Chapter 5

5, 6, 7, 8

     "Kick, ball change. Pivot turn, pivot turn, rock, rock, rock," I said over the music to my five-year-old jazz class. This was my first year teaching dance, but I knew I would do this forever if I could. We had picked out costumes earlier in class, fuzzy, yellow shirts, and black, stretch capris, with lace-up black jazz shoes. The girls were getting more and more excited about the recital, even though it was still five months away. "Walking On Sunshine" wasn’t my first choice for music, but it suited the girls well, and I readily agreed.
     Dance should always be fun, and that was what I tried to make it for them. Dance is really the only thing I could ever say I was even half-way good at. And I was barely able to claim that. I had been in dance classes since age three, and it had become an integral part of my daily life, an activity that I couldn’t seem to live without.
     When ninth grade ended, my dance studio changed owners, which turned out to be a lot harder than any of us originally thought. Ms. Bates had founded the studio, and with the help of her family, had run the studio day-to-day and had put on every recital, and pulled-off the long drives to competitions. When the studio changed hands, a lot of business was lost, because people didn’t want anyone in charge, except Ms. Bates. Jackie was nice enough though, but she wasn’t as good with the little kids. That’s where I came in.
     Monday night, I taught three to five-year-olds in a combination class of jazz, tap and ballet. Then I taught a beginning level hip-hop class for six to eight-year-olds. Then I took a Broadway Production Class. Tuesday, I taught a beginning level jazz class for five to eight-year-olds, and then took Jazz II, Hip-hop II and Broadway Production. Wednesday night, I took Tap II, Clogging II and Lyrical/Modern. Needless to say, dance was my life. With each class came a greater anticipation and excitement of the far-off recital and the nearing competition season. Everything was going along smoothly until one rainy February night.
     I was riding in my mom’s van to the dance studio, when I noticed something wasn’t quite right. All the lights in the studio were off. Puzzled, I got out of the car, and headed for the door.  Someone should have opened the studio at least an hour ago, I thought. I found parents and dancers outside the studio, huddled under the awning, trying to keep dry. I called Ms. Jackie’s cell phone twice, and her house once. No answer. I did leave a message. "Hi, Ms. Jackie. It’s Maria. It’s about 5pm and I’m at the studio. The door is locked and I didn’t bring my key tonight. My cell number is 555-8482. Call me when you get this." Though I was worried and confused, I put on a smile, and apologized to the parents for the inconvenience.
     After ten minutes of cold rain, we climbed into our respective cars and left. I worried all night and all the next day, especially after I received no phone call, nor did anyone else from the studio.
The next day, Tuesday, I went back, determined to teach my classes, with or without Ms. Jackie at the studio. I got my key and rushed to unlock the door, after having found the studio dark and empty again. "Ms. Maria!" Isabelle shouted from behind me. I turned around and grinned.
     "Hi, Isabelle." She rushed to give me a hug. I always knew how much I loved this job. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I had kids looking up to and adoring me, and I got to share my passion for dance with kids who believed in their dreams of dancing on Broadway. And you know what? I believed in them. And they knew that.
I pulled my key chain from my purse, and selected the studio key. Something was wrong again. The key didn’t fit into the deadbolt as it had just a week earlier when I had received a new key.       
      By now, the other five girls in the class were gathering, along with their parents. My heart was racing now. What’s going on here? I wondered. The girls looked at me, and finally Hannah broke the unbearable silence.
     "Where’s Ms. Jackie?" I cringed. I looked around at the parents, and the girls. What do I tell them? That I don’t know? I work here. I’m supposed to have all the answers.
     "Last night, I came here, and Ms. Jackie wasn’t here then either. My key doesn’t fit the lock like it did a week ago. I don’t know where Ms. Jackie is."
     "So can we just have dance class out here?" Isabelle asked hopefully, motioning towards the sidewalk where we stood. I smiled. They didn’t understand. Maybe it was better that they didn’t comprehend what was going on here.
     "I don’t know, sweetie," I told her. But the girls had already lost interest. They were running around playing tag. I looked nervously at the parents.
     Terry spoke up. "Have you called her?" I just nodded. We all seemed to shift uncomfortably, all unsure of what to do now.
Suddenly a lady who worked at the florist next door came out. "Are y’all with the dance studio?"
     "Yes," I told her. "I work for Ms. Jackie. Do you know what’s going on?"
     "I don’t know any details, honey. All I knows is that the landlord changed the locks. You guys can’t use the studio. Ms. Jackie didn’t pay the rent for many months," she said with little emotion, obviously unaware of how much a part of my life this studio was and had been for many years.
     A lump began to rise in my throat. Terry asked, "Are you sure?"
     "Yes," the lady replied. "I’m sorry, y’all." Sorry? I wanted to scream at her! You’re sorry? You think sorry is going to make this all okay for us? These parents have paid lots of money for these classes, the costumes, the recital, the competitions, everything. I’ve put so much work and love into this studio. My heart and soul were in it. These kids! They trusted us, loved us. And you’re sorry that they can’t dance here anymore? . . .Wait, I told myself. This isn’t her fault. She knows nothing.
     My eyes started filling with tears. No, you can’t cry in front of the girls, I told myself. Be strong for them. They can’t see you like this. Don’t let them know what’s wrong. I looked helplessly at the mothers standing around me. One put her arms around me. "It’s okay. Shhhhh. It’s not your fault. It’s all going to work out. It’s okay." No, it’s not, I wanted to tell her. It’s not because Ms. Jackie deserted us. Don’t you see? Isabelle came running back up to us.
     "Does Ms. Jackie have the flu? Is that why we can’t have dance class today?" Innocence. It is the most beautiful thing. I nodded. We all departed, after exchanging phone numbers. If anyone heard anything, we would call the others. I left the shopping center where my dance studio had been that night, vowing never to dance again.
     The one thing I loved had been snatched from my grasp, just like that. It was there. Then it was gone. I was left with nothing. Nothing. Not even an explanation from Ms. Jackie.
     I didn’t eat anything that night. I just lay in bed and cried myself to sleep. I went through the motions of life the next day, but my heart just wasn’t there. There was this massive void within me that I worried could never be filled again.
     I cried every night for two weeks, mostly because I had to continue reliving the pain for three nights after that fateful Tuesday night. I had to go to the studio each day, and wait around until kids showed up. I had to explain to the parents why the dance studio was closed. I had to tell them they would probably never see their money again, and that there was no way we knew of to contact Ms. Jackie. Most of the time, the parents were calm, but sad. A few times I got yelled at, but I couldn’t yell back. I was too sad. Too lost to think about anything else. My life was crumbling as the love of my life was taken from me.
     I did end up joining a dance team started by Ms. Bates after the whole dance studio thing went on. We worked really hard, had lots of fun and got along well for the most part. We won a national championship in Washington D.C. just two months after we started rehearsing. It was the silver lining on a very, very dark event.
     We never got an explanation from Ms. Jackie, but seven months later, we read in the newspaper that she was arrested for drug possession. It’s funny that the people you come to trust and respect the most are often the ones who let you down the farthest. I’m lucky. It’s the kids I worry about. They cannot comprehend what it means that Ms. Jackie took their money, that was meant for their recital, to buy drugs. I can, but they can’t. They just have to accept that they can’t dance there anymore. I’m not sure "Walking On Sunshine" was appropriate any longer. We certainly weren’t.