I sigh. I’m not sure, exactly. Come on, Mia, what is it? I can’t waste an hour of school time when I could be practicing my solo. I can’t take the risk that anyone might think that I’m getting preferential treatment because I know Monsieur Dabrowski’s son, or that I’m not taking the program seriously. For a brief moment, I picture my instructor telling me that I don’t deserve Odile, after all. It sends shivers down my spine, and not the good kind.
“When we missed the train on Sunday,” I say, lowering my voice, “I could have gotten into a lot of trouble if I hadn’t made it back on time.” Through the glass windows, I see a few students walk past me in the hallway and file into the next studio, a sign that classes are about to begin. “And now that I’m dancing Odile…”
“You need to practice for hours a day, I get it,” Louis says, “but you’re still going to eat lunch, right?”
“Well…yes.”
“And, if eating is going to happen no matter what, do you really think the geographical location of said meal will affect your dancing skills?”
“Louis…”
How can anyone be this cute all the time?
“It’s a genuine question.”
“I only get an hour break for lunch…” I can feel my resolve weakening. Saying no to Louis might be the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do, and that includes all the fouettés I’ve just practiced.
A woman walks into the room, probably an instructor for another level, and gives me a strange look. I need to hang up.
“I get it,” Louis continues, his tone suddenly serious. “This is probably not a good idea anyway. I can’t get between you and your passion.”
This jolts me. “No one could ever get between me and ballet.”
I hear him sigh, but he doesn’t respond. My heart crunches. Our conversation at Aunt Vivienne’s house about his feelings on passions comes back to me, and I worry that I’ve said the wrong thing. “I have to go,” I say, checking the clock on the wall.
“Okay. Well, bye, Mia.”
I take a deep breath, my finger already hovering over the “End Call” button. But something stops me.
“Louis?”
“Yes?” he says quickly.
“Can you promise me something?” I feel a grin spread across my face. “It’s just lunch. Tomorrow, for one hour only. And, no matter what happens, we’re not taking a trip to the French countryside.”
He laughs. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in all of Paris. “I promise, Mia. But just this once.”
Can’t stop, won’t stop smiling.
IT’S NOT UNTIL the end of my morning classes the next day that I fully appreciate it: I’m going on a date with Louis. An actual date. Sure, we’ve had lunch and explored Paris together before, but this feels more real. Maybe it’s because you usually go on a few dates with someone before introducing them to your great-great-aunt.
I put on the outfit I planned out this morning: a white skirt, a black tank top, and a gold bracelet. Then I use a liberal amount of dry shampoo on my hair, apply concealer under my eyes and my favorite rose-tinted lip balm on my lips. I smile at my reflection in the mirror. I wanted to look nice, but not like I tried to look nice.
I peek outside the locker rooms before I exit, feeling totally silly doing it. Usually I have lunch with Lucy, Anouk, and a few other girls from their class. Audrey will only mingle with girls from level five, but there’s no love lost there. I prefer taking a break with people who can relax a little.
“I have some errands to run during lunch,” I told Lucy at breakfast. “Don’t wait for me, I’ll just grab a sandwich on the way.”
She gave me a quizzical look. “What kind of errands?”
“Just…stuff,” I said, wishing I had prepared a better story.
It’s not like me to keep secrets. In fact, I’ve always been an open book: I started dancing at two years old and instantly decided that that’s all I ever wanted to do. Since then, I’ve told anyone who would listen that I would become a professional ballet dancer. I never lied to my parents about having a sleepover at a friend’s house when we actually went out to party. I never said I’d finished my homework when I hadn’t. In fact, I rushed to do it so I could spend my evenings and weekends dancing. I didn’t need to make things up; everyone around me always knew what I was up to.
“Stuff?” Lucy asked in a slightly mocking tone. And then, like something clicked in her head: “Do you need tampons?” she whispered. “Because I have some.”