We stare at each other for what feels like a long, loaded moment. His brown eyes search mine, like he’s trying to say something important but can’t find the words. Ultimately, Louis sighs and just grabs my hand instead. His feels warm and soft, and mine fits neatly inside it. They seem right together.
“You need to go,” he says, his voice soft and raspy, but instead of releasing my hand, he tightens his grip and pulls me a little closer.
“I do,” I reply, following his lead and closing the gap between us. Our faces are just a few inches from each other, and my legs feel like jelly.
“So, umm, bye?” I say, but it sounds more like a question. He leans forward, and instead of heading straight for my cheek, his face hovers over mine. I just stand there and hold my breath. Nervous. Hopeful. Excited, and totally panicked at the same time. It feels as if we’re just suspended like this for so long that everyone has stopped to stare.
I glance to the side. No one is gawking or even batting an eye. It is the City of Love, after all. I’ve seen so many couples—young and old—kissing on the streets, embracing on the tiny sidewalks, or just staring deep into each other’s eyes on a busy corner, right in the way of foot traffic. Every day it seems like you’re walking through dozens of love stories, getting a glimpse into these intimate moments.L’amour est dans l’air.It’s easy to get swept up in it.
Suddenly it hits me: If I really want something, I can’t just wait for Prince Charming to make it happen. So I stand on my toes, look up to him, and, just as I tilt my face to one side, he does as well, so that his lips, wherever they may have been headed, hit just to the right of my mouth.
Almost touching it, but not quite.
And I may not know all about French customs yet, but this is definitely not any kind of kiss. Not a friendlybise.Not akisskiss. Just a weird in-between that means nothing and everything at the same time.
Have I just missed my first chance at a French kiss, original edition? I wish I could be brave enough to lean back in and smack my mouth on top of his, but afternoon classes start in a few minutes, and I still have to get changed. I’m going to have to make a run for it,again.I can’t leave things like this, but the truth is, if something is going to happen between me and Louis—despite all the reasons why it shouldn’t—what I want is arealkiss. Not a quick little whatever hidden behind a bus stop, next to an old lady chewing loudly on a piece of gum. This is not a Paris moment, not how I picture it, anyway. And my time here is far from over.
“Louis,” I say.
“Mia,” he replies sweetly.
“Can I see you this weekend?”
He smiles. “The weekend is really soon, right?”
Not soon enough. Absolutely, one hundred percent not soon enough.
AS WE CLOSEup week two of the program, Monsieur Dabrowski announces a change to the schedule: for the next four weeks, afternoons will be devoted toSwan Lakerehearsals. He will meet with thecorps de balletfirst, and then with the leads: Odette, Odile (that’s me!), and Prince Siegfried. Since Max taught us the choreography, I’ve practiced little bits every chance I get: before and after class, of course, but also around lunch, right before bed, and even in the shower. For the record, I don’t recommend trying topirouetteon a wet surface.
“Mia, Fernando, let’s see theentréeandadagefrom your Act Threepas de deux,” Monsieur Dabrowski says when it’s just the four of us in the studio. A pianist has stayed back as well, but they’re all so good at making themselves discreet that they usually just blend in behind their music.
I take a deep breath as Fernando and I get in position at opposite ends of the room. Until now, it didn’t even occur to me to suggest that we practice before our session with Monsieur Dabrowski. I bet Audrey did, and that, when it’s time for their duet, they’ll dance seamlessly together. I glance at Fernando, and my stomach ties in a knot. Louis’s face pops up in my mind, and I shake my head to make it go away. Not now, Mia. If Monsieur Dabrowski knew what or who you’re thinking about…I don’t feel prepared enough for ourmaître de ballet’s tough judgment, but then again, I never will. He nods at the pianist, and the music starts. Fernando and I make our way toward each other, and my concerns melt away with every step. We can do this. Wearedoing this.
“You need more intent here!” he calls to Fernando as my dance partner lifts me into the air. “Watch your leg, Mia; a little faster there, Fernando.”
As our sequence ends, he tells us to go again, and again.
“Softer on theport de bras,Mademoiselle Jenrow. Round out your arms!”
None of his comments surprise me, especially not the one about myport de bras.It’s been giving me so much grief. Getting it right is particularly important inSwan Lake,because while real swans have strong and graceful wings, we mere humans have to try to achieve the same movement with fleshy sticks also known as arms. And while it doesn’tlookhard, it does make your muscles burn so intensely that you feel like you will never be able to raise your hands again. Put simply, if you can still rip up a piece of baguette, then yourport de braspractice has gone very wrong. I guess that’s why Audrey was wincing and grumbling as she ate her ratatouille last night. She’s been avoiding me since the phone-beeping incident, which is fine by me: I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with anyone’s bad mood.
“Let’s stop here,” Monsieur Dabrowski says after maybe our tenth round.
Sweat drips down the front of my chest. I try to catch my breath silently as he recaps our performance.
He addresses Fernando first. “You have to be more in control when you lift her up. She has to be able to trust you one hundred percent so she can focus on her steps. If she feels like your arms are weak, then you’re impeding not only your dancing, but hers, too.” Fernando nods at every word, taking it all in. I’ve noticed before that he seems so good at accepting feedback. He doesn’t show any sign of nervousness or irritation, and just listens carefully.
Then it’s my turn. I take a deep breath and tell myself that, whatever is coming, everything will be fine. I will make it so.
“A little bit faster, Mia. You were out of sync with him a couple of times. He should never have to wait for you.”
“Of course,” I say, serious. But inside, I’m leaping with relief. Of all the challenges ahead as I learn to become Odile, this is totally in the realm of achievable.
“And thatport de bras,” he adds, shaking his head. “I’m not going to repeat it again, but next time I want to see a better flow. No stiffness. No straight arms, are we clear?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I reply, bracing myself for more. The next thing he says floors me.
“Audrey, let’s give these two a rest and see your Act Two variation.”
