The rainbow disappears at approximately 8:50a.m. as I come out of the locker room.
Monsieur Dabrowski is standing right there. “Mademoiselle Jenrow, please, I need to speak with you.”
He points at the farthest studio along the hall, which is empty. As I walk inside, I start to wonder if I will make it out of there alive.
“Take a seat,” Monsieur Dabrowski instructs me. I remember the day he told me I was going to be in level five. Same place, same two people, though this time there is no doubt in my mind: he’s not here to deliver good news.
I take a seat on the bench, and he brings a chair over for himself. “I wanted to talk to you about the showcase.”
My heart drops. I tried hard to get this out of my head, but of course he saw it. Why did I think that I could get away with it unnoticed?
“What happened during the showcase, Mademoiselle Jenrow?”
“Don’t you know?” he asks when I fail to respond.
I take a deep breath. “I do.” Might as well fess up and get it over with. “I missed the last step.”
He nods slowly. “And?”
“It was a pretty small difference, I think, but that meant I fell out of sync with the other girls.” It’s okay, Mia. It happened, and there’s nothing you can do about it now. I just have to keep telling myself that.
“Do you think anyone in the audience noticed?”
I look down at my lap, emotions bubbling up in my throat. He’s not going to make this simple. I stay silent.
“They all cheered, they all appreciated your beautiful performance, but was it as good as it could have been?” Monsieur Dabrowski’s tone gets harsher, disdainful, even.
I shake my head.
He sighs loudly, and I look up to meet his stone-cold gaze. “It was not. You may think my standards are too high, Mademoiselle Jenrow. You may tell yourself that almost no one can achieve the level of perfection I expect from my students. And in many ways, that is true.”
He pauses, but I don’t think he’s waiting for me to say something. I did miss a step. Deep down I knew I was going to fudge it before I even did.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, trying to fill the silence.
“I’m not here for apologies. I want to make sure that you understand exactly what is going on here.”
“I won’t do it again,” I say, “I promise.” It’s a silly thing to say. No one can promise that they’ll never lose control. Not even a ballerina. We can train incredibly hard and practice steps hundreds of times, but we’ll never know for sure what will happen once the spotlights turn on and we enter the stage.
Monsieur Dabrowski grimaces. I glance up at the clock over the door of the studio. Our class is about to start at the other end of the corridor, but he doesn’t seem in a rush to get us both there.
“See, the moment I saw your failed step, I knew I had a problem, which means you do, too. You’re one of my leads. My Black Swan. I’ve given you the opportunity to spread your wings in front of every apprentice program director in the world.”
I gasp, understanding now what he’s trying to tell me. “Please, Monsieur Dabrowski, don’t take my role away fromme.”
“It isn’t ‘your’ role, Mademoiselle Jenrow. Hundreds of ballerinas have held it before you, and hundreds will hold it after. You are not owed anything.”
He’s right, of course, and I want to kick myself for saying that. I’m not sure what I can do to make up for it, but I have to try. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.”
He pauses, considering me. “I need you to focus. Do not let yourself get swept away.”
My fingers go to my mouth. I can still feel Louis’s lips on mine. It’s too late for that: I already got swept away.
I nod. “I won’t let you down.”
Monsieur Dabrowski clicks his tongue and gets up from his chair. For a moment, I think he’s just going to walk out, but instead he starts pacing the room, slowly and gracefully, in the black leather slippers he wears every day.
“You have already let me down. I saw great things in you, and I was very disappointed to learn that I was wrong.”
