Kenza straightens up right away, her entire body coming back into its own, sharp and determined.
He stands in front of her at the barre, placing his hand on it.
“Dégagé devant, deux, trois, quatre. Two to the side, coupé développé,” he says, demonstrating the moves. He’s dressed in his usual all-black and seems to have more grace in his raised pinky than the rest of us put together. “Reverse, plié, soutenu. Other side.”
We all start again, not daring to take our eyes off the bun on the head of the dancer in front of us.
“Rond de jambe, et deux, et trois, et quatre, passé, développé, rond de jambe en l’air, piqué, battement tendu, close to fifth. Reverse. Repeat in relevé,” he explains, finishing the combination. “Again, Kenza. Everyone, please observe her.”
A flicker of anguish passes across Kenza’s face, but she gets into fifth position with a confident smile and goes through the sequence seamlessly. At least that’s how it looks to me.
“Non!” Monsieur Dabrowski says. “Your rond de jambe is too wooden. And your leg needs to be one hundred percent straight during piqué. Encore une fois!” One more time!
Kenza starts over, but our ma?tre interrupts her almost immediately. “Non, non, non. Regarde-moi.” Look at me.
He and Kenza take turns for the next five minutes. Kenza never wavers, never lets her emotions get in the way.
“This isn’t just about the physicality, about the technique,” Monsieur Dabrowski says, interrupting her once again. “Your mind must be in one place, and one place only.”
I’m half-convinced he’s talking about me. The girl who spends her time flirting with adorable French boys and can’t stop thinking about them. Well, him.
Now Monsieur Dabrowski turns to face the rest of the class, his eyes meeting mine for a brief second. The fire behind his eyes is so different from his son’s relaxed, friendly gaze. “What are you all thinking about right now? And what will you think about when this class is over?”
No one responds, of course.
“Ballet isn’t something you can do halfway. It has to be inside you, deep in your bones. Or else you will fail.”
I didn’t come this far to fail. I set my shoulders back and push Louis out of my mind. For real.
* * *
I’ve been doing ballet for most of my life, but this is the first time I’ve danced all day long, day after day after day. My arms and back feel so sore that I can barely hold my fork at dinner. My leg muscles tremble long after I get into bed. No amount of stretching makes me feel like I’m fully recovered. My feet are raw, a permanent shade of bright red. My first pair of new pointe shoes look like I feel, stained and crushed and as exhausted as I am. One week in, and I’m going to have to break in the next pair already.
Every morning I’m not sure how I will even stand upright at the barre, let alone move. But when I get there, something happens in my mind, in my heart, and I feel brand-new. Ballet is everything to me. Always will be.
The only really tricky thing is that I have to share it with others. And not just any other, a certain someone in particular. Monsieur Dabrowski paired us up to demonstrate a duet version of the “Dance of the Little Swans,” and guess who he assigned as my combination partner?
I thought Audrey was going to faint with rage when she found out. After my adventurous trip to Repetto, I’d gleefully announced at dinner that I was being moved up. Lucy had given me a high five, and many others had congratulated me. Audrey had just shoved more salad in her mouth and looked away as she chewed noisily. Now we’re stuck with each other in every possible way.
“You have to be kidding me!” she fumed on the way out of the studio after Monsieur Dabrowski told us we’d be dancing together.
The “Dance of the Little Swans,” or pas de quatre, is one of the most well-known sequences in Swan Lake, in the middle of Act Two. It’s both technical and ethereal, and these four roles are the next best thing to Odette. Monsieur Dabrowski is having us perform this dance to help make his decision about the roles in the famous ballet.
Finally it’s Friday: audition day. Like every other duo, Audrey and I stayed an extra hour after class, watching and correcting each other’s form. I asked her for tips on how to improve my attitude—the ballet step, not my mood. And in return, I reminded her to widen her collarbone without clenching her jaw.
I won’t go as far as saying I’m glad we’re in this together, but Audrey has great technique, and I’ll take any help I can get. Right before it’s our turn, I check the mirror to make sure no hair has escaped from my bun. I know Monsieur Dabrowski will notice even the tiniest detail.