Thanksgiving
The next week I had to go to be fitted for my costume for my ballet recital. There are a lot of costumers in town, and you can tell at a glance how good the dancers are by their costumes at the recitals. The beginners are in leotards with a basic tulle skirt. How elaborate your costume is depends on how advanced you are, and my class rents its costumes from the best theatrical costumers on the Eastern seaboard, rivaled only by a couple in Los Angeles that cater to the film industry. Professional ballet companies sometimes use their things too. We're white swans, of course, with the traditional fluffy 'romantic' style tutu. But because we're awesome, the body part of the garment is separated into the proper separate bodice, which has beautiful embroidery and beading on it, boning, and a sweetheart neckline so that the girls who are more bosomy will have the most coverage, and a lace-up back, and the classical tutu has a basque, pointed ruffle edges, and the new cruelty-free artificial feathers that look indistinguishable from real feathers but don't break as easily and stay pretty and fluffy for longer. The fluffy feathers aren't swan-like, but they sure are pretty. The basque, panty, and the bottom layers of the tutu are modern synthetic high performance fabrics, harsh to the touch, but the top two layers of the tutu are silk net, beautiful and soft. The costume is better than anything I have in my own wardrobe. We have feather ornaments for our hair. Then Alan drives us to a different company where Deri and Van get their costumes ordered; they have long, less-fluffy tulle skirts that are white, overlaid with blue, no basque, with white leotards with blue and silver lace for decoration. They're pretty. From there we have to go to a ballet supply store for shoes. Deri and Van aren't in pointe shoes yet, but just like me, needed to get white shoes for the performance because we all have ballerina pink for classes. I head to the pointe shoes. There are a lot of them, in lots of grades of quality. I need help with the fitting, having to switch brands because my usual ones don't come in white, so I look around while I'm waiting to be served. I'm not worried about Deri and Van, they love the store too and will poke around happily for as long as it takes.
"Hey, Lys." I turn at my cousin's greeting and smile at Miles. "Getting ready for the recital?"
"Yeah, we just ordered our costumes. Now I've got to get the shoes to match." He nodded.
"Gotta say I enjoy getting dressed up," he said without a trace of self-consciousness; he's a bit of a peacock. "Mom's not thrilled with the ballet." We both snickered. The story of Grandma Alex and the Norn's swans is family legend. He took a look at the wall of pointe shoes and shook his head. "I have no idea how you girls decide." He took a closer look. "Oh, hey, they have those new Peterov ones." I perked up and went over to the display he indicated. Peterov was a new company and was making a splash using new technology and materials to make what was being hailed as a revolution in pointe shoe comfort and performance. The sales clerk turned to me with a smile and I explained what I needed. "Try the Peterov ones, Lys," Miles urged. "Just try." I caved. It didn't take much, everybody was curious about them.
I tried a couple of brands made with traditional construction; the shoes were pretty white satin with the satin ribbons, easy to break in. I always felt bad about roughing them up to break them in, but that was the nature of the beast. Then I tried the Peterov shoes, which should have been brought out on a velvet pillow carried on a silver tray, given the reverence with which the clerk treated them. I put them on and gasped. They looked on the outside just like other pointe shoes, but the lining inside gently conformed to my feet, providing support and carrying away some heat so my feet would sweat less but still be warm, a pressure that was notable but not intrusive. They were actually insanely comfortable. I gingerly rolled up en pointe; they stayed firmly in place even without the ribbons being sewn on yet, even when I changed positions. My toes were cradled in something that felt downy but cushioned on an industrial level. I wouldn't even need toe pads and I could feel the floor perfectly. My arch popped perfectly, better than I could manage with my regular shoes. "Wow," I breathed. The clerk explained that they weren't the most durable shoes--yet--having a useful life of about half a regular pair, but extolled their virtues and then delivered the price. It was almost ten times what my usual shoes cost, and while Mom had given me money for the shoes, even with my allowance it wasn't really doable. My face fell.
"How much do you need?" Miles asked quietly.
"Miles--"
"Come on, Lys. Your mom keeps you on a pretty tight leash. I understand, this isn't her background and she wants you to be humble and appreciate your advantages, but these are your feet. You've got to take care of them."
