While I Danced

By Lynn Slaughter

As Cass moves closer to her dream of a career in ballet, Cass uncovers secrets her friends have been keeping. Then,
in the midst of an intensely competitive summer dance program and the beginnings of a new romance with a fellow
dancer, she makes an even more devastating discovery, a betrayal that leaves her questioning whether she even wants to dance at all.

In a year when everything Cass has ever believed about her life turns out to be false, can she heal and forgive? And
can she find her own way to pursue her passion for dance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: May 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781613862599

Lynn Slaughter

Lynn Slaughter is addicted to chocolate, the arts, and her husband’s cooking. She also admits she’s always loved to learn. A graduate of Smith College, she earned master’s degrees in sociology and dance. Following a long career as a professional dancer and educator, she returned to school for her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She is the author of two previous young adult novels, It Should Have Been You and While I Danced. The ridiculously proud mother of two sons and grandmother of five, she lives in Louisville, Kentucky where she is at work on her next novel. She loves hearing from readers and hopes you’ll visit her website, www.lynnslaughter.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Almost time. We huddled beneath the Welcome to the Boston City Ballet banner in the crowded lobby. Since parents weren’t allowed to watch the audition, Mrs. Kaufman was off to see the Van Gogh exhibit at the museum. I was so nervous I almost begged her to take me with her. But I didn’t. This was my shot at a spot in one of the premier summer dance workshops in the country. Even the troupe of whirling dervishes inside my stomach wasn’t about to stop me.

When Mrs. K. pulled Rachel into her arms, it was hard to tell where her thick mane of strawberry curls ended, and Rachel’s began. Break a leg, kiddo. I love watching you dance, and I love you, she said.

I swallowed hard. Rachel didn’t have a clue how lucky she was. Mrs. K. turned to me and gave me a hug too. You’re a beautiful dancer too, Cass. I wish your dad could have come with us today.

Yeah right. Like Dad would have wanted to come and cheer me on.

But I didn’t say that. I just hugged her back.

* * *

The dressing room was mobbed and reeked of hair spray and deodorant. My stomach was threatening to go into full-fledged Twirl-a-Whirl. After stripping down to the leotard and tights I’d worn under my jeans and sweatshirt, I grabbed my dance bag and signaled to Rachel I was headed for the bathroom.

She gave me a quick once-over and giggled. May I say that shade of green makeup you’re wearing looks lovely with your complexion.

I swatted at her with my dance bag. Anything to get the judges’ attention. I thought I’d go for the Martian effect.

Five minutes later, the check-in lady announced that the audition class would start in ten minutes. I took one final glance at myself in the mirror. The blush I’d put on was a definite improvement over the green look, and I’d shellacked my bun with so much hair spray I didn’t think even a wind storm could undo it.

Rachel peeked her head in the door. Show-time.

* * *

The studio was huge compared to our studio back home, but it smelled just the same, a mixture of sweat and rosin.

Rachel, Cass, called a familiar voice. Missy Overton barreled her way over to us. As usual, she was wearing enough makeup for a Seventeen magazine photo shoot. "Isn’t this wild? Everyone who’s ever done a plié must have shown up today. And I’ve seen several girls whose leg extensions are as high as mine. Her eyes widened as though she’d just discovered one of the wonders of the Western world. You guys won’t believe the incredible classes I’ve taken. I’m so glad Mom brought me down two days early. I even got to take class with Violette Verdy, who was guesting for the week. She pressed her hands to her chest. Well, I know I don’t have to tell you how fabulous she was. She even complimented me after class on how well I was using my feet."

Hmm, great, I said. In talking to Missy, I’ve found it works best to murmur at the appropriate moments.

She looked at me, as though really seeing me for the first time. Now Cass, you hardly look green at all. Just try to stay calm, and don’t worry about picking up the combinations. Rachel and I are right here with you, and you can always watch us.

Gee, thanks. Gotta go stretch. At least I felt right at home, with Missy Motor Brain on hand to remind me that I’m no whiz when it comes to picking up combinations.

I found a spot at one of the portable barres and flung my leg up on the barre, sighing as I laid my chest over my leg.

Hey, Rachel said, squeezing into the spot in front of me. Don’t let her get to you. She knows you’re a head-turner, and next to you, she’s the original ice princess. Just between you and me, I don’t think Missy’s nearly as sure of herself as she pretends to be.

If she’s not, that is one heck of an acting job. Or you’re hallucinating, I said.

