The Newest Ballerina: Parade

"Dalton! Get out of bed this minute!" Dalton jolted awake, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

"Wha?"

"Did you forget?" His dad asked incredulously.

"Forget what?" That was met with a sigh.

"You promised Emily you'd help with her parade float."

"What? When?"

"Don't you play dumb, mister. You're not getting out of this. If you promised her, you're doing it."

"I didn't!" Why would he? Emily's ballet studio had a float in the town parade and why on earth, after everything that had happened, would Dalton want anything to do with that?

"Uh-huh."

"I swear!"

"Why would your sister lie?" Because that's all she does. Dalton thought acerbically. He almost expected Emily to be peering at him with a smirk behind dad, but he could hear her laughing about something downstairs. Great. "Get dressed or I'll drag you downstairs."

"I'm in my underwear!" Dalton tugged the blanket up over his navel.

"Then you'd better get dressed." He started to close the door. "Don't make me send Emily up here." Dalton was just about to throw the blanket off in frustration when his dad opened the door again. “And you better not sulk all day.”

“Dad!”

“You volunteered to help and my son is going to stay true to his word.” He closed the door, adding through it. “That’s what a man does.”

Emily barely looked at Dalton over breakfast, which only made him more suspicious. He knew she still remembered the recital, often recounting his stammered attempt to explain the situation to Mom, Dad, and the furious teacher still in the recital outfit. She had to be planning something! Maybe I can slip away during the walk to the dance studio. To his irritation, Emily insisted Dad drive them there.

"I'm gonna be walking for the whole parade! Please Daddy?" Her voice was so simpering, Dalton almost felt sick. They'll probably think I'm faking it, he thought grimly as he climbed into the car. At least he got to ride in the front seat. Mom still told him he had to wait until he was thirteen, but Dad was more lenient. Besides, his birthday was only a month and a half away. Thirteen. Dalton knew it would just be like any other birthday, but something about it felt special, like he would stop being a boy and become a man.

“Now remember.” Dad said to Dalton. “You’re going to help your sister. You know she’ll tell us if you’re not helpful. But, Emmy bean?”

“Yes, daddy?”

“You do not torment your brother. He’s doing a very nice thing helping you out.”

“Of course.” Dalton did not buy her innocent act for a second. He knew something was up and he would not let his guard down until he knew what. Probably not even then, he thought. If they even mentioned the recital, he would leave right then and there. He took a deep breath before following Emily into the studio.

Emily almost immediately forgot about Dalton, running over to her friends and chattering excitedly. Dalton figured they were talking about the parade, but as he stepped closer (still taking care to keep his distance) he heard them chatting about a boy at school. He sighed.

“Uh, I thought you needed my help with something.” Emily looked as if she had forgotten he was there and his heart leaped as he worried he might have just sealed his fate. A moment later, however, he relaxed as she pointed to a pile of cardboard boxes.

“Sure, I almost forgot. Can you go move those into the storeroom? We were decorating the float last night and there's just a bunch of stuff we don't really need.” The next twenty minutes were spent carrying things for the girls. He half-expected them to follow him into the storeroom and make him put things in just the right place, but they seemed barely to even notice him outside of giving him ‘now that please’ vague orders. He adjusted his shorts as he stared at the boxes. Some of them were weirdly heavy, he thought. No wonder the girls needed my help. Still, something did not sit right with him. He knew he was paranoid, but didn't it make sense to be? Last time he was here, he had been forced into a yellow tutu and made to take a ballet class!

“Anything else?” He asked.

“Since you're offering so nicely, can you take our bags into the locker room?”

“Do you know where it is?” One of Emily's friends – he could never keep their names straight – asked. They all giggled, but returned to their conversation as he gathered up the six duffel bags they had tossed on the floor. Something felt off. What was it? Was it just how quiet the room seemed with only Emily and a couple friends here, their voices echoing throughout the cavernous space? Dalton turned to push the locker room door open with his butt.

“Get him!” Shit. Six bags.

Even though it had happened twice before, Dalton's head still spun at the speed with which the group of girls stripped him and forced him into everything a ballerina wore, from panties to tights, tutu to slippers. He fought and kicked and even tried to bite, but it was no use. The girls, Emily and her friends among them, pushed and pulled Dalton out of the locker room in a magnificently broad pink tutu. They dragged him over to a small stool right in front of a mirror and set to work on his face, hands, and hair. Dalton tried to speak, but no words would come from the onslaught as brushes ran over his eyelashes, acrylic nails were fixed to each finger, and his cheeks were squeezed to force his lips into a pucker for lipstick. Spray filled the air as the girls did something that smelled downright awful to his hair. With girls all around him, Dalton could not even see the mirror until they stepped away and he stared, agape.

