“Then why don’t you do it?”
“Because she knows I don’t like her. She still thinks you’re her friend.”
“I don’t think she’d call us friends.”
“But you talked to her for more than five minutes, so she probably knows you don’t completely hate her.”
I think about that for a second. Eleanor and I haven’t hung out since that day in the studio. But she doesn’t realize how much I really know about her and about Bette. About all the things they did. I’m the only way she’ll fall for it.
“Okay,” I say. My hand shakes when I put the tub of hummus in my refrigerator.
We stretch out our muscles in Studio B waiting for Morkie and Pavlovich to begin our first Swan Lake rehearsal. It’s every dancer’s dream. The story—a princess falling under the spell of an evil sorcerer and being transformed into a swan—is one of the most famous. Long before I knew any of the variations that made up the ballet, that story replayed in my dreams.
To be cast as Odette or Odile would mean I’m on track to be a principal and earn those roles. It shocks me, deep down inside, how much I want it. The endless hours of physical therapy, the extra rehearsals in the old basement studio. They’ve completely blocked it off now and padlocked the Light closet. There are no secret spaces here anymore. But still plenty of secrets.
Madame Dorokhova comes to the front of the room. A hush falls over all of us. She walks back and forth. Her little heeled ballet shoes click ever so lightly. We all look around for Morkie and Pavlovich. The frantic energy stretches between us like a web.
“Most of you know me, I hope,” she says. “I am Madame Dorokhova, and I will run your class today.”
We all nod and curtsy, and hold our breaths. The shock settles into us.
“Swan Lake is the ballet that makes or breaks you. It reveals the stars, casting the rest to shadows. This classical ballet shows the beauty of the Russian technique. It is the best platform for the Vaganova training.” She touches a nearby girl’s shoulder. “In this ballet, you must be able to be both light and dark, good and evil. That is why only the best get to dance the role of Odette or Odile.” She waves to Viktor and he takes a seat. “You all know pieces of these variations, but now I must teach you how to put it all together. We are depending on you to make it beautiful.”
No one takes their eyes off her. Her presence reminds us that this is it—every move we make now can affect our chances forever.
“This ballet is beloved. Each of the four acts are anticipated by the audience: from Siegfried’s birthday party in Act One to the most famous White Act at the lakeside to Act Three and the party where Odile dances her famous pas de deux to the very last second. Your stamina must be perfect. Your feet must last.” She circles us. “We will start from the White Act and work our way backward.”
Morkie joins her, and I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but instead I hold it in, trying to channel the tension into my movements. “We will start with four swans in the front to work on la danse des petits cygnes, dance of the little swans. Most famous.” She motions at Viktor. He plays the melody and I can feel my feet move the steps automatically. Four ballerinas, arms interlocked, will glide across the stage in perfect synchronization with sharp and expert timing.
“Let me have little Riho,” Morkie says.
Riho leaps up like a tiny firecracker, then makes her way to the front. She’s much smaller than all of us and could blend into a pack of petit rats with ease. I hear a groan, but don’t know where it came from.
“Cassandra,” Madame Dorokhova says.
I see Cassie blow the Madame a kiss—a bold move—as she makes her way to stand beside Riho. Her long limbs make Riho look like a tree stump beside her. Both teachers pause before selecting the other two dancers to start off rehearsal with. There are twists in my stomach, like it’s a spool of ribbon that’s come undone and knotted itself into a mess. I don’t want to dance this part. I want to dance the role of Odette or Odile. But to do that, I need them to see me. I need them to call me forward, want to use my limbs, feet, and arms as demonstration tools. I need them to see that I’m okay now.
“June, come.”
Madame Dorokhova looks around the room, trying to decide on her final victim.
June walks to the front with her head down, showing respect, but I can see the tiny smile in the corner of her mouth. Her hair is all spiky. The headband she’s wearing pushes it up awkwardly, and it’s barely enough to gather into any semblance of a bun. I flush with satisfaction.
“Gigi,” Madame Dorokhova says, and my heart monitor buzzes on my wrist because I can’t stop its fluttering.
Morkie uses her hands to remind us of the footwork that goes into the dance of the little swans. Tap, tap, tap. Our feet move in a successive shuffle. Point the toe. Bring up the leg. I tune her out after a while. I know this variation. We did it at my old studio for a winter performance when I was eleven.
We crisscross our arms. I hold one of June’s hands and one of Cassie’s. Viktor starts the famous plinking melody on the piano. Up, down, up, down, up, down. We work together to move across the middle of the floor, all of us gazing toward the window. We stretch our legs out like a fan of swords, all together, then pull them back into a straight-line formation as we head back in the direction we’ve come from.
Madame Dorokhova and Morkie point to where we should be. June’s hand sweats. It’s strange to hold it again. Cassie tightens her grip on mine.
“No elephants on the stage,” Madame Dorokhova yells. “You are petit cygnes not petit éléphants.”
“Look to the left. To the right. Now forward,” Morkie says, demonstrating as we struggle to stay in sync. “Watch the echappés. Cleaner.”
Madame Dorokhova is right in front of us now. “And a down, up. And a down, up. And a down, up. Faster.”
The corrections blend all together and we’re a few seconds off from one another. Riho breaks the chain. “We’re moving too slow,” she complains. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her speak.
June’s eyes are daggers pointed at her.
“It’s only the start,” Morkie says. “You don’t break formation until I tell you.” She cups a hand under Riho’s very pink face, and I feel like she’ll slap her. Instead, Morkie excuses us from the center, ending rehearsal altogether. She seems embarrassed by us. We weren’t ready to be seen by Madame Dorokhova. I should be ashamed, but I feel relieved.
Eleanor plops down next to me as she unties her pointe shoes. I feel Cassie’s eyes on us. I look up and she lifts her eyebrows in a question. It’s time.
“That rehearsal killed me.” I pack my shoes away and slip my feet into mukluks. The soft fur helps stop the aches. I try to be nicer to her this time.
“I know.” She shoves her shoes into her bag and reaches down to stretch.
“Want to go get a bite? I feel like we should talk.”
She looks caught. “I, uh, have an appointment.” Her face is bright pink, and she won’t look me in the eye. “But maybe we can hang tomorrow?” Her eyes are desperate and flashing with eagerness.
“Okay, in the morning? We can have a snack, then stretch, and maybe work on these variations?” Cassie overhears me, and smiles.