| |
Taryn
AN HOUR LATER, EVERYONE seems to have decided the pregnant girl is one of the blond twins in year nine because those two are always going out with guys who look way too old for them—like, seriously, these men even wait at the school’s gates for them, and it’s a bit creepy, men in their twenties waiting for their teenage girlfriends to get out of school.
“I can’t believe the board hasn't done anything about that yet,” Ivelisse says with a yawn. “It’s creepy.”
“What can they do though?” Xavier asks. “Those guys look scary. And even though the school gives us the code of conduct and we have to sign the rules and stuff, they can’t actually tell us what we can do in our spare time, only say what will happen if pregnancy happens.”
“Yeah, but if they’re underage,” Freya says. “And year nine is what? Fourteen? Fifteen? God, I can never remember now. Seems like so long ago. But they should do something.”
“Yeah. It’s illegal,” Sibylle says.
Several of us nod in agreement, and I check my phone again. Still nothing from Teddy.
“It’s so unfair though that this girl’s going to lose her opportunity here,” I say. And “And the guy too, if he’s a student here.” Because it’s not just a ‘have the baby and come back later’ kind of deal. It’s a ‘you’re pregnant and you leave us forever’ deal.
Sibylle’s frowning deeply and looks like she’s about to say something, but the lounge door creaks open. It’s Rainie, Madame’s assistant. She looks around for a moment, then her eyes fall on me. She beckons for me to get up. I do and cross the room.
“They want to see you in the boardroom,” she says, her voice low.
They? I frown, but Rainie doesn’t say anything more.
I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I leave the lounge and follow Rainie. My heart hammers all the way.
The door to the boardroom is open, and Madame is just a foot or so inside. “Ah, there you are. Come in.”
At the board’s table, the other ballet teachers are there along with Mr. Aleks, Miss Tavi, Mr. Vikas, and the management team for the company. I know most of them by face, but there are a couple of people I do not recognize. I bow my head to them all.
“Please, sit down,” Mr. Vikas says.
I sit.
“Taryn, my gem, we have received word from the hospital,” Madame says, and then she pauses, and my head is pounding and my heart is squeezing as I wait for her to say something. But the pause goes on and on—who the hell pauses this long?—and I start to wonder if that rat was right. Have they called me in to tell me that Teddy is dead?
A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it, but saliva goes down the wrong way, and I choke. My eyes stream, and I’m spluttering as one of the women I don’t know rises and gets me a glass of water—seemingly out of nowhere.
I gulp it back, and it makes me nauseous. Oh God, I don’t want them to say the words.
“I’m afraid Teddy has sustained a severe concussion and a broken nose—which he’s just had surgery for. But initial scans have also indicated a previously unidentified, serious heart condition.” Madame’s voice is sincere.
A serious heart condition? I gulp again—because that seems to be about all I can do now—and stare at her, stare at them all. Visions of Teddy strapped up to heart monitors and beeping machines that write spiky graphs on crinkly paper fill me. They’re so at odds with my other visions of Teddy—his lean, muscular body, how he can lift me with no problem, how he goes to the gym seven days a week, how health conscious he is—it just doesn’t seem right. Or real. How can Teddy of all people have a heart condition?
“Is he...is he going to be okay?” My voice is barely audible. I am shaking. I mean, the heart’s pretty important. But isn’t dance supposed to reduce your chance of heart problems? Still, maybe that advice assumes that the dance is moderate. What we do isn’t moderate. It is intense. It’s our lives. It’s always been our lives.
“He is in a stable condition at the present time,'' Mr. Vikas says. “We believe there is however a question of whether it will be safe for him to dance again at any level, let alone ours, given the high impact nature of ballet.”
“And we have no doubt, Miss Foster,” Miss Tavi says, her doleful eyes on me, “that you would’ve won the place on the tour with our company, should it not have been for Mr. Walker's accident. We have had our eyes on you for a long time. As you know, you’re the strongest female dancer in the graduating year. We have two spots available, and as you also know, the two who join must be partners. Mr. Walker is not going to heal in time, if at all. And you and Mr. Walker are partners.”
I frown. “Well, I already know I can’t join as a solo dancer.” Unless they’re going to make an exception. Because Roseheart is the only company I know of that doesn’t accept solo dancers.
“That is also correct,” Miss Tavi says.
Next to me, Madame clasps her hands together. Her silver rings flash under the harsh neon light-strips.
I frown. Have they brought me in here just to rub it in? They could’ve easily just updated me on Teddy’s condition outside the lounge. They didn’t need to have the whole board watching my reaction and witnessing my disappointment over my own future.
Miss Tavi clears her throat. “We have two months of training before this year’s fall tour starts, and we have to decide today which of the graduates will join us—we always decide on the evening of the grand ballet so we have adequate time to train our new dancers for the tour. And this is where we have a problem. We want you, Miss Foster, and Mr. Walker was by far the strongest of our male dancers. We have discussed it at length, and even the next best would not be a suitable companion for your ability.”
I don’t break eye contact with Miss Tavi, just wait for her to continue. Because she has to be about to say something, something important. Else why bring me in here at all?
“There is one option. The Paris Ballet School.”