“Pretty ballerina in her pretty pink tutu.” Dalton could not even look to see which of Emily's friends had said it. He was too busy staring at his reflection. His face was made up right down to his pink lips, his fingers now had long, elegant nails, and his once brown hair was now a striking blonde, pulled into a snug ballet bun. Thanks to the leotard giving him the illusion of breasts, the boy had been transformed into the very image of a ballerina.

He tore his eyes away as they filled with tears, but it only made him feel worse to see all the girls in their street clothes while he was a ballerina from the tips of his toes to his ballerina bun. His gaze fell on a poster on the far wall of a ballerina in grand jeté. She looked the most like him, almost to the point where he had a feeling she had been the inspiration for his new look.

“Don't cry, Dalton.” Emily said, surprisingly gentle. “You're just going to join us for the parade and then you'll be able to go back to your old self. The blonde even washes out.” She looked him over. “Good work, girls.”

“He looks like a ballerina, but does he move like one?” Dalton glared daggers at the girl who had said that. Serena? Was that her name?

“He did take one ballet class.” Emily said.

“Forever ago.”

“And you danced in our recital, didn't you, Dalton?”

“Yeah, until he got yanked off stage.” They all grinned at the memory.

“Don’t worry.” Emily said. “I’ve made arrangements for some of the best ballet teachers to come and get him all ready for our parade.” She looked him up and down. “God, that’s a lot of pink.” She murmured to herself.

“Emily.” Dalton said, hoping he could get through to her.

“You said you'd help out with the parade.”

“I never did!”

“Alright, fine, yeah. I lied, but honestly, dressed the way you are, you might as well help. You aren't seeing your clothes again until after the parade.”

“Emily, seriously,” whatever he was about to say died away as the door opened and a group of girls walked in.

“We're here!” Dalton's face fell. That was… the entirety of the Yellow Tutu class. Oh, no. Emily had said… no. No way.

“Ohmigod. Dalton! Is that… Emily…” the girls seemed to move in a mass until Dalton found himself completely surrounded. Everywhere he turned, there was a seven or eight year old girl gazing up at him.

“Wow, Dally.” Meghan said. “We know you love being a sissy ballerina, but you really outdid yourself today.” He turned away from her and the gathered girls cooed.

“He's trying to twirl!”

“We'll work on your pirouettes first then.”

“No, make him arabesque!”

“Has he warmed up?”

“Shuddup, Grace.” It was a cacophony of little girl voices and Dalton was trapped in the middle of it.

“Girls, how about you start with his parade walk?” Emily said, grinning. Dalton gulped.

~ D ~

"No, no, no! You have to walk like this!" She snapped into the exact pose Dalton had been trying to do and walked in a tight circle, so elegant and graceful, Dalton felt like she and he were two different species. "See?"

"I can't do that." Dalton said.

"Come on! If I can do it in shorts and socks, you can do it in tights."

"Well, it's easier for you!"

"I'm 8, you're 12."

"But you're a girl. Is what I meant"

"And you're living your dream as a pink, blonde ballerina. Now point your toes like you mean it!"

"Sure, you're at a disadvantage since you're technically a boy," Meghan said. "But we won't quit until you're doing it perfectly!"

Dalton could not believe it, but he almost missed that day in ballet class. At least there, there had been the teacher to keep the girls reined in. Now he was completely at their mercy, the flock of girls watching him from all angles to make sure he walked exactly the way they wanted.

"Feet one in front of the other like you're walking on a tightrope!"

"Don't stomp. Put your feet down lightly."

"Quit trying to watch your feet! You can't even see them with your tutu in the way!"

“Stretched feet, stretched feet!”

They forced him to go around and around the studio and he seemed certain of their plan: he would probably have to walk like this in front of the float while they all stood on the float in their ballet things, waving and laughing at him. Or would he follow the float? Either way, he thought, he wasn't really going to do it. He would walk normally. They couldn't make him stop, go back, and do it again in the middle of a parade!

He felt like he was getting the hang of it, but the girls refused to be satisfied. They would move en masse to the far side of the cavernous studio and force him to float along after them at the measured, graceful pace. The slightest error and they ran in a wide parabola to make him have to work as far as possible.

“Alright, I think he's got the hang of it." One of the Yellow Tutus said.

“But-” Meghan began, but she glared her down.

“Let's have him do leaps.”

~ D ~

Try as he might, Dalton's leaps just were not up to the girls' expectations. He could not believe how sweaty he was getting jumping around in a tutu and thin material.

