I can’t believe it. Usually, we’d have to send off audition videos to places all over the world in our search for a pre-professional dance school that’s attached to a big dance company. Pre-professional dance schools usually take on dancers for a year or so who have just finished their training but aren’t quite old enough or ready for company level, and most of the biggest dance companies in the world have these full-time programs attached to them. They are basically the stepping stone you need to get into a professional dance company, unless you are a freak of nature and get into a company straight away. My heart is racing at what an amazing opportunity this is.
I glance at the othe girls; the dancers around me all glow with excitement as we each begin to imagine life outside of this three-year training institution.
* * *
When we are finally dismissed from class, I change into fitness gear ready for a Pilates reformer class in town before I have to come back to the college and teach.
Later that night, when I finally slip back under my cosy doona, I’m exhausted and ready for a good night’s sleep. I know I’ll be dreaming of America… at least until my alarm goes off at 5.30 am tomorrow morning when I have to do this day all over again.
CHAPTER FOUR
USA
APRIL 2008
Standing by myself, I look up to the sky. Someone brushes past me, and then another two people by my other side. They keep coming; a swarm of people charging, almost running towards me, ready to knock me over like a bowling pin. Most are carrying briefcases and phones or have electronic devices attached to their ears and around their necks. For a moment, I’m unsure what to do. If I run with them, I’ll get swept away in a sea of people, never to be seen again. But if I go towards them, I risk being trampled.
‘Quickly, girls, this way.’ Miss Carmen is somewhere in the crowd. All it took was two seconds for me to lose sight of my group, too busy staring up at the cluster of skyscrapers surrounding me. I frantically search for them through the bustling crowd coming out of the subway, fear rising at the thought of being lost in this concrete jungle forever. Desperately scanning the crowd, I finally spot the small group of bun heads running down the stairs to the subway, disappearing underground. Taking a deep breath, I charge forward into the oncoming crowd, which engulfs me. Pushing past what feels like millions of bodies, I duck and weave until I burst out at the bottom of the stairs.
My group is standing in the corner while Miss Carmen does a head count. I make it over just in time for her to turn to me and say, ‘And… Chloe. Good, we’re all here. On we go.’
My heart pounds as I try to calm myself and act as though I didn’t just think my life was ending. But there’s no time to catch my breath, and before I know it, my group is off again and already metres in front of me. God, I cannot for the life of me keep up. Not wanting to get left behind again, I hurry to take a place beside Miss Carmen, who seems to be walking a million miles an hour. Surely I can’t get lost if I stay right next to her. I promise myself I won’t lose my concentration and be swept up by the bright lights and magic of this city for too long ever again.
Grabbing my MetroCard, I file through the gates behind the other dancers and we move swiftly on to the subway. I squeeze in next to my long-legged, curly-haired friend Ivy just as the doors close behind me. Phew.
Ivy starts rambling off all the things she must buy before we leave New York. I smile but can’t quite keep up with her long wish list as I catch my breath.
New York City is so far from the small beach town in Port Macquarie where I grew up.
* * *
After an eventful morning navigating this maze of a city, we arrive at the Joffrey Ballet School for our first audition on the tour. I feel strangely calm as we pin canvas numbers to the fronts of our leotards for identification, then begin to warm up and prepare for a full day of ballet and contemporary classes. We are being assessed in every class we participate in; they will be watching us like hawks so there’s absolutely no time to take a breather.
For our first class of the day we are joining the pre-professional dancers, and when I walk into the studio they are all lined up perfectly behind each other at the barre. The room is strangely quiet, though I can sense an undercurrent of anxious energy rippling off the bodies around me as my friends and I take a place at the barre alongside them. I can’t keep my eyes off these exotic American dancers, poised in first position ready for pliés. They are all dressed in black high-cut leotards and pink tights, each with their hair slicked back into an identical neat bun. It’s quite the contrast to our different-coloured audition leotards. I feel a tap on my shoulder.
‘Excuse me, can you move forward?’ An American girl doesn’t seem to like that fact that I’m taking up a space at the barre. I shuffle forward as far as I can without invading the space of the girl in front of me.
Although the American dancers are composed, I get the sense that they don’t exactly like our little Australian group being here. For some reason, it feels like we are intruding, maybe because our group is taking up extra places in the room, which makes the studio feel small and cramped.
Throughout the class, the American girls push past us, always wanting to go first. It’s like they want to demonstrate how it’s done. Well, if they’re trying to show us up, they are doing a really good job of it. Damn good in fact. Ivy seems to think it’s hilarious and gives me a cheeky grin as she stands directly in front of one of the American dancers to make her presence known.
I guess I understand why our presence is unwelcome— we’ve intruded on their most important class of the day, and we’re occupying the attention of their teacher who’s trying to audition us.
But as the class goes on, it dawns on me that we’re actually keeping up with all this talent in the room. For the first time, I realise that the training we’ve been given back home is second to none. The thought motivates me even further and I just want to scream out a huge thank you to Miss Carmen.
* * *
As I go from class to class, I picture what it would be like to live and dance here. The school is very well equipped, and to live in New York City would be a dream. That is, of course, if I could manage to navigate my way around. But something about this dance school just doesn’t feel right for me. It’s a very good school, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like my dance style isn’t quite the right fit. None of us will find out if we’ve been accepted into any places until we return home, but I have a feeling this one won’t be for me.
