I pressed my palms briefly to the wall before falling into the back of the line, grounding myself in the familiar coolness of the wood. The buzzing inside my chest hadn’t gone away—not exactly—but it dulled, like static turned down a notch.
The dancers continued moving through calypsos until it was only Mia and me left to go. We gave each other soft smiles before taking our place.
And then my body started to move before my mind could interfere anymore. My arms lifted, my spine lengthened, and my feet found their marks. Instinct had taken over, almost two decades of dance experience winning out over my fear of not being good enough. The nerves tried to claw their way back in, whisperingtoo stiff, too slow, too much, but I drowned them out with breath and rhythm.
On and on through warmups.Turn. Leap. Land. Pose.I felt centered, strong, and powerful. Everything a dancer always dreamed of being.
By the time we moved on to choreography, my lungs burned, and sweat dampened the back of my neck, yet I had never felt better. I no longer had the voice nagging me to prove that I was perfect, to knock against the floors or pick at the skin of my hands.
We began to move through the audition dances, twisting and turning over and over again while Madame Germaine watched. I heard the sound of her heels clicking against the floor before I felt her presence behind me. I stiffened, bracing myself for her corrections.
But to my surprise, she stepped in front of me and tilted her head.
“Evangeline,” she said, her voice shockingly warm despite her cold face. “You’re dancing well today.”
My chest fluttered. “Thank you,” I murmured, my face dropping automatically to the floor.
She lifted my chin with two fingers, raising my eyes to meet hers. She studied me for a few moments before clicking her tongue and shuffling forward.
My heart was going haywire—butterflies practically slaughtering each other—when she ordered us to repeat the combination, this time keeping her gaze solely on me. I raised into an arabesque, then dropped into a dégagé, arabesque, then dégagé, Juliet’s variation settling inside my bones. And when the music slowed and the combination ended, I looked to Madame Germaine, only to find her watching me with a subtle smile. She nodded before telling us to get a drink and ordering the men out for their piece.
While we sipped our water, Mia pulled me to the side and squealed under her breath. “Evie!! Oh my God, shesmiled!Do you know what this means?”
“That her facial muscles work correctly?”
“No! Madame Germaine only smiles when she sees something she really, really, really likes. I think you have a chance at a lead role!”
Something tight loosened inside of me like the ribbons of a corseted dress had been undone.A lead.That was more than I ever could have dreamed of.Me. A lead?
What if I were Lady Capulet? Or Lady Montague? Perhaps Rosaline? Or?—
I swallowed.
What if I were Juliet?
I shook my head before the dream could intoxicate me too much. “No. It’s my first year, Mia. There are more deserving people out there. People like you!”
She rolled her eyes. “Madame Germaine will never make me a lead. And anyway, I don’t want to be one. I like being in the corps de ballet, shining without the spotlight. But you? I think you’d beperfectcenter stage.”
Mia moved on to a different topic—namely, one of the male dancers’extremelytight tights—but her reassurance stayed, settling deep in my bones. For the first time in years, my chest ached with want. Not with the feeling of not being good enough, but with the feeling that I could belong here.
After a quick water break for everyone, Madame Germaine thumped her cane on the stage floor three times, gathering our attention quickly. She called forth four male dancers to be considered for Romeo, and I politely clapped after each one. We weren’t supposed to show favoritism to anyone during auditions, which I guessed was good considering I kept wanting to scream in delight after each one.
A restless energy settled beneath my skin as Madame Germaine announced Raphael as Romeo, the same principal who played the Prince inThe Nutcracker.
“Congrats, Rapha.” I smiled at him as he joined the rest of us, waiting for the director to speak once more.
Madame Germaine rose from her chair. “And for Juliet, I’d like to watch Elsie, Jeanine, Alexandra, and… Evangeline.”
My world froze.
My name.
Did she saymy name?
I bit my lip to contain the biggest smile I’d ever had before turning to Mia, who gave me a thumbs up.
“Told you,” she mouthed as she was swallowed by the crowd of people who came to congratulate me, apparently uncaring of the etiquette rules Madame Germaine had set.