"The Peterov model reduces the incidence of blisters in our professional dancers by 97%," the clerk said. "Bunions by 78%, damaged toenails by 89%, and has virtually eliminated stress fractures with the supportive technology." Miles nudged me, and I bit my lip and nodded.
I fretted, though. It was a crap ton of money to spend on shoes just for a recital. But the satin, although a high performance, highly durable fabric, looked fragile and felt like silk, and... oh, who was I kidding? They were beautiful and special. Miles nudged me as my shoes were borne away to be boxed up.
"Look, I know you Amazons are tough, Lys, but you don't need to keep with the bargain basement shoes. Your mom is minimalist, but you should have your own style. I bet if you have better shoes, you'll dance even better." I gave him a wry smile.
"I'm not an Amazon," I said quietly. "We're sort of affiliates, according to the chief priestess on the islands." Miles looked surprised. "We don't come from there, I'm never going to live there, so I'm not really one of them. They have a tradition of healing women who are found in the sea--the Neriads bring them in--but then they're returned to the mainland. That's like Deri and me." My status had been clarified the summer before. Besides, all the Amazons trained all the time and did useful things that directly contributed to the health of the society. My dancing and hobbies and schoolwork were pale in comparison. It wasn't said--it didn't have to be, the attitude was plain to see--that the world of man was a substandard sort of place and its influence meant that I'd never measure up. Deri was beloved by the priestesses because of the strength and usability of her gift and her athletic accomplishments. My gift was also said to be strong, but just like the rest of me, not very useful.
"That's harsh," he muttered, but the clerk was back with the shoes in a glossy white box, so severely plain and perfect that it was obvious that it held something extraordinary. We went up to pay, and I grabbed some rosin on the way up to the counter; Miles let us practice in his studio whenever we wanted and it was my turn to replenish the supply, which kept our shoes from sliding on the wood floor. He smiled at me as the receipt was prepared. My shoes had a serial number that had to be registered. "Callie is going to have to watch out if she wants to stay the best female dancer in the class." I smiled back. I wasn't a threat and he knew it. The box was reverently placed into a bag and handed to me.
"Miles!" Deri gave him a hug, clouting him with the box with her slippers and hangers with a couple of dance shrugs.
"Easy there," he said, rubbing his side. They chatted a bit and Miles left. He'd gotten one of Uncle Tony's first personal conveyances, little pods with limited aerial capabilities that had one seat and a small trunk. They were great commuter vehicles and very popular with teenagers because you didn't need a license. They were self-driving; you input the address and off you went. No distracted driving or poor judgment. Grandma Alex and Grandpa Damian had gotten it for him for his sixteenth birthday. I had some hopes that I would get one too; sixteen was the minimum age for operating one because there were concerns about the maturity of younger users. I was reliable, though.
Van and Deri were rung up efficiently, and we were on our way home in short order. I asked Alan for white silk thread to sew the ribbons on the new shoes, and with only a whiff of frustration, he got it for me. It makes him nuts that I won't let him sew on the ribbons, but even though my stitching is clumsy, it can't be seen when I'm dancing. The one time I caved, he stitched them on too tight, the knots were in the wrong places, and I got blisters on the sides of my feet. I had to redo them and it was difficult to pick out his tiny, tight stitches. I ruined the ribbons and had to replace them. I couldn't wait for the recital, with the beautiful costumes and now my perfect shoes. I took great pains and my stitching wasn't actually bad, though. Since I was alone in my room, I rubbed my cheek on the silky fabric and returned them carefully to their box, placing it carefully on the shelf in my walk-in closet. It's organized ruthlessly, which is kind of a wasted effort since I don't have enough clothes to fill it up. Shoot. In the excitement over the shoes, I'd forgotten I needed white tights, too. I'd have to raid savings. Well, I'd have to do that anyway, to pay Miles back. But there was a different supply store closer to school that also had nice tights. Campus wasn't closed for lunch although most of us stayed there anyway; there was no parking for students in the area and no restaurants. Jane would come with me; she liked the idea of being a dancer but didn't like the lessons and had quit after her first year.
