The teacher walks behind me and taps my arm. “Keepyour shoulders down. More energy in your fingers.” I make the correction. “Yes, better.”
As class progresses, I find my rhythm and relax. The nervous energy fades by the time we are on to the next set of combinations. The teacher is here to offer me guidance. She wants me to succeed. There are no directors taking notes, judging me, figuring out who to cast in a role. There are no company members glaring at me for invading their space. I am my own critic. Everyone in this room is here because they want to be. It’s a positive environment full of smiles, and everyone giving a hundred and ten percent effort. When we stop to change into pointe shoes for center work, I am pleasantly surprised to see half of the women en pointe.
I brought shoes with me just in case, but I tell myself to take it easy. It’s been a long while since I’ve worked on my toes, and my ankle strength isn’t yet back to where it needs to be to do too many skills. I glance in Sam’s direction, and he give me two big thumbs-up. I smile and nod to him, then take my place in the back of the room with the others.
“You are all improving exponentially. I am so proud of the work you’ve put in. We’ll finish today with Kitri’s solo entry sequence from Don Q.”
Applause breaks out.
“Is it the solo from the grand pas?” someone asks.
“It is indeed. Are there any other questions?”
When no one responds, we’re asked to move to the back of the room. “We’ll skip over the bit involving the fan and focus on the footwork. The steps are basic, but the phrasing with the music can be tricky. You’ll begin up in fifth position and take a step with your left foot forward into an arabesque, like so. Hold it for one count, then step forward onto your right leg and bring the left up to a high passe.”
We complete the sequence by ballet running in a half circle, hitting another fifth position, then striking the opening pose. The room is filled with the sound of clunky pointe shoes hitting the ground. The instructor takes us through the steps twice more, adding in the counts.
I never personally performed Kitri’s solo with LABT, but I did learn it as a student. It was one of the solos I competed a few times with the International Youth Grand Prix of Ballet competition. The choreography rises to the forefront of my mind. Without much thought, I automatically begin to layer in the movements involving an invisible folding fan.
“Let’s try it to the music in groups of four. Have fun with it and make it your own. Remember, you are a sassy young woman. Flirt with your audience.”
The pianist begins playing the solo. Everyone in the room looks at one another. Finally, four brave souls run forward and attempt the steps. Tension eases. I watch as they light up and laugh at their mistakes and run off to the sides of the room when they’re done.
The next four women take their turns. My gaze turns toward the observation window. Sam reassures me again by mouthing,You’re doing brilliantly. Keep it up.Well, if there is one person I’m going to be flirting with, it’s him. I take my position on the outside of my group of four.
Making direct eye contact with him, I fan myself and dance the steps we’ve been taught. When everyone else runs off, I add an assemblé, leap with my arms over the head, then blow Sam a kiss.
“That was lovely. You’ve danced this before?” a woman with vibrant blue hair asks.
“A few times,” I admit.
The pianist continues to play, and we rotate throughperforming the intro once more. I change the position of my arms this go around, and school my face to make a few playful expressions toward Sam. I hope he’s enjoying the show.
The instructor claps her hands together. “Wonderful energy. Next week, we’ll spend a little more time on the solo.” Her eyes settle directly on me. “In the meantime, perhaps our newest class member would consider gracing us with a preview of what’s to come. That is if you’re familiar with the variation.”
Darn it, I’ve tried so hard to avoid attracting attention to myself until now. Why did I have to show off to Sam? I could say no, but a part of me is also dying to push my challenge line and see what I’m still capable of.
“Um, it’s been a long time since I’ve done it.” I hesitate, hoping she will leave me alone.
“But youdoknow it?”
I nod.
“Well, have at it.” She gestures to the center of the room. “The stage is yours.”
“Come on, you’ve got this,” someone shouts.
“You’ll do great,” another voice adds.
The ladies in the room begin to clap and cheer. There is no way of getting out of this. The power of peer pressure is too strong. I take a deep breath and walk to the corner of the room, locking eyes with the pianist and nodding. The opening notes play out, and I flutter forward.
The steps of the Kirti grand pas solo aren’t difficult, per se. It’s portraying the character that’s the difficult bit. Actually, I take that back. Depending on which choreography a dancer is doing, keeping up with the speed of the music and performing fast footwork can be challenging. The Russians, for instance, are lightning fast, while theWestminster Ballet here in London goes at a more normal speed.
Tonight, I keep things simple. I opt for a few échappés, a one-and-a-half attitude pirouette, and an inside change-leg soutenu turn. Playing with the lightness of the ending steps, I add in one final pirouette and finish in arabesque.
There is a roaring sound of applause from both inside and out of the studio. Sam is on his feet, adding a piercing whistle. While I may be Kitri when I’m dancing, I’m her exact opposite when I’m off stage. My cheeks sear with heat and I fan myself.
“That was lovely. Well done, you,” the teacher says. “And on that note, we’ll end our class.”
