Nikolai
That’s it?
That’s all you’re giving me?
There are millions of people in this city, and you’re giving me the most basic ass description?
Aleksandr
I would watch how you talk about her. She’s not fucking basic.
Nikolai
Sheesh, Aleksandr. You’re even grumpier than normal.
Aleksandr
Find her, Nikolai.
Nikolai
Don’t worry, cuz. I will.
“And run,and run… Arabesque… Mia, stop giggling, you’re a snowflake. Act like one… I want to see clean footwork, now… Beautiful, Evangeline. Chin up, my darling…” Madame Germaine accentuated her words with a tap of her cane as we soared across the studio, our bullet pointe skirts fluttering while we moved. “Excellent, Evangeline! Arms up high for this next eight-count…”
I smiled in the mirror while the teenager playing Clara leaped across the room, the Nutcracker following behind her. But instead of seeing the choreography I’d spent months perfecting, instead of seeing what Madame Germaine saw, I only noticed the flaws.
My skirt was slightly wrinkled. A single flyaway escaped my bun, smudged lipstick streaked the corner of my mouth, and my leotard dug into my skin just enough to feel wrong.
A voice in the back of my mind hissed, “You are not enough. You are not perfect.” The voice kept repeating, sharper with each heartbeat, until my chest ached.
Another layer to the mental illness that had been buried inside of me for years.
We finished the dance, and Mia spun onto her toes as she bounded over to the side. Her body looked otherworldly as she practiced one of her moves as the sultry Arabian dancer, bending and turning into impossible form.
“See. She is perfect,” the voice said. “You are not.”
Mia pinched my cheeks. "Well, you're a sad-looking snowflake, aren't you? Why are you frowning so much?"
"I'm not frowning. I'm concentrating."
"Sure." Mia laughed, giving my shoulder a playful shove. "Look at you, Eva. You've been staring at your reflection like it's personally offended you for at least fifteen minutes. You're obsessed with... what? Your hair? Your outfit?"
"Maybe both," I said with a shrug, retying my ribbon.
Glancing at my reflection one more time, I corrected a slight tilt in my shoulders and cursed at a small spot of sweat on my skirt.
“Not perfect… Not perfect… Not perfect…”
"You're ridiculous," Mia said, shaking her head. I couldn't help but notice how wonderfully in place all her golden hairs were. What did she do that I didn’t? Was it a different hairspray?
“Hey, princess,” she continued, snapping me out of a spiral before it began. “You’ve been acting weird for the past couple of days. I’ve given you space. Now I want you to spill.”
"I'm fine, Mia. Really. Don't worry about me."
“Uh-huh,” she said, not buying it for a second. She patted me on the shoulder like a doting older sister. “Tell me right now, Evangeline Vale, or so help me God: I will tell your brother that you have nasty blisters all over your feet. Or maybe a fungus….”
My eyes widened. My hands trembled as I clutched her arm, every thought spiraling into worst-case scenarios. “No, Mia, you really can’t. If he thinks something is wrong with me, he won’t let me dance in the show! He’s already upset about the little bruise on my head.”
