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I tried to get my life back on track, starting with dance class, which I usually had at least four days a week after school. This was my first step back to normal, and I wanted it to be, well, normal. A normal day, a normal class. Maybe if I kept repeating the word it would become real.
The last couple of days had forced me to skip, and I was more than a little anxious when I pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio. It was just down the coast, in a cute, bohemian beach town called Santa Luna. Someday I’d take the time to explore more than the studio and the attached theatre.
I walked inside, and joined the other students already warming up at the barre. I knew my eagle-eyed dance instructor, Madame Chloe, would immediately notice the bandage on my forearm, even with the attempt to hide it under my oversized warm up sweater. The woman never missed a thing.
Whether she said anything—or worse, put me on the sidelines right before the most important auditions of our winter performance season—had my nerves humming.
She could order me out, with no second chance. It would be the last straw for me. I'd endured this abuse for three years, because she was the best, and I would have to drive for an hour to get even close to the same level of master class.
So I hid at the back of the studio, doing my warm ups with my right side facing the door, and hoped for the best.
The tap tap of her stick warned us just before she appeared in the doorway. “Good afternoon, my beautiful dancers.” I let out a breath. She was in a good mood today. “The auditions for A Midsummer Night’s Dream are next weekend. In preparation, and to test your progress, today we will be dancing in the dark.”
Some of the students groaned. I just closed my eyes, knowing she'd see my injury now. Especially if I slammed my arm into someone during a blind pirouette.
Dancing in the dark, as Madame Chloe so charmingly called it, was her own invention. Everyone danced in the dark room, wearing a blindfold, in order to better feel their partner's space, their rhythm. I've gotten more than one black eye out of the experience, and a nasty fall when my former partner decided to do a lift without any warning.
Oh, yeah—so looking forward to this.
Madame Chloe tapped her stick on the floor. “Partners, please.” We paired up, and Madame started passing out the blindfolds. She paused next to me, her voice quiet, an unusual state for her. “I will know the reason for the bandage on your arm, Alexandrea.” I held my breath. “After class. And I will be watching closely.”
I nodded, letting out my breath when she kept moving. Ricky, my partner for the last six months, draped an arm over my shoulders. “I'll be careful with you, my beautiful dancer.” I muffled a laugh at his spot on imitation of Madame's voice. “We'll do our pas de deux, okay?”
I nodded, relief easing my clenched muscles. Ricky was a great partner, and we had been practicing the pas de deux all summer in prep for the auditions. We seriously wanted to dance the roles of Titania and Oberon, together. Today would give Madame Chloe a preview.
Ricky helped me with my blindfold, since lifting my arm still hurt. Thankfully it wasn't my dominant arm, and most of our choreography had me leading with the right. I heard the light switch click, and the pale glow that filtered through the thick blindfold disappeared. Ricky took my hand, moved closer, so I'd know where he was.
Madame Chloe's voice rang out. “You will listen to Madame Chloe, focus on my voice. Now move, and feel your partner—keep your eyes closed, let the blindfold do its work. Listen, sense, touch. Find them, dance with them. You do not need to see to know. Now, to your partners!”
Feet shuffled, and more than one curse cut through the tense silence. We would dance without music, hearing the music of our hearts, as Madame so poetically told us. I turned, my left hand finding Ricky's waist, my feet between his.
We had practiced blind dancing a couple of times, sure that Madame would throw it at us before auditions week. I just didn't expect to have a bum arm when it happened.
I felt Ricky's curly hair brush my cheek. “Let me do the heavy lifting, chica.”
“Okay.”
He counted down from four in my ear—and lifted me, as smooth and easy as he did in rehearsals. “Going down now,” he whispered.
And that’s when it all went sideways.
My left forearm smacked against Ricky’s shoulder, right on the stitches. The pain shooting up my arm distracted me enough that I lost my balance. Ricky must have felt me tipping—the hand meant to help slapped into my already screaming arm and I hit the floor.
“Alex—” He touched my cheek, then took off my blindfold. “Are you okay, chica?”
Madame Chloe spoke from across the studio before I could answer.
“Alexandrea, Ricky—you are excused for the day.”
My heart skipped, then tried to jump into my throat.
Ricky’s angry voice echoed around us. “You shouldn’t have forced her to do this estúpido exercise when you knew she was hurt!”
“Ricky.” I didn’t want anyone to know. Too late now.
All the other students were staring at my arm. I looked down, and saw blood spreading across my sleeve. Fabulous.
Madame stood, her cane tapping as she stalked over to us.
“You, boy, are impudent, overbearing, completely heathen—and more talented than you should be. I dismissed you,” she knelt, and shocked the breath out of me when she touched my hand, her expression almost—kind. Madame Chloe didn’t do kind—at least not to her students. “Because for you, boy, class is over for today. And for you, Alexandrea,” I braced myself for her next words, my gut already knowing what she was about to say. She didn’t disappoint. “This performance season is over, until spring.”
I closed my eyes, tried to block out Ricky’s furious voice as he argued with her, and the stares I knew were directed at me from the other dancers.
In one second, I was benched for the rest of the winter season.
So much for normal.