“Long time no see. We’ve missed you,” Emily says from behind the counter, fitting the lids onto the to-go cups. When her gaze flicks up, she gives me a tight-lipped smile.
“I’m hanging in. Doing much better.”
“And you’re not returning to the Institute?”
“No.” I shuffle from foot to foot. “They were not happy that I extended my bereavement leave and filled my spot.” Though now it seems like they used it as an excuse to let me go after my hip injury continued to deteriorate. Sure, the accident and time off made things worse, but the pain that radiates down my leg on a daily basis came long before the crash. My body just showcases more of the pain now. The gashes that go down my back from my shoulder and the one along my knee…
“Shame on them,” Emily tuts.
“It is what it is.” I shrug, keeping my eyes on the floor. I don’t disagree with her, but there’s nothing else to say. “I’m dancing with Ballet Potomac now.”
“Ah! When’s your next performance?” Bryon asks with a grin on his face. I miss seeing them before rehearsals. If I could squeeze in a coffee, I loved starting my day with JJ’s. They arethe sweetest couple, and it always brightened the mornings on the gloomiest of days. “We’d love to come see you.”
“It’ll be in March. We’re doingGiselle.”
“Giselle? I don’t think I know that one,” Bryon says, his brows scrunching together.
“It’s not as well-known as some of the others.”
Emily glances up while she pours some foam atop my latte. “What’s it about?”
“A peasant girl who falls in love with a duke who’s betrothed to another. She goes mad and dies of a broken heart, joining the wilis.” Trying to explain a ballet in a few sentences is pretty much impossible.
“Who are you playing?”
“I’ll be one of the wilis.” When they stare at me with confusion, I clarify, “They are the lost spirits of betrayed women that haunt the forest, luring men to dance to their deaths.”
“Oh,” Bryon croons, raising his brows a few times. “Sounds fun.”
“It will be.” And I actually mean it. I’ve danced this part before, years ago with the Institute. Thankfully, gives me a slight advantage. I know this ballet and its variations like the back of my hand. I’ll just need to translate that mastery into something that will impress the director.
“Well, keep us updated and put us down for two tickets for opening night.” They come around the counter and give me hugs before handing me the coffees and walking me to the door. My chest aches a moment as it sinks in that I won’t be needing a ticket for my mom this year. She always went around like the Institute’s personal saleswoman, getting everyone she knew to buy tickets to my performances. She’d been so proud of me, especially after my promotion to soloist. We’d made plans to go to the Ballet World Summit once I became principal. We spent hours watching videos of the showcase while I was growing up.
I guess I could still take the trip someday, but it wouldn’t be the same. Seeing the poster for it every day when I walk into class is a not-so-fun reminder.
The bell rings behind me when the door shuts, frosty breaths leaving my parted lips. Across the street, the Institute’s big sign is aglow. I inhale deeply, heart racing at the sight of it. Nearly every morning since I joined the company started with this view…until that terrifying night.
The coffees keep my hands warm as I cross the street, my gut churning with each step. I’ve been anticipating and dreading this since I woke up this morning.
It doesn’t help matters much that they are rehearsing forSwan Lake, a ballet I’ve been dying to perform since I saw the show at the Kennedy Center when I was ten. My mom took me as her date shortly after she and my dad separated. We dressed up, went out to Jean-Paul’s for a nice meal and then went to the ballet. Box seats. She had won them in a silent auction for some charity she was on the board of.
I’d watched, enraptured, as the dancers bouréed gracefully across the stage. Delicate and fragile yet strong and poised through every movement. While I already enjoyed going to my ballet lessons, that night changed my life. After that, I focused on honing my craft. I practiced for hours, listened closely to my critiques, studied every facet of my posture, perfecting my technique so I could have my big day. Not a wedding, like for most girls, butmybig day. The day every ballet dancer dreams of when they get fitted for pointe shoes. From the moment I slipped them on, tying those ribbons and fastening them at the ankles, I knew this was my fate. Dance is the love of my life. There’s nothing else that even compares.
The night ofSwan Lakealso had been the night I realized that my mother and I would be okay. That it was us against the world, even if my father had left and decided tostart freshsomewhere else. As if we’d never existed. Mom came to every performance, paid for training—she gave everything to see me make my dream come true. That night, it had becomeourdream. A dream I had to make happen for both of us, even if she’d never see it now.
Of course, after years of waiting for the Institute to decide to showcase it, they are finally doingSwan Lakewithout me.
The familiar sage awning looms over me as I stare at the entrance. The District Dance Institute is in bold block letters on the sign next to the double doors. How many times did I walk past this sign and barely give it a glance? Now I’m noticing every tiny crack in its lettering while I avoid taking the plunge and opening the door.
The alleyway next to the studio would be the perfect spot to hide out and text Lark that I can’t make it…
I shake the thought off, mustering up the courage to go inside. I tuck one of the coffees into the crook of my arm and use my free hand to pull open the heavy door against the wind threatening to slam it shut. Quickly slipping in as the door smacks into my dance bag, I stumble forward, clutching my caffeine tightly. Brown spatters my jacket and scarf, my coffee spilling from the cup.
Great.
It’s only made worse by the fact that everyone in the lobby is looking in my direction.
I’m unwrapping my coffee-stained scarf when murmurs flow out the door opening from studio A. Lark is out the door with a flurry of other corps girls, a few new faces, but when Stasia and Denise shoot me a smile and wave, it feels like I’m back home.
