We take our positions side by side in the center of the room. All eyes are on us as the rest of the class hovers at the edge of the mirrors. Monsieur Dabrowski gives the nod to the pianist and as the music starts, so do we, our arms linked and our steps mirroring each other.
At the end, we stand still right where we started, waiting for him to call up the next group. But that’s not what happens.
Instead, Monsieur Dabrowski asks me one of the worst questions I’ve ever had to answer. “Mademoiselle Jenrow, tell me about Mademoiselle Chapman’s weaknesses. What could make her a better dancer?”
Audrey’s eyes go wide. She’s as taken aback as I am, but she’s not the one who has to answer.
“Audrey is a great dancer!”
Monsieur Dabrowski sighs. “That is not my question.”
I watch Audrey, the panic in her eyes, as total silence blankets the room. She knows I have to say something; she’s just scared of what it might be.
“Well…”
“This isn’t just about her,” Monsieur Dabrowski says. “If you can’t tell what she needs to improve, then how are you supposed to improve?”
I take a deep breath. Audrey is basically perfect…almost too perfect. I’ve seen her dance dozens of times, and sometimes it feels like I’m watching a battery-powered ballerina. I try to ignore our classmates as I say, “Audrey doesn’t know how to have fun with it.”
Audrey’s mouth drops open, but our instructor nods approvingly, so I continue. “Ballet is not a science, it’s an art. You have to make people feel something, and you can only do that if you feel it yourself.”
The moment I stop talking, she jumps in. “Maybe I don’t have enough emotion, but Mia has too much. Way too much.”
I let out a quiet gasp. It’s not an unfair comment, and that’s probably why it hurts.
“All right,” Monsieur Dabrowski says to her. “Continue.”
“She needs to work on her precision,” Audrey adds with a smile, like the dutiful student she is. “She can’t expect that the steps will just unfold on their own. Mia needs to learn complete control over her body. Over everything.”
“Très bien, girls. I’ve seen everything I need to see.”
Audrey and I both perk up, along with every other student in the room.
He doesn’t say anything else. Still, we know he’s talking about the roles in Swan Lake. He’s been quiet on the topic all week, and no one has dared ask any questions about how and when, exactly, he will assign them.
Audrey hesitates for a moment before blurting out, “When will we find out the roles?”
“Good things come to those who wait,” he finally says before moving on to the next group. We’ll have to hope, pray, and dream for a few more days at least.
For now, Audrey and I stare at each other coldly. She’s wrong about me, anyway. I am in control, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it, too. It’s a waste of Paris not to drink in the spirit of this place, its history, the art, the culture, the boys. Well, fine, not the boys.
Ugh, maybe I have been distracted by my emotions. Paris is not about dreamy French guys and impromptu trips on the backs of their Vespas. Paris is not about Louis’s gorgeous brown eyes; the dimple in his left cheek that made me want to rub my hand against his soft skin; or the sweet, musky scent that wafted back to me as I held him in my arms. Now I just wish our ride around the city had lasted all night, because it can’t happen again.
So, fine. Paris is not about falling in love, not for me. It’s about dancing. The whole reason I came here is to learn from the best and to one day get into the American Ballet Theatre. Maybe even one day soon, as long as I don’t forget why I came here in the first place.
THE MUSéE D’ORSAY might be one of the most beautiful of all the Parisian landmarks. There’s a lot of competition, but to me, the contemporary art museum along the Seine river is even more swoon-worthy than the Louvre or the Pompidou. Before the Musée d’Orsay housed world-famous works of art, it was a train station. You can tell by the large clocks on the side of the building, underneath which the old train routes are still engraved. Inside, the high curved glass ceiling with intricate moldings is a masterpiece in its own right. It’s a grand hall, one that’s packed with black-and-white statues of all sizes.
I’ve never seen anything like it, and my heart fills with delight as I look all around me. Is this what it’s always like to discover a foreign place? Experiencing not just new sights, sounds, and smells, but feeling every moment differently, like your life started anew? Or is it just the Paris effect? In any case, there’s a reason why Musée d’Orsay has been on my must-visit list: I read in my guidebook that it hosts the biggest collection of Degas paintings in the world.