“Who else could it have been?” I ask.
For someone who has difficulty showing her feelings, she looks genuinely shocked.
“That’s not really my problem,” Audrey says loudly. “But I’d never sabotage a rival. Especially not a worthy one.”
I search my brain for a snarky comeback, but then I stop. Did she just say…something kind of nice?
Audrey takes off her pointe shoes and starts stretching her feet one after the other. “I guess we’re not doing any more dancing before class,” she grumbles.
I look down at my phone, still paused on her solo music. I set it down and walk over to the bench.
I sit down next to her. “You think I’m worthy?”
“Yes,” she says sharply, not looking at me.
I wait for thebut.There isn’t one.
Instead, she adds, “Sometimes I worry that you’re going to catch the attention of the ABT director and not me.”
“He or she could notice both of us,” I say without much conviction. Because let’s be honest: the chances that they like one of us enough to offer an apprenticeship are slim enough, but two? That’s not going to happen.
“I didn’t tell anyone about your business. I don’t even know anything.”
“Okay,” I say. I believe her.
“But you know what annoys me the most?” she asks, turning to me. “You have fun!” she snaps, like it’s the worst crime in the world. “You go out at night with your mysterious guy, come back all rosy-cheeked and happy, and I think, She’s not going to get up tomorrow to practice. She’s too tired, too in love, too whatever. But you do. Every day. Ihatethat.”
This is the first time I’ve heard what Audrey really thinks of me.
“You hate that I have fun? Well, I hate that you don’t.” She looks as surprised as I am about what I just said. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when I put it like that, but it’s true. “Audrey the Robot, that’s how I think of you. It seems like all you need to do is press a button and there: perfect posture, excellent technique, never a false step. You don’t even blink when you dance.”
“I can’t afford to blink,” Audrey says. “There’s too much at stake.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “We’re human beings, Audrey! Blinking is not optional.”
Audrey sighs. “You haven’t met my mom.”
“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” I say, but I can tell from the look on Audrey’s face that it’s not that simple.
“I don’t know about that. I’m doing everything she expects of me, but it’s never enough.”
“You’re the best dancer I know,” I say, not quite believing that anyone could think that Audrey Chapman is not doing enough.
Her lips tremble for a brief moment, but she regains her composure before she speaks again. “She’s had this plan for me ever since she took me to my first ballet class. I must do everything she’s done, exactly how she‘s done it. I wanted to go to the ABT summer program, but no, ithadto be Paris, because that’s how the Bolshoi Ballet noticed her. She thinks I should move to Moscow, like she did at my age, and have the same amazing career she had. She doesn’t think ABT is good enough.”
My eyes grow wide. “Every dancer in the U.S. dreams of ABT.”
She just nods sadly, then looks down at the floor. We sit in silence for a few minutes. And then I realize what I’ve done. I brought my private life to school. I took the one person who always made it very clear that she didn’t want things to get personal, and I forced her into it. I’m suddenly overcome by a wave of guilt. I really have lost my mind these last few weeks. And I don’t know how to get it back. But I can at least try.
“I’m sorry I called you a robot,” I say after a while.
Audrey shrugs. “And I’m sorry I’m jealous of you.”
“You’re not jealous of me,” I say, shaking the thought away.
“Don’t make me say it again.”
We’re quiet now, for a long moment.
