Chapter 2

“One, two, three, one, two, three, legs up ladies, stomachs in—Kayley, if I see you drop that leg one more time, I swear I will cut it off—and up and two and attitude, onto pointe and …”

Madeleine warmed up on the side of the class, stretching her leg on the barre and putting head to knee, all the while watching her new ballet mistress, Madame Puant, work the classroom. Madeleine had met Madame Puant once before, of course, when Madame had seen her audition for the scholarship position. But seeing Madame Puant up close, seeing the talent in the room … well, Madeleine’s heart dropped. In her old class, she had been far and away the best. The new class would be a very different story. She touched her mother’s antique gold necklace, thumbing the silhouette of the grand jeté, and willed herself to calm down.

Four girls did center work as the rest of the class warmed up and stretched. Groups of girls huddled together and whispered—about Madeleine, she could tell. Boys peppered the room here or there. Madeleine had never seen so many guys in a ballet class before. In her hometown, hardly any boys would be caught dead dancing ballet—even though it was one of the most challenging physical activities a body could do, as she’d been happy to tell them. A surge of excitement shot through her. Finally, here she was at a real ballet school.

Madame Puant tapped the piano. “Thank you, Patrick. Per usual, your playing is exquisite. We’ll do full company center work now, two groups.” She peered from below her eyelids around the room, sizing up every person inside. Madeleine felt herself shrink a little.

Madame pointed to eleven different girls and boys and then to Madeleine. “You are group one. The rest are group two.”

One girl in Madeleine’s group, beautiful and tall, with a perfect ballet body and long neck, stared at her with narrowed eyes. The girl and three of her friends—Madeleine could already tell these were the belles of the ball—moved to the front of the room. Madeleine took her place behind them.

Madame Puant clapped her hands. “Group one. Let’s begin with the following: Start in fifth, prepare out, plié, arabesque en pointe to attitude, fourth, then pique pirouette, pirouette, pirouette, back to fifth, relevé, and down …”

Madeleine was amazed at the sheer number of directions Madame listed off just for the center work. She looked around to see if her group seemed to catch it all, and everyone seemed engaged. Some shadowed the words with the moves. Sweat trickled down Madeleine’s spine. She did two nervous pliés in first and one relevé just as the pianist began to play. Suddenly, Madeleine felt all eyes on her. She knew as the new girl, she would be scrutinized. This was her first time to dance in front of everyone. She touched her necklace for luck.

But as the first notes tinkled out, as usual, the music took her over and she didn’t need luck. Madame’s directions came to her like waves on the sea. She hit every move and felt every position, delighting in the way she could propel her body, double-checking the mirror to make sure she was hitting the steps. Her foot in arabesque needed a bigger turnout, but otherwise, she felt good about the exercise. In the mirror, the tall girl glared at her once again, and Madeleine, comfortable in her dance, stared back, keeping her expression friendly.

“Group two now.” As Madeleine moved out of the way, she thought she saw Madame Puant give her a little approving smile. She smiled to herself. Maybe this would work after all.

Madeleine tried not to notice the tall girl and her group look at her and whisper. As she leaned down toward the barre, she felt different pairs of eyes on her. She looked out the open classroom door and saw two adults, one woman and one man, standing outside, whispering furiously to each other.

Their eyes were wide and scared. The man’s white button-down shirt was untucked, disheveled, his tie askew. The woman wore a long, flowing skirt and kept her hair tied in a bun. She pushed up her glasses and looked away from the practice room. The man continued to stare at Madeleine.

Madeleine stood straight up, and her leg fell off the barre with a clunk. A burst of giggles came from the group of girls across from her. Madeleine blushed and wished she could disappear. When she looked outside the classroom door again, the adults were gone.

“Group one again. Same sequence. Add bourrées to the center, then after the sequence running jeté, jeté, jeté, grand jeté, pirouette out, yes? Space appropriately and go.” Madeleine barely had time to get in line before the music started. Once again, the tall gorgeous girl who kept giving her the stink eye stood in front of her. The girl’s silky, beautifully bunned head turned, and the gorgeous girl gave Madeleine a wicked smile.

“Don’t crowd me, newbie,” she whispered. The music started, and the line began to move.

Madeleine shook it off and let the music take her over. She gave the girl in front of her plenty of room, then started her routine. She bourréed to the center and then performed the sequence flawlessly, flipping her arms without thinking to the correct positions, making beautiful curves in the mirror. When the time came for her grand jeté, Madeleine pliéd and then exploded, throwing her legs out in a straight split high in the air, her arms and back curved in a perfect arc. She loved the grand jeté and the feeling it gave her.

And then she landed. Right on the back foot of the girl in front of her.

Madame Puant’s voice rang through the music: “Ophelia, switch with Madeleine for the next sequence. Madeleine’s jeté is better.”

There was a gasp from the rest of the room. For the second time that day, Madeleine wished she could disappear. Madame continued counting for the next group, “One, two, three, tak-tak-tak and a …”

The girl, Ophelia, evidently, spun around and hissed, “I told you not to crowd me, you freak.”

Ophelia’s face was bright red. A knotted strand of hair had come out of her bun. Madeleine had a feeling that Ophelia rarely got corrected.

Ophelia stared at Madeleine’s necklace and snorted. “Nice necklace. They don’t have style where you come from?”

Now it was Madeleine’s turn to go red. And before she could help herself, she said, “They don’t have ballet lessons where you come from?”

She had to fight putting her hands over her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d said it.

Ophelia’s eyes went wide, and she stepped forward. But before anything could be done, Madame’s voice echoed around the room. “OK, now full jumps, two at a time, group one—Madeleine, Ophelia, and go.”

As Madeleine took her place, she heard Ophelia say, “You’ll be sorry for that. You better watch yourself, new girl.”

Madeleine jumped as far and as high away from her as she could manage.