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Taryn
I MEET JAIDEV AT THE appointed studio at 7 a.m. the following morning. Mr. Vikas is already there, and judging by how he’s sitting, legs crossed at a desk at the side of the studio, with a calm countenance and not a hair out of place, he’s been here a while. I glance at the clock. I’m not late. Jaidev’s only just unzipping his orange hoody, revealing his training vest. Alma’s words return to me, and I look at Jaidev. As he takes a swig of water from a sports bottle, he doesn’t look like a psychopath—and I’m pretty sure him being here while his parent is in hospital doesn’t make him a psychopath either. But still, Madame Troisière is in hospital. In the dorm last night, Sibylle, Ivelisse, Alma, and I looked up the accident. A vehicular collision, and yet Jaidev is here.
“Are we ready?” Mr. Vikas’s voice makes me jump, and I turn, flustered. “Then let’s warm up.”
I put my duffel bag at the side of the studio and then adjust my shoes. Whereas I wore Repettos for the Romeo and Juliet performance, I now have one of my pairs of Grishkos on. I pretty much stick to these two brands, and this particular pair I’ve been dancing in for nearly five weeks now. They’re my comfiest pointes at the moment, customized just right, but they are softening a bit. I baked them in the oven for a bit, a few nights ago, in preparation for what I hoped would be my first practice with Roseheart Romantic Dance Company as a professional, as one of them. I always find baking them works better for me than the hardening spray, in extending their life.
I settle myself at the barre. My reflection stares back at me. The barres in the academy studios aren’t by mirrors, but these are. It’s disconcerting, having myself watch me. Judging me.
Jaidev joins me at the barre, three feet along. He looks casual and relaxed. I look...well, scared. And nervous. And like I’m trying too hard. Jaidev looks much more relaxed, like he’s at home here, comfortable.
I glance at Mr. Vikas, feeling my face heat up. The mirror confirms how red I’m going. I hadn’t realized Mr. Vikas was going to be here for mine and Jaidev’s first dance.
Mr. Vikas instructs us on our warmup and then asks to see some movements. “Solo. Taryn first,” he says.
I breathe a sigh of relief that we’re still dancing solo for now—for some reason having an audience makes me even more uncomfortable about my first dance with Jaidev than actually going first for a solo, with both of them watching me—but there’s not much time to pause, because then I’m demonstrating an arabesque, as instructed by Mr. Vikas
“Extend the working leg more,” Mr. Vikas says. “And now let’s see that foot”—he points at my supporting leg, the one I’m standing on—“in demi-pointe.”
I shift my position, so I am standing on the ball of my foot, rather than being flat or en pointe.
“Good,” he croons.
Mr. Vikas asks to see allegros, and I perform my best assemblé, sauté, and soubresaut. Once I’ve done these three, there’s a pause, and I wonder if I should also do some of the other allegro moves, but then he nods.
“Entrechat quatre and fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, please.”
Fouetté rond de jambe en tournant makes me want to laugh. Whenever Teddy heard that phrase, he’d roll his eyes. “Us normal folk just say fouetté,” he’d say. “Makes them sound really pompous saying it all.”
But it doesn’t sound pompous inside the walls of the company. It sounds right, proper. This is professional ballet.
I perform the moves, and this is then followed by the request for a ballotté—not my favorite as the classical movement requires both coupé dessous and small developpés. I struggled with ballottés for a long time when I was younger, trying to perfect the rocking and swinging movement, but now I manage it on the first go, using a ninety-degree leg extension.
“And with forty-five degrees?” Mr. Vikas requests.
I oblige.
He gives me a few more instructions, then nods and turns to Jaidev. “Now, you.”
Mr. Vikas asks Jaidev for assemblé soutenu en tournant before leading into a complex series of combinations. I think Jaidev’s definitely got the harder requests, but he pulls them off well. Only twice does Mr. Vikas correct his arms and adjust his general posture, reminding him, “We’re not in France now.”
Watching Jaidev dance is almost magical. He moves like silk, yet there’s strength to his dance too. No wonder they think we can do this in eight weeks.
I breathe deeply, already knowing the liability is going to be me. Jaidev is amazing. He’s almost inhuman in his ability to become these movements. But we all know it’s a sign of the top dancers. The best ballerinas and danseurs have this ability to transcend the apparent limits of the human body.
