“As long as you’re silent,” Audrey responds coolly. But I notice her smiling. What ballerina doesn’t enjoy devoted fans?
She offers to set up the music for my variation while I go first. I try to quiet my mind as I take position, forgetting the people in front of me, the noise of honking cars coming from the street, and even Louis. I want this practice to be all about me, or at least, all about Odile. The first few notes fill the room, and I make myentrée. As soon as I lift my right leg up in the air, my mind blocks all the stress and confusion, allowing my feelings to inspire every move. The dance lasts about three minutes, but in my heart it goes on forever, blending the strain of my muscles with the pleasure of doing what I love the most.
I only join the real world again when it’s over. The small crowd claps; even Audrey joins them. I take a bow and head over to the bench to catch my breath. Audrey doesn’t waste a minute, and hands me her phone as she takes my place center stage. She gets in position, aligns her spine and shoulders, and raises her chin at the perfect angle. I play the music, and she’s off. I watch, mesmerized by the elegance oozing out of her. She’s the dream White Swan, destined for the role. That’s when it occurs to me: Monsieur Dabrowski chose perfectly. He saw right through us from the very beginning.
I haven’t taken my eyes off Audrey, but the minute she finishes, something feels different. People clap quietly, and there’s a strange air in the room. Audrey’s face drops. I follow her gaze, her mouth half-open, and I let out an inaudible gasp.
Myriam Ayed, thedanseuse étoileof the Paris Ballet, is here, watching from just behind the open door. She’s wearing leggings and a loose sweatshirt—under which the straps of her leotard are showing—and she’s carrying her dance bag. It hits me that she must be here to do exactly what we’re doing: practicing for her next performance. The school is so big, and the professional dancers’ studios are in a different wing from ours. We haven’t seen her since orientation.
“Bravo,” she says, clapping a few times and stepping inside. “Very good.”
“Thank you,” Audrey mutters, clearly starstruck.
“You too,” Ms. Ayed says, turning to me. I blush in response. “You both dance very well.”
I smile, mumbling my thanks, but that’s it. I’m scared of saying anything stupid to a ballet legend.
“Now, can I make a suggestion? Switch,” she says, making the gesture with her fingers between Audrey and me.
Audrey frowns at me. I frown back.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
The rest of the students have gone completely silent, watching how Audrey and I will handle the pressure of being watched by our idol.
“You are the White Swan,” she says to me, “and you”—now pointing at Audrey—“are the Black Swan. Switch roles. Just for today, try dancing in each other’s shoes.”
“But…,” I start. I’m about to go into all the reasons why we can’t. The idea of failing in front of Myriam Ayed is so unbearable that I might just stop breathing. But I don’t say any of this, because Audrey shoots me a stare that seems to say, “Just. Do. It.” She has a point. Am I really going to argue with the most famous ballerina in Paris?
Myriam Ayed takes a seat as Audrey clears the space for me to get into position. But I’ve never learned the steps. I couldn’t list them if I tried. And yet, my body seems to know them. In fact, I think my muscles welcome the change as I lift and turn, twist andpirouette.My arms follow, wrapping around an invisible tree, led by the music and my beating heart. I’m pretty sure I’m not in charge. It’s like my body told my brain,Relax, I got this.
As soon as I complete the last step, my eyes search Audrey’s. By now, I’ve learned to read her face, however impassive it might be. In all its subtlety, it’s saying,Nailed it.
Then, Audrey becomes the Black Swan. There is fear in her eyes, but the music carries her just like it moved me, and when she’s done, she has the biggest smile on her face.
“Magnifique,”Ms. Ayed says, smiling brightly from Audrey to me. “The thing is, ballet is a collaborative experience. Each dancer sets the scene for the next one. Even when you’re doing a solo, it’s not just about you: you are simply borrowing everyone’s attention for a few minutes, before passing it on. Ballet is about harmony. And harmony can only be achieved in the spirit of teamwork.”
I hang on to her every word, joy coursing through me. Then, I glance at Audrey, whose face is as solemn as she can force it to be. We may have only just practiced each other’s solos, but I’d say we’ve been dancing in each other’s shoes since the moment we arrived in Paris. I know she must feel that, too. I make my way to the side of the room where she is, and I can’t help it: I close the distance between us and wrap her in a big hug. She’s tense at first, but I feel her heartbeat slowly calming down. “This is the best day of my life,” I whisper into her ear.
“No, it’s the best day ofmylife,” she replies. I burst out laughing, but she only allows herself a quiet chuckle. Myriam Ayed is still watching, after all.
Sometimes I wish I could just live inside a dance studio. Reality doesn’t come find me there. I’m not Mia. I’m not a seventeen-year-old girl. I’m not a high school student. I’m only who I want to be, someone who feels everything through the prism of one of the most beautiful art forms.
But as soon as we leave the building, I’m Mia again. Something is nagging at my heart. My time here is coming to an end. Paris and Louis are slipping away, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Audrey and I walk in silence to the métro station, so much so that I almost forgot she was there.
Until she asks, “Do you want to walk instead?”
“Okay,” I say.
Our dorm is pretty much right across the river, but we’re usually too tired to walk home after school, even though the path takes you through some of the dreamiest spots in the city: via Place des Vosges, an elegant square surrounded by art galleries; across the Pont de Sully; and through Île Saint-Louis, right behind Notre-Dame.
I wish the beautiful view would help me clear my thoughts, but it’s not that easy. Louis and I have exchanged a few texts since the other night, but things are different, and probably always will be. Now I feel weighed down by all the contradictions I’m keeping inside. I didn’t want to fall in love, but I couldn’t stay away from Louis. I wanted to focus on ballet, but I couldn’t resist exploring my family legend. Every time I told myself we couldn’t be together, and every time I ran to him as fast as my legs would carry me. I’m tired of racking my brain and messing with my heart. I’m tired of trying to keep it all together.
I take a deep breath and turn to Audrey. I want to ask her something, but the words are stuck in my mouth. I just don’t know where to begin.
“What?” she asks, looking at me funny.
“I—I love this time of day in Paris. The sun goes down so slowly that it makes the light even more beautiful, don’t you think?”
