"Sensuous young adult novel mixes dance and music for magic!"
Reviewed by Sharon Galligar Chance
Posted February 4, 2011
Young Adult
Dancing, music, and teenaged angst are the focus of the
sensuous new young adult novel, WHEN THE STARS GO BLUE by
Caridad Ferrer. For Soledad Reyes, life is all about dance. There is
nothing she doesn't love about it and nothing she wouldn't
do for it. About to graduate from high school, Soledad has
her life planned out to include heading to New York to
audition for a position in a top dance company. But that
all changes when Jonathan Crandall begins to court her for
a role of a lifetime -- a role that might change her life
forever in more ways than one. Jonathan is a fellow classmate who has adored Soledad from
afar for years. He is a member of an elite bugle and drum
corps group that is performing a new program called Carmen
Revealed in a series of summer-long competitions. He thinks
that Soledad would be perfect in the role of Carmen, not
only does she has the body, she has the fierceness in her
dance that would make her an unstoppable force on their
team. Soledad isn't sure if this is what she wants to do
for her summer, instead of teaching ballet. But, as she
falls for Jonathan she falls for the idea of her being
Carmen, the star of the show. But not everyone is thrilled with Jonathan and Soledad's
relationship, including Jonathan's father, who is plays a
huge role in the drum and bugle corp. As the tour travels
across the country, Jonathan and his father's battles
escalate at every stop, causing friction between the
teenaged lovers as well. When Soledad turns to a traveling
soccer player from Spain for solace, Jonathan begins to
lose his grip on reality causing darkness to overshadow
every performance. Will the young lovers be able to
overcome seemingly insurmountable odds or will their love
be destine to flame out much like the lovers in the famed
opera they are performing on the field each night? Caridad Ferrer presents a fast-paced, emotional novel with
WHEN THE STARS GO BLUE. Tapping into the drama and tension
that are prevalent with teens who are also performers,
Ferrer gives her readers the passion and suspense that will
keep them enthralled to the very surprising ending.
SUMMARY
Soledad Reyes decides to dance Carmen as part of a drum
and bugle corps competition, not knowing if it will help
or harm her chance of becoming a professional ballet
dancer but eager to pursue new options, including a
romance with the boy who invited her to audition. A dancer driven to succeed. A musical prodigy attempting to escape his past. The summer they share. And the moment it all goes wrong. Dance is Soledad Reyes’s life. About to graduate from
Miami’s Biscayne High School for the Performing Arts, she
plans on spending her last summer at home teaching in a
dance studio, saving money, and eventually auditioning for
dance companies. That is, until fate intervenes in the form
of fellow student Jonathan Crandall who has what sounds like
an outrageous proposition: Forget teaching. Why not spend
the summer performing in the intense environment of the
competitive drum and bugle corps? The corps is going to be
performing Carmen, and the opportunity to portray the
character of the sultry gypsy proves too tempting for
Soledad to pass up, as well as the opportunity to spend more
time with Jonathan, who intrigues her in a way no boy ever
has before. But in an uncanny echo of the story they perform every
evening, an unexpected competitor for Soledad\'s affections
appears: Taz, a member of an all-star Spanish soccer team.
One explosive encounter later Soledad finds not only her
relationship with Jonathan threatened, but her entire future
as a professional dancer.
Excerptfirst impressions"Hey, Soledad, have you ever done Carmen?" With the static buzz and ringing going on in my head, it
took a few seconds for the words to penetrate. Not that they
made any more sense once they did. "What?" "Have you ever done Carmen?" I continued staring at the reflection in the dressing room
mirror, rational thought kind of...starting to return. So
I'd start with the most rational question. "Jonathan, what are you doing in here?" The reflection's startlingly pale eyes widened. "There you
are. I was wondering if you were ever going to hear me. I've
been trying to talk to you since you came offstage." "You were?" "I was." "Huh." I took a sip of water, trying to clear out more of
the post-performance adrenaline haze. "You know, Jonathan,
I'd think you'd know better. I mean, it's just a rehearsal,
but still." The reflection cringed. "Sorry." I knew he was. Even though he was a musician and I was a
dancer, and generally never the twain shall meet, four years
as classmates meant I at least knew him well enough to know
that normally, he'd be all about respecting the boundaries.