“Now, together,” Mr. Vikas says.
My heart pounds as I join Jaidev in the center of the studio. He’s still barefoot. I’m not. After a moment, Mr. Vikas orders Jaidev to get his shoes on too. Jaidev pulls out a pair of soft-soled leather slippers.
Mr. Vikas takes no prisoners as he directs us in our first dance. Jaidev’s hands are hot whenever he touches me, but his grip doesn’t shy away from me. Not how Teddy’s did when we were first paired up. We don’t talk to each other, me and Jaidev, just listen to Mr. Vikas’s instructions.
“Look in the mirror as you dance this part,” Mr. Vikas says. “Notice your lines, the movement. Jaidev, see how Taryn draws out that arm? You need to lean in further. We need symmetry. And, Jaidev, you still look like you’re dancing at the opera. You need to learn this. We haven’t got time for basic errors.”
“I understand,” Jaidev says. “I was just speaking to Madame Cachelle yesterday evening, and she is allowing me to take part in one of her intensive courses on the English style. I will also take extra classes with the Academy’s charactère tutor as I feel that is a current weakness of mine.”
Mr. Vikas just grunts.
We dance for almost an hour before Mr. Vikas announces a break. He disappears out of the door a second later, leaving me and Jaidev out of breath and staring at each other. I push back stray, sweaty tendrils of hair that have escaped my bun. Jaidev reaches for his water, takes four sips. I don’t know why I count them.
I retrieve my own water from my duffel bag, then find myself looking at Jaidev again. There’s something about him that means I can’t take my eyes from him. He just looks so powerful, strong.
“Is... Is it true about your mother?” I ask, and my voice cracks a little. Hastily, I lick my lips. “Is she in hospital?”
Jaidev nods, a crisp and clean movement. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He sits down and takes one shoe off, then grabs plasters and bandages from his rucksack. The knuckle of his big toe is sore and inflamed.
“Oh, uh, I’m sorry.”
“Just dance, okay?” he says, looking up at me. “That’s what we’re here for.” He grimaces as he applies a plaster. “We have to get this right.” His voice is dark, and it... There’s something else in it.
We have to get this right...or else.
No. That’s just me being dramatic. Jaidev’s not mean or anything, is he?
When Mr. Vikas returns and talks us through combinations that feature in Evangeline’s choreography for our pas de deux, I feel so nervous I can hardly remember his words. My dancing is slow and clumsy, and I know he notices. And Jaidev too. He’s grimacing by the end of the practice.
“Well, it’ll take time,” Mr. Vikas says, glaring at me. “And practice.”
Oh, dear lord. It’s laughable, thinking I could manage this with someone who isn’t Teddy. There’s no unity with me and Jaidev. No flow of expression or connection. While Jaidev is amazing on his own, I know we’re not connecting well. The grim look on Mr. Vikas’s face says it all.
“You need to get used to each other. Trust each other. I’ll check in with you in the coming week and get you the actual choreography for the tour. In the meantime, work on your core strength and endurance, Taryn. And keep up with the academy’s pointe classes until we get you transferred to company classes. Jaidev, definitely take those lessons with Madame Cachelle on the English style of ballet. She’s a good instructor.” He dips his head a little. “Be sure to improve by the time of the first assessment, else Miss Tavi and Mr. Aleks won’t be happy—that’ll be around the third week of training.”
I nod, feeling strangely close to tears.
“We will, sir,” Jaidev says.
I nod again, sure my voice will comprise only of squeaks if I try to use it now.
Jaidev turns to me the moment Mr. Vikas leaves. “See you this afternoon? We can get another practice in then, too, before I’ve got my charactère class. I can draw up a timetable and color code it for us—can you let me know when you’ll be doing your pointe training too? And endurance training. It’s good to make a full schedule for all of this. I reckon we can do two full studio practices a day like this, plus specific exercises. And familiarizing ourselves with Roseheart’s vision for A Midsummer Night’s Dream would be helpful, too.”
