Mark’s sequence ended and he returned to the wings holding a huge papier-maché trophy and wearing a big paper laurel wreath over one shoulder. We congratulated him as we’d done with Teresa and after another quick stretch, I took a deep breath before making my way to the stage. I felt a couple of encouraging pats on my shoulders before I made my way up to the platform on which I’d perform my dance. This would have been nerve racking enough if I was dressed like Billy Elliot… I’m practically crapping myself as I climb the steps in the darkness and take my place on the stage where I adopt the first position. I wait nervously for the spotlight to shine on me and my music to begin. I remain completely still and foresee my routine whilst my nerves almost shake me off my feet. All of a sudden, my eyes are filled with light and my ears are filled with the opening notes of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker suite. I breathed into my diaphragm and began.
The two minute routine incorporates music from the Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella. It’s not long but when you’re dancing, knowing that everyone is watching and you need to do your best, two minutes is a life time. All the time I’m prancing and dancing, spinning and leaping, I’m telling myself one thing… ‘don’t mess up the point work’ …it’s only a short sequence on tip-toe but people underestimate how hard it is having your entire body weight on the very tips of your toes. The adrenalin builds. I feel the fire inside glowing brighter and hotter as the dance takes over. It’s cheesy I know but Billy Elliot was right… it feels like electric. My routine ends right on queue to a lacklustre applause. I expected more to be honest. I perform a huge dramatic curtsey before rising and gracefully stepping forward. On the stage below, Kelly should be picking up a bouquet of flowers which she’ll hand to me. I reach down and take it, hold it like a ballerina should, curtsey once more and the spotlight dims. Finally, with my heart and lungs pounding, I exit the stage. My fellow cast members tell me I was brilliant… well, the girls do, but I know they couldn’t see anything. I thanked them all the same. I’m glad it’s over and glad that I didn’t fall, twist my ankle or mess up the point-work. Although in a way I wish had twisted my ankle. This is only the dress rehearsal… tomorrow I’ll be doing it in front of the whole school and their families!
I want nothing more but to go and change out of my costume, but I stay in the wings with my fellow cast members until the end of the play. I may be the only ballerina but I’m not the only one who’s nervous about their performance. Once the rehearsal was over, the drama teacher pulled us up on a few minor details but on the whole, said we’d done and excellent job. Later, she took me to one side and said I was amazing. “Nobody would guess that you’re really a boy.” she said.
“They don’t have to… everyone knows I am.”
“And after tomorrow, everyone will know what an wonderful dancer you are.”
“Yeah maybe.” I said. Most likely they’ll be focusing on the boy dressed as a girl thing… they won’t even notice the routine that I’ve strived so hard to carry off.
I got home and Mum asked how the dress rehearsal went. “OK I guess.” She questioned why I sounded so glum. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you… about the play.” I said. I guess I’d hoped it’d be cancelled or maybe I would twist my ankle today, but the show still goes on and it’s time I told my Mum that John dropped out now Kelly’s playing his part. “…well… not ‘his’ part… ‘her’ part.” I gulped. “Which means I’m not playing Billy Elliot but a Ballerina.” I confessed.
“That explains your make up.” Mum said. I felt myself blush. I had washed it off but traces of foundation, eye shadow, blusher and lipstick remained, she informed me.
“I wore false eyelashes too.” I glumly said. “And a tiara.”
“A tutu too I hope.” Mum grinned, before asking when John dropped out and why I didn’t tell her. I told her and she assured me that she wouldn’t have been mad, before prompting me to describe my costume in detail.
I glumly described the pancake tutu and the hundreds of plastic gemstones that decorate it and my bodice, the little puffed sleeves, my false eyelashes, my tiara, my magnetic diamanté earrings and the layers of make-up that were so think I could feel its weight on my face. “…and dance tights and pointe shoes.”
