Lauren in the Limelight

By Miriam Landis and Jill Cecil

As she begins 6th grade, Lauren Lightfoot wants nothing more than to get her first pair of pointe shoes, enjoy her love for ballet, and spend time with her friends. Lauren and her friends Bryan and Serena are challenged to define themselves both on stage and in the world when they audition for the Pacific Northwest Ballet School and compete for

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhododendron Press
• Release date: Oct 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988307815

Miriam Landis

Miriam Landis is a faculty member at the Pacific Northwest Ballet. She was a LitCamp fellow, and an assistant editor at Simon & Schuster, Hyperion, and the Amazon Books team. A Stanford grad, she was also a student at the School of American Ballet and a professional ballerina with Miami City Ballet. When not writing, teaching, or dancing, she enjoys life on Lake Washington alongside her husband and four children. In addition to Lauren in the Limelight, she is the author of two young adult novels, Girl in Motion and Girl on Pointe (previously published as Breaking Pointe). Learn more at www.miriamlandis.com.

Book preview

chapter 1

LAUREN

Let me put it this way: The day Serena showed up in my ballet class changed everything. Before her, my life was often as smooth as a waltz, moving more or less in one direction. But when the music changes, a new rhythm forces the dancers to change steps.

It was the first day of sixth grade. Since kindergarten, my mom drove me to the South End shopping center for ballet but I could ride my bike in middle school. I swerved around the fire station and cruised the rest of the way to the bike rack. My watch said I had twenty minutes until class.

Ms. Evangeline got really upset when we were late, so I was in a rush. I couldn’t afford to get in trouble. My parents had enough problems with Josh. They counted on me to be the good kid.

Caroline was climbing out of her mom’s car, zipping up her backpack. She’d grown over the summer, and when she came home from the Mandarin immersion camp her mother forced on her, she’d turned into a taller kid with awkward limbs and braces who looked way more like her White dad than her Chinese American mom.

Caroline and I were super close. Her grandma was so nice to me and baked us cookies after school. We had spent so much time together that we could probably finish each other’s sentences. When her grandma died last year, I cried about it.

Bryan rode up next and climbed off his bike. He chained it up and hurried to catch up with us. Dark-skinned and graceful with an irresistible smile and chocolate-colored eyes, Bryan was a striking presence wherever he went. We thought he looked like a model. I watched out for him in every way I could, but it was getting harder to protect him. Everyone at ballet adored Bryan. At school, well, that was a different story. As if it wasn’t hard enough being Black on an island where most of the kids were White or Asian and sports-oriented, he had to be a boy who danced too. My dad said Bryan had a hard life ahead of him.

Sorry the bell cut us off this morning, I said. How was your LA trip? His aunt was an actress on a sitcom. Did you finally get an agent?

Another vacation over is another missed opportunity for Hollywood to discover me, Bryan said. He walked with a swish and radiated energy. I laughed, forgetting we were in a hurry.

At the end of fifth grade, Bryan told us he didn’t want to hide behind the scenes anymore. Suddenly, he just wanted attention. He talked about movie stars incessantly.

I caught a glance from Caroline: Tread lightly, you know this matters to him more than he lets on. It’s only a matter of time, she said. Caroline could always be counted on to cheerlead.

Bryan gave Caroline a dismissive flip of his hand, but there was weariness in his eyes. It was like this. The hotel photographer asked to take my picture, and my fifteen minutes of fame ended in two seconds. It would have been better if I’d appeared with a ballerina or two on my arm. Still, it’s like I always say: dress meticulously, even when you don’t go anywhere special. You never know who might see you.

Caroline rolled her eyes. It might not be over. That picture could show up in an airline magazine.

He didn’t respond. We headed toward class.

The studio was comfortable and familiar, the same as it had been forever. Parents bustled in the hallway amid the smell of rosin and sweat. Music drifted through the door of Studio A. We jostled our way through the crowd.

I loved to watch the older class of teenagers, intently focused on their steps.

I was nervous about starting middle school. My friends and I weren’t supposed to be little kids anymore. I wanted to be like those older girls, to have younger kids look up to me the way I looked up to them.

The older girls didn’t know me, not really. I was the wide-eyed girl who stared at them and copied their hairstyles. Once, I returned a hairclip that Julie left in the lost and found. Maybe she remembered?

