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Jaidev
IN THE MOONLIGHT, AMONG the graves, Taryn looks almost otherworldly. Her hair’s come loose from the bun and half of it hangs in soft ringlets and looser waves around her face. Her height works with her on the dance. I’ll be honest, when I met her and discovered she was a lot taller than most other ballerinas—almost my height—I was worried. Very worried. And then when she kept stumbling in our practices, I thought she just seemed a little clumsy. I put it down to her height. She just didn’t seem very graceful, and I wasn’t too impressed with whom I’d been set up with.
But out here, Taryn is graceful. She’s one with the night, the moonlight, the graves, embodying a lost spirit, her steps radiating sadness. There’s confidence to her dancing, and she seems more comfortable, more at ease here than I’ve seen her in the studio earlier today, in either of our sessions.
When she finishes her dance, I clap without thinking. It’s just innate, instinctual.
She freezes and then whirls toward me. It’s too dark to see her expression, but I’m sure she’s narrowing her eyes. Tension fills her posture.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s me. Jaidev.” I clear my throat, a little uncertain, as I realize what this could look like—like I’ve followed her to an isolated place. “I wasn’t following you. I’d just gone out for a walk and I was trying to phone Bastien, my brother, but I lost the signal. And I came up over here, thinking it’d be stronger, being higher up, you know?” Feebly, I wave my phone at her. “But it’s not.”
She nods but doesn’t relax.
“Your dance was beautiful,” I say. “Really breathtaking. And the emotion in it was just... Why didn’t you dance like that earlier in the studio? I mean, I was beginning to think you weren’t up to my level—” I break off, realizing how arrogant and conceited that sounds.
“I was just nervous,” she says, her voice guarded.
“Nervous?” I ask. “Of me?” I hold my hands up. “I’m not scary. I don’t bite.”
She rolls her eyes—somehow, I see that in the moonlight. It warms me a little, makes the corners of my lips twitch.
“I guess we just have to get used to each other,” she says.
“Yes. We do.” I shift my weight a little from foot to foot. It’s cold. I want to step closer to her, more out of the wind, but I also don’t want to scare her. I mean, it could still look like I’ve followed a lone girl to a graveyard. Even if I had stumbled across her performing the most mesmerizing dance. “We’ll manage it,” I say. “Despite what everyone is saying.”
“Everyone?” Her voice rises in pitch. “They... I don’t know if they’re as against you as they are me, those company dancers, but no one seems to want me to succeed with this.”
I take the smallest step closer. “I want you to. I want both of us to.”
And it is true. I’m not just doing this for my mother’s sake, because I made that promise, or because of my fear of regrets. Watching the beauty of Taryn’s dancing and the emotions it made me feel has truly reminded me how much I love dancing—because that feeling you get when dancing, well, nothing can beat it. Seeing Taryn dance makes me want to dance. Makes me want to speak that language too, delve into that world and never leave it.
Avril was right: I need to dance. It was the change of location I needed, not the change of career. Not once today when I danced with Taryn did I think of what happened or of her. I was just focused on the moves, the steps, and I was enjoying the adrenaline, the way dancing felt like freeing myself.
And dancing with Taryn could be great. She’s trained for years and years, and it’s clear she’s a natural. I’ve just seen that. I almost want to ask if I can dance with her now, here, but I don’t know if that would seem creepy or weird or something, so I don’t.
“You know what some dancers can be like,” I say. “Clique-y. But once we prove to those already performing in the company that we deserve to be there, they’ll get used to us. They just don’t like us because this is going against tradition. But Mr. Aleks and Miss Tavi and Mr. Vikas are giving us this chance. And the other staff have already accepted us, too. That lady, the costume designer, she was really nice to me. Warm.”
“Allie,” Taryn says.
“Allie.” I nod. “And we’ll do this. We’ll prove we deserve this, and the others will get used to us being there.”
“And Sibylle and Xavier and the others?”
“They’ll either come around or they won’t.” I shiver. “But if they don’t, it’s not the end of the world. They’ll be leaving before our eight weeks is over, anyway. Right?” I’m still not exactly sure how the academy is structured here, but I think that’s what someone said. Or maybe I read it on Roseheart’s website. As soon as I landed at the airport, I got a taxi over here and continued learning as much as I could about this establishment.
“Oh.” Taryn’s voice is small. “I... I hadn’t really thought about that, not that way. It’s... yeah, they’ll be leaving.”
“So, it’ll be okay.”
She nods, a little cautiously. Then she smiles and it’s a more genuine smile. It’s the same smile she had on her face when she was dancing solo in the silver shadows out here, and it makes my heart warm.
“And if anyone gives you any more grief, just tell me,” I say. “I’m not going to let anyone upset my partner. Especially when you dance like that.”
I think she’s blushing and that makes me smile, feel lighter. This could really work.
I hold my hand out toward her. “May I dance with you. Just freestyle it?”
“Here? Now?” She sounds uncertain.
“Yes. I think it’d be good to dance with you here, where we’re not being judged by that Mr. Vikas. He is a bit scary. And dancing here, where we can just have fun and feel the joy of it, is something that sounds good right about now.” Which, I realize, is an odd thing to say and want to feel in a graveyard. I’m not really religious—my parents were Buddhists but not strict, though Avril is Catholic and imagining what she’d say about this situation makes me smile.
“Oh, uh, okay,” Taryn says.
It’s a little weird at first, as I start to dance out here, just moving more freestyle than ballet, because Taryn just watches me. But dancing outside, like this, without judgement from those who’ll decide my fate, is freeing. And after a moment, Taryn joins in. She dances separately to me, different moves and different timing to my faster pace, but her lines are elegant and flowing and angled toward me.
My steps are light as I adjust my pacing, letting myself connect with her, with what she’s using her body to convey. My movements become classical ballet, matching hers. And after a few moments, I feel it, that connection with her. Like we’re in sync as we’re dancing, sweeping movements under a weeping willow at the edge of the graveyard. Adrenaline and emotion carry us forward.
We move closer together, and it’s amazing how ballet has this unspoken way of communicating because we don’t even have to confer on what to do. Taryn’s movements become slower and more graceful, then she’s right by me. I reach out, supporting her as she pirouettes, like this is the start of the adagio of a grand pas de deux. I concentrate on maintaining poise and strength, offering her a steady hand as she finishes her pirouette and uses me as a virtual barre. The strength in her eyes grounds me each time I make eye contact with her, rooting me further to the spot.
We do a basic lift, and then we’re slipping out of the pas de deux of classic ballet, letting in more contemporary modern moves, really just feeling the atmosphere again.
I’m breathing deeply by the time we finish, and part of me is overwhelmed by the sheer beauty and feeling of it all. Because if Taryn and I can dance together in sync, unchoreographed, out here in a graveyard, then we can do it in the studio. We can take the Midsummer choreography when we’re given it, and we can breathe life into it. Our own life.
“We’ll do this,” I say, smiling.
Taryn nods, her face flushed. “We will.”