I just nod. He knows what he’s doing. But I’ve never really scheduled my endurance sessions. They’ve always just been things we’ve done as and when we can. Sibylle and I would go for runs three to four times a week—sometimes with Ivelisse, too—while Teddy and Xavier would spend extra hours in the fitness room and gym, pretty much every day. The only other sessions that we’re scheduled for are the extra classes—pointe and flexibility class for the girls, jumps and strength classes for the boys, and expression for both. I wonder how soon my company classes for pointe and flexibility will start.
Suddenly, it all feels like so much—sure, we had a lot of sessions for the diploma course, but we had two years to make that work. Not eight weeks—and with a new partner. I try not to shake.
Jaidev and I head out into the cool air and automatically I’m walking toward the school buildings. Sibylle and Ivelisse are sitting outside on the steps up to the main block—and just as I reach them, a gaggle of female company dancers step out of the building. Sibylle and Ivelisse move so they can get past. I don’t even know why the company dancers would have been in an academy building. They have everything they could need in their own premises.
The company dancers cast long-lashed glances our way. I recognize two from yesterday. One with long blond hair and another with chestnut locks. Both have bright-red lipstick.
The tallest one—who practically threw me out of the accommodation block yesterday—smirks as she looks at me. Then she turns to the others. “Taryn and Jaidev won’t manage it in eight weeks. She’d been dancing with Teddy for three years. This is just clutching at straws. We should just redesign the choreography of the tour at this stage and write them out.” She speaks loudly, projecting her voice like it’s a performance. Maybe she’s always wanted to speak on stage, but ballet uses our bodies to speak. Not vicious tongues.
Another nods vigorously. “It’s a bit of an insult to all of the other third years who’ve worked so hard for this for years, if they get it after a few weeks of dancing together. I’m sure they must feel that way.”
I freeze. What’s she trying to do? Stir trouble? I glance at Sibylle.
“And,” the first one continues, looking toward Sibylle. “It’s just a kick in the teeth particularly for you, as the understudy.”
Since when do company dancers take note of who the understudies are?
Sibylle shifts a little on the steps, drawing her knees closer to her chest. She looks up at the dancers but doesn’t say anything. Ivelisse is frowning, her mouth slightly open, like she’s trying to work out what these dancers’ game is.
The blond dancer takes a step toward Sibylle and points at her. “That’s what you and your danseur are there for. And you’d have got in, if you weren’t being compared to Taryn. You’re easily as good as last year’s admissions.”
“Hey,” Jaidev starts to say, but she stops him with a glare.
She points again at Sibylle. There’s something predatory about the way she points. “They’re rightfully your places if the lead couple messes up or can’t accept the places, no matter what new rule and extension Mr. Vikas and the board are coming up with. Girl, if I was you, I’d be fuming. Not still being chummy with Taryn. I mean, I’ve seen you chatting and that.”
I stare at her. She’s been watching me?
Sibylle laughs. The sound is too high-pitched and so clearly a sign of how nervous she is. “Taryn and Teddy didn’t mess up though. He got a serious diagnosis.” Then she beckons me over. She’s smiling, revealing her perfect teeth.
My heart pounds as I approach. Jaidev’s following behind me.
The company dancers stare at me. They’re like a pack of hyenas—and they all just seem so much better than me. Prettier, skinnier, more elegant.
But they’re mean, too.
“Babe,” one of them says to Sibylle. “You want to protest this? You should. I mean, we’d have your backs. We’d support you. Just know that. And Jaidev isn’t even a Roseheart graduate.” She speaks like Jaidev isn’t even right here, and that annoys me. “They’re just trying to break too many rules this year. They need reminding that this company has traditions.”
They blow kisses to Sibylle, completely ignoring Ivelisse, and then leave, also ignoring Jaidev and me.
“Seriously? They came over here just to stir shit?” Ivelisse grunts.
Sibylle doesn’t say anything now that they’ve gone, and I don’t know whether it’s my paranoia or not, but I’m sure that for the rest of the day, she doesn’t quite talk to me with her usual warmth. Not that we’re ever super friendly, but still, I think she’s colder now. Is she listening to the company dancers? Have they planted a seed of doubt in her minds over the fairness of it all?
God, do the company dancers really hate me that much already? And if they’re like this already, what will they do if Jaidev and I actually get permanent positions with the company?