“Hey.” I kind of want to run up and jump him, to snuggle in close and inhale the clean, woodsy scent that’s always Alec. But he’s keeping a safe distance, his eyes on me but wary, his ears pinkening as I watch him. He rubs the back of his neck with a palm, as if he’s exhausted or uncomfortable.
I take a step closer, wishing I could ease it all away, close the distance between us. But he moves back, nearly ending up against the wall, and it tells me all I need to know. We’re not the same, Alec and me. We’re not a we at all anymore.
He smirks, sheepish. “You excited to get started?” I nod. “So weird, isn’t it? The same, but not. Like we’re tiny guppies.”
“Yeah, among the sharks. When we used to be them.” Well, me anyway. I almost have to grin at my silly joke. And it gets a smile from Alec finally. But he doesn’t come closer, doesn’t offer the hug I realize I’ve been hoping for.
“I should get moving,” he says. “I need to warm up.”
I almost ask him if he wants to stretch together. It feels so natural, so us. But he’s already headed off toward Studio 3, where male soloists congregate. They shake his hand and jab at him, welcoming him to the fold like he belongs there. He’s Alec Lucas, legacy, conservatory star.
So do I, I remind myself.
I go to the ABC finance office and fill out paperwork, which I should have done last week. But as excited as I was, I didn’t want to come here before it was official. I fill out a tax form and an emergency card—I put down Adele and my mom. I get paperwork about my salary and health insurance. Signing my name makes me feel like an adult. I’ll be paid. This is a job now, not just my passion. After I finish filling out the paperwork, they tell me to go ahead and get ready.
I take the elevator into the empty locker room near Studio 10. I slip out of the clothes that make me just a regular girl, and into my brand-new leotard, tights, leg warmers, and a ballet sweater for this big day. I make the most perfect and important bun in my hair, and dust my face with makeup. I open a brand-new tube of Chanel pink lipstick and glide it across my mouth. I look in the mirror. I definitely look the part of the music box ballerina.
There’s humming in the hall outside the locker room. I peek out. Mr. K walks toward the elevators. The back of his head bobs up and down, and there’s a smug rhythm to his steps. My breath catches in my chest. Heat rushes just beneath my skin. I might fall over from the weight of it.
I step forward. “Mr. K.”
He turns around. A smile overtakes his face. “Great to see you here at the company. I always knew that you’d make it far, Bette. You have what it takes.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Willingness to devote your life to this. To do whatever you have to.” He pats my shoulder like I’m a poodle in need of reaffirmation.
“Eleanor had the same passion.”
Her name makes him recoil. He shifts his weight back and forth, and looks like he wants to scurry off somewhere. A company member walks down the hall. He bows to Mr. K, then slips into a nearby studio.
“Have a good rehearsal, Bette. I wish you well. Make us all proud.”
I step in front of him. He tries to move left, then right. I block his path.
“You ruined her life,” I whisper.
“Ballet can ruin many people—if you’re not tough. But you don’t have to worry about that.” He looks me straight in the eyes. “You will be fine here. You will make yourself important because that is what this world is about. Those who aren’t important don’t stay. Those that are can stay no matter what they do. You will learn this. As I have.”
He slips past me and into the elevator. I think about his words for a second, feeling defeated. Is what he said true? Is it all about legacies and bloodlines and paying for spots? Or can talent raise you up, as we’ve always been led to believe? Would I be here if my last name wasn’t Abney? If that’s true, then I have nothing to lose. But he definitely does. And eventually, he’s going to have to pay. I’ll make sure of that.
I’m the first one in the studio. It already feels like home. I sink into a stretch on the floor. I focus on making sure this is the best first ballet class I’ve ever had, better than my very first ballet class with Morkie. I hear feet and sit up, thinking company dancers will come in soon.
But it’s Cassie, staring down at me. “Don’t get too comfortable, Bette,” Cassie says. “You won’t be here for long.”
I choose to ignore her, bending back down into a deep V.
“It should’ve been Gigi.”
I don’t get up, focusing on the floor and my breathing. “Well, you know what they say about karma.” I pause. “Which means you’ll be gone soon enough.”
“I think it’s you they’ll be replacing.”
I rise, nearly knocking her over in the process, and start to walk away. “I’m not going anywhere, so you can drop those fantasies.”
She smiles, following right on my heels. “Did you find your phone?”
“How did you know I lost my phone?” My heart thumps. My fists ball up. I turn to face her, and she’s grinning like a cat on a mouse.
“I told you that I’d never forget or forgive you for what you did to me.” Her eyes flash with rage. “That I was willing to do whatever it took.”
“You posted those pictures of Eleanor.” I step close to her. “You’re the reason my best friend tried to kill herself. You.” I want to hit her in the mouth, to tear that smug grin off her face. I’m shaking.
“It’s nothing worse than what you did to me.” She shoves me back. “You weren’t supposed to come back. You weren’t supposed to still be here.” Her face is bright red from the tip of her nose to the lobes on her ears. Like Alec’s. “You should be banned from ballet and every company. I’ll make sure of it.”
“There you go again, ranting and raving like a crazy person. Someone should take care of that. Lock you up again.” I look around innocently. “Where’s your keeper, anyway? Did you finally scare Henri off?”
“You leave Henri out of this. He told me everything you did while I was away. How you tortured Gigi and the others. You’re evil, Bette, truly.”
“I’m evil? Why don’t you worry about your boyfriend? He nearly got that poor girl killed, and he messed with Will’s head. He’s disgusting, you know? And while you were gone, he was all over me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I told him to get close to you.” She laughs.
“Did you tell him to kiss me?” Her face falls, her eyes wild. “Because, let me tell you, he really enjoyed his mission. Couldn’t keep his hands off me. Wonder if he was up to the same antics with Will. Maybe I’ll call and—”
“You’re lying.”
“You and I both know I’m not.” We’re face-to-face now, so close I know she can smell my Chanel perfume and almost taste the lipstick I’m wearing. “Ask him about the mole on my rib. He’ll know exactly where it is. Now, if you’re done, I need to finish warming up.”
She grabs my arm. “You didn’t win! Adele and Eleanor suffered because of you—everything that happened to them is your fault. You took those pictures. I did Eleanor a favor by posting them. And you were supposed to fall through the trapdoor. Not Adele. It was all for you. How can you live with yourself?” She’s scratching so hard, bloody red welts have come up on my arm. “If you think I’m anywhere near done, well, you’re even stupider than—”