your … I never … I …”
“Kristy, I don’t think that’s fair,” Claudia spoke up.
“You wouldn’t!” Kristy snapped.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Claudia indignantly.
“It means that now that everyone is Shannon’s friend I’d expect you to stick up for her!”
Claudia was stunned. “I’m still your friend. All of us are still your friends,” she said.
“Yeah? Well, lately it sure doesn’t feel that way.” Kristy bit her lip. Then she stormed across the street.
As you might imagine, the BSC meeting that Wednesday was a little tense. I didn’t know what had happened between Kristy, Claudia, and Shannon until Mallory called and told me later that night. (Mal had talked to Mary Anne who had talked to Dawn who had heard what happened from Stacey. Who, of course, got it from Claudia.) But it didn’t take a genius to see that Kristy looked miserable. Claudia didn’t seem too happy, either. She wolfed down an entire bag of potato chips before the meeting was over. That’s a sure sign that she’s stressed out about something.
Besides unusual quiet from Kristy and extra munching from Claudia, the meeting was pretty much business as usual. “How’s your friend in ballet school doing?” Dawn asked me toward the end of the meeting.
“She keeps getting thinner, and she hasn’t been feeling too good, either,” I replied.
“That’s such a shame,” said Mary Anne.
“Quint wrote and told me it’s a pretty common problem in his school,” I told them. Which reminded me of his scholarship idea. I asked my friends what they thought of it.
“It’s terrific!” cried Stacey.
“Do you think the school could do it?” I asked. “They already have a few scholarships for the older students. You have to audition for them, though, which means you already have to have had some training somewhere else. These kids would be beginners.” I sighed deeply. “For all I know, the school might not even have the money for more scholarships.”
“A corporation could sponsor the scholarship,” Kristy said quietly. (Even in the height of depression, she can’t stop those great ideas from coming!)
“How does that work?” Mallory asked.
“A company decides to donate money to do something worthwhile for the community,” Kristy explained.
“That’s awfully nice,” I commented.
“I could talk to Watson and my mom about it if you like,” Kristy offered. “They know all about that corporate stuff.”
“Would you?” I cried happily. “That would be great.”
“Sure. I’ll call and let you know what they say.”
I left the meeting feeling very up about the possibility of getting a scholarship or two for the kids in my class. Then I remembered Mary. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do about her. I guess I hoped she would simply stop losing weight and let me off the hook.
During class on Friday I could see that wasn’t about to happen. In the dressing room it was painfully clear to me that Mary was now the thinnest in a class of thin girls. Even Mindy Howard was heavier than Mary.
It would have been one thing if Mary was just extremely thin. If that were so, I might have let it alone. (Maybe.) But Mary was falling apart. She l
ooked awful and she seemed weak.
She was weak. She’d already left class early two times. As she dressed for class I saw that she was moving slowly, too slowly. It would be easy to talk with her. All I had to do was wait for everyone else to rush off to class. Mary was going to be the last one in the dressing room, so I simply waited until the others were gone.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked her, steeling myself for an unpleasant conversation.
“Jessi, don’t start with me,” she said irritably as she leaned over to put on her shoes.
“All I have to say is this,” I began. “Either you talk to Mme Noelle today about your dieting, or I will.”
She looked up at me sharply. “Just exactly what would you say to her?”
“That you’re dieting to the point where you’re going to make yourself very sick.”
“She’ll laugh in your face.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You have no right to do this, and you’d better not,” Mary snapped as she turned and left the dressing room.
I had to sit down on the bench. Now I was the one who felt dizzy and sick to my stomach. It had taken all my courage to say what I had said to Mary. I prayed she would take me seriously because, if she didn’t talk to Mme Noelle, I would have to follow through on my promise to tell Madame myself. (Was it a promise or a threat? I liked promise better.)
In a moment the wooziness passed and I hurried to class.