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I don’t want to run away anymore.

I don’t want to suppress and forget anymore.

I don’t want to lie to anyone anymore, not to my family, not to myself. No one.

I want to be where I’m meant to be.

Chapter 35

Lia

I fix my gaze on one specific point, shoulders straight, keeping my balance. I tense my abdomen, pushing through my legs, feet, hands, keeping the whole body taut, and then move my head at the very last moment. I go into the next spin, again and again, so fast that I would get dizzy if I didn’t move my head at the right moment. Not too early, not too late. Otherwise, I might lose my balance.

My head is completely empty, my muscles are working, and I feel infinitely light. Spinning, spinning, on and on. I don’t keep count, letting the music guide me instead. It tells me when to stop.

Not yet, a little more. Keep going.

I ignore the stabbing pain in my feet, the silent plea to stop. I can’t. I lose myself in the spins that keep me from thinking.

My heart is pounding against my ribs, hard and fast but steady. Endorphins rush through me, and I smile. It happens all by itself, even though my breathing is heavy and everything is heavy, but it’s also the best feeling in the world.

It’s a bit like flying, in a very grounded way. That doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to.

I take a step and move into the next turn. It’s almost time, the music tells me.

Five more. Step. Four more. Step. Three. I’m almost there. Two. One last step, gathering momentum, not from the working leg but from the standing leg, head up. That was the last one.

Finish, keep the tension, keep smiling. Never forget to keep smiling. I raise my arms and go up on pointe one last time, hold, and then allow myself to fall exhausted to the floor. My legs are shaking, and my ears are ringing. But I’m smiling. I can’t stop. I finally did it.

I’ve been working on these spins for months. Fouetté en tournant, one of the most spectacular ever, and in Swan Lake, it’s even more difficult than usual because there are thirty-two in a row. In the end, it’s only forty-five seconds, but it can transform you from a great dancer into a brilliant one, if you do it right.

Today, it felt right for the first time. The right tempo, the right tension. Everything was perfect. My whole body aches as I untie the satin ribbons of my pointe shoes. I wince as I pull the hard shoes off. I don’t even have to take my tights off to know that my feet are covered in pressure marks. I’ve pushed myself too hard over the last few days.

The rehearsals with Phoenix are followed by the much shorter rehearsals with the group, to go over my other role as one of the swans. But that’s not something I worry about. It’s going well, and it’s supposed to help me play the Swan Queen better.

But unfortunately, it’s not making any difference. I know it’s ungrateful to think that way, to take the understudy role so much more seriously than the one I’ll actually be performing on stage. For many of the others, it would be an absolute dream to be one of the swans, but I have a different dream. All my energy is focused on the Swan Queen and on making it easier to dance the role every day, whether I’m alone or with Phoenix.

Still, it’s not enough. I have to be able to do it in front of an audience, and time is slowly running out. That’s why I need to practice more, achieve more, and just get better. I exhale with a hiss as I begin my cooldown. My muscles are tight, and everything hurts. But it’s a bittersweet kind of pain, and it proves to me that I’m on the right track. Slowly my body eases, and the tension subsides, but my thoughts immediately get louder again.

They’re focused on Phoenix, as they have been so often recently. We haven’t seen each other since Friday afternoon, after he said our rehearsals for the day were over because nothing was working the way it should. Except this time, it wasn’t entirely my fault. It was his too. Something was off. He was unfocused and irritable, and for once it wasn’t because of Tyler, though his presence didn’t exactly help either of us feel better.

Sighing, I stretch deeper. My fingers itch to reach for my phone and check if I have a new message. We only texted briefly over the weekend, even though I would have loved to ask him if he planned to come to school to practice with me again.

But Phoenix has plans with his mother and brother this weekend, and I think that was the reason for his bad mood on Friday. He didn’t say so directly, but I could tell from the way he talked about seeing them that things weren’t going very well between him and his family. I can understand that well, so I didn’t want to press him to talk to me. I’d probably feel the same way in his position.

My thoughts wander to Mom and Dad and Jase. No, I don’t want to think about them. I really don’t. It won’t get me anywhere.

I get up off the floor, my leotard sticking to my sweaty body, and gather my things before I leave the studio. It’s late, like it usually is these days by the time I leave.

Most people use Sunday evenings to rest so the place is pretty quiet, but when I make a detour to use the restroom before leaving, I realize that I’m not alone. The door squeaks softly, but the sound of retching coming from the last stall is unmistakable.

Shit.

My heart skips a beat. I want to run away, but I can’t move. The sound stops and is replaced by someone coughing. I really should get out of here, but then I notice the bag sticking out from under the door. I can’t just leave, because I know that bag.

I know who it belongs to.

“Susannah?” I ask, my voice choked with emotion in a way I barely recognize. I’m met with silence and then a quiet curse. The next moment the toilet flushes, and Susannah comes out. Her gaze is impenetrable, a mask of cool indifference. Quite familiar. I recognize it from myself, and that’s why she can’t fool me.