| |
Taryn
I GET SOME SLEEP BEFORE my alarm goes off at 7.30, but I’m not rested. My dreams were filled with Helena, my brain imagining what she’d look like now, if the bad things hadn’t happened.
If I hadn’t caused the bad things.
No. I swallow hard. I didn’t cause it. Not like how some people think, anyway. Adelaide James wrote articles on me, painting me as a murderer. The deadly ballerina. Who will be her next victim? But none of that was true. Yet I still feel guilty. Because I feel like I did cause it, on some level. Just not in the intentional and direct way that Adelaide James made out that I did.
I’m sorry, I want to say to Helena. But I promise I’m doing all I can, living for the both of us.
I like to think she’s not angry, looking down at me. That she knows it was an accident, but I can never shake the feeling that she is watching me, making sure I’m doing everything right, now.
“You coming?” Sibylle asks. “To breakfast?”
I nod and plaster a smile on my face. Barring one time when I apparently whispered her name in my sleep—most likely during a nightmare—I don’t talk about Helena. Of course, after that night, Sibylle asked me who she was, but I shrugged and said I didn’t know. I can’t have anyone asking questions. She’s my secret—my guilt—and she has to stay that way.
Ivelisse has already left the dorm, so it’s just me and Sibylle heading downstairs. Alma is at the canteen, eating a fruit salad very slowly and carefully with a spoon. Sibylle and I join her, and I grab some toast. They ask me if I’ve heard from Teddy, and I update them. But there’s a twisting feeling in my gut as I check my phone again. He still hasn’t responded to my message about my new partner.
“He’ll be jealous,” Sibylle says with a shrug. “I mean, he’s a man, right?”
“Jealous?” I laugh. “Teddy definitely wouldn’t be jealous.”
“Yeah, you’re not even together, right?” Alma asks, waving a chunk of apple at me. “Or have you been hooking up secretly?” Her eyes suddenly glisten. “Wait, you’re not the pregnant one, right?”
I snort. “Definitely not the pregnant one.” Teddy and I have never done anything remotely romantic or sexual—beyond dancing together, that is, as Madame is always telling us how the best romantic duets are filled with romantic and sexual tension.
But the thought of me and Teddy being together in any way like that makes me uneasy. The thought of being with anyone makes me uneasy—even if at times I feel like I should want a relationship. Like it would make things easier. But I’m lucky Teddy is aroace, too. I can’t imagine how much harder it might’ve been to dance with him otherwise.
Oh God. Mr. Ngo. Chances are he won’t be aroace, and now I’ll be dancing with him for eight weeks—no, longer. Mr. Vikas is certain we’ll be accepted into the company either this fall or next summer.
“Guess it really is one of the blond twins who’s pregnant then,” Alma says with a shrug.
Pregnant. I don’t know why but the word has always made me uncomfortable. I mean even the whole concept of pregnancy, of growing an actual human inside your own body, having life distort you into new shapes, makes me shudder. I know for a fact I never want to be pregnant. I told Teddy that once and he was surprised, saying he’d always wanted to have a family—that wanting to conceive with his partner would be a reason he’d actually have sex. He’d looked at me, like he’d expected me to say the same, but I didn’t. I told him I couldn’t ever imagine myself having sex, for whatever reason, because I’m sex-repulsed. It’s not something I ever want to do. He then he asked me if I was maternal at all and suggested I could adopt in order to avoid having sex, like he couldn’t possibly fathom that I wouldn’t want kids somehow. But I told him no, that I’ve never felt that desire to raise children. I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t want kids though—aroace or not. You read all sorts of articles online about how having a family ‘completes you,’ but there are always many comments from people disagreeing—whether it’s because they don’t want children themselves or can’t have them. I know I’m not unusual in that sense, in my preference for not wanting to reproduce, but Teddy just looked at me like I was crazy then.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind when you’re older,” he’d said, and it had annoyed me.
I mean, I know why he said it, because I know he wants children at some point, because he talks about a family in the future where babies are present, but his belief that I will inevitably change my mind really got to me. Like he thinks he understands my future better than I do. I was sure that if a guy had said what I’d said, no one would’ve suggested he’d change his mind.
Now, as we eat breakfast, Alma and Sibylle gossip about pregnancy and sex, and I just try and go along with it and pretend like I too am excited by such talk. I mean, I don’t mind them talking about sex. I’m sex-favorable when it concerns others, so long as they’re consenting adults, of course. I’m just repulsed as soon as the idea of sex includes me. It does get a bit difficult at times though, especially when they ask me direct questions. They know I’ve never had a boyfriend, but, before, I haven’t really corrected them when they’ve alluded that maybe Teddy and I are sort-of together. It’s easier to do that, to conform to societal expectations and not draw attention to yourself. Especially when you don’t know how people might react. By the time breakfast is over, I’m glad.
I’ve not got the first practice with Mr. Ngo until this afternoon, but I want to spend my morning wisely. I’ll call in at the company’s choreography office to familiarize myself with the new routines I’ll be performing and properly meet Evangeline, the third-division choreographer, and then I’ll also get used to the company buildings with their studios. Apparently, they're much grander than what I’ve been dancing in thus far. I could even fit in some solo training before Mr. Ngo arrives.
The only times I’ve been in the company buildings until now were when I was running errands for Madame or Rai-Ann or having fittings for costumes. The company always has its own seamstress, and its current one, Allie, joined last year, replacing the elderly lady who’d been the seamstress for thirty-one years. Allie is a lot less scary. I decide to visit her first.
