Allégro, adagio. Chaîné. Piqué tour.
My body moves lithely above the polished wood floor. Slow, then fast, then faster. My legs whip around each other in a frenzy of motion.
When I stop at center stage, I curtsy, and a thunder of applause meets me.
I am a soloist. And I danced beautifully.
“Madeleine, are you listening?”
A wall of water hits me in the face, and I sputter. When she returned to the Bois, Lucie refused to answer my questions about where she’d gone after the audition and instead asked me question after question about my night.
“What?” I sputter. Water beads on my feathers, and I shake to dry myself.
“Hush, Madeleine. Look.” She dips her head toward the far side of the murky lake.
There’s nothing but tourists.
“What am I looking for?”
“In the shadows. Can’t you see him?”
I squint my eyes and search the area beneath the willow trees. There, in the deepest part of the shadow, is a man. He stands perfectly still and stares at us. He has perfect posture like a dancer.
The man steps into the dwindling sunlight.
Henri.
My blood chills. “Why is he here?”
“I don’t know.” She pushes me slightly behind her.
Henri paces along the bank opposite us, unperturbed by the few tourists still walking past. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Lucie and me, and I nervously tug out a few of my feathers with my beak.
“Don’t do that,” Lucie admonishes. “He’ll know you’re scared.”
Suddenly with a sharp dip of his head, Henri spins on his heel and disappears back into the trees.
Lucie extends her wing in front of me and swivels her head, looking in every direction. “He’s gone.”
I shove my way around her and flap my wings. “What was that? Why was he here?”
Pain fills Lucie’s eyes. “I think he was checking on us.”
“Why?” The sun sits off to the west, casting long shadows around us. It’s growing late, and soon we’ll be human. “Where were you last night? With Henri?” I jut my neck to the left. “Did you do something I should know about?”
“I didn’t do anything. I just needed time alone.” Lucie stares at the willows before turning her attention to me. “Are you hungry? Sushi’s on the menu tonight.”
Her joke falls flat. “No,” I say. “I can’t eat. I haven’t an appetite.”
“Don’t be worried about the audition,” Lucie says. “You won’t be a swan for days on end.”
“You don’t know that.” I dodge in and out of the weeping willow branches. I hit the bank. “Or do you? Have you made an agreement with Henri?”
Lucie climbs up the muddy bank. “I never trust Henri.”
My feet slip in the mud as I follow her. “But something is wrong if Henri was here.”
“There’s nothing wrong.”
“You seem worried or distracted.” I watch her closely. “I’m not sure which.”
“Neither.” Lucie sits on a patch of dead grass. “Believe me, Madeleine, it’s complicated, and you don’t need to worry about it.”
“It’s always complicated with you,” I snap. “Anytime I ask you a personal question, you dodge it. You know why Henri was here, but you won’t tell me. Why is that?”
She hangs her head, and her beautiful dark feathers glisten in the setting sun. “You know how Henri is with me. Always calling me his pet, praising me, giving me the best parts for our level—I don’t want any of it anymore.” She sighs. “And everyone is talking about me.”
“Since when do you care about Emilia or the other girls?”
“I don’t know.” She shifts her gaze to the left and refuses to look at me.
Something doesn’t feel right. “Lucie,” I say. “Why are you lying?”
Garbled words hit my ears, and it takes a moment for me to realize the sounds I hear are Lucie’s sobs
“Please, Madeleine. Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
I nuzzle my body next to hers and lay my neck on her back. “What has Henri done to you?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. He’s done nothing. It’s me—I . . .”
“You what?”
Red and orange blaze the sky, and familiar pinpricks trickle across my skin. Lucie spreads her wings and exhales. “It’s nothing.”
“Why are you so upset?” I ask. “You’re going to get the solo, and if I can find Zig—”
“Stop obsessing over that American boy,” she whispers. “He’s not interested, and you’re going to drive yourself crazy like you always do.”
“Zig told me where he lives. If I don’t get the solo and can leave practice early, I’m going to wait on his street.” Our swan bodies have transformed into our human shapes, and Lucie tightens the light-blue scarf around her neck.
“And then what? You’ll tell him he has to wait until you’re done being a swan to date you?”
I shake my head. “I’ll say I’m in the corps and have rehearsal.”
“Madeleine.” The way she draws out my name holds so much pain. “Why is breaking the enchantment so important to you? Why can’t you simply accept our fate?”
“This isn’t my fate.” My voice cracks. “I was supposed to have a life and a family and a career.” I fight to hold back my tears. “You were, too.”
Lucie turns her back to me. “Fate is never what you think it is.”
Her words stop me short. “What does that mean?”
“You can plan life.” Lucie heads to the walking path. “But it doesn’t mean it will work that way. Something always comes along and messes things up.”
I match her pace as we wind our way to the main street. “Who were you before I came into your life, Lucie?”
The moon looms over us, burning bright against the night sky and illuminating the traffic speeding by. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You know what you need to.”
“It does matter.” I frown. “Were you and Henri together a long time before me? Did you love him? It seemed like you did when we met.” A stomach-turning thought overwhelms me. “Do you love him now?”
“I do not love him.” Lucie says softly, but not forcefully. “But Henri was all I had until you came along.” She quickens her pace. “He was all I had until you.”
On our commute to the Ballet, Lucie refused to answer any of my questions, and she runs ahead of me once we arrive. I don’t try to stop her. If I know anything it’s that Lucie shuts down when I pry, and she’s said repeatedly that she needed to be alone.
“Ah! There you are, Madeleine.” Emilia sits spread-eagle at her makeup station and wears only tights. “Are you and Lucie fighting?”
