I knew my summer in Paris would be physical. There was no doubt that my body would be put to all kinds of tests. But I could never have guessed that my time here would involve so…much…running. A week ago I raced through the airport after my flight was delayed, sweaty and breathless. Soon after I dashed to Repetto on the Great White Leotard Chase, and now I’m sprinting through the Gare de Lyon terminal, down the stairs to the métro, then back up after the short train ride, along Boulevard Saint-Germain, and finally, to the front door of my dorm.Phew.The second week of the program hasn’t started yet, and I’m already spent.
I take a second to catch my breath before going in. The sound of showers running trickles down from above, but mostly it seems like everyone is just waking up. I tiptoe up the stairs, crossing my fingers that no one will see me. I made it; everything’s fine. I can relax now. I take a deep breath in front of my room, and, as I’m about to grab the handle, the door bursts open. Of course, Audrey Chapman looks put-together from the moment she steps out of bed. Her braided hair is smooth, her eyes have that wide-awake look, her skin is dewy…even her pajamas seem like they’ve just been ironed.
She looks me up and down. “Isn’t that what you were wearing yesterday?”
I gulp, heat flooding into my ears, as I wonder what tosay.
Then she shuffles past me and heads off to the showers without waiting for an answer. Let’s look on the bright side: Audrey remembers my outfit from yesterday, when I left for the Musée d’Orsay. Who knew she paid any attention tome?
“He’s going to make us wait the whole day,” Audrey mutters to me as we get dressed in the locker room. I put on my puffy warm-up slippers—the ones I got last month for my birthday—over my leg warmers, and wrap my cream mohair cardigan around my leotard. It might be the height of summer, with temperatures to match, but I still need to keep extra toasty until the moment we start dancing. Dancer fashion is weird, but it makes me feel like I’m in a cocoon and helps my muscles stay relaxed.
Audrey and I haven’t spoken since I arrived back at the dorm, but we didn’t need to. It was obvious we were thinking about the same thing all along. To be fair, none of our morning classes are with Monsieur Dabrowski that day: first up is contemporary, then jazz. Even if ballet is all you want to do, classical training requires that you learn many different types of dancing. It expands your repertoire and teaches you to move in different ways. Then, before lunch, we have a session with a well-known choreographer for the Paris Ballet, who has us try out a piece he’s creating for an upcoming show.
It’s one of the many great things about this program: you get to meet renowned artists who work with some of the top ballet dancers in the world.
I do my best to focus on the steps, but the tension in the air makes it extra hard. Looks are exchanged. Sighs are let out as quietly as possible. Jaws are clenched, but no one breaks the silence or betrays the slightest hint of impatience. Deep down we’re all just young girls, and three boys, having traveled from far corners of the world with hope and fear constantly tangled up inside us. But, on the outside, we’ll do whatever it takes to appear like soon-to-be professional dancers, willing to deal with whatever is thrown at us, as long as it gets us closer to where we want to be.
And then the afternoon comes. Just like Audrey suspected, Monsieur Dabrowski gives us the entire class without a word about the roles. As is tradition, we end withreverence:ourmaître de balletbows to us, and we respond with a curtsy. Then we give ourselves a round of applause. It’s not until the clapping begins to die down that Monsieur Dabrowski holds up a hand, ready to deliver the news.
“Gather around,” he instructs us as he brings a chair to the center of the room for himself. The air feels charged. The twenty of us form a half circle around him, sitting cross-legged on the floor as gracefully as we can. My mind has been all over the place today: one minute I can hear the applause at the end of my triumph as the White Swan, the next I can feel the tear in my heart if I’m not even invited to perform. My body is bone-tired after eight hours of classes, but it’s the mental exhaustion that’s starting to get to me. I wish I had Lucy’s or Anouk’s friendly face nearby, but, aside from lunch, I only occasionally pass by them in the hallways.
“As you know,” our instructor says, “the final performance of the summer is an important event for our school. It gives our dancers a chance to prove that they have been worthy of this experience.”
No one moves. We’re all well aware of the stakes, and, at this point, we just want him to get it over with.
“Every dancer in this room will be part of the swancorps de ballet,” he says.
A delighted gasp escapes someone’s lips. My heart is racing a hundred miles a minute.
“Unless,” he continues, “I call out your name.”
Then he opens the infamous leather-bound notebook. “The role of Prince Siegfried will be played by Fernando,” Monsieur Dabrowski announces, turning to him. I don’t think anyone is surprised, least of all Fernando, who clutches his fists with delight. A seventeen-year-old from Brazil, Fernando has been one of the most talked-about students around our lunch table. Some of it has to do with his bright green eyes and tousled black hair, but he’s also an amazing dancer. He has incredible strength and an ability to bring intention to every move.
“Ishani, Gabriela, Anna, and Yuang, you will perform the ‘Dance of the Little Swans.’ ”
I glance at Audrey and can practically see her shoulders melting. I try to tell myself that it’s okay if I’m just a swan. That I’m unlikely to be one of the names on the list. I already managed to be accepted into this extremely competitive program. Then, I impressed Monsieur Dabrowski enough to be moved up to the next level. It should be enough.
Monsieur Dabrowski lists a few more roles: Rothbart, the Queen. Some of them will have gone to students in level four, too. Just as I’m waiting to hear my fate, I know Lucy and Anouk are crossing their fingers, too.
Finally, ourmaîtreclears his throat. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. “And for our Princess, our graceful and delicate White Swan, I have chosen…”
I hold my breath. In fact, the entire room stops breathing. I remind myself that whatever happens next has already been decided.
“…Audrey Chapman.”
Someone just slapped me really hard across the face. At least that’s how it feels. It has suddenly turned hot, and I can hear my heart hammering in my ears. I hadn’t realized until this moment just how much I wanted it to be me. You can try to manage your expectations and remind yourself that you’re competing against a dozen other girls, all very talented, all as eager as you are. You know your odds are very low. It’s simple math. And numbers don’t care for feelings, for all the hopes, irrational as they may be, that you put into something. But still, the fact that it’s Audrey feels like a personal blow.
When her name is announced, Audrey grins widely. A few seconds later, she snaps back to her usual composed self. “Thank you,” she says to Monsieur Dabrowski. I would probably have jumped up and given him a hug. That’s why Audrey gets the lead role and I don’t: she’s the master of her emotions.
For the rest of us, it’s like the tension has been switched off. Life can go on now that we know where we stand. A few students make a move to get up, but Monsieur Dabrowski frowns at them. “A moment, please,” he says. “Have you forgotten about the Black Swan?”
Audrey grimaces. As is the case in most productions, she’d assumed that she was getting the part of Odile, too. She takes a deep breath, and then asks the question that’s on all our lips. “Won’tIbe the Black Swan?”
Monsieur Dabrowski smiles politely. “You could. And you would do a splendid job.” Audrey smiles and looks around to make sure we all heard him. “But,” our instructor continues, “this program should offer opportunities to as many students as possible. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
A few of us nod, but you could hear a pin drop.
“So, the role of Odile, the seductive, deceiving Black Swan, will be danced by Mia Jenrow.”
