The Red Slippers (Nancy Drew Diaries #11)(15)

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad I still have some of my old skills.”

“Okay, let’s keep going. We have a lot to cover in the next hour. Second position,” she said.

I slid my heels about a foot apart, keeping my toes turned out.

“Good. Now third.”

We kept going like that, working through standard barre warm-ups and some basic jumps and turns, including jetés, piqués, and fouettés. I wouldn’t say it was like riding a bike, where it comes back easily if you haven’t done it in a while, but I was surprised at how familiar the old movements felt. Instinctually, I could feel my arms knowing how to hold themselves and my neck moving into alignment with my spine to create an elegant line.

I had just finished a set of jumps across the floor when Bess and George walked in. I’d only been at it an hour, but I could already tell I’d be sore tomorrow.

“I hate to say it, because you know I have faith in you, Nancy, but any chance you have a plan B?” George asked with a grin. “You’re not exactly looking like a prima ballerina.”

She was wearing all black, like the stage crew members. Bess wore the same outfit that the theater ushers wore. Even she couldn’t help chuckling when she saw me in my tights and tutu, panting, sweat running down my face, my hair falling out of its bun.

“I just need Jamison and the other members to think I’m one of Miss Taylor’s students, and Miss Taylor’s students to think I’m part of the company,” I explained. “No one needs to think I’m a future star. In fact, the more I blend in, the more chances I’ll get to observe the other dancers, overhear their conversations, and keep an eye on Maggie.”

Maggie nodded. “Stay in the back, do your best to find the gaps in the light, so you’re in the dark, and just watch whoever goes before you very carefully.”

“Got it,” I said. I checked my watch. Rehearsal would officially begin in about ten minutes. “I’m going to do my hair and makeup.”

Maggie nodded. “I’m going to freshen up too.”

“Remember,” I said, “when you see me out there, you don’t know me.”

Maggie waved good-bye and headed backstage to the dressing rooms. She looked small and nervous as she walked away. I wished I could have done more to reassure her.

Bess, George, and I headed to the ladies’ room. Once inside, I locked the door.

“Bess,” I asked, “can you help me with my makeup? You’re so much better at it than I am.”

“Sure,” Bess said. “What do you want?”

“Heavy eye makeup. I’m hoping that with that and my hair in a bun, no one will recognize me.”

“Got it,” Bess said, getting to work.

“What are our marching orders?” George asked.

“Just keep your eyes open for anything that looks weird or out of place.”

“You bet,” George said. “If we see something, we’ll say something.”

“Between all of our eyes, I doubt whoever is doing this will be able to get away with it,” I said.

I could hear a bunch of girls walking through the lobby, chattering with one another. Butterflies flooded my stomach. I had gone undercover several times before, but I still became nervous every time. I guess it wasn’t that different from Maggie’s stage fright. Going undercover is a type of performance.

Bess noticed the wide-eyed, panicked look on my face.

“You can do this, Nancy,” she said.

“You definitely can,” George said.

“If I look like I’m really flailing out there, turn out the lights,” I told George.

“I’m on it,” she said with a grin.

I smiled, happy to have my friends’ support. Knowing that they had my back made me breathe a little easier.

“All done,” Bess said. I looked in the mirror. Bess had done an amazing job. I looked like a real ballet dancer, my hair pulled tightly into a bun, my eyes wide and dark. Some of my usual confidence returned.

“All right,” I said. “Eight hours until show time. Let’s find whoever’s doing this to Maggie.”



I made it through the warm-up exercises with little trouble. The nice thing was that barre warm-up is always the same whether you’re in an intermediate class or a professional. It still felt familiar, and I was able to follow along, which allowed me to observe the people around me. You really could tell a lot about a person from how they danced. For instance, Colin’s movements seemed full of rage, while Fiona moved selfishly, as if she were the only person in the room with no regard for the people around her.

As we lined up for floor work, I managed to slide in behind Evelyn and Nicole, Fiona’s friends, whom Maggie had pointed out earlier. I could hear them whispering, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I inched closer as Maggie leaped across the stage and noticed Evelyn roll her eyes.

“Someone tell her Oscar’s not here yet,” she whispered. “Seriously, she doesn’t have to try so hard.”

“I can’t wait for someone to take her down a notch,” Nicole agreed.

“Yeah, like yesterday,” Evelyn said. Nicole smiled, and they exchanged a conspiratorial look.

Nicole was about to say something when she noticed me staring. “Ever hear of personal space?” she asked, glowering.