I know exactly who did it. And for once, on this otherwise desperate holiday, I have something to be thankful for.
20.
Gigi
TODAY I GET A LITTLE peek at my future. The one I’ve been dreaming of since I was just a little girl. The Swan Lake auditions are held in the new American Ballet Company building, which is across the plaza from the conservatory. Sunlight washes the marble in rich golden yellows, and for a moment the space looks less intimidating than it is. The place I want to be cast as a lead in Swan Lake. The place I want to be called a rising star. The place I want to spend my career.
In my head, my life as a professional ballerina plays over and over. Shows at night. Traveling all over the world with the company. Working my way from the corps to soloist, and then to principal. I haven’t made room for any other life. I wouldn’t know what to do.
I’m a whole three hours early. I needed to be able to come over here alone, to get away from stretching dancers and girls running around the hall trying to figure the best black leotard for the auditions and all the chatter about Damien Leger and his preferences. Old worries creep back into me, but I don’t have Alec to talk to now. We haven’t talked since our argument.
The doors slide open to the company lobby. It even smells different in here than in the conservatory. A rush of heat warms me up from the cold December wind outside. Floor-to-ceiling portraits of company stars line the walls. Elevators ping open and shut. Dancers move in and out of them, many wearing company logoed sweats. Glass-walled studios reveal dancers in various stages of movement. There’s modern dance in one. Folk dancing in another. Hip hop in a third. When I look up, I can see four more studios full of ballerinas working through classical choreography. Skylights let in so much sun I’m almost blinded.
There’s a man sitting at an info desk. “Excuse me, can I help you?” I don’t realize he’s talking to me until he repeats himself. “Hey you, miss. Can I help you?” He isn’t angry, but annoyed.
“I dance at the conservatory. I’m here for the Swan Lake audition.”
“Do you have your ID?” He’s walking back to his desk now, and I guess I’m supposed to follow.
“I don’t have it. It’s back in my dorm room.”
“So how am I supposed to believe you?”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so I sort of laugh and motion to my clothes. I’m dressed like a ballerina—hair in a bun, mukluks on my feet to keep them comfy, sweats, dance bag, and even a little audition makeup. I take off my winter coat to show him my conservatory hoodie.
“People just show up here, you know? Crazies obsessed with ballet.” He starts to trail off on a tangent about the ballet weirdos.
“Gigi?” Someone behind me says my name. I turn around. Bette’s face stares back at me. Except it isn’t really her, it’s her sister, Adele, who’s just walked into the building. They look so much alike that my heart accelerates and my monitor buzzes.
“Don’t you look lovely today, Adele Abney,” the guard says.
“And you’re lovelier than ever,” she coos back. Even her voice has the same melodic lilt that Bette’s does. “Are you giving one of the conservatory’s finest a hard time?”
“Little thing doesn’t have her ID,” he says. “Policy. Can’t let her in.”
“Well, she’ll be coming with me. She’s here for the auditions, I’m sure of it. And there will be many more flooding in. They start at six p.m.”
Adele leans over his desk and they whisper about something I can’t hear. As annoying as he is, I’m actually glad he doesn’t recognize me from the articles or the TV segment that ran earlier in the week about the school and the accident.
“Gigi, let me show you where you all will be.” Her hand finds my shoulder and she ushers me away from the desk, farther into the lobby of the American Ballet Company. “Don’t mind him. He’s overzealous and takes his job way too seriously. He’s been here a million years.” She turns down a hall.
“Oh.” That’s all I can seem to get out. Walking this close to Bette’s sister, Mr. K’s favorite dancer, the star of the American Ballet Company, feels weird. She even smells like Bette—a powdery, sweet, and light perfume mixed with the scent of expensive clothes.
“Auditions will be in here.” She points into a studio that’s being set up with extra barres through the center and chairs along the mirror. “And the dressing room is around the corner for you to change.”
“Thanks.” I’m not sure how to make any sort of meaningful conversation. This is the woman we all want to be. “Also, I appreciate you helping me out back there with that guy. I just wanted to be here early to get ready.”
She strokes my shoulder. “Oh, I get it. And—” she pauses, “I just wanted to apologize for anything my little sister did to make you feel uncomfortable. All this”—she motions around with her hands—“can really get to a person.” She waits for me to say something. “I mean, that’s not an excuse for whatever she may have done. Just saying.”
I nod. Do I say thank you for apologizing for Bette, or tell her I hate her sister? Do I remind her that those little pranks turned into me getting seriously hurt? That Bette shoved me in front of a moving car?
She changes the subject before I can even get anything out. “Our cast lists go up tonight after your audition is done. So we’ll be watching you.”
“You will?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. It won’t be a big deal.”
Several company members rush down the hall and start talking to Adele. Their eyes flit over me, brightening with recognition—probably from the newspapers rather than any talent I might have—but they say nothing as if I’m not even standing there. They sweep her away.
“See you in there later, Gigi,” she calls out.
Just like that she’s disappeared. Heading into one of the practice studios, I text Cassie about the run-in and Adele’s apology. She texts back a WTF. I send Will a message, asking him to come over here early to warm up, but he doesn’t answer. I head to the lockers to change, then find a place to stretch and think about the audition. I plot out in my head exactly how things will go.
Two hours later, all the girls are outside the studio, preparing to be invited in. Cassie sits beside me. We shake out our legs and bounce on our heels and smile at each other. Neither of us says a word. We both have to dance well tonight, and it’s getting hard to concentrate as the room fills up with dozens of bodies.
The studio doors open.
“Good luck,” she whispers. “Merde.”
“You, too.”
All the Level 8 girls line up, along with a few select lower levels, like Riho and Isabela. We are each given a place at the barre. A few company members stand outside the glass walls. There’s waving behind the glass. I squint to see.
It’s Mama and Aunt Leah. An embarrassed flush covers me. Mama smiles and blows me a kiss. Despite the hovering, I’m glad she’s there. Better than any lucky charm, her presence makes me stand taller, feel stronger, more like my old self.
Damien marches into the studio, then Mr. K right behind him. There are two rows of chairs in the front of the studio, and it feels like the most important audience I’ve ever danced for.