But for whatever reason, the boundaries seemed to have gone
AWOL, prompting him to barge into the dancers' dressing room
and pepper me with bizarre questions. The temptation to
smack him upside the head was definitely strong, but so was
the adrenaline high of a performance well done. Lucky for him. "Okay, now that I'm marginally more with it, let's try
again—what are you talking about and why are you back here
anyway, instead of down in the pit, where you belong?" And regardless of what he was going on about, I still needed
to get ready for my next number, so I went ahead and peeled
down the sleeves of the formfitting Firebird costume,
holding it to my chest as I bent over to untie my pointe
shoes. Not that he was actually checking anything out. His
entire focus—laser-beam intense—was centered right on my
face. Okay, strike that. Mostly centered on my face. Because
just as I finished wiggling out of the costume, I saw his
gaze drop—just for a second—before it returned to my face,
like it was determined to stay there. "I'm back here because I'm off for the next few numbers and
I needed to find out if you've ever done Carmen." "Uh-huh." Yeah...Still not making much sense. I shook out the bodysuit
and draped it over the chair next to mine. As I moved, I saw
his gaze do its thing again, with an added small shake of
his head like he was scolding himself. You know, I almost
felt sorry for him, but this was the dancers' communal
dressing room. It's not like our rep as a notoriously
immodest bunch—girls and guys alike—should come as any big
surprise. Honestly, in tights and the flesh-colored pasties
that played defense against clinging Lycra, arctic air
conditioners, or any potential wardrobe malfunctions, I was
almost fully clothed. Chilled from the air conditioner blasting through the
theater—and taking a tiny bit of pity on him and the
wandering eyes he couldn't seem to help—I grabbed my heavy
terry cloth robe from the back of the chair and pulled it
on, sneaking my share of looks in the mirror, trying to
figure out what his deal was. And why did I care? For God's
sake, I had another performance to get ready for. Just as I
was getting ready to tell him to get lost, that whatever it
was could damn well wait, he shoved his hands through his
hair and huffed out a massive breath that blew loose wisps
of air against the back of my neck. Closing his eyes, he took another breath, this one deep
enough to pull his ratty gray T-shirt tight across his
chest. Fascinated, I watched as his mouth went visibly firm
and he released the breath in a slow, controlled stream
though a small opening between his lips. Opening his eyes,
he tried again. "Have you ever portrayed Carmen?" As our gazes met again in the big mirror the last of the
woolies cleared away and everything clicked into place. "
‘Carmen' as in gypsy, opera, ballet, exceptionally misguided
role for Beyoncé to play in a really cheesy and
unimaginative reworking of a classic. Right?" Thick sandy brows drew together in a line as straight as a
practice barre. "You lost me on the last part, but otherwise
yeah, that Carmen." "No, but I have studied the role." I shrugged and stood from
the chair, blinking as we came face to neck. Had he always
been this tall? Or had we just never stood quite this close
to each other? I mean, given that I stood five-ten and most
danseurs tended to have maybe only a couple of inches on me,
this was definitely...novel. Edging past him I said, "It's
one of my favorites." Carmen. The Firebird. Those were my
kinds of roles. Not every ballerina aspired to be the wee,
dainty Sugar Plum Fairy. Ducking behind the garment rack, I pulled my
black-and-burgundy dress off the hanger. Half hidden by a
forest of spandex and chiffon and ribbons, I stepped into
the costume and slipped the thin straps over my shoulders,
yanking the zipper up myself rather than flag down one of
the poor freshmen running around doing minion duty. I dropped back into my chair and ducked under the vanity,
rummaging around in my bag for my ballroom shoes. "So what
about it?" "Would you like to portray Carmen?" "Sure. Who wouldn't?" Yanking on the black leather heels, I
stood and shouldered my way past him again and out of the
dressing room. Threading my way through the mad backstage
chaos, I headed for the wings, fighting the nervous urge to
bounce up and down and pump my arms. No reason to waste
energy that would be more valuable channeled onto the dance
floor. "I'm serious. If you're interested, you can be Carmen." The words, I understood them, but they didn't make a damned
bit of sense. And right this second, I really didn't have
the time to try to dissect Jonathan's cryptic statements. "Look, the only thing I'm interested in right now is my
performance. Period." I paused by the rosin box, rapidly
grinding the ball of one foot, then the other, in the
yellow-white powder, knocking the excess off against the
edges before resuming my path toward the wings. The closer I
got, the more I made a point to walk slower, consciously
matching my breathing to each step, the chaos, the bodies,
the extraneous chatter all falling away as I dropped into my
zone. "I know...I know...I'm really sorry, I know my timing blows." Each word sounded as if it was coming from farther and
farther away. "Yeah, it really does. Seriously, whatever
this is about, it's just going to have to wait." "I know. I got impatient, I'm sorry. I can wait." I risked a glance over my shoulder, looking straight into
those pale eyes and catching my breath again at the
intensity. Feeling myself wrapped—for just a split second—in
a surprising sense of familiarity. Strong enough and
shocking enough that those little hairs on the back of my
neck went straight to red alert. "You're on in sixty," the stage manager whispered beside me. "Thanks," I replied absently, still staring over my shoulder. I took a deep breath, glanced out toward the empty expanse
of stage that beckoned, then back into that steady,
simpático gray gaze. "Meet me after rehearsal's called." "Where?" "Mack and Mabel's." "Okay." He smiled, full out for the first time, revealing
ever-so-slightly-crooked front teeth. "You know, don't know
if I've ever mentioned it before, but you're a seriously
kick-ass dancer." It came so out of nowhere that even as the disciplined
dancer was urging me toward the stage, the other part of me,
the girl, couldn't help but do a double take, an answering
smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. With the unexpected compliment echoing in my mind, I strode
out onto the worn floorboards of the stage and assumed my
opening pose. Breathing deep, I waited for the strum of the
guitar, for the dark insistent rhythms of the percussion to
sink into my skin and work their magic, transforming me into
an enchantress, a siren. With each note, the minutiae of
dress rehearsal, of intense boys with pretty eyes, of the
petty annoyances of life, of school, of everything— All faded into insignificance as once again the dancer took
over.
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