As I step out onto the stage of the New York Ballet, my feet and legs tingle. I can’t keep the grin off my face. Ella is right behind me, finding a spot and sitting down to put on her toe pads and pointe shoes.
I bend down, putting my own toe pad and shoes on. Mine are in terrible shape; I definitely should’ve worn a newer pair of shoes. But a new pair of shoes wasn’t in the budget this week.
These have to last four more wears.
I straighten, looking at the empty theatre. From where I’m standing, it’s easy to imagine the roar of excited applause, the hot lights, the other ballerinas watching from the wings.
I blow out a breath. Ella looks up at me. “Are you okay, Kaia?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Honestly, I never thought I would make it this far. My goal this whole year has just been to get to this moment.”
“Sit down and put your shoes on, boo. You look like a ghost. Get your shit together.”
I wince, but she is right.
She seems to be murmuring something to herself. I plunk down beside her and retape my third and fourth toes, pulling a face as I look at my feet.
All dancers have calluses on their feet. But ballet dancers have it the worst, especially ballerinas. I slip on my toe pads and put my pointe shoes on, fastening them.
“Be comfortable,” I whisper, shooting them a glare.
Ella glances over at me as she gets to her feet. “Can you believe we are here right now, about to audition?”
I spring to my feet, looking at the other twenty dancers. Everyone is practically vibrating right now. The nervous energy is almost palpable.
I stretch my right hamstring. “Can you believe that they fired the company’s prima ballerina and most of the corps? When I saw that they were auditioning for forty spots…”
Ella smiles coolly. “We need those spots.”
She takes first position, doing a series of plies.
I look at her, dead serious. “God, what if we actually get called back?”
Ella pulls a face. “Of course we’re going to get called back. We dance literally eight to twelve hours per day, six days a week. We deserve it.”
I flush, looking down. If I did the math, I am absolutely sure that I dance literally every minute I wasn’t asleep or commuting. But I don’t say any of that.
“Yeah,” is all that comes to mind.
Ella stands up straight and adjusts her dark blue leotard. She nods toward the back of the theatre, where a dark haired woman in a blue skirt suit and a short blond man in a white tank top and black capri tights approach us. The man claps his hands loudly; he’s obviously a teacher, because he seems used to holding court.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, coming down right before the stage. “I am the head instructor here, Basil Smith. And this—“
The woman cuts in stepping forward. “I’m Emma Rosenburg. I’m the head of the board that oversees every action undertaken by this company.”
Basil gives her a long look. “Yes.” He turns his attention to the group on stage. “Your director is running late, it seems. He’s not polite enough to let anyone know about his tardiness—“
“Basil,” Emma chides.
He climbs up on the stage, looking annoyed. “But never fear. Emma and I will be judging. Also, I think someone is filming this audition.” He looks behind him, searching for how that is happening.
“What my colleague is saying is that you should be your absolute best self, starting right now.” Emma backs away from the stage, hurrying to find a seat in the fourth row.
An older woman comes out on the stage and finds a seat at the piano.
I can’t quite feel my legs because I’m so full of nerves.
You’d better make it in New York, my father’s voice sounds loudly in the back of my head.
Pushing that thought down, I try to concentrate. This is all about me, here and now. There’s no room in my head for Basil or Emma, Ella or my dad. It’s all about me, my talent, my precision and skill.
I just need to keep reminding myself of that.
“Line up four across,” Bas barks, clapping his hands. “Girls in the front, boys in the back. Let’s move, people.” He narrows his gaze at all of us. “God, try to act like you’ve all been in a chorus line before.”
I scurry into place beside Ella, my heartbeat going wild. Deep breaths. You can do this, I say to myself.
Basil waves at the accompanist, who starts playing Tchaichovsky. He looks at everyone flatly. “Let’s start very simply. Pas de chevalier to point. Tendu side in fondu. Close to fifth position. Okay?”
No one says anything, so he sighs. “And one, two, three, four…”
Never in my entire life have I arched by arms so high, moved so quickly, or stretched my leg back quite so elegantly. The moves are accomplished in the blink of an eye.
I look to Basil, who raises his eyebrows at the group. “Good. Again.”
I do it a second time, finishing with a perfectly shaped arabesque. After I’m done, my heart pounds in my ears.
Am I actually… good at this?
It feels like I’m killing it so far.
“Okay, now I would like to see something more complex,” Basil says. He walks to the back of the stage, starting in fifth position. Then he proceeds through a combination with a pirouette in the middle and ending with a grand jeté. “And five six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four. And five six, seven, eight…”
My heartbeat rises. Every single move he executed is flawless, not that I expected any less. Toward the back of the theatre, the door swings open and a man enters.
But I’m too focused on what I’m doing to pay him any mind.
“Let’s go!!” Basil yells, clapping. “On my cue. One, two, three, and—“
The first line goes. I cue up right behind, trying to focus my attention on the moves.
“One, two, three, and—“
Like a puppet come to life, I am suddenly smiling and dancing. I keep my movements smooth and easy, doing a complex pirouette with several turns and then leaping across the stage. My legs carry me far. I land right in center stage, beaming, and lift my arms.
This is it. This is the feeling that I’m supposed to have, I think to myself.
That’s when I suddenly make eye contact with him.
Eyes as dark blue as sapphire, and glittering just like two gems. Dark hair, grown a little overlong, shoved back from his face. High cheekbones, a jawline that could cut diamonds, a cruel yet perfect pout.
And that big, rugged, sinful body that I know all too well. The very same one that I dreamed about riding last night.
Mr. X is here.
And he is glaring right at me.
Oh god.
All my worst fears, all in one place. The person who judges me is the very same one who I’ve been all but fucking at Club X. The same person that already inquired if I had training from a good ballet school, knowing perfectly well how taboo that is.
My smile falters, my arms droop. All the blood plummets to my feet.
“Get out of the way,” Bas snaps at me, waving his hand. “Next line, keep going…”
I manage to break his gaze and force my feet to carry me to the side of the stage. It’s only when Ella reaches out and mouths, “Are you okay?” that I realize I’m trembling.