"You still look so clumsy!" Marihya observed.

"Well, it's hard." He panted. He felt like he had improved over the last few attempts, but he was not about to start arguing that.

"Hmm" was her only response. She turned and looked at Emily, who was all but lounging over with her friends. "Hey, Emily! How old is Dally?"

"Twelve." Emily called back. "Almost thirteen."

"Yeah, a twelve year old ballerina should be able to do leaps like that." Meghan snapped her fingers. "So, you've got a choice, Dally." Oh, god, Dalton thought. "You can either keep going on leaps because you're a twelve year old ballerina or we can do something easier, like what we do."

"Ooh, I like that idea."

"It's closer to the routine anyway." Dalton almost growled. Routine? Had they been making him do leaps and prance around for nothing? "But it's up to you, Dally. Which will it be? Keep doing leaps as a twelve year old ballerina or are you a Yellow Tutu ballerina?" It was an obvious choice, but Dalton still did not savor it.

"Yellow tutu."

"What was that? Speak up." Did Meghan ever say anything that didn't sound bossy? Dalton wondered before reminding himself she was seven or eight and he shouldn't judge a little kid or call her the term that came to mind.

"Yellow tutu."

"Head up, chin out, shoulders back."

"Yellow tutu!"

"No!" Mariyah giggled. "Your tutu is pink, Dally!"

"I am a Yellow Tutu ballerina!" He all but yelled in his frustration. Emily hated herself. Even with all that, she hadn't been able to record Dalton's loud admission. Could she get them, and him, to do it again? There was no way.

"Geez, we know, Dally. Come on, let's go to the barre and do some tendu warm-ups. You'll like those!"

The girls ran over, but once again ordered Dalton to walk gracefully over. He was wearing a tutu and they weren't after all. Tutu management was the most important skill a ballerina needs to know.

It seemed like hours of torment, even after the walking and the leaps. The parade was at eleven, wasn't it? As if she could read his mind, one of Emily's friends came over.

“Alright, girls, we don't have much time. Let's teach Dalton his parade choreography.”

“You still haven't!?” Dalton roared, frustrated. “I've been in this freaking tutu for hours!” The assembled Yellow Tutus giggled.

“Dalton's right. He took the time to get prepared before you girls even got here. You should show him more appreciation.”

“No! You should give me my clothes and let me go!”

“Oh, Dalton.” Emily said. “You know we can't do that. You're the centerpiece of our float.”

“What does that even mean!”

“Be quiet, Dally, and we'll tell you.” Meghan said.

The girls talked over each other in their excitement to reveal their grand vision: Dalton would be atop a giant music box in all his 'sissy ballerina glory' while they all walked alongside, waving to the crowd.

“What was the point of teaching me how to walk?”

“You still gotta walk out to the float out back.” Dalton fumed.

“Just think, you get to be in a tutu this whole time!” Mariyah said giddily. “My brother cries whenever we play dress-up, but you're not even that bothered, are you?” Had she not heard him just a few minutes ago? “The choreo is plié, half-pointe with arms in fifth, plié, arabesque and blow a kiss, then up on your toes for a full circle, and then down for a curtsey.”

“I still feel like blowing kisses is a princess thing.”

“Look at Dally. Princess, ballerina, same thing. We'll have to have Dally be a princess for next year's parade!”

Dalton tried to leave his body, but they quickly pulled him down to earth to have him run through the choreography. They giggled when he blew kisses, but he had to admit this was probably the easiest thing he had done all day.

“You promise you won't forget?”

“I promise.”

“Do you pinkalicious ballerina promise?” Dalton had to repeat that and a half dozen other promises before the girls finally relented.

“Alright, me and Meghan will escort our ballerina out to the float so my dad can get him all situated.” Grace said.What did that mean? Dalton wondered as he followed the pair.

“Nope.” Grace spun around as soon as she caught sight of him in the mirror. “Back you go.”

“Huh?”

“You need to walk right, Dally.” He groaned, but dutifully returned to the barre and began to walk along like the prissiest, sissiest ballerina all the way out to the float, where a man stood. He looked over Dalton, but how could he possibly recognize him as a boy under all the makeup and his outfit?

“I thought it was going to be a mannequin.”

“It was, but Dally here had a better idea and she even volunteered. This way, the music box ballerina can dance and wave.”

“Well, I guess it'll be safe. As long as you're careful.”

“She will be.” The girls giggled. “We're gonna go get ready. Can you get Dally all set up?”

“Sure can.” Grace and Meghan whispered to each other and dashed back inside.