As I step into the main company building, I pass the company’s principal dancer, Netty Florence Stone. She walks like how she dances—with flowing lines, elegance, and her head held high. She doesn’t acknowledge me as I pass. Maybe she doesn’t know me. Or maybe she wouldn’t bother herself with someone who might not even join the company.
I reach the costumes room—a long, corridor-like room with rails and rails of clothes and rows of pointe shoes: Gaynor Minden, Bloch, Repetto, Grishko, and so many other brands. The room is divided into sections that are labeled with the names of the company dancers. I allow myself to have a little daydream about my name being on the wall—Taryn Foster would look good. And it should be there, Madame had said to me.
Then it hits me that I won’t be working with Madame Cachelle anymore. Mr. Ngo and I will be working with Mr. Vikas, the third-division ballet master, and Evangeline. And maybe some other staff too. Ballet teachers and assistants. Jitters fill me, and, suddenly, I want to just turn and run back to the safety of the school, the warm embrace of Madame, and familiarity.
But I don’t. This is what I wanted. Even if I thought I wouldn’t be making this transition without Teddy.
At the end of the costumes department is Allie’s office. I knock on the mahogany door.
“Come in.”
Allie’s heard about Teddy—of course she has—because the moment I step inside, she tells me what a tragedy it is that he was injured. “But at least you’ve still got a chance.” She gives a wide smile as she wheels herself across the room. “And it’s so lovely of you to want to pop in and see me first.” She reaches for a box on a shelf and then sets it on her lap. It’s about the size of a shoebox, and she heads toward me before opening the box.
I gasp as I see what’s inside it: a gold, metal star. She offers it to me.
“No, I’m...” My voice wavers. “I’m not supposed to take it yet.”
Every new graduating couple gets given two gold stars when they join the company. It’s always the seamstress who gives them at Roseheart because the company acknowledges that half of the performance is in the costume, and the previous seamstress started the tradition.
“Nonsense,” Allie says. “You’ll make it. I know you will.”
I give a small smile. Nerves are already getting the better of me; part of me just can’t believe I’m here. I don’t know what to say now.
“Take it, then.”
I take the gold star. It’s heavier than I expected. A lot heavier. And it makes me think of Helena, my twin sister. When we were little, Helena had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars all over her side of the room. She loved those stars; said they foretold the future as the both of us were going to be stars.
My throat tightens. Helena always wanted to be a dancer—and I did too, of course, but ballet was her idea first. And because we were twins, we did everything together.
Until we didn’t.
“Now, I need to get your measurements. Give Amanda a holler, will you? She can help me. She should just be just out there.” Allie gestures vaguely toward the costume room.
Feeling like none of this is real, I head back out and sure enough there is a woman out there. She looks at me, stony-faced.
“You better not mess up this chance.” Her voice is clipped. “This has never been done before and as you and your partner will be training with professionals, it’s expected that you’ll both be up to our standard for the tour. If not, Mr. Vikas will not be happy. He’ll have wasted all this time and money on you.”
I nod and tell her how grateful I am for the opportunity. She just snorts.
Getting measured up by Amanda and Allie doesn’t settle my nerves at all. I know I’m taller than most ballet dancers and I’m curvier too, but Amanda doesn’t even try to hide her disdain when she writes down my size. I try not to let it get to me.
It’s a relief when it’s over, and I escape to explore the rest of the buildings before Mr. Ngo arrives. I find where the practice studios are and the choreography office. There’s a small café tucked behind the last studio, and then there are a series of larger studios. A plaque on the wall points left for medical and right for administration. Upstairs are studios 14 to 18 and in the next building across a courtyard are four large ballrooms and the two grand theatres.
I skirt around the ballroom building and find the accommodation block for the company dancers and staff. It’s set back a little way, but it looks welcoming. I cross the small grassy area and smile as I see a rose bed. I love roses, and, suddenly, I have dreams of how I’ll soon be living in this block, once Mr. Ngo and I have succeeded in securing placements and jobs at the company, and my room will overlook the beautiful roses.
I push open the door of the accommodation block—and come face to face with four dancers. They’re beautiful. Of course they are. All elegant limbs and delicate features and perfect make up. They’re dressed in tracksuits, but I’m sure they’ve got leotards and tights and maybe legwarmers underneath. Each woman carries a pair of pointe shoes and a water bottle. They stop dead when they see me though.
“What are you doing?” the one nearest me asks. Her voice is like a tropical rainfall.
“Hi,” I say, offering a smile. “I’m Taryn.”
“You can’t come in here,” she says.
“Oh, I was just looking around,” I say.
“Around?”
“Yeah, the studios. The offices. That sort of thing. I’m Taryn Foster.”
The woman nearest me rolls her perfectly-eyelined eyes. “Don’t make yourself at home, girl. You’re not one of us yet, and I doubt you ever will be, not when you’re getting a new partner now. So do yourself a favor and leave us to rehearse on the tour alone. We don’t need you messing anything up. And we sure as hell don’t need to be getting used to you, only for you to let us down.”
My eyes smart. “Oh, I... Sorry.” My voice is a pathetic squeak.
“And you need to go,” another of them says. “Only company dancers are allowed in here.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands and the others laugh. “And you’re making us late for our job. Off your go.”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat as I stare at them. They can’t actually mean what they’re saying. Only, it appears they do.
I turn away, my shoulders curling. Their laughter rings out behind me.