I shake my head, and crumple into a mess on June’s perfectly made bed, not caring if she flips about her mussed sheets. “My mom—I can’t—she wants—” I’m crying so hard now, I’m hiccupping through, making no sense whatsoever. I don’t know if it’s sadness or fear or rage. He rises from the bed and crosses the room, pulling on a T-shirt as he makes his way. I can’t help but notice how different his body is from Alec’s—fuller, more muscular, with small patches of dark hair scattered across his chest. I look away, frantic, trying to figure out how to escape.
He sits next to me on the bed, putting a heavy arm around my shoulders. “Shhh, breathe, Gigi, breathe.”
I swallow tears and try to slow myself down—my heart, my mind, my breathing. His arm has dropped, and he’s rubbing my back in long, low strokes. My first instinct is to panic, to pull away. I keep thinking back to Will’s words. “Henri made me . . .” But he moves his hands as soon as he sees the expression on my face, and I realize too late that there was nothing really sexual about it. “Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I just—What happened?”
“My family wants me to give up dance and move back home to California.” A tearful tremor shoots through me, and Henri pats my arm, brotherly. “I can’t. I’ve worked so hard, so long—”
“So you don’t have to,” he says. I can’t even get the but out before he continues. “You Americans are so funny. Gigi, you’re almost eighteen, a grown-up. And you’ve been on your own for almost two years now. You’ve gone through hell. You’re one of the strongest girls—one of the strongest people—I know. Do what you want. You don’t need anyone’s permission.”
I’m dumbstruck. As much as the magazines have gushed and called me a rising phoenix and this and that, no one’s ever pointed out my own power to me before. Not when it counts. Not when they really believe it. But Henri, I can tell he does.
I think about asking him about Will, but Cassie steps out of the bathroom, wearing pajamas, her cheeks rosy from the heat. “Hey!” She looks at me and is instantly worried. “You okay?”
I nod, realizing how much better I feel. All because of Henri. “Yes, I am. Or I will be.”
I think back to last year, those moments when I thought he was too intense, too invasive. I think about how easily I misinterpreted all that concern as something more—and how Will might have done just that, too. How Will might have gotten it all wrong. Just like me.
Looking at Henri now, as he leaps up to give Cassie a kiss, quietly filling her in on my drama, I realize that maybe he was just trying to look out for me. That maybe he was right to.
I open the door, ready to step out of the room. “I’ve got to go, though, so we’ll talk later, okay?” I tell Cassie. She looks from me to Henri and back, but I can’t stay and explain.
Right now, I have to go dance. I have to remind myself of why this is so important.
35.
Bette
MORKIE HAS ME IN STUDIO B to watch Gigi and Alec’s pas rehearsal before I have to go work with Cassie. Alec and I warm up at the barre, even though I’m only supposed to be here to watch. I’m supposed to observe what type of white swan Gigi will turn into so I can be the opposite—dark, sinister, dynamic. That’s what Morkie said. Eleanor sits quietly on the left side of the studio.
“We will begin from the love duet in Act Three,” Morkie says. Gigi still hasn’t come to the front. I look at Alec, ready to purse my lips and roll my eyes to communicate how utterly irritated I am with her. But he looks away. For the first time since returning, I realize that we haven’t fallen back into our old relationship. I guess it will never be quite the same again.
“Gigi,” Morkie calls out.
She tiptoes to the front. She won’t even look at me, no matter how hard I stare. In the mirror, we’re a mismatched trio. Alec stands in the middle, with Gigi and me at his sides. We’re cast as opposites. I look like the classical version of the White Swan, and she should be the black one.
She’s sullen, quiet, probably dying to ask Morkie why I’m here. I bet it bothers her. It would bother me.
“Last time, remember, I told you that there wasn’t enough of the story in your dancing,” Morkie says. “Tell me what the scene is.”
Alec doesn’t wait for either Gigi or me to answer. “It’s the ballroom scene with the princesses, the one where Siegfried comes in, along with Rothbart in disguise with his daughter, Odile, Odette’s evil double.”
“Yes, Alec. Very nice,” Morkie says. “What else?”
Gigi chimes in. “Siegfried welcomes the disguised Odile to the ball and they dance. He chooses her as his bride and swears the oath.”
“Gigi, where are you during this scene?” Morkie asks.
“She’s off to the side watching from a window,” I interject. “She’s a mess and shattered.”
Gigi rolls her eyes while I speak, so I continue without being asked. “The masked Rothbart reveals his true identity—and Odile’s—and they disappear. Siegfried rushes off to search for the real Odette. It’s about love and deception and perception.”
Morkie nods in approval with my addition. “Great—there is so much feeling, so much emotion. I must see all of that in your movements. Tell this tragedy.”
Alec and Gigi take their positions.
“Let us try.” Morkie moves to the front to take a seat. “Bette, watch how light and graceful she is. Because you must do opposite for your pas with Alec.” She waves me out of the center and I stand back.
Gigi flits over to the far corner, awaiting her entrance. The music starts. Alec trots through the studio as if he’s searching for Odette. The chords speed up and Gigi enters. Her arms flap and pulsate in beautiful waves like they are wings.
“Beautiful arms,” Morkie shouts. “Articulate the feet, Gigi. Alec, strengthen your lines.”
Gigi takes tiny steps in his direction, then folds herself down onto the floor. He lingers over her and takes her by the arms, lifting her like she’s nothing more than a feather. He turns her as she stretches her arms and legs out in arabesque. A little voice inside me whispers: She’s gotten better.
“Gigi, descend through the toes,” Morkie commands. “Yes, perfect, perfect. Show me you love her, Alec. Gigi, you, too. I need to feel the love.”
Morkie stands and motions with her arms, demonstrating what she expects from Alec. A knot coils in my throat as he slides his hands along Gigi’s arms and turns her around like a beloved object. It’s the way he used to touch me, to look at me. I want to step between them, dousing the fire before it flares again. Instead, I’m frozen, transfixed, unable to move or breathe.
I’m not the only one. Morkie stops shouting corrections and we all just watch them float and glide and fall into the most well-known classical variation from the most beautiful ballet in the world. Level 6 and 7 dancers crowd outside the glass walls like moths to light, everyone drawn to their movements and the flame between them.
They anticipate each other’s movements, just like he used to know mine. She trusts him. There’s no clenching of her stomach when he lifts her or tightened mouth when he holds her waist. In that moment, I feel like I’ve lost. Like there’s something real and maybe lasting between them.