And so the days passed. My algebra tutor was helping and my grade was creeping up to a B, but I wasn't as successful with bio, which remained stubbornly at a C. Just before Thanksgiving, we got our costumes; we had two dress rehearsals, one in class, and one run-through one evening with the whole school. The length of time of each performance increased as you got more proficient, and my class had the longest one. Deri's was about half the length. I almost sobbed as I danced in my Peterovs; all the footwork seemed easier and with that distraction eliminated I was able to focus more on my expression. My teacher noticed and commended me. Miles winked at me.
Thanksgiving was, as usual, at our house in the ballroom, the one place where the entire family and people like Uncle Tony and Uncle Steve, who weren't actually related but might as well be, and any guests (usually spare members of the Justice League or Avengers) could all gather. This year I was at a table with some of the cousins, my actual grandpa, dad's dad Grandpa Mark (I've never met my other grandfather), Oliver Queen (here on business with Wayne), and Grandpa Bruce. I was seated between Tabby and Grandpa Bruce; Tabby was my personal role model. Glamorous, sleek, elegant, she was in college in art history with a minor in business; she wanted to be an art expert at one of the big auction houses. That could have been a little nerve-wracking, her mom being the best cat burglar in the world at one point, but Aunt Serena had reformed and was an insurance investigator and at the top of her profession because nobody was as good as she'd been and she always tracked her insured pieces to their... liberators. Tabby was sharp and witty and classy and I loved being able to talk with her. Grandpa Bruce, on the other hand...
He'd been out late last night, Batmanning it up, and was a little grumpy from lack of sleep as well as the bad guy getting away. Although honestly he's usually at best tacturn. Grandpa grunted at something Mr Queen said about the business, then turned to me. Shoot. "I don't know why Diana doesn't dress you better," he said, running a glance over my plain blue dress. "We've got the money and she's not afraid of the competition. You look like a tween."
"Mom likes us to appreciate what we have," I said politely. He grunted again.
"What's this I'm hearing about your grades?" I froze, then stopped cutting my turkey. "I understand you've managed to improve to a B in algebra, but a C in biology? That's the easiest science. What are you going to do when you get to more advanced classes?" My mouth was dry.
"There's so much to memorize in bio," I managed. "I'm not very good with lists and taxonomy."
"Have your parents had you tested for a learning disability?" he barked at me. "They can fix those these days."
I flinched automatically and tears pricked my eyes. "Bruce!" Grandpa Mark barked. "There is nothing wrong with Lys."
"Daddy!" Tabby growled. "Don't be a dick."
"Shit," Mr Queen muttered.
"Master Bruce," Alfred hissed, appearing out of nowhere to seize his ear. I have no idea how Alfred materializes the way he does. A tear slid down my cheek and Tabby slung her arm around my shoulders.
"Ow," Grandpa Bruce complained, half-rising out of his seat, and great, the commotion was drawing attention. Mom and Dad came over to find out what had happened, and I bit my lip to keep it from trembling as everybody who was paying attention heard. I felt humiliated when the focus of the onlookers was on me, then snapped away as if I was embarrassing.
"Excuse me," I murmured, then eased away from Tabby and out the ballroom door. I wanted to be alone, and opportunities for that were scarce in the mansion. The security system the insurance company insisted that we have included the hallways inside and the public rooms. I skedaddled to my room, quickly shed my shoes and hose, pulled on an old pair of ballet slippers and a cardigan, and opened my window. I climbed out on the wide windowsill, closed the window, and pulled myself up onto the roof. The attic was under the shingles, so I didn't have to worry about anybody hearing me as I moved across the slate to a place by the nearest chimney. I leaned against it and sniffed as the tears fell. I didn't worry about being seen; I knew for a fact that the roof wasn't monitored on the security system and with the trees and the landscaping and the way the house was built, this was the most private place in the whole heap. I was careful not to come here too often, though, not wanting anybody to know where I went. I stayed until I was freezing and didn't want to cry anymore, and reversed course, ending up in my bathroom where I washed my face, put eyedrops in, and put a cold washcloth on my eyes. There was a knock on the bedroom door and it opened before I had a chance to say anything.