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Taryn
I DREAM OF MY SISTER, Helena, that night.
“Why are you trying to be me?” she asks, and her voice is haunting and soft, twisting round and round me. She knows about the recasting, but I don’t think she’s angry. Maybe just curious.
We’re on a stage, dancing, the two of us. Her face is a mirror to mine, even though she’s forever a twelve-year-old. But her body is translucent. She’s fading in and out of apparition. She wears a simple gray dress with a raggedy skirt. I am wearing the same outfit, but it is newer, cleaner, and my body is firmer, stronger.
We don’t look like twins. We look like a before and after.
Before and after death.
“I’m not trying to be you,” I whisper, but my words aren’t strong. They get lost as we pirouette together on stage. I feel like I’m not in control of my body, my actions. We are both dolls being commanded by something else. An otherworldly force.
Then there’s an audience. It’s just suddenly there, but each person in it is Mum. Each of her faces is expressionless, neutral, a smooth pane. Helena and I keep dancing.
“Do you like being me?” Helena asks.
Somewhere, there is music. But it’s not a piano. It’s a lullaby. I hear a triangle striking a note.
“I wish you were here,” I say.
The triangle gets louder, sharper tings that hurt my ears.
“Do you like living for me?” she asks.
“I wish you were here.” It’s all I can say, and it feels like a script. Like I’ve been programmed to say the words. But I don’t like that because it suggests they’re not sincere. But they are, I can feel it in every step I take by her side.
I wish you were here. I wish you were here.
I wake, mouthing the words.
I wish you were here.
###
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake to the sounds of vomiting. Sibylle’s in her bed. Ivelisse’s not.
Oh no. I jump up. Not again.
I wait a few seconds outside the en suite’s door before calling through, asking if she’s okay. She looks scared and small when she comes out. She holds her arms over her stomach, protectively. Or like she’s blocking it from my view.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers, her voice pleading.
I know I’m supposed to report this though. We all know that—and if it was a stomach bug, Ivelisse wouldn’t be insisting on secrecy. But I see the fear in her eyes.
But maybe it is just another stomach bug. I mean, she’s going to have weak immunity, isn’t she? Maybe she’s just embarrassed. Doesn’t want people knowing she’s sick?
“I’m getting this sorted,” she says. “I will. It’s not too late. It can’t be too late.”
I try to give her a sympathetic look without seeming patronizing. “Look, I’m here for you, if you want to talk or anything.”
She just nods. She’s already dressed, I realize. Baggy jumper and leggings.
“Look, uh, I... I need you to cover for me tonight.” She fidgets. “Maybe tomorrow too.”
“What? Why?”
“I’ve got to go out. But I’ll be back, I just don’t know how long it’ll take. And Madame Cachelle shouldn’t ask for me, but my therapist is going to expect to see me tonight, and I don’t know if I’ll make it. But, uh, if I’m not back, can you just cover for me?”
“Cover? Like, do what?”
“I don’t know. Just say I’m sick or something, headache. Nothing to make them come and check on me though. It’ll only be one session I miss, tonight. If I do. And please tell Sibylle when she’s up too, so she says the same. I’ve got to go now, else I’d tell her myself.”
“Okay,” I say. “But are you all right?”
“I’m fine. And don’t speak a word of this conversation. Okay? Please?”
“Okay.” I nod.
She leaves.
I sit at my desk for a bit. I’ve got an hour or so before a flexibility lesson, but I don’t want to leave until Sibylle is awake. I still feel like I need to apologize to her again. Not that I haven’t already apologized a lot—I mean, I have, of course I have—but I can’t help but feel like I’ve shattered whatever fragile friendship we’d begun to have.
But after ten minutes of waiting, I get a message from Nora, asking if I want to meet up before the flexibility class to go and try on the costumes. They’re ready for all the tours now, she tells me, as dress rehearsals are starting soon and Allie wants everyone to drop by today or tomorrow.
I take a look at Sibylle, still sleeping, then decide, yes, I’ll go.
It doesn’t take me long to get to Allie’s office, and Nora meets me outside. Allie must hear our greetings to each other because she calls out for us to come on in. We do so.
Her whole office is covered in various swathes of fabric and glitter. Lots of glitter.
“Nora and Taryn! My favorite girls!” Allie beams from behind a sewing machine that’s only half put together.
“You say that to all the girls,” Nora says with a smile.
“And why not?” She directs us to find our costumes for our tours. “Midsummer is over there, Don Quixote at the back.”
I feel apprehensive as I lift down the costume for Helena. Like, somehow, I’m stepping on my dead sister’s toes, even though she didn’t seem angry in my dream. But I take a deep breath. It’s just a name, nothing more.