My heart sinks. A position there as a soloist? “Thank you, but I’d rather —”
“Let me finish.” Miss Tavi’s voice is clipped. “The Paris Ballet School has a dancer who is of exceptional quality. Mr. Ngo graduated a year ago, but then when he was about to audition for a company, he surprised everyone and switched to a teacher-training course instead, so he never entered any company, though he never completed the teacher-training either. Madame Troisière tells me that he has now changed his mind again and wishes again to dance professionally. And he has no female partner.”
My head spins. “So, I could partner with him?” I ask, breathless. A dancer joining the Roseheart Company who wasn’t trained at our academy is unheard of—but is this one tradition they are willing to break? It has to be, if they’re telling me about it. And the Paris Ballet School has a good reputation. Several of the ballet teachers here either did some training there or were in their company before they turned to teaching. “Yes, I’ll do it, definitely.”
I know I shouldn’t be so eager. I don’t even know who this dancer is. I’ve no idea if we’ll complement each other, because some dancers just don’t. And the Paris Ballet School follows the French ballet style—different to the English. I mean, he’ll be able to adapt, I’m sure—Alma was classically trained at a French school for two years after she moved from Germany, and she had to take classes at Roseheart for a whole year before she could start the diploma here, to really get used to the English style. The difference isn’t as big as some of the other ballet styles—Vaganova and the Royal Academy of Dance probably have the biggest style difference. But trying to do all this and dance well together in time for the fall tour, well, that’s almost a ridiculous goal. But if this is the only chance? And Mr. Ngo has to be better than the other male graduates here, for the company to suggest it.
“We will run the lead up to the fall tour a little differently this time,” Miss Tavi says. “While, usually, we’d have welcomed our chosen graduates to the company by now and have contracts signed, we will take both you and Mr. Ngo on immediately but on a more temporary basis.”
Temporary? My heart pounds. But this is better than nothing.
“You will train together for the tour. And with the rest of the company dancers. The fall tour is A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and the two of you will do a pas de deux for it and also be background dancers within at least two other scenes. You have eight weeks to work together on this and learn how to be partners. At the end of the eight weeks, if we are happy that you together uphold our standards in a final assessment on August 26th, we will officially welcome you to Roseheart and you will join us formally and have contracts issued—I’m told, Miss Foster, that your eighteenth birthday isn’t until the end of August, so you’d still need a guardian’s signature on it, too, for those few days.”
I nod.
“Then that would give us a week between permanent contracts being issued and the tour starting.”
“But if the two of you do not pass the final assessment,” Madame says, “you will both return here. You will have another year to work together, and with the next year of graduating dancers, you will perform in the Grand Show, competing for acceptance into Roseheart’s Company.”
They’re looking at me. Everyone is looking at me. “Oh, right. So, the understudies aren’t being selected?” I don’t know why I’m saying this, like I’m trying to put the idea in their minds.
“Understudies are chosen if the lead couple do not perform adequately in the final show, or if one of the leads chooses not to accept the contract with us, and if we are satisfied with the understudies’ performance quality,” Mr. Vikas says. “But you performed well, Miss Foster, and Mr. Walker’s performance was out of his control. We want you. You are a better dancer than your understudy, and we believe that you may still be a better dancer with Mr. Ngo than the pair of understudies are. You’re quite talented, Miss Foster, and we are willing to give you this chance.”
Miss Tavi looks at me. “Do you accept it?”
I can hardly breathe. “Yeah, of course. I’ll do it. We will do it.” Me and this Mr. Ngo, whoever he is.
Tight-lipped smiles are exchanged. Maybe it’s not just the dancers who can’t smile properly.
“There is one small matter to address, Miss Foster,” Mr. Aleks says, speaking for the first time. His voice is light and fluttery. “I need your assurance that should you and Mr. Ngo not make it to the tour this year, that you will indeed do another year’s training here. Which includes another year’s fees. We have heard from Madame Troisière that Mr. Ngo has confirmed he will do this, as his intention is to dance in our company. We want him and we want you. If not this year, then next. We cannot have you two dancing for eight weeks together, if you’re then not going to return to the school for the next year. It simply wouldn’t be fair on Mr. Ngo, expecting him to get used to yet another dance partner, and you are matched to his ability whereas the other girls are not. So, in that case, we’d admit you next year alongside the top duo of next year’s third years.”
Two couples being admitted in one year. Wow. They must really want me. They’re giving me this chance now, and if Mr. Ngo and I don’t manage it, we also have a chance next year. I daren’t ask what would happen should we fail next year.
I can’t even think of that possibility.
“Of course,” I say. “I agree. Yes.”
“You’ll have no issues paying the fees?” Madame’s eyebrows are raised. She knows how I struggled to get the funding for this year in time.
“We need your word, Miss Foster, that you can pay the fees for an extra year—because in all likelihood that is how long it’ll take you and Mr. Ngo to dance fluently together. The eight-week thing is a last chance because the company wants you for their Midsummer tour. But it’s not a guarantee.”
“Of course not. I can pay for next year.” Another year here? My heart pounds. It won’t come to that. It won’t. Somehow, I’ll get in. I have to. I’ll get onto the fall tour, and then I also won’t have lied to my mum either.
“Excellent!” Mr. Vikas says, clasping his hands together. “In that case, meet me outside Studio 4 tomorrow at 1pm. We’ll do a Saturday session. It will be your first practice with Mr. Ngo. He will be arriving at the airport shortly before then, but Madame Troisière assures me he’ll be ready for training upon immediate arrival at Roseheart.”