“Five, six, seven, eight. Step one, two, three, four… Good!”
Stifling a yawn, I straighten my shoulders as I call out the counts. Doing my best to shake off the lingering exhaustion. It’s my fifth dance class I’m teaching today, on top of the two classes of my own I had this morning. My only saving grace is that I’m not on the schedule for the club tonight. The thought of being able to curl up in bed at a reasonable hour is the only thing keeping me going at the moment.
Well, that and my third, or was it fourth cup of coffee today?
“Hit one, two, three, four… hold!” The students in this class are third years, part of the Delacroix Conservatory’s exclusive upper school. Some of the best up-and-coming dancers in the country. Though right now, they’re just trying to get through a full run-through of their routine for the upcoming winter showcase without crying.
Which is harder than it sounds.
And once they’ve done that, I’ll hammer them on technique and performance, but for now, I’m letting a lot slide.
“Your marks!” I call out, watching the girls scramble to their new positions right before the key change. “Get there, Ava!” I frown, watching Ava fail to cross the stage in time to hit her mark. Tears leak down her cheeks, but she falls right back into step on beat. I smile to myself. The mark of a true professional, the ability to keep going even when something goes wrong. She’ll get it. For a moment, I remember what it’s like to be in their shoes. Their veryexpensivecustom-madepointe shoes.
Everything, possibly their entire careers, hinges upon this recital. If it sounds dramatic, that’s because it is. This performance will determine who stays and who gets cut. Some stand-outs may even receive an audition offer from a local or national company. It will also identify the frontrunners for admittance into the Delacroix pre-professional program.
A program that could make or break them. A program that’s currently breakingme. Though, granted, most students aren’t also working two jobs on top of the already grueling training schedule.
“Jade, step it up. I can see you phoning it in back there!”
Nearly out of sight, in the far back line, Jade stumbles when I call her out. Immediately correcting and delivering the expected full leg extensions on her kicks. I might be tired, but I’m still me. I expect 100% effort every single time, even if this is our tenth run-through this hour.
The studio door opens, and I catch my best friend and roommate, Lily, slipping inside. She’s in the pre-professional program with me too. I pretend not to see her, avoiding eye contact and stifling any remaining yawns. Making my way around the room, I pause briefly to admire Hannah’s enviable extension, with a few quick words of encouragement. Hannah beams at the praise, lifting her chin just a little higher before entering her pirouette.
I feel Lily’s eyes on me and look just about anywhere else. She’s been all over me since I took the bartending job at the club. She’s worried the late nights are going to be too much with my already stretched schedule.
She’s not wrong. It is too much. Not that I’ll ever admit it, over my dead body in fact.But she knows as well as I do that it’s not like I have much choice in the matter.
The music comes to an end, and I address the class in my very best and oh-so-posh-ballet-teacher voice.
“Very good, ladies. I want you all to practice your numbers overnight. Ms. Marie will be at rehearsal tomorrow, and she will expect nothing short of perfection.”I hope my eyes convey the adequate level of warning required…
Since the girls are in the upper school, this is their last week before the Conservatory closes for winter break. Some stay in the dorms, but most travel home during the break, but as soon as we’re back in session, it’s non-stop until the showcase in mid December. But if Ms. Marie senses even the slightest hint of weakness, she won’t hesitate to make cuts now.
The girls nod politely with my instructions before breaking from their strict practice lines and scurrying, in a very un-ballerina-like manner, to pack up their things.
Lily wastes no time before she pounces. “I saw that yawn, Briar, don’t think you can hide from me. What time did you get in last night?”
I feign disinterest, heading to the corner before slipping off my ballet slippers in favor of my favorite worn pair of ankle boots. Carefully, I wrap the pink ribbons and tuck the slippers away in my dance bag. Pointe shoes are expensive, and I have to be extra careful with mine to try to make sure they last as long as possible.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t know, around two—maybe?”
“So, three?” Lily challenges my nonsense, and I cover my mouth with my arm to hide my laugh.
“Fine.” I cave. Far too tired to carry on with this argument. “Itmighthave been three. But I brought home over four hundred dollars in tips. So, I’d say it was worth it.”
“Is it going to be worth it when you literally die of exhaustion? I know you had studio choreography with Ms. Evans this morning at six. Did you even sleep?”
I did… one hour. But who’s counting?
Lily… apparently.
“I slept. Besides, with the extra cash from the club, I’ve got the money for Remi’s meds today and my half of the rent.”
“Okay, I can’t be mad about that,” Lily admits with a huff. “But I’m worried about you. It’s too much! You know it’s too much.”
“It’s fine. I can handle it.” I drop my voice low so only she can hear me, “And you know I still owe Gio…”
She frowns at my mention of the local loan shark. Dancers in the pre-professional program don’t get fancy things like health insurance or a living wage, so the first time Remi ended up in the emergency room, the hospital bills alone threatened to bury me alive. When the hospital then threatened to delay or suspend treatment if I couldn’t come up with at least half of what I owed them, I didn’t hesitate to do what I had to.