“Alright, you ready?” After listening to giggling girls for so long, a man's voice seemed otherworldly. Dalton was too afraid to speak, so he forced a smile and nodded. “It's a bit of a step up, so… I'll just lift you, sweetheart.” He came over and had his hands on Dalton's sides, just above his tutu, before he even knew what was happening. “Up!” Dalton felt as stiff as a board as he was lifted and set up on the float. “There's a staircase up to the dais where you'll be. Dolly, was it?” Dalton nodded again. “You know, I did ballet in college. You're a lot lighter than those girls I lifted.” He laughed.

“Mm.” Dalton said politely as he climbed the stairs, wincing as he realized at the top that he had done the ballerina walk. Maybe it was for the best, to avoid rousing suspicion. Dalton remembered just how feminine he looked. No one would know he was a boy. That at least gave him some comfort as he felt a strap go around his ankle. He could not see what was happening thanks to the tutu and he realized as Grace's dad withdrew from under it that he was stuck on the float.

“Give that a try. Really shake your foot around.” Dalton felt Grace's dad grab his slippered foot. He shook it around. “Hmm, we'll go a little bit tighter. Let me know if it hurts. We really don't want you to lose the foot!” He laughed again before stepping back. “You look great.” He gave Dalton a double thumbs up. “Now for the real fun. Ready?” Dalton nodded. None of this had been fun.

He yelped as the small stage he stood on began to turn, taking him with it. It was not fast or anything, but he was clearly and constantly spinning in place. As high up as he was, he could just stand here and the people down on the ground would probably still remember a majestically pirouetting ballerina.

“Not too fast?” Grace's dad asked. Dalton wondered if he could say yes, but the studio door opened and a flood of girls came out. Were they not ready yet? They were all wearing… their warm-ups. Dalton was all dressed up like a pretty ballerina and the actual ballerinas were wearing their warm-ups. He felt a weight in his stomach. This was too much.

“She looks great, daddy.” Grace said. “I think we're done and ready right on time.”

“Close enough.” He replied lovingly. “Alright, girls, half of you walk on one side, half on the other. Don't get too close to the wheels!”

“Do your dance, Dally!” A few girls called as the float began to move down the street. The parade had not even begun yet, but he did his best, figuring they would be too distracted to keep him at it during the actual procession.

As the parade began, Dalton could not believe how many people there were, far more than there had been at the recital. From his high vantage point, he could see them all and he knew they could see him. Ever aware of the girls glancing up at him, he did at least a half-hearted attempt at the dance routine, though he blew much fewer kisses than he knew he was supposed to. What could they do to him? They had already turned him into a glorified decoration on their float.

It felt like two days before they finally parked behind the ballet studio again. Dalton kept spinning as the girls began to file inside. They… they weren't going to keep him there, were they? He almost summoned up the courage to call out when the girls who had gone inside came out with parents, friends, whoever. Just so many more people who could see his humiliating situation. He did not see his parents, at least.

Dalton had hoped the parade would be the end of it, but now he had to endure the girls all lining up in front of the float and him for at least a thousand photos. The spinning platform finally stopped halfway through, but only so he could more easily do the poses the photographers called out.

At long last, Grace's dad clambered up onto the float and released Dalton, the girls snickering as Dalton had to slide off of the float and into the waiting arms of some guy a few years older than him. The moment his feet touched the ground, the girls whisked him inside.

To his surprise, the girls seemed too tired to do much more than admire him and giggle a little bit. He felt exhausted himself.

“Where are my clothes?” He said, his throat dry.

“In the girls’ locker room.” Dalton marched off, not even caring if his tutu bounced.

“Dalton! You can't go in there! That's a girls only room.”

“But” he turned and sighed. “Please can someone go get my clothes then?”

“No, no. You can't change out here. That cute boy who you had that moment with might come in and see you in your ballerina panties.” Dalton felt trapped. What game were they playing now?

“Well, what…”

“You can go in,” Meghan said. “If you admit you're a Yellow Tutu ballerina. You did it earlier.” He felt his stomach drop once again.

“Fine. I'm a Yellow Tutu ballerina.” He knew it was not enough for them. He sighed in tired frustration. “My name's Dalton Sibley and I'm a Yellow Tutu ballerina!” It was only then that he noticed the phones in quite a few hands.

“Wow.” Emily grinned. “I hope a few of us got that.”

“We meet Wednesdays and Saturdays.” Meghan said,

“What? Who?”

“Yellow Tutus.” She grinned. “Since you're one of us.” She held up her phone and grabbed his hand. “Come on, let your classmates help get your makeup off.”