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Taryn
“WELL, ARE YOU COMING in or not?” Marion holds open the door to the studio, sighing dramatically. She taps her foot. She’s wearing Bloch pointes—and also what has to be half a bottle of perfume. “We haven’t got all day.”
Going into the room, with all the company dancers circling, is not appealing in the slightest, even though Li Hua is in there too and she gave me an encouraging smile on her way in while I just hovered outside the doorway. The tutor isn’t here yet, and I look down the corridor, to see if there’s any sign of her.
“We have to warm up before the pointe teacher gets here,” Marion says. She rolls her eyes. “God, it’s like you’re not even a dancer.”
There’s a chorus of snickers from inside.
To say I’ve been dreading this is an understatement.
I slip inside and take a place by Li Hua at the barre. She gives me a quick smile but turns to talk to the woman next to her—with a jolt, I realize it’s Netty Florence, the female principal dancer. Oh my God, I’m in a class with Roseheart’s best ballerina. A quick glance around confirms that what has to be all the female company dancers from all the divisions are in this class, not just those on the Midsummer Night’s Dream tour.
Nausea and anxiety twist my stomach into knots. I don’t know whether this should make me feel better or not. There are at least fifteen women here who aren’t on the fall tour with me, who may not know about the vendetta that Marion, Victoria, and maybe others too still have apparently built against me. There’s a chance more will be friendly here, just like Li Hua is. But there’s also the chance that word spreads as fast among the company as it does in the academy. I sneak glances at them: petite women with slender yet strong arms and legs. With a jolt, I realize I’m the tallest dancer here. Probably the biggest too.
But then a woman enters who’s bigger than me, and my heart lifts as I stare at her. She’s wearing a crisp shirt and smart trousers. Has she got her leotard and tights on underneath? Just as I’m thinking how much better it’ll be for there to be two dancers who aren’t really skinny but have more curves than a lot of companies think is acceptable for ballerinas, the woman takes a seat behind the piano in the corner of the studio.
The pianist. I try not to let my disappointment show and concentrate on putting my pointe shoes on, starting with the left foot. They’re a newer pair and they’re very hard still, not broken in properly. I freeze. Why didn’t I bring another pair? Especially for my first pointe class with the company. I should’ve brought a pair I know I’m comfortable dancing in. I want to make a good impression; prove to these dancers that I deserve to be here.
I grab my second shoe—and something catches my eye. Something red on the underside, near the toe. My mouth dries. A pushpin. Someone’s stuck a pin in to try and injure me? My head spins. I haven’t left these shoes unattended since I got to this class, so this has to have been done up in my room. Ivelisse or Sibylle? Alma? Or one of the company dancers went into my room? But how would they know I’d pick these shoes?
I hook my fingernail under the head of the pushpin and start to lever it out. I’m going to have to check all my shoes now, every time I dance. Maybe I’d better warn Jaidev too.
“That’s Madame Jean,” a voice whispers just as I’ve got the pushpin in the palm of my hand.
I turn to see a ballerina behind me, smiling. A heart-shaped, tanned face framed by dyed blond hair. Then I realize the instructor’s in here now: an Asian woman in her mid-forties. Just standing at the front of the room, she’s got a sense of elegance and authority.
“Ah, right. Uh, thanks.” My voice is weak, uncertain. I’m not sure what to do with the pushpin. I don’t want to draw attention to it, let all the dancers here know that someone has tried to sabotage me because then it might put more ideas in their heads.
“She’s the pointe specialist,” the dancer tells me. I’d guess she’s probably around thirty or so. I don’t recognize her, but then I’ve only been at the academy for three years, so she must’ve graduated a long while before that—if she joined the company at eighteen, starting the diploma at sixteen years of age. Some dancers start the diploma here a little later though, like Alma. She’s two years older than me.
The dancer holds her hand out to me. “I’m Nora. And just ignore Marion and Victoria.” She rolls her eyes. “They’re the resident idiots here who think they’re queen bees. We’re not all like that. Most of us are actually decent people, but those two just like making some people’s lives hell.”
“Is it always like this?” I ask. “For the newest dancer?”
Nora tilts her head to one side. “Mostly. I mean, it wasn’t last year, with Li Hua joining. Marion took an instant likening to her—though I think it was kind of racially driven because right before then, she’d talked before about how all of her friends were white and that it didn’t look good. Then she was chummy with Li Hua right away—well, until Li Hua became friends with others instead. But it has been a bit like this before. When Clara was here, she had it rough, before she and Tom left.”
Ah, yes, the mismatched duo. Unbalanced. What Xavier and I would’ve been.
“But I think you’ve got it worse,” Nora says, her voice sympathetic. “A lot of the dancers here don’t like change. Marion and Victoria are all about tradition here, and they don’t like that you’ve been given special treatment.”
