Chapter 7

In ballet class that Monday, Ophelia was on cloud nine again. She and Devon danced the entire weekend, ending with a kiss that made Ophelia shiver every time she thought about it. Part of her wondered if that was because of his always-cold hands, but she knew it was because of something else: she was falling in love.

Ophelia stayed far away from Kayley, Madeleine, Sophie, and Emma during practice, but she could still notice their quick glances and their worried expressions.

As Ophelia relaced her shoe, hanging back from the center of the room for the third time, Madeleine tiptoed toward her. When Ophelia stood up, she was face-to-face with Madeleine’s worried, kind eyes. Darkness threatened to overtake Ophelia—she must have stood up too fast. But the darkness receded into little points of light, and she looked at Madeleine impatiently.

“What?” she whispered to Madeleine, in no mood to deal with whatever nonsense Madeleine was going to spout.

“We’re worried about you,” Madeleine whispered back.

Ophelia’s eyes turned cold. “I don’t need your worry.” She flipped around to the barre and worked her leg high up behind her, kicking it out and staring at the mirror in front of her so she wouldn’t have to look at Madeleine.

Mirror-Madeleine looked helplessly at the girls across the room. Ophelia felt bad for just a moment. Then Madeleine’s turn to dance came, and she toed her way to the stage.

Ophelia decided just to note all the looks the girls gave her or gave one another about her for further diary entries. She could document their jealousy in the pages of the diary. Then she’d have a date with Devon that was untainted by her frustration with her friends. What kind of friends were they, anyway? To not give her space when she needed it? She would have to find a way to avoid them more often, if that were possible.

Ophelia was relieved to see that Madeleine didn’t come back toward her once she’d run off the stage. The corps danced on. Ophelia continued to stretch at the barre, getting ready to dance Giselle’s death scene. As she bent over her knee to keep limber, a wave of blackness swept in. Dizziness overtook her. She stood up slowly, feeling her heartbeat thumping hard.

She took deep breaths, willing the dizziness to go away. This was one of Ophelia’s favorite scenes to dance—no way was she going to miss it.

Madame Puant waved the corps off the stage and called to Patrick to play the death scene. She looked at Ophelia and said, “All right. Are you ready?”

Ophelia nodded, aware that all eyes were on her. Madame squinted at her, a look of concern passing over her face. Ophelia gathered herself up and took center stage, fighting back the darkness that still lingered in her peripheral vision.

Patrick started the music, and the feeling of the dance took Ophelia over. Everything she felt for Devon came through in her movements. She thought of the agony of losing him and tears almost started flowing. She used that pain, converting all the sadness, loneliness, and despair into a haunting performance. In that moment, Ophelia was Giselle.

As she came out of a particularly hard turn, she caught a glimpse of someone in the open studio door. A woman, stately and well dressed, stared at her with an intensity that could rival Madame. The woman wore a long, tailored coat and small diamond earrings. Her hair was tied back in a severe twist. Her dark eyes held on to Ophelia’s until Ophelia forgot where she was and snapped her out of her reverie.

In that moment, the room went black. The last thing she heard was a voice say, “She’s falling.”