The dress is off-white. A simple bodice piece with a stunning sheen to it. The skirt is made of several layers of chiffon in varying shades of grey and peach. The edges have been left unhemmed, more ragged in places than others. A bit like the dress I dreamed my sister was wearing. A small lump appears in my throat, makes my eyes smart, makes me want to choke; the dress is simple and no way near as magical as the divertissement dress I was measured for originally, but this one feels rawer. It captures the desperation of Shakespeare’s Helena, arguably one of the most romantic characters, and I know visually that this dress will work with my routine as I depict Helena’s desperation for Demetrius to return the love.
I wonder if my sister will be watching me from wherever she is.
“Taryn, I already altered this one to fit your measurements, so it should also be perfect,” Allie says. “We just need to make sure, so if you pop it on. Yours too, Nora.”
Nora immediately looks worried.
“What is it?” Allie asks.
Nora shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me. Is it the design?”
Nora gives a weak smile. “It’s nothing like that. I just get nervous doing the final trying on. At my old school, the one I was at until I was sixteen, they were quite...harsh. They made costumes like five months before they were needed and refused to do any alterations closer to the time. And one time I’d put on weight slightly, only a little in a few months, really, but the costumes were made to be skintight and then mine didn’t fit right. It was obvious I was fatter, and the ballet master pointed it out to everyone.”
“That’s horrible,” I whisper.
Allie’s mouth has dropped open.
Nora nods. “He took me out of the show completely. Said I had to learn to be disciplined and that only disciplined girls could dance for him. It was only like five pounds too. Something silly. But it made me so nervous. I restricted so much after that, and then the next time when I had a costume made, between it being finished and the tour starting it was another three-month period. Only, I lost weight that time. A lot of it. And they wouldn’t make any alterations to my costume or let me wear it as it was. So, I didn’t get to perform then either.”
“Nothing like that happens here,” Allie says.
“I know. I’ve been here for years. Roseheart is actually good. It’s nice that not all the dancers are stick-thin here.”
I shift a little. Is she meaning me? I mean, she has to be. I take in a breath a little too deeply, and it makes my chest ache. I wonder if many of them think I’m fat. Or if I make them feel better about their bodies. Maybe that’s what Ivelisse thinks when she sees me.
Ivelisse. I frown. I’ve still no idea what I’m covering for her for, but there’s a bad feeling in my gut.
“Well, there’s nothing to worry about,” Allie says, smiling. “It’s only August 4th now, right, and the tour doesn’t begin until September 2nd. Plenty of time for me to make adjustments. And rest assured, I’ll even remake costumes the morning of a show if needed. Now, let’s see how these dresses are looking.”
Trying on my dress for the role of Helena feels strange. It’s not like any other costume I’ve worn where the garments allow me to become a different person, a different part of myself. It’s more than that. Because it makes me think of my sister, and it also makes me think of her desperation—desperation to do ballet. Desperation to play the big roles. Desperation to fall in love.
I jolt a little.
Helena loved fairytales and love stories. I wonder if she’d have got her love story, if she’d lived. I wonder what she’d have said about me being aro. I wonder if maybe she would’ve been aro too. Is romantic orientation bound within genetics? What about sexuality? Would she too have been sex-repulsed?
Before I can ponder any more, Allie starts doing some more measurements on me, noting down adjustments to be made.
“The color really suits you,” she says.
It would’ve suited my sister too.
I try to smile brightly, but I feel like I’m weighed down. We’ve got full dress rehearsals starting soon, and I pray that becoming this character fully isn’t going to distract me.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Nora says afterward, as we leave. “I’m always so nervous about costumes. Even though I know it’s fine here.”
“It’s no problem.” I smile.
We head to our flexibility class. A grueling ninety-minute class with one of the strictest ballet teachers I’ve ever met. My muscles are sore, but I’m pleased with my progress by the end of the class. The teacher even gives me a compliment, and I’m still glowing as I leave, heading down the corridor when a door opens, and I come face to face with Teddy.
“Hi,” I say.
I look past him into the studio he’s just left. “Oh, is it a choreography training thing in there?”
“Choreography training thing?” He snorts. “You couldn’t sound more patronizing if you tried.”
“Oh, I wasn’t meaning that.” I laugh lightly, but the air suddenly feels thick, heavy. The other girls from my class filter past me, until it’s just me and Teddy here. “Um, are you okay?” I ask.
“Sure.” But his eyes are narrowed.
“Teddy?” I stare at him. I don’t get why he’s being off. He was fine with me yesterday morning and then yesterday evening he was just...off. “What’s the matter? Are you not feeling well?”
He glares at me. “Why’s it always got to be something going on with me? I’m really getting fed up with people assuming it’s something to do with my heart, like it can’t just be that it’s everyone else being dicks.”
My shoulders tighten. “You think it’s me? Being a dick?”
His eyes are steely. “You tell me.”
I fold my arms. “Look, I’ve got no idea what any of this is about.”
“You don’t get it?” Teddy shouts. “You don’t get why I’m upset? You kissed him.”