When I watched the teenagers dance, I felt a longing that I couldn’t ignore.

My mind drifted to Mom and Dad’s conversation a few nights ago. I’d overheard them arguing. She’s taking it too seriously, Dad said behind their closed bedroom door. Dance is a horrible profession. There’s only one good job: the star of a top company. No one is satisfied unless they’re there, and that person is still underpaid, exhausted, and retires before they’re my age. The lessons and shoes cost a fortune. We don’t want two screw-up kids. Josh might be a lost cause, but it’s not too late to get Lauren on a better track.

I knew they cared, but Dad was being ridiculous.

I wanted to inspire people. My dream was to dance so beautifully that my love for ballet would spread to others. I’d wanted that ability for as long as I could remember.

That first day of middle school, when Serena came into my life, I had a realization. Childhood fantasies were complicated. Dreams could change.

chapter 2

BRYAN

The stress from school melted away when I saw Lauren and Caroline. I was the most myself with them, especially at ballet.

I thought this year would be different. I’d been through exactly one day of middle school, and I was waiting for the next attack and trying to breathe.

To their credit, Lauren and Caroline did their best to look out for me. They used to tell the teachers, and retaliate against the mean kids. But I could see it starting at the end of last year. They were tired. There were consequences. It was easier to be silent.

Now my parents wanted me to see a therapist. Mom had been trying to get an appointment all summer. My answer was a big fat N-O.

My dad had decided I was gay before I’d made up my own mind. Why did I have to be anything but myself? They worried I was Black. They worried I had an unusual hobby for a boy. They worried I liked boys more than girls. How many lectures had Dad made about how I should try harder to fit in?

You don’t even think to keep your hands out of your pockets at the grocery store, Mom said when I refused to go to the therapist. They’ll think you’re stealing. You live in such a bubble. We keep you safe. But when you get out in the world, you’re in for a rude awakening. You’ve got to recognize who you are in this world. She’d looked so sad when she said it that I almost changed my mind. Almost.

Ms. Evangeline’s voice brought me back to the studio, where we were preparing for class.

Students, this is Serena Hoffman, she announced in her gentle Filipino accent. She just moved to Mercer Island. I know you’ll make her feel welcome.

Lauren stopped digging in her dance bag. She glanced up and inhaled sharply, dramatic enough to make me stop talking. When I turned to look at the new girl, I saw why Lauren looked stunned.

Lauren and I scrambled to our feet. Serena Hoffman was a swan, the kind of girl who gave off a mix of confidence and intensity.

Hi Serena . . . everyone said in unison, followed by nervous laughter and whispers.

This girl had presence. Serena was more poised than anyone else in sixth grade. I didn’t have a clue how someone got to be like that, but I wanted whatever she had. Her blue eyes and delicate features gave her face an adult look that said, I don’t ask anyone for anything! She had long legs and an elegant neck decorated with a gold necklace shaped like a pair of pointe shoes. Her black leotard, pink tights, and matching ballet slippers showed she meant business. So did her upward chin and lack of eye contact. Her dark hair, coiled in a bun and sprayed to a crisp against her head, was almost as serious as her expression.

From the moment Serena turned up in our class, I knew the year would be different.

Thank you, Serena said. Her politeness came off just as stiff as her body language. Tense neck. Just seemed like she was super uncomfortable being there.

The remaining girls stretching on the floor rose to their feet. Her energy brought tension to the room as we went from humming with excited chatter to anxious curiosity.

That was when I noticed how messy my friends looked. Why hadn’t Caroline worn a new leotard and tights without holes? Lauren’s blonde bun was falling out. What about hairspray, ladies? Lauren’s hair looked frizzier than mine, and that was saying something. Ms. Evangeline constantly reminded us that, as ballet students, it was our responsibility not only to follow the dress code but to be neat. To look the part. I told them all the time.

Svetlana, our plump Russian pianist who wore thick oval glasses and always dressed in black, arranged her music on the piano. She settled on the bench. My barre spot was the closest one to the piano, as per usual. I scooted closer and stuck out a hand. She reached into her purse and pulled out a box of orange Tic Tacs. Out of habit, she shook a few into my palm.

