I wonder if that will be me, a year or two from now, desperately clinging to this world, whatever part of it I can hold on to. It all makes me think of Eleanor and our little girl dream. The one we used to stay up at night discussing. I’d like to see her happy, dancing somewhere, somehow. I imagine Eleanor, maybe five years from now, somewhere not too far from New York. She’ll have a little dance school full of handpicked petit rats, she’ll be the old Eleanor again. She’ll swing around with the children and teach them all the good things she took from this place—the magic of performance and the grace of applause, the swish and the sparkle of the tulle and the makeup and the powdery scent of resin. All the things I’ve forgotten in the heat of the competition to be the best. All the things that I’ll have to keep reminding myself about if I have a chance to continue this journey.
The assistant ushers me into the lone empty chair, facing the panel. I sit, ready to meet my fate.
Every fiber in my being wants to call out to Mr. K, to tell him I know exactly what he did and that I won’t let him get away with it. But this is not the time or the place. First I need to know my fate.
Mr. K opens his mouth to speak, but Damien beats him to it. “Bette Abney, your performance in the American Ballet Conservatory’s rendition of Swan Lake tonight was the best I’ve seen you dance,” he says. “But we’re hoping it’s not all you can do.”
His words thunder inside me.
“I told you once, Bette,” he continues, “that you have something in you that echoes Adele. And just that would be useless to me. I already have an Adele.”
A flush climbs up from my stomach to my chest and face. I gulp and wait for him to say, No, Bette, you didn’t earn an apprenticeship at ABC.
“But you also bring something very different.” He rubs his chin and pauses.
I count my heartbeats in the silence.
“That edge, Bette, that’s what makes you stand out. At American Ballet Company, we are only looking for the standouts.” He presses a finger to his mouth, and turns to Madame Dorokhova.
Her stern mouth breaks into what could be considered her form of a smile. “Bette Abney, we’d like to offer you a spot as an apprentice at American Ballet Company.”
She waits for me to say something, anything. The words are caught in my throat. I look from Mr. K to Madame Dorokhova and back to Damien.
Damien clears his throat. “We’re presuming you’d like the spot, Bette?”
I nod, finally finding my voice. “More than anything in the world, Mr. Leger.”
“Great. We’ll see you in company classes after graduation,” Madame Dorokhova says.
I curtsy and bow my head, then blast through the door.
I know that Adele and my mother will be waiting outside, expecting the worst, for Bette to disappoint them once more. Not this time. This time, I’m the one who’ll get the final word.
42.
June
IT’S MY LAST DAY AS student at the American Ballet Conservatory. After more than ten years, I’m saying good-bye to the only place I’ve really called home.
I’m in my room, boxing up the last of my stuff. Jayhe’s been taking it down to the van in shifts, but it’s double-parked and he’s worried about a ticket. With NYU looming, he can’t afford one. I think back to the night after the gala last week, when Damien Leger told me that while I was a beautiful dancer with flawless technique, my time at the American Ballet was over. With so much talent in the pool this year, E-Jun, he’d said, I’m afraid we can’t offer you a spot.
That was it. My final rejection. My dance career finished in the span of a few small moments, with a whimper, not a bang. I cried that night. I did. But I won’t now. I refuse to.
I put the teakettle and my box full of teas into the last cardboard box, and think back to the first day of this year—to finding Cassie here in my room and how I let that moment define my year. I’m disappointed in myself, I am. I know things could have gone differently if I had taken the reins then and redirected. But I’m in a good place, I remind myself. I’m with Jayhe, I’m going to one of the best universities in the country, my mom and I are finally getting along. And I’m getting healthier every day.
I seal up the last box with tape, and take one last glance around the room, making sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Cassie’s side has been bare for days—she moved into the company apartments last week. Good riddance. It let me live my last few days here in peace, at least. Even if it was a little too quiet. I take one last glimpse, pick up the box, and head to the elevator to go down to the third floor to return my keys. It’s hard to say good-bye to the American Ballet Conservatory. But it’s time to move on, to move forward.
I’m in the elevator when my phone starts buzzing. It’s an 801 number I don’t recognize, so I send it to voice mail. I return my keys at the front office, and as I’m walking out, it rings again. The same number. Annoyed, I answer it, ready to yell.
“E-Jun Kim?” The voice is smooth and male. I don’t quite recognize it.
“Yes.” I set the box down and pause by the front door. I can see Jayhe in the van, sketching in his pad.
“Glad I caught you.” Maybe it’s about my NYU dorm situation. I asked for a single, which is unusual for a freshman. “Alan Willis. Salt Lake City Ballet. You auditioned for us in New York back in February.”
“Yes, of course. It was lovely to meet you all.”
“Lovely to meet you, too, E-Jun. In fact, I know we may be a little late in reaching out—and that you may have already accepted another offer—but we’ve been delayed in our casting confirmations for the upcoming year. We’re hoping that you might consider joining us here in the corps de ballet at Salt Lake City.”
I’m so stunned, I can’t speak.
“Your audition performance of Odile was spectacular—fiery yet understated. It really stuck with me, and I certainly meant to connect with you sooner. Anyway, I wanted to extend the offer, but I do understand if you’re already committed. In any case, I thank you for taking the time to audition. Good luck—”
“Wait, Mr. Willis, hold on.” The words come out in a rush, frantic, and I hope not desperate. “I’d love to consider your offer. I’ve got some things to think about, though. Is it okay if I get back to you?”
“Oh, by all means. I’ll email you all the details. Take as much time as you need. I’m hopeful here, E-Jun. I’d be so pleased to hear you’ll join us. But definitely think about it and get back to me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Willis.”
He hangs up, and I’m left standing there in the hall, not quite sure what my next step should be.
Just as I’m about to walk out, I hear my name. “E-Jun. E-Jun. I’m glad I caught you.”
Mr. Lucas. My father. “I thought I was too late.”
Always too late, I want to say. Or not there at all.
“I know you had high hopes. But I’ve heard you’re on your way to NYU, and I’m so pleased.”
I nod and pick up my box, ready to walk away for good.
“Listen, E-Jun. I heard about the dorm situation. I want you to know that’s taken care of. Your mother—” He pauses, as if he’s lost his train of thought. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. “She said you’re waiting for a spot. But I don’t think that’s necessary.”