Chapter 11

The next day, Ophelia began to avoid her friends again. If they were going to be jealous and judgmental, so be it. She didn’t need them. She had Devon.

All day, Kayley tried to catch up with Ophelia, but Ophelia always managed to get away.

Every time she saw Kayley, though, the questions her friend had brought up echoed in Ophelia’s mind.

She moved through the day in a fog, feeling sharp and alert only once, when her stomach growled. She grabbed a snack out of the snack machine but forgot about it almost immediately. Thoughts of Devon and his kiss overwhelmed her every time she went to take a bite. The day crawled by so slowly that Ophelia wondered if she would ever make it to midnight. She barely registered it when Ms. Traysor, the history teacher, told her she was flunking the class.

She had never flunked a class in her life. But nothing else mattered now. Nothing but Devon.

Ophelia forced herself to go to the second ballet class of the day. Her body felt tired and weak, but thoughts about perfecting the part of Giselle propelled her to practice.

When she walked into class, Madame Puant was speaking to that same lady Ophelia had seen before, on the day she passed out. The woman looked hard at Ophelia once again, and Madame Puant glanced at her too, a disapproving look on her face. For a second, Ophelia was afraid Madame Puant had found out about her nighttime forays. But Madame just pounded her cane again and ballet class started.

At the end of class, Ophelia grabbed her bag during reverence so that she could skip out without having to talk to any of the girls. As she walked into the hall, she turned left instead of right and hid in an empty classroom while she waited for her friends to leave.

The classroom was dark, but a few sunbeams slid through the windows up high. The space had obviously been a science room—old beakers and test tubes lie everywhere, scattered and dusty. Ophelia shook her head. She’d been at the academy for three years, and still, she didn’t know the school. Whatever else Kayley was wrong about, she was right that this place was special.

“I know what you’ve been doing at night.”

Ophelia knocked into a side cabinet and glasses tinkled inside. The well-dressed lady Madame Puant had been talking to stood in front of her, one diamond-laden hand on a nearby table.

Ophelia tried to stop the hard beating of her heart. Yet again, the darkness started to fold in around her eyes at the edges.

“He makes you feel warm, but he’s cold. Believe me. You feel like you’re the only one, but you’re not.” Sadness crept into the lady’s voice.

Ophelia regained her composure and said, “Who are you? And what are you talking about?”

The lady traced her finger on the table, lifting it up and looking at the pattern she’d made in the dust. She wiped her hands together and sighed.

“Ophelia. I am a friend. I’m someone who knows what you’re going through. And believe me, if I could stop it, I would. But you have to end it yourself. That’s just the way it is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ophelia said through clenched teeth. Though a part of her—a small, faraway part—knew exactly what the woman was talking about.

“My name is Jordan Johnson. I used to dance here.”

Ophelia’s jaw dropped open. Jordan Johnson. One of the Johnsons—the people who own Dario Quincy Academy. Back in the nineties, she had been the best dancer the school had ever seen. She was a legend among all the students in the place—the person Ophelia got compared to the most. Only, rumor said that Jordan had become ill during her senior year. She stopped dancing. No one knew why.

“Did you ever hear stories about why I left the school?”

Ophelia shook her head. “Only that you got ill.”

Jordan nodded. “Yes, that’s right. But my father made sure that no one knew why. You see, he didn’t want to hear any more stories bandied about involving this school.” Her face darkened. “Even if those rumors were true.”

Ophelia wasn’t sure what to say next, half afraid of what Jordan was about to tell her.

Jordan moved closer and clasped Ophelia’s hands. “I left because I was ill. And I was ill because I was Giselle. My father decided to put on the ballet, despite the rumors of the curse. And I, of course, was thrilled to be the lead. I believed I could beat any curse that threatened me or the school.”

Ophelia shifted on her feet as a wave of dizziness washed over her, but she waited it out and kept listening. “I thought the person who did Giselle died that year.”

Jordan shook her head. “No. From what I can tell, the rumors have been a mix of truths and falsehoods for a while. My father couldn’t conceal the fact that he had planned to put on Giselle. Too many people knew about that. However, he did what he could to protect my reputation—or his. To keep me from being part of the legend.”

She went on, her head down. “I was close, though. To death, I mean. It was by sheer luck and love that I didn’t die. Those before me weren’t so fortunate.

“You see, very soon after rehearsals began, I met a boy. A beautiful boy who could dance like no other. And this boy and I would meet every night—every single night—to dance Giselle. Never before in my life had I felt such beauty. Never had I felt like I belonged to someone else. Never before had I been in love.”

Ophelia’s face burned. She dreaded whatever would come out next.

“Have you been dancing with Devon, Ophelia?”

Ophelia backed up into the cabinet and heard glass break. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” she said. “You don’t know him!”

She searched for her bag and for the exit. She had to get out of there.

Jordan spoke quickly. “He is not from this world, Ophelia. He will kill you if he can! He is killing you. Look at yourself! Stop dancing before it’s too late!”

Ophelia found her bag and started to sprint. She heard Jordan yell behind her, “Read my diary! You’ll see!”

But Ophelia was already out the door. She turned sharply and ran right into someone. Kayley looked up at her from the floor with worried eyes. Ophelia shook her head and ran down the nearest staircase, tears spilling over her cheeks. She made it to the kitchen of the house, hiding herself between the big industrial refrigerators. The cold made her feel good. Made her feel like she was with Devon.

Her crying turned into dry heaves.

She had to find Devon tonight. She had to make sure she was the only one, that what that woman had said wasn’t true. She had to. She felt like her life depended on it.