Special treatment. I wince at that. But I haven’t actually done anything wrong. I danced well at the end-of-year show.
“And they also don’t like that Jaidev’s here,” Nora says, lowering her voice. “I don’t think the guys mind too much about it. But Victoria in particular is pissed off. Heard her saying how Jaidev doesn’t belong at Roseheart because he didn’t train here. I think she’s just worried the board’s going to change the setup here and start taking auditions from dancers trained elsewhere. Because he’s the first one here to break the mold. Yet she’s not around him all that much—not compared to you. And maybe she sees you as the reason he is here. And it’s easier to take stuff out on a girl than a guy, a lot of the time.”
Well, this isn’t making me feel any better.
“But don’t worry.” Nora pats my arm, and I want to recoil away from her touch but force myself not to. “She wouldn’t actually do anything to harm you.”
No? I think. Well, someone put that pushpin in my shoe.
Nora steps up to the barre, and as she warms up, I’m trying to work out if Victoria or Marion could’ve tried to injure me. I have seen them in the academy grounds, after all, when they were trying to rile up Sibylle. They could’ve gone into my room. But how would they get a keycard?
“I hope you’re all nicely warmed up,” Madame Jean says. She’s got a slight French accent. “We will start in thirty seconds.”
I look around and realize everyone is warming up at the barre or stretching. And I’m just standing here like a lemon. I grab the trainers I wore to walk down here and drop the pushpin into the left one, praying I’ll remember to remove it before changing back into them. Then I begin warming up too, next to Nora. I copy what she’s doing—plié, relevé in first, then plié, relevé in second—like I suddenly don’t know what to do without the guidance.
“Okay, ballerinas.” Madame Jean claps her hands. “Let’s begin.” She nods to the pianist in the corner, and she starts playing.
What follows has to be the most challenging pointe class I’ve ever endured: a torture combination of revelés, followed by tendus and enchappés at the barre, before we move into the center and perform revelés, sous sous, enchappés, pirouettes, and walks. When Madame Jean isn't happy with a move, she gets the dancer to perform it again.
Somehow, I manage to do all of mine in a satisfactory manner, despite my nerves, and her only feedback to me is a sweet smile. Victoria, on the other hand, stumbles slightly during a pirouette and her enchappé in the center looks a bit rough, a bit sloppy.
“Do it again,” Madame Jean instructs her over and over.
When Victoria eventually manages it, she shoots dagger looks at me. I try to ignore her, but part of me can’t help but wonder how she got one of the lead female roles in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. So many of the dancers here—including many also in the same tour—are clearly better than her in this class. Still, in that first group rehearsal, Mr. Vikas seemed over the top in giving praise to both Marion and Victoria. Maybe it’s favoritism.
Madame Jean has us finish with bourreés, and then we’re just stretching again, warming down. My feet are surprisingly sore after those intense ninety minutes. I change into my trainers, the pushpin in my hand.
“You may as well give up,” Victoria hisses to me as we leave. “Roseheart is a company built on tradition. My great, great grandmother would be fuming.”
Great, great grandmother? So, she’s related to the founder. That’s why she doesn’t like me, and that’s why Nora said tradition is important to her and Marion.
“Yes,” Marion says, coming up behind her. “And you’re not going to do it—you and Jaidev. You’ll see that soon. You’re just embarrassing yourself, and you’re only going to give us more work when the ballet master and director realize you’re not up to this. Then we’ll have to change everything, so things make sense without you.”
“Oh, go and get a life,” Nora says loudly.
“It’s all right for you,” Marion tells her. “You don’t have to dance on the same tour as her.”
“Ignore them,” Li Hua whispers to me, slipping into step next to me.
“Yeah,” says another voice. Netty Florence. “They both know you’re better than them, and they’re threatened. That’s all it is.”
A warm, glowing feeling fills me. The female principal thinks I’m better than Marion and Victoria, and she’s sticking up for me!
“Thanks,” I say, and the warmth only grows.
“We’re going for a run later,” Li Hua tells me. “Me, Nora, and Netty-Flo. Want to join us?”
I blink. A run with them? “Sure.” I hope Sibylle and Ivelisse won’t mind. But I have to make friends in the company now. Both of my roommates will be leaving in the next few weeks, anyway.
“Great.” Netty Florence smiles, and I wonder if I’ll soon be calling her Netty-Flo. “See you in thirty mins? Down by the gates.”
“Sure.” It seems to be the only word I can say now.
The ballerinas head off, and I’m smiling, not even the memory of Marion and Victoria’s harsh words can dampen my spirits now. The female principal is accepting of me!
But when I return to my room and assess all my pointes and flats, my mood darkens. Because in the toe of every right shoe is a pushpin.