“We’re not fighting.” Lucie glares at Emilia as she takes off her jacket and shoes. “And if we were,” she adds, “you’d be the last person we’d tell.”
“Ah. Well, that’s a relief.” Emilia rubs rouge into her cheeks and studies her reflection. “Today’s the big day. Who’s going to get the prime part—you or Lucie, or maybe a dancer who deserves it?” She swivels dramatically in her chair. “Like me.”
“You deserve it, Emilia,” a pinched-looking girl whose name I don’t even know says.
“Yes, but Lucie will get it because Henri favors her.” Emilia smiles tightly at Lucie. “Or do you give him your favors, Lucie?”
Laughter erupts, but Lucie keeps her head down as she wraps bits of wool around her toes. The tension in her shoulders betrays her cool demeanor.
“So, what is it, Lucie?” Emilia asks. “Have you done enough favors to get the solo?”
“It’s up to John Campbell and the Ballet Director who gets the part.” I say, stripping off my jeans and tossing them in my locker. “Henri is only there because he’s the Ballet Master.”
I peek at Lucie. She’s upset, but she’s doing her best to hide it. When she finishes dressing, she leans against her locker with her arms crossed and her eyebrows cocked. She studies the dressing room with amusement but doesn’t say a word.
“Aren’t you the tiniest bit upset, Madeleine?” Emilia finishes her makeup and drops a blush brush on her messy dressing table. “Henri called you an elephant.” She makes a trunk with her arm, and everyone except Lucie laughs.
A phone dings. And dings. And dings.
“Is that your phone, Lucie?” I ask. “It’s coming from your locker.”
“Wrong number, most likely.” She shrugs like it’s not unusual, but she never receives texts from anyone but me, and it’s strange that she’s not curious. Unless she knows who it is. But who would be texting her? Certainly not Henri, and Lucie knows no one else.
“Are you ready?” she asks me.
I nod. “Do I have a choice?”
Lucie motions me to follow her into the hallway. As we walk, I prepare myself for the disappointment that’s coming. I’ve been so occupied by Lucie’s strange behavior that I haven’t prepared myself for being a swan twenty-four seven. And maybe that’s good? Maybe if I had spent the day thinking about it, I would have made myself crazy?
“Lucie?”
“Yes?”
A few dancers scurry past us, each nervous in her own way. All of us hope to be chosen for the Englishman’s ballet if only for the corps. Apparently, everyone except Lucie thinks she’ll get the role.
“Do you know why Henri was at the lake?”
Lucie shakes her head. “No.” She stands in the doorway of the practice room, blocking my path. “We can talk about it later.”
“Promise?”
“Girls, you’re going to be late!” Henri strides down the hallway with John Campbell at his side. No matter how many times I see him, John still looks like a genie to me.
“Lucie.” Henri dips his head in her direction. “And Madeleine.” He points at me.
John Campbell bobs his head. “Yes, you’re right, Henri. There is a slight difference between them.”
And that’s all they say. Lucie and I step aside and follow the men into the practice room. The other dancers snap to attention, and Lucie and I take our spots with the rest of the corps.
Henri claps his hands, gathering the room’s attention, and my heart plummets. I’m going to be a swan all day, every day until Lilah is finished. Pond scum and ducks and minnows . . . and hours being alone. If only I hadn’t been late.
“Ladies,” John begins, “thank you all for auditioning for parts in what I promise is an exciting new ballet.” He holds up a sheet of paper. “If I read your name, you are in the corps. Congratulations.”
A nervous swell fills the room. Some dancers, like Emilia, stand taller, convinced of their placement. Others shift their gazes and try to act confident. Not getting a corps role means not performing in this ballet and another missed chance to advance.
John reads the names in his crisp British accent, and as he moves farther down the list, neither Lucie nor mine are called. Which means he’s keeping his word. One of us will be the soloist.
“And finally, our last corps member is Emilia.”
Lucie and I stand shoulder to shoulder. She reaches for my hand and entwines our fingers. There are eight dancers, including us, who have not been called, but of that eight, none of them dance as well as us.
“And our soloist for Lilah is . . .” John Campbell speaks slowly, and heat rushes up my neck and into my ears. “Madeleine.”
Lucie nudges me. “Madeleine?”
I gawk at John. “Me?”
“Yes! Congratulations! You’re our soloist.”
The other dancers clap politely, but Lucie grabs me by the shoulders and grins broadly. “You’re going to be wonderful.”
This can’t be happening. Has Henri chosen me over Lucie? Is this true?
“Are you okay?” Lucie lets go of my shoulders.
Everything sounds distant. I won the solo, but Lucie didn’t get a role. Henri kept his word, which means Lucie will be a swan all day, every day. “If you speak to him, maybe he’ll change his mind and let you in the corps.”
“It’s fine.” Lucie beams. “Just promise that you’ll be the star we both know you can be.”
John clears his throat. “If you were selected, we have rehearsal every night for the next week. Our first performance is the following Sunday. This is an off-program special performance, and it’s a demanding schedule. I expect you to be prepared.”
“Madeleine,” John says. “I won’t lie, choosing the soloist was a difficult decision, but I’m confident you can perform the role in the way I envision.”
I throw my shoulders back. “I look forward to the challenge.”
“Perfect. We begin now.” His gaze ping-pongs around the room, taking in the dancers. Some girls smile while others hold back tears. “Henri, you can manage the corps?”
“Oui.”
“Very good, then. Madeleine, you are with me.” John takes me by the hand and leads me toward the door. “We’ll be in the Pepita practice room.”
The door swings shut after us.