A spindly, older man, wearing what looked like a black mop haphazardly glued to his head, clapped his hands for silence. Boys and girls, I am Mr. Petrov, and I will be teaching your audition class. Please to take your places at the barre in order of your numbers.

Rachel and I quickly found our spots. She was forty-three, and I was right behind her at forty-four. Missy was way down front at number nine. There must have been at least seventy dancers in the room, mostly girls, but more than a dozen boys too. So many dancers, and they all looked so good! I didn’t want to think about the lousy odds.

Mr. Petrov introduced the accompanist and three stern-looking judges sitting behind a long table at the front of the studio. My heart was pounding, and I wondered if it were possible to go into cardiac arrest at age fifteen due to sheer terror.

Once we began the opening pliés at the barre, I calmed down. Mr. Petrov started us off slowly, and I was able to follow his instructions easily. The accompanist was terrific. I felt as if the notes were pouring out of the piano and flowing right into my limbs.

When we paused before turning to repeat the pliés on the other side, Rachel and I made eye contact. I gave her my circling eyeball Wow look. She winked back.

As we worked, I concentrated hard on applying the corrections Mrs. Goodman had been giving me. I could almost hear her voice saying, Shoulders easy, rest your ribs. A sudden image of a thimble-sized Mrs. G. coaching me through the audition while perched on my shoulder made me smile.

Just then, Mr. Petrov walked by, and I thought I saw a half-smile cross his face. Before he demonstrated the next exercise, he said to the class: Boys and girls, you are allowed to smile when you dance. An audition—it’s not the same as funeral, yes? There was scattered laughter, and I could feel the tension in the room easing.

Mr. Petrov gave a long and thorough barre. By the time we finished and moved the portable barres away to start our center work, I was dripping. Rachel, on the other hand, still looked cool and fresh.

After conferring with the judges, Mr. Petrov divided us into four groups for the center work. He put the boys together in the last group. After the first center exercise, Mr. Petrov gave a romantic adagio full of sustained movements and a sense of longing. The accompanist played a plaintive Liszt piece. I felt myself being drawn into that other world where music always takes me. Everything else fell away—the judges, Missy, even Rachel and Mr. Petrov. There was just the music and the movement and the moment.

I was able to hold on to some of that feeling when we got to the waltz combination with pirouettes. I landed several triples cleanly, and even managed to land a quadruple in front of the judges’ table. There is a God.

Or maybe not. Mr. Petrov demonstrated a petit allegro combination full of beats and quick changes of weight and direction. It was so confusing! Please, I prayed silently, don’t let him call on my group first.

No such luck. I made it through the first eight counts okay, but then I blanked on which foot ended in back on one of the landings. I had no idea which way the next part went, but I plunged ahead anyhow—and smacked right into the dancer next to me. She gasped and glared at me as the music finished. My face burned. I’m so sorry, I murmured, but she gave me another withering look before stalking over to the side.

Let me die right now. My heart hammered in my chest. Mr. Petrov cleared his throat and stared at me. I can rent action movies if I want to see the crashes. Please pay better attention when I demonstrate combinations. Otherwise, I will have to take out more liability insurance.

More scattered laughter. I mumbled, Yes, sir, and slunk to the back of the studio. Kiss this audition good-bye. All I’d been good for was comic relief.

When the next group began, I spotted Missy. There she was, doing her usual picture-perfect execution of the movement. If I could have felt any worse, I would have. She was nailing the combination I’d just turned into a demolition derby.

I cornered Rachel and said, Help! Miracle of miracles, after the fifth try of shadowing her, the sequence clicked in to my motor memory.

When Mr. Petrov called our group out again, I quickly moved to my place and took a few deep breaths. Here goes, I thought. Things started great, and I got so excited that I almost blanked out in the middle and stumbled slightly. But then I clicked back in and finished strong. I couldn’t help smiling.

Ah, said Mr. Petrov, I like dancers who fix their mistakes. Good.

Redeemed! Relief washed over me, and I began to relax. We did a huge grand allegro and I felt as if I were flying as we leapt across the studio to the booming sounds of a Minkus waltz. Then, while the boys did several men’s combinations by themselves, we put our pointe shoes on. I got mine on as quickly as possible, so I could watch the guys. We didn’t have any boys in our class back home. Wow, could these guys jump! I got excited just watching their raw energy and power as they moved.