I tossed the candy in the air and caught it in my mouth. The familiar rattling attracted a few of Svetlana’s other usual takers. She filled the other outstretched hands, but everyone knew Svetlana brought the candy for me.

"Spasiba." I liked to say the few Russian words Svetlana had taught me, and I wanted to catch Serena’s attention. I had to win her over before she became on of the kids who disliked me.

Serena gave me a small smile. If I could have told her anything at that moment, it would have been, I see you. Like, I saw underneath her perfect exterior. If anyone knew what it was like to have people stare and automatically dislike you, it was me.

I smiled back at her. Lauren stared.

You can stand there, Caroline told Serena as if it was her job to give permission. Caroline pointed to the place at the barre between her and Lauren.

Serena walked to the spot and said a thank you to Caroline.

My friends were unhappy about the new girl, but I was glad she was there. I’d be the first in line when I saw someone who needed a friend.

God knew I wanted people to be kind to me.

chapter 3

SERENA

Ms. Evangeline drew our attention by clapping her hands. She seemed nicer than my teachers back in New Jersey. Her clothes were more casual, too: blue ballet sweater, black pants, and ballet slippers. Even with her black hair in a loose bun, she seemed more like a regular person than a strict ballet teacher.

It was nice of her to try and make me feel comfortable, but I didn’t need it. Not that I didn’t appreciate kindness—I did. But it didn’t change anything. Kindness wouldn’t bring Theo back. Kindness wouldn’t make my family happy. Kindness wouldn’t convince my dad to let us move back to New Jersey.

I could immediately feel the connection between Ms. Evangeline and the other nine girls and one boy. When Mom brought me in to register, Ms. Evangeline told us she’d known most of the kids since kindergarten. I’m their second mom, she’d said.

I’d never heard any such thing from a ballet teacher before and almost laughed. The East Coast instructors I’d had at my bigger school in New Jersey had been all business.

When the clock ticked the hour, Ms. Evangeline walked to the barre and demonstrated the first plié combination. She had a familiar habit of humming and counting as she danced.

The girl with messy blonde hair wouldn’t stop looking at me.

We’d only moved into our new house a week ago, but I realized I’d seen the blonde around, walking down the hall at school surrounded by friends. She’d been at the grocery store too. I’d noticed her in the checkout line. Her mother was in an argument with a teen who must have been her older brother. They all looked miserable.

I noticed the collection of friendship bracelets on her wrist, the kind with elaborate braiding. Did she have that many friends? I had a few bracelets like that, but I’d made them all myself. The repetitive hand motion helped my anxiety.

Is there a balance at the end of the combination? I whispered to her.

She took a step closer, her eyes focused on my neck. Where did you get that pointe shoe necklace?

My mom gave it to me. I fingered the ornament.

It’s pretty. By the way, I’m Lauren. That’s Caroline. She pointed at the girl on my other side.

That was the first time I saw her smile. I warmed to her, pushing the necklace out of my mind. Her kindness changed her from someone competitive into someone interesting.

Preparation, please, Ms. Evangeline said.

The pianist placed her hands on the keys, and the music began. We put our left hands on the barre, drawing our feet into first position. We rotated our thighs open and pulled up our leg muscles.

Everyone bent their knees as far as they would go, keeping heels on the floor. When we straightened our legs again, our muscles went to work, and we felt the resistance between muscles and gravity. We repeated the plié. The third time, our heels released as they went down to a full knee bend, a grand plié. As we came up, our inner thighs spiraled outward like eggbeaters. Lifting our abdominal muscles, we bent forward over straightened legs to touch our noses to our knees. I could always feel the stretch in my lower back and hamstrings during the port de bras. Inhaling and bringing our heads up, at the end of the musical phrase, we arched back with our right arms over our heads.

While bending and stretching, my eyes scanned my new classmates. The comments from my old teachers and descriptions in the ballet books I’d read echoed in my mind. I thought of the professional dancers I’d seen when Mom took me to the ballet; how defined their muscles were; how their knowledge sunk deep into the inner workings of their bodies; the fluid way they moved and showed their understanding of ballet technique. This class had a long way to go.

"The basic knee bend, the plié, is the first building block for good technique. It may seem simple, but you’ll be working on perfecting your pliés for the rest of your life." Ms. Evangeline walked around the room, watching our legs and feet with a careful eye.

