March 18th, 7 p.m.
THERE’S a buzz in the canteen at dinner. Almost everyone’s talking about the audition, and the few students who are not talking about the audition either laugh too loudly or look way too pale. Emilia’s doing her best to ignore our friend Nick. He runs his hand through his dark cropped hair, his strong arms flexing as he does so. I don’t have time for boys, and I know he’s got a crush on Emilia, but I can’t deny he’s hot. When he asks if she wants to go over the choreography with him again, Emilia can’t say no.
She turns to me. “You’re coming, too?”
“I want to call my parents tonight and you know my rules.”
“You want to visualize all the movements the evening before and do one last rehearsal in the morning.”
“Yep. You and Nick should go. I’ll see you in our room later.”
Nick smiles my way as if I just named him the best dancer in the world, but I shrug. Even though I want those two to figure a way to be happy together, I really cannot derail from my routine. I’m a tad OCD when it comes to the evening before a big audition: I always call my parents, listen to the music, visualize myself dancing all the movements perfectly, and put a picture of Mama at the height of her career under my pillow.
She doesn’t know that.
No one knows that.
I’m not sure if I think she’ll transfer her talent to me that way, but it reassures me.
I finish my cup of water, put up my tray in the right corner as always and head back to my room to start with my ritual.
“Hi, Papa,” I smile.
“Hi, Natoushka. You ready for tomorrow?” he asks, but there’s something in his voice. It’s not his usual happy one. He hasn’t sounded happy for a few weeks now.
“Yep, definitely ready.” I try to sound as cheerful as possible. “If I get it, I think it’s really going to start my career. And I feel like I am Aurora. I feel like I own the part.”
“That’s good, sweetie.”
“I think I feel the same as when you were onstage playing Chopin. You told me once how you got so lost in the music, you didn’t know where it began and where you ended. It’s like that for me.”
“It is a wonderful feeling. A scary one, too,” my father replies. “But you always need to find yourself again,” he adds after a short pause.
“I know, Papa. But when I dance . . .”
“When you dance, you feel whole and complete. But remember what I always say . . .”
“There’s more to me than dancing,” I say. He sounds a bit more normal now. He never fails to remind me that, to him, I’m more than a ballerina and that I should be more than that to me, too. Maybe one day.
“Are you sure you want to come this weekend? The weather isn’t supposed to be that great.”
“Of course, I’m sure. We’ve been planning it for months!”
“I don’t want you to get stranded in Maine while you’re supposed to be back at school on Monday. That’s all. I have to go. I love you, Natoushka. Think about what I said.” He pauses, and before I can reply, my mother’s voice comes through the phone.
“Natoushka,” she says, and the little nickname she only uses rarely tugs at my heart. Maybe this weekend, we’ll reconnect. I haven’t seen my parents in two months and our phone calls are more sporadic than even before. I spend too much time rehearsing, too much time in the zone. They spend too much time pretending everything’s okay “I danced Aurora, too, you know,” she continues. “It’s a difficult part, much more difficult that what it seems at first. I was her.” She pauses. “And now, now I’m nothing.”
“You’re not nothing, Mama. Everyone remembers you as Aurora and as Maleficent. If I only dance half as good at you, I’ll be amazing.”
“Only reach for the best. You need to be even better than me, Natalya. Otherwise, why work so hard? Why break everything? Why lose everything?” She sounds sad. Way too sad.
“I know, Mama. I’ll reach for the stars. I’ll see you this weekend. Are you okay?” I hear her sniffle.
“I’m fine. It’s just a cold,” she says.
“You’re still picking me up tomorrow at the airport with Papa?” I ask. She promised last time she would be there.
“Sure,” she replies.
I want to believe her.