After the boys finished, we did some relevés at the barre and then repeated several of the combinations we’d done earlier, going up to full pointe this time. I was glad we didn’t have to learn anything new. We’d been dancing for close to three hours, and I was running out of gas.

Finally, the revérénce. I felt almost joyful as we bowed to the teacher, the accompanist, and the judges. I’d survived making a big mess of the petit allegro and even received a compliment from Mr. Petrov for pulling my act together the second time through. Most important, I’d danced from the heart. But would it be enough?

Chapter 2

The moment we got into the car, Mrs. Kaufman said, Tell me everything! How did it go?

Well, as usual, I was the shrimpette in the group, but I thought we were both fabulous! Right, Cass? Rachel said, poking me in the ribs.

Definitely, I said, poking her back. "Of course, there were only a zillion other fabulous dancers in there. But Rachel saved me. She helped me with this petit allegro I couldn’t get to save my life."

I strive to please, she said. "When I looked over at you during the adagio, you looked so beautiful. If they don’t take you, they have rocks for brains."

That’s how I feel about you! Wouldn’t it be incredible if we both made it? Can you imagine Mrs. Goodman’s face? Boston, here we come!

Rachel’s face clouded over, and she squeezed my arm. I think we need to be prepared that if you get in, I might not. The midget look just isn’t in for ballerinas. You’re the swan, not me.

No way! You can’t see yourself dance, and I can. You’re amazing! I’m getting tired of this ‘I’m too short to make it’ stuff, I said, as I wrapped my fingers around her tiny neck and pretended to wring it.

Okay, I’ll stop whining about my height, she said, dislodging my fingers. But honestly? If Boston ends up being a solo deal for you, it’s okay. Lately, I’ve been thinking maybe ballet doesn’t matter to me the way it does to you.

What do you mean? You’re just as much of a dance addict as I am.

Yeah, I love it, but don’t you ever feel like taking a break? There’s so much stuff you and I never get to do because we’re always dancing. When was the last time we got to watch one of David’s basketball games without either rushing in late, or having to leave for class or rehearsal just when it’s getting exciting?

My breath caught in my throat. Rachel had never talked about having doubts about ballet. It had always been the two of us dreaming about dance careers. And why was she bringing up David? He was my boyfriend.

Mrs. Kaufman glanced back at us in her rearview mirror. Had Rachel talked to her about this, or was she as shocked as I was?

I shrugged and tried to smile and look like I was handling this. I had no idea you were feeling this way. It feels so weird to even think of us not dancing together.

Maybe I’m just PMS-ing, said Rachel. Forget whatever I just said.

I nodded and felt the tension gripping my chest ease slightly. Rachel leaned forward and tapped her mom on the shoulder. Mom, I just saw a sign for a Friendly’s at the next exit. Please, can we stop for dinner? I’m starved!

Me too, I said. I can taste that Happy Ending sundae.

During dinner, I wondered if Rachel had just had some sort of a strange reaction to the stress of the audition. She acted as if nothing had happened as we gave her mom a minute-by-minute replay of the afternoon. She did a spot on impersonation of Missy gushing about Violette Verdy, and I followed up with my imitation of Mr. Petrov looking down his nose at me and saying, I would like to see the movement I gave. I was dying to get up and do a demonstration of me tripping over my own two feet in the petit allegro, but I restrained myself. Once, when we were in seventh grade and were feeling high as kites after a recital, the Kaufmans took us out to eat at Denny’s. While we were waiting for our food, we started doing grand jetés down the aisle.

Unfortunately, we didn’t see the waitress carrying the tray of six cheeseburger platters. Rachel and I spent weeks doing extra work at her parents’ bed and breakfast to pay them back for the hefty tip they’d forked over to get us out of there.

The minute we got back in the car, my adrenaline ran out, and I conked out for the rest of the four hour drive home. I didn’t wake up until Mrs. Kaufman pulled in my driveway close to eleven. Dad must have been watching for us, because he came right out to thank Mrs. Kaufman for taking me. Dad’s a pediatrician, and he’d been on call that day at the clinic. Good excuse not to take me to the biggest audition of my life.

He did look pretty glad to see me, though. Not as glad as Sam, our German shepherd, who rubbed up against me and made sure he got his day’s worth of petting, but close.

After I gave Dad the short version of how things had gone, he asked, When do you think you’ll find out anything?

This was their last audition, so they said they’re going to make their final decision this week and send us a letter. How would I survive the next few days without knowing?