The ideal foot for ballet had a high arch and instep. I’d had better training than these kids, and my feet were good, but as we progressed from pliés to tendus, I noticed that Lauren’s arched feet had a more beautiful shape than mine. But she didn’t bother stretching completely through her toes. Seeing her relaxed foot made me point mine harder.

Caroline, the girl on my other side, couldn’t coordinate her arms and legs. Ballet looked difficult for her body. Her muscles were so naturally tight that she couldn’t turn her feet into a full 180-degree first position or bend far forward enough over her legs to touch her nose to her knees.

Relax your neck, Bryan, Ms. Evangeline said, lifting the wrist of the only boy in the class before she made her way to the uncoordinated girl beside me. Caroline! You’re forcing your turnout again. Spiral the muscles up and straighten your legs.

Ms. Evangeline walked to me and used one finger to tap under my chin. I lengthened my neck and raised my head in response, finishing the combination. She nodded her approval.

By the time we reached ronde de jambes, I could tell Lauren had natural talent. She had an elegant neck, graceful arms, and a striking presence.

We executed the fondu combination, and Ms. Evangeline moved further down the line. Audrey, listen to the music. Why are you always ahead or behind the others? Liz, stop pointing your foot inward—that’s sickling—you are ruining the lines of your legs. It’s no wonder you’ve sprained that same ankle twice!

Ms. Evangeline returned to Lauren at the end of the grand battements, right as the music finished. Her eyes looked Lauren up and down.

Lauren, Ms. Evangeline said, you’re killing me here. You look like a baby horse that can’t control its limbs. That kick was sloppy. If there is a way around working hard, you always find it.

As Lauren shrank under the criticism, Ms. Evangeline turned to me. "Show us your grand battement, Serena."

When I received corrections, no matter how critical, I never cowered like Lauren. To me, the room grew brighter. I loved the attention. I needed it.

I repeated the high kick with renewed energy, keeping my hip down and pulling up on my supporting side to engage my muscles. I kept my torso straight and didn’t lean into the barre, applying Ms. Evangeline’s corrections.

Ms. Evangeline nodded. Yes! That’s what I want to see. Some of the girls applauded and the boy let out a whistle of approval. Ms. Evangeline gestured that we could come away from the barre to the center.

The praise snapped me out of the occasional boredom at ballet, when we had to stand around, waiting while a teacher demonstrated a long combination or spent too much time correcting someone else.

Sometimes my dad asked me if dance was the challenge I wanted. Wouldn’t you rather be doing soccer or choir? Under Mom’s watchful eye, I always said no, reminded of how good I felt when she watched me dance.

If only the rest of my life could make as much sense as ballet class.

I had spent so much time and energy on ballet. As long as I could remember, my goal was to dance in my pair of those beautiful toe shoes. I kept hoping that once I put them on, I’d feel like my old self again. Mom said the nagging feeling that I wanted to quit would pass, but since we lost Theo, going to ballet made me cry. A new studio, a new town, you’ll feel different, Mom said repeatedly.

But I missed my brother. There I was, across the country and in a brand-new ballet school, and my mind kept going back to the way things used to be.

chapter 4

LAUREN

With barre over, Caroline and I hurried to the center. The class shot irritated looks at Serena when she took a place right in front.

Remember, all those barre exercises are necessary to prepare our muscles for the demands of toe shoes, Ms. Evangeline said. She demonstrated the first center exercise.

Svetlana played a waltz as we assembled combinations of steps, bending, moving, and twirling around the room. We worked especially hard, trying to show off to the new presence in our class.

Our muscles warmed up as Ms. Evangeline put us through the paces: tendu, small leg movements pointing our feet on the floor and finding our balance on one leg; adagio, slow, strength-building combinations requiring high extension; pirouettes, turns away from and toward the standing leg; petit allegro, combinations with small jumps and fast footwork; and grand allegro, big jumps across the floor. The jumping and turning was my favorite part. I could finally unleash myself across the room and dance, muscles tingling.

But Serena was the best at all these steps. When she lifted her leg next to her ear in a high développé, the rest of us looked at each other, panic in our eyes.

"I’m sure the paparazzi will be inquiring