“I probably don’t have to tell you that contemporary dance is different from ballet; you already know that. But I’m going to say it anyway, because I’m sure that some of you are here even though you don’t necessarily want to be.”
She sizes us up, her bright eyes wandering from face to face.Her gaze is open and friendly with no judgment, even though her words make it sound otherwise. “In ballet, you strive for perfection. Cleanly executed moves are very important. You know what you’re aiming for and you follow the rules. Contemporary combines elements of ballet with modern and jazz dance. But we don’t have any rules. You make up your own. It’s all about your interpretation. While ballet strives to defy gravity, we welcome it. We focus on tension and release. We focus on youremotions.”
Her words send a shiver down my back, and everything inside me freezes up. I don’t want to focus on my emotions. Not here. Not with so many people watching.
“Does that sound good?” She smiles at us, but the only answer is a subdued murmur that makes Melanie laugh quietly. “I see that I’ll have to convince you that we’re going to have fun together. We will, I promise. But of course it isn’t just about fun. You’re here to learn and grow, and since I only have one semester with you, I’d prefer to make it clear right away what I expect from you. I want you to approach this class with an open mind. Contemporary dance isn’t ballet, and I know most of you dream of performing on the world’s greatest stages, and that’s fine. But don’t forget that there’s more to life than ballet, and that this could actually help you. That’s why you’ll all soon be choosing a song and developing your own choreography to it.”
“But we already have choreography classes,” Lia’s friend says.
“I know,” Melanie replies. “I’m not asking you to come up with a perfect routine by the end of the semester. I want you to choose a song and let your feelings speak, and then express exactly that through your dance. If you want, and if it’s easier for you, you’re welcome to work in small groups. But we’ll talk about that whenthe time comes. In these first few weeks, I want you to loosen up a bit and get comfortable with this new territory.” She stands up. “Shall we get started?”
We stand up slowly, some with more enthusiasm than others. Contemporary dance is mainly performed without shoes or slippers, and it feels strange to stand on the hard floor in thin socks. The first hour passes quickly, and we hardly dance at all. Melanie mainly shows us some warm-up exercises. We’re supposed to familiarize ourselves with gravity, relax our backs and let our shoulders loose. Most of us find it difficult to let go of the tension that’s been drummed into us as long as we’ve been dancing.
I concentrate on my breathing and feeling the floor beneath my feet. My body softens and my muscles work, but it’s different from this morning. The tension leaves me as I exhale and my movements become fluid and less cramped.
“Very good, Rayne.” Melanie praises me and gives me an appreciative smile, which I automatically return, although not quite as enthusiastically as she does. It feels strange that this is so easy. I’ve been torturing myself for two and a half days, and now... How can it be so easy all of a sudden? It’s not supposed to be like this. I came here for ballet, not for... whatever this is.
“Zoe, relax. Try to let yourself go. Let gravity work for you.”
Melanie walks slowly around the room, correcting the others while soft piano music echoes from the speakers connected to her phone. “Pay attention to your breathing. Breathe deeply into your belly. As you exhale, let everything go.”
The hour passes quickly. Faster than all the others, and when Melanie finally ends the lesson and dismisses us for lunch, I actually feel strangely grounded.
“Rayne, do you have a minute?” Melanie stops me as I’m about to leave the studio with Zoe, Jase, and Skye. My stomach cramps, and the calmness that filled me just a moment ago disappears. I hesitate for a second and then nod. “Of course.”
“Should we wait?” Zoe asks, but I shake my head.
“Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”
“Okay, see you.” She waves, and then the three of them disappear. It’s only Melanie and me. I stop a few steps away from her. My fingers search for the rings on my other hand, but they’re in my room on top of the dresser.
Something in Melanie’s face changes, becoming darker, sadder.No, please don’t.
“I admired your father very much,” she begins. I feel my nails digging into my hands and realize I’ve clenched them tightly. Why? Why does she have to bring up my dad now?
“Me too,” I hear myself say. What the hell am I saying?
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I blink, avoiding her gaze.
“Mr.Pearson told me you just started here.”
“Yes.” I shift uneasily from one foot to the other. Where is this conversation going?
“I just want you to know that I understand if you have a hard time at first.”
“Who says I’m having a hard time?” My voice sounds harsh and cold even to my own ears, and my heart is beating much too hard. Am I so bad that my teachers are already talking about me? Am I doing that poorly?
“No one. But I’ve been watching you for an hour now. You’re less controlled than the others.”
“Less perfect, you mean.”
“That’s in the eye of the beholder.” She smiles, and I realize she isn’t trying to be mean. Maybe she just wants to help me. “As far as I’m concerned, less perfection is good. You still seem a little inhibited, but you’re not as held back as the others. If you give contemporary a chance, you could be very good. You have potential.”
“Really?” I stare at her, stunned, not sure what to make of her words. I should be happy. Instead, all at once I feel queasy. I’m new at this school, trying to fit into this world, trying to belong with all the other girls, but I’m not one of them. I’m not here because I have a dream. Not like them.
I don’t dream of the big stage. I’m here because of Mom. I’m here to become like her, and even though Melanie is praising me, it feels a bit like a failure at the same time. Because apparently, I have the potential to be imperfect.