Well, either way, it sounds like it was a good experience. And if it doesn’t work out, I was thinking about something fun we could do together this summer. He searched my face for a reaction.

Oh great. Here it comes, the subtle pressure to do anything other than dance. What? I asked, almost too tired to want to hear the answer.

Well, I was talking to Dr. Rosemond about covering for me at the clinic this summer, so I can take a few weeks off. It seems like years since you and I have gone on a real vacation. What would you think of our taking the boat and going South for some sailing and camping?

Sailing was my Dad’s passion. He looked like an eager puppy waiting for me to throw him a bone, as a trickle of guilt worked its way down my chest.

Dad, let’s just wait, okay? I want to see if I get in, and Mrs. Goodman says there are some other good workshops she wants me to look into if Boston doesn’t pan out.

If that’s what you want, Dad said stiffly. You’re only going to be home a couple more years, and I was hoping we could spend some time together.

I swear my dad must have taken a crash course on How to make your ungrateful teenager feel guilty.

Dad, I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. This is the time I need to focus on my dancing. It’s what I want to do with my life. If my mom were alive, don’t you think she would have wanted me to go for something that I love so much?

My dad’s face closed up. Sometimes, I can’t stop myself from bringing up my mother, even though I know my dad hates it when I do. My mom died in a car accident when I was a baby, and for as long as I can remember, my dad has stonewalled me whenever I’ve asked about her. He says that thinking about her makes him too sad.

It doesn’t seem to occur to him that I feel pretty darned sad, not to mention pissed, that he won’t tell me zilch about my own mother! It’s like there’s this giant piece of me that’s missing.

As usual, he changed the subject. This is not about your mother, he said coolly. We’re talking about your future and your welfare. Ballet is a difficult life, and such a narrow one. What if you want to get married and have children someday?

Stage Two, the I’m-only-concerned-about-your-welfare argument. As if I could fare well without dancing. Dad, I want to go into ballet, not a convent. Believe it or not, dancers get married, and some of them even have kids. At least I thought they did. I mean, how many professional dancers did I know in Seaview, Maine? Mrs. Goodman had Kevin, of course, but she was a single parent, and she’d retired from performing after she’d had a child.

Cass, I know you don’t want to hear this, my dad said in that I’m-only- telling-you-this-for-your-own-good voice that never fails to set off my gag reflex. But it’s not as easy as you might think to have a great family life and be a professional dancer. Trust me on this.

How would he know? My dad’s never taken a dance class in his life. But I didn’t say anything. Dad hates to be challenged, and I was tired of arguing.

He pulled me toward him. Now, how about a kiss good night for your old man? You look bushed.

I kissed Dad on the cheek and halfheartedly hugged him. Why had everything gotten so complicated? Dad and I had always gotten along so well, until...well, until I started getting more serious about dance. And asking more questions about my mother.

I just want the best for you, he whispered, as he hugged me.

Yeah, but whose definition of best are we talking about? But I didn’t say that out loud. What was the point? I turned around and walked slowly up the stairs to my room.

* * *

The minute I stepped into my bedroom, I stumbled over a bunch of old pointe shoes, glanced at my unmade bed, and spotted my cell phone. I’d been so nervous that morning I’d forgotten to stick it in my dance bag. I grabbed it to check for messages—a couple of texts and three voice mails from David. I punched in his number, and he picked up on the first ring.

Hey, Legs, he said. What took you so long? Let me guess. You forgot to pack your cell phone. Again!

Oops. I was so nervous this morning I’m amazed I remembered myself!

Not to worry. So what’d you think? Rachel told me you did great!

He’d already talked to Rachel? I felt pretty good, I said, deliberately brushing away my paranoid thoughts. I even sort of knew what I was doing. I lay back on my bed and stretched my legs high over my head. I could hear David chomping on something crackly.

Are you eating Doritos? I asked, feeling a little hungry just thinking about chips.

"Ah, she

Reviews for While I Danced

[bidwell9glaze · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

While I Danced is not in any of the genres I read, except YA. I was unsure why I picked it up. It is so well written, however, that I will be reading it over again. While I Danced was, for me, a feast of the senses. Lynn writes with knowledge of dance so deep that characters come alive. I could smell the studios, flowers, and traffic. I could almost taste the granola bars and sandwiches, see the dance, and hear the music. Most especially, I could feel the muscles slide against each other as the dance movements flowed across the studio and the stage. The emotions seemed real, and the characters grew throughout the book.