“What if the student teachers tell Monsieur Dabrowski we were out so late?” she asks.
“I’m sure it would be fine,” I reply, though I’m not actually that sure. I can’t imagine Monsieur Dabrowski would give us his blessing to go out and party on a school night, but we didn’t do anything wrong.
“We’re the leads!” Audrey spits out. “Different rules apply to us. I should never have come.”
“Fernando was there, too,” I say, trying to remain calm.
Audrey shakes her head. “Boys get treated differently.”
She has a point. There are so few boys in the ballet world that it’s easier for them to feel special, and for their talent to stand out. There are fewer male roles, but also much less competition. Or maybe it’s just that boys can get away with more, in general.
We arrive at the front of our dorm, and I fish inside my bag for my keys. Audrey hovers near me, still fuming.
“Why are you like that?” she asks.
For a moment I wonder if she can read on my face what I was doing before she came to find me, but I don’t think that’s what she means.
“Like what?” I ask, frowning.
To be honest, I’m not mad that we came home early. This weekend has been exhausting in many ways. As much as I wanted to stay out and sneak away with Louis, the right thing to do is to get as much sleep as possible before another grueling week of classes and rehearsals.
“Tell me you’re putting the program—and the show—first,” she says, ignoring my question.
I sigh as I unlock the door.
“This is too important, for both of us,” she adds.
“I promise,” I say quietly. The hall inside is silent. “I want this to go perfectly as much as you do.”
“No one wants this as much as I do.”
She goes up the stairs two at a time and disappears off in front of me. As I follow her slowly, I wonder if she’s right. I’ve always wanted to be a dancer more than anything else, but something feels different now.
Is it me? Is it Louis—his gorgeous eyes and devastating, distracting smile? Or is Paris sweeping me off my feet? I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to shake the sleepiness from them. Whatever it is, there’s only one way this summer can end for me: by winning ABT’s heart and returning home triumphant.
I’VE BEEN WORRYING about so many things that I almost forget that today is not a regular class day. Instead, to mark the halfway point of the program, we’re showcasing some of the dances we’ve practiced over the last two weeks. I’ve performed in front of an audience for so many years that it all feels natural to me: fighting for mirror space backstage to do my hair and apply a thick layer of makeup, slipping on my white tutu, and struggling to find a spot in the cramped space to tie up my pointe shoes.
“Girls in Paquita!” Monsieur Dabrowski calls out. “You’re starting in two minutes!”
Audrey checks her reflection in the mirror and gets up to join the other girls she’s dancing with. We’re only doing group dances today: no solos, no stakes, just an occasion for our ma?tres de ballet to observe our progress in a more formal setting. Each of us gets to perform twice, and our outfits reflect the simplicity of the day: all white for level fives, all black for everyone else.
The clock edges closer to showtime, and I take a deep breath as my stomach begins to tie in a knot. I’ve been expecting it. In fact, I welcome it. No ballerina dreams of dancing in front of a mirror at the barre. We only put up with months of practice so we can get a chance to dance onstage for a few minutes. So give me a bundle of nerves and a showcase any day. Give me a darkened room full of mostly strangers, and I’ll skitter out in front of them, determined and focused on the outside, full of pride and joy on the inside.
But before I head to the wings, I unlock my phone and glance for the millionth time at the message Louis sent me this morning.
Good luck at the showcase!
I haven’t seen him since Sunday, two days ago. I considered asking him if he would be here, and then reality called and set me straight. As much as I want to be with Louis, Odile and my dreams of ABT have to come first. Still, I miss him. We’ve exchanged a few texts, but he hasn’t suggested another date yet. And I probably shouldn’t, for all the reasons that have been blaring warning signs in the back of my mind. I push Louis out of my thoughts as Audrey’s group takes the stage.
A few students are gathered in the wings to watch, and I join them. The girls are dancing a piece from Giselle. As they get into position, I glance around at the room. Ma?tres de ballet and staff occupy the first two rows, while the rest of the audience is half-filled with unfamiliar faces: the family and friends of the few local students who were able to pop by on a Tuesday afternoon. I’m about to turn my attention back to the stage when I spot them.