(Live the life you’ve imagined!) The voice never left.

There was no sign of apprehension in Janie’s eyes as she watched Hannah Banerjee play a dumbed down version of “Fur Elise” on the piano. Tonight marked the end of her years in the preteen division. She was only twelve years old, but next month she would dance with the teenagers in Miss Kayla’s studio.

The recital was open to all Brandywine residents as a special talent show for the community and another excuse for parents to videotape their kids performing mundane works of art. Every year the recital was held in a different home; this year, Sandeep and Jenna Banerjee saved two months of piano tuition by hosting. He was a doctor (or lawyer, or business executive) and she was a stay-at-home helicopter for their daughter, Hannah, who was currently butchering Beethoven. Glancing around their (lovely) home, it seemed their favorite color was that light shade of beige that designers recommend painting walls before trying to sell. If Sandeep had any aesthetic ties left from his Indian heritage, Brandywine stripped it away like turpentine and slathered it with light brown.

In anticipation of the recital, Sandeep spent the week in his garage building a wooden platform--ten feet wide and six inches off the ground--for the dancers to perform on. He constructed the little stage so it could be disassembled and reassembled for future recitals. Miss Kimberly saw the set-up, gave the wood a quick tap, and deemed the particleboard unsuitable for dancing. Sandeep nodded and agreed, and now the stage stood upright, leaning belly out against the dining-room windows.

(Follow your dreams!)

Will spent the last five days suppressing the urge to herald his vision. Even now, sitting in rented folding chairs listening to dreck and clapping like he was at a golf tournament, he wanted to tip over the makeshift stage, climb on top and shout “Let me tell you what happened!” Sarah must have sensed his desire; three times, just when Will thought he might actually stand up and proclaim his news, her hand slid around Janie’s back and squeezed his shoulder.

William recognized the end of “Fur Elise” and readied his polite clap. Hannah finished better than she started, slid from the bench, and stood to meet her applause.

“Finally!” a boy in the front row yelled and threw up his hands. Hannah blushed and crinkled her brow to hold back tears, but the audience couldn’t help but snicker at the outburst. The little boy’s parents grabbed him and told him “bad,” but at least the kid had the cahoonas to say what everybody was thinking. Better not do that after Janie’s dance, Will thought.

The single-leaf program indicated that Janie was next. She rose from her seat and took the “stage” with what Will perceived as a slight air of superiority, or maybe boredom from doing what she had nearly perfected. He glanced at Hyde and Kayla (was she wearing a tutu?) and made sure his new friend had the video camera ready like they discussed. Will wanted this dance on tape, but he wouldn’t stoop to the same level of obsessive adoration as the other parents.

Miss Kimberly ducked and scuttled to the CD player, pushed play, and Janie began her ballet dance to “Hallelujah.”

Fifteen years ago Will deemed “Hallelujah” his favorite song, but too many overly sentimental teenybopper renditions defiled Leonard Cohen’s original erotic reverence and Will had to train his body not to shudder at the version Janie chose for her dance. “But I like the lyrics, Dad!” she said when he tried to talk her out of it. How could he argue with that?

Will split his attention between Janie and the little boy in front. He leaned forward to observe the toddler’s face through the chairs and purses; joy from the successful outburst was still painted on his face. At about five years old, he wouldn’t understand that jokes lose their humor the second time around, and with the chuckles he received after Hannah’s performance, he’d try it again. Janie’s reaction would be different, to say the least.

Janie lifted her arms in a slow-motion arc and let them float to her side, then twirled with a blue sash tracing circles around her waist.

In his years of watching children and professionals dance, Will was keenly aware of the difference between guys and girls. When boys dance, there’s a perpetual look of concern for their image, a sarcasm to the dance that says, “I’m too cool for this and I know it.” Their eyes never watch the audience, but focus instead on the dance itself; moves are anticipated and planned like “connect the dots” instead of an oil painting.

Girls are different. Even at three years old they’re able to surrender themselves to the music and crowd; to posses a look of understanding, enjoyment and absolute sincerity.

Janie took performance-awareness to a new level. There was a vitality in her body language that could captivate an audience. The five-inch scar paradoxically disappeared when she danced; a mask of self-confidence that covered better than any makeup ever could.

Janie took Will’s eyes into her own as she began her turns. She spun her body, arms bear-hugging an invisible partner, eyes snapping away from his with every turn then locking back on to anchor herself in the spinning room. Three turns. Four.

Will turned his eyes from Janie to the little boy, eyes exploding with anticipation for the next round of laughter.

“Be careful, lil’ man,” Will whispered to himself.

Janie ended after her fifth turn and posed. The parents clapped, and right on cue, the little boy yelled, “Finally!”

As predicted, the audience didn’t find it funny the second time around. Before the child was ushered out by his blushing mother, Janie dropped her pose, spun to face the five-year-old, bit her bottom lip, and flipped up her middle finger.

*  *  *

Vegan snacks were offered at the conclusion of the performances. Sarah made the usual rounds as Will scanned the table of broccoli and hummus (and something that looked like a soupy mix of dead flies and seaweed). Janie, Meg and Becca snickered in the corner as Kayla twirled about the room in ballet slippers and a tutu that nearly matched the Banerjee’s walls.

(Go confidently!) 

Will’s mind wouldn’t let go.

(Go confidently in the direction of your dreams!) 

He nodded and murmured his way through a conversation about golf with the other dance dads, but his internal debate blurred the discussion. Should he tell Hyde what he saw?

“Can I borrow the tape for the night?” Will asked when they were alone.