“Jaidev?” I nearly laugh. “Yeah, I know. I remember.”
I’ve been trying not to think about it—how weird someone’s lips feel pressed against my own. How it makes me shudder, makes me feel like part of me is curling up and writhing every time I do it. Even when I can feel the romance of a dance and I’m playing a romantic character and manage to kiss with no one realizing how repulsed I am, and I appear to be loved up, as Madame would say, I never really enjoy the actual kiss. It’s the one part of a dance that can take me out of character. It feels like it’s crossing a line. But that’s why I’m glad that ballet kisses are just short. Just a second at the most, and then it’s over. A second of discomfort in order to make the audience believe in the romance. And that is my job.
“Oh, you remember, do you?” Teddy snorts. “How gallant of you not to deny it.”
“Why would I deny it?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Taryn.”
I don’t like the way he says my name. Like it’s something bad and rotting.
“Maybe because you said you were aro, like me. And ace. And sex-repulsed, which includes kissing. That’s what you said! So, what was that? All just lies to make me feel better?”
I don’t know whether to laugh. This is just... “It’s a part,” I say. “That’s all.” I stare at him. I don’t get this. He never had a problem when I had to kiss Xavier or Advik before for routines. In fact, he was nice then. Asking me if I was okay afterward. Saying that my personal feelings on kissing didn’t come through in the dance, that I was still able to capture the romance of it all. He was encouraging and supportive, but not now.
“Because we talked about being aro,” he says. “What it meant for each of us. But one look from Hot Asian Guy and you’re shoving your tongue down his throat. Next, you’ll be jumping into bed, too. Guess you were just a pity aro.”
“A pity aro? Oh my God, can you hear yourself?” I hold up my finger. “Firstly, that’s racist, what you’ve just said about Jaidev. Secondly, it’s part of our routine. Nothing more.”
“It’s not! I know your choreography.”
I shake my head. “We were recast. We’re Helena and Demetrius.” I’m not sure, but I think his eyes widen a little at that. “You know, one of the couples who gets married in the wedding scene? Well, it’s part of that routine. Thirdly, I don’t have to justify myself to you, even if we used to be best friends. Fourthly, you have no right over what I do or don’t do. And fifthly, you have no right to insult me like that and say I’m not aro or ace. It’s my identity. I decide it.” My words all tumble out so quickly, and there’s something about my speech that makes me feel strange. Like it feels too formal, too rehearsed, what with the numbering. But once I started doing that, I couldn’t stop.
“Well,” Teddy says, “you’ve clearly decided you’re not aro or ace.”
“Oh my God. You’re just unbelievable. And even if it wasn’t part of the routine, which it is, it wouldn’t mean you’ve got any right to question who I am. Kissing someone doesn’t mean you’re not ace or aro. It’s a spectrum—and labels and identities change anyway. It also doesn’t mean I’m not repulsed by kissing. It’s not up to you to tell someone what they are. You can’t just say all that and completely invalidate my identity. It’s not fair and it’s damaging.” As I say the words, I feel everything inside of me sinking. I never thought I’d have to say any of this to him.
“Damaging?” He snorts. “I’ll tell you what’s damaging—knowing your best friend has lied to you all this time.”
“I haven’t been lying. You’re just not listening because you’re being stubborn and determined you’re right.” I’m aware of how patronizing my own voice is now, but I feel like he deserves it. Even if he has had a terrible diagnosis and the path of his life has changed, it doesn’t give him the right to speak to me like this, like he has to authorize what I do or don’t do.
He folds his arms. “You were practically drooling back there over him.”
“You can’t invalidate someone just because of their actions. Especially when you’re jumping to conclusions.” I mean, seriously? Actions are different to attraction—he should know this! “But I don’t need to justify my actions to you. And you’re being a dick.”
He turns and goes into the studio, so I follow him. He heads to the barre and starts practicing. Practicing properly. Like he’s a dancer. Not a choreographer.
“You shouldn’t be doing that,” I say. “Right?”
“Like you care.”
“I do.”
“Just mind your own business.” His voice is still cold. So cold.
“Fine.” And with that, I walk away.
He doesn’t make any effort to shout after me. And I don’t turn around to give him satisfaction of my looking. I haven’t got time for this. I need to practice.
I head toward the studios on the lower side of the building. I’m meeting Jaidev at Studio 11, and fury propels me quicker and quicker. God, I can’t believe what a dick Teddy is being. And Jaidev will agree, I know that! I just need to let off steam and—
Someone grabs me and shoves me to the right. I see a dark hoody and a balaclava over their face as I scream, trip. My head slams against the wall.
“Just get in there,” an angry voice shouts.
A male voice is all I have to think before the person pushes me through the doorway, into the women’s toilets.
Then the door locks.
“Well,” says the voice. “I think you need to learn a lesson.”