“I can make you a copy with all the performances,” Hyde said.

“I just need Janie’s dance.”

“Simple enough.” Hyde opened the digital camera with a whirr and handed Will the tape.

“Thanks.” He nodded in Kayla’s direction as she distributed her business card to a group of mothers, finally taking a break from her gleeful idiosyncrasies. “I see your wife is making the rounds.”

“She didn’t want to come tonight but I explained that marketing is part of any business; find your target client-base and move in. We’re working on her confidence.”

“I need to have a talk with her.”

“About?”

Will ignored the question. “My front porch’ll be open all week. Weatherman predicts storms.”

Hyde smiled. “I’ll be there.”

Will patted his friend’s back. “I’ll tell the bees you’re comin’.” He thanked him for the tape and turned his attention to Kayla.

She was still standing with the other women, smiling, nodding and shaking hands. Will stooped behind a coat rack like a tiger in the brush, waiting for his prey to stray from the pack before pouncing.

“Kayla the dancer!”

She jumped at his sudden greeting, then grinned, shook her hips, and bobbed the tutu from side to side. “Hey there, old man. Excited for classes to start next month? Janie’s gonna love it!”

Will nodded. “I’m going to put my cards on the table, Kay.”

She flicked her eyes around the room. “Regarding?”

“I love you and your husband. Hyde is a great guy and I couldn’t ask for better neighbors. Sarah and I had a pleasant evening with you the other night.” 

“We had fun too!”

“It’s not a secret that, as a teacher, I like Miss Alice better than you. She’s established. You’re new. She has a wall of trophies. You don’t.”

“I--”

“My daughter is exceptional, Miss Kayla. I know all parents say that, but when I say it, I’m right. Janie has more promise than the others combined, and I want her to receive special attention.”

“Will--”

“From one neighbor to another, I want you to know that I’m not being cruel; I’m simply betting against you. If Janie gets anything lower than the top prize at the first competition she dances in, I’m taking her to Miss Alice. If she gets the top prize, then you win the bet and I’ll put a thousand dollars toward equipment for your studio and costumes for your large group numbers.”

“It sounds fantastic, but--”

“Good. Sarah and I look forward to working with you as Janie’s new teacher.” William extended his hand and Kayla stared at it as if it was a dead porcupine. She finally took it, loosely, and shook it.

*  *  *

The pink wallpaper was still ripped down the middle of Janie’s wall, revealing the beige paint below like an inverted representation of her scar. The three foot gash was Janie’s handiwork from two years ago; she wanted a new color and Sarah and William told her she had to live with pink until she turned thirteen. She took her frustration out on the wallpaper.

As William entered the room, the sliver of hallway light expanded and illuminated Janie’s wide eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and she twisted to face him. 

(William, follow your dreams!) He needed to tell her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“What is what?” he said.

“You look like you wanna say somethin’.” Janie was at the age where fantasy was succumbing to truth; where miracles and magic had logical explanations. She was already a skeptical child, always proving the nonexistence of Santa Clause to her preschool class or catching Sarah red-handed while replacing a blood-crusted molar with a five dollar bill beneath her pillow. To Janie, the Easter Bunny’s name would always be Sean Umbers.

Will brushed a strand of dark-brown hair from her cheek. “You know that miracles still happen sometimes, right?”

“Name one.”

“Well... like babies being born. That’s a miracle.”

“Babies are born all the time. That’s just one of those things people say.”

Will tried not to show his amusement. “Do you still pray every night? Even though Mom and Dad don’t tuck you in anymore?”

“Yes, Dad. And you don’t have to refer to yourself in the third person.”

“I don’t know where you get this stuff.”

“It’s called ‘sixth grade’.”

He nodded. He couldn’t tell her tonight.

Will touched his daughter’s face and his thumb grazed the precious pink skin of her scar, newer than the rest, smooth but firm without the invisible yellow fur that lined the rest of her face. Maybe it was the transition into adolescence that spurred Janie’s contradicting feelings about her blemish. There was a time when the scar was her bane; when weeks of school would pass with Janie buried beneath layers of covers like a caterpillar waiting to transform. That transformation happened slowly--and was happening now--though not in the way Janie (wrapped in blankets) prayed for. There were days when she would go to school without makeup and days when she would miss the bus because the blush wouldn’t blend just so. Based on Sarah’s recent claims, Janie only had two close friends. She shunned the rest and Will couldn’t help but think the scar was the culprit. Whatever the case--whether she was accepting or rejecting it--the disfigurement was making her a stronger person in the same way a boy named Sue grows up faster than the rest.

“You know you need to do better,” he said.

“My extensions?”

“The were loose. But that’s not all.”

“My toes were pointed perfectly.”

“Not on the last verse. You got lazy. And your traveling?”

“You saw the space! They taped off a ten-foot stage. I was choreographed for thirty.”

“You don’t let that contain you.”

“My spotting was excellent. I used you as my anchor. You can’t give me shit for that.”

“Your turns were good. They always are.”

She pouted. “Anything else?”

He pulled the tape from his back pocket along with a folded piece of paper. “Hyde videotaped you.” He swiped bubblegum wrappers off the nightstand and set the video and list beside Janie’s lamp. “I want you to watch the tape in the morning. I wrote down the mistake on the left and the time you made the mistake on the right. I want you to study it and practice.”

“That dance is finished.”

“It’s not finished until it’s right.”

“I know.”

“You disappointed me tonight.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight, Janie.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

A peck on the forehead and he left the room.