Walking back to our accommodation, I step in line with Ivy, who was a standout in our ballet class today. Ivy has the figure and face of a Moulin Rouge dancer and a personality that is larger than life. She’s dramatic, over the top and always cracking silly jokes and clowning around. The world is most definitely her stage and being in her company is always exciting. As we walk behind the others, we chat and laugh about the hilarious evil-eye looks we were getting from one of the dancers in class today.
‘Did you see the girl with the red flower in her hair?’ Ivy asks me. ‘My god, she needs to take a chill pill. Like seriously, calm down. We’re only here for one day.’ She waves her arms about for emphasis. Then she imitates the girl’s snooty expression, turning up her nose and dramatically placing her hands on her hips.
I can’t help but laugh. ‘You should be an actress, Ivy,’ I say through a fit of laughter. Ivy’s not nasty by any means, she just likes to make light of situations that aren’t always so fun.
At that moment, Ivy lets out a shriek. ‘Oh my god. Yuck. Ew!’ We both jump back and start screaming at the top of our lungs. A filthy, fat rat has just climbed out of the drain beside us and run straight in front of our feet. As we clutch at each other, trying to gather ourselves, we notice several local New Yorkers laughing at us. Clearly it’s the norm to have filthy rats run around the street here. I. Can. Not. Deal. We quickly escape up into our hotel to settle in for the night.
* * *
It’s our last day
of auditions in New York City before we leave for Washington. I meet with Ivy and the other girls in the foyer of our hotel while we wait for Miss Carmen to join us. Last night, Ivy mysteriously returned to our room at 3 am, and I need to know details. Trying not to make too much of a fuss around the other girls, I rise up on my toes to whisper in her ear. ‘Where on earth did you get to last night?’
‘Oh, you know, just around,’ she tells me nonchalantly.
‘You are so not getting away with not telling me. What happened?’ I ask.
She rolls her eyes like it’s no big deal. ‘Fine. I snuck out with another dancer to go check out Times Square.’
My eyes almost pop out of my head as she casually talks about running around the city unsupervised. She tells me it was no biggie, and that she just had to make sure she was back and ready for our meeting time. My rule-following brain can’t handle this information. I don’t know how she does it; I need at least nine hours of sleep the night before any dance event. But here she is, standing in front of me after running around all night with zero sleep, and she still looks fresh and ready to ace her audition. This girl is something else.
We spend another day dancing all over the city, then head to the airport. I am tired and achy as we board our flight to DC. On the plane, Ivy entertains everyone with her dramatic portrayals of some of the dancers and choreographers we met today. Usually, I would join in and laugh along with her, but I am too exhausted. I honestly don’t know how she has so much energy after dancing all day and roaming the city all night. I seem to be much more tired than the other dancers, so I try to catch up on some sleep while I half attempt to listen to Ivy’s jokes and funny characterisations.
* * *
I was completely wiped out last night. Zonked. Absolutely spent. But after a big sleep, I am now super-charged and pumped for today’s audition. I gather my things and my thoughts about how I am going to tackle today.
Ivy sits next to me on the bus ride to the Washington Ballet. ‘I want to live in New York. Isn’t it just fabulous?’ she says. ‘I’m going to find myself a wealthy man who can support me while I dance my life away. I also want to invest in shares.’ I can’t help but laugh at her hilarious and random statements. She lightens the mood on the bus, which has become sombre with everyone absorbed in their own thoughts pre-audition.
When we arrive, I step off the bus to see a huge multi-storey white building before me. It stands alone, surrounded by trees and lush greenery. The building looks peaceful; it’s serene and beautiful. There’s a familiarity about it, and I feel an overwhelming sense of home or belonging here. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s similar to somewhere I’ve been before.
I follow the other dancers inside and immediately feel welcome. We walk past some dancers who are on the floor in sweatpants and legs warmers, breaking in pointe shoes and stretching their legs out before their class. I can’t be sure if they are the trainee dancers or the company members, but regardless, they aren’t at all intimidating. Their smiles are warm and inviting as we pass them.
As we continue on, we walk by a big studio, and we all stop to peer in. I can see two dancers: company dancers with the Washington Ballet. Our eyes shining, my friends and I are transfixed by their beauty—not the beauty of their physical features, but the beauty and fluidity of their dancing. They are the real deal. Everything I aspire to be.
‘Clobay,’ Ivy whispers, using the new nickname she’s given me. ‘They’re dancing your pas de deux.’
The two principal dancers—a man and a woman— are rehearsing a pas de deux from the ballet Cinderella. I performed this exact routine in my first year of full-time dance when I was cast as Cinderella for our end-of-year production. The woman I’m watching now dances this piece far more gracefully than I ever performed it. She’s absolutely phenomenal. And she is also tiny, like me. I’m always nervous that companies will think that my stature is too small, but the company dancer I am watching right now is so petite. She is everything I know I can be one day. She has totally transformed into character, and that’s what makes her so magical. I couldn’t bear to just dance without having a character to transform into.
I want to watch a little longer, but I have to tear my eyes away as my group continues down the corridor.
* * *
The longer I spend walking around the studios, the more I sense that this place might fit my style of dancing. I need somewhere that encourages strong character work and has good contemporary coaching, not just ballet, because I’m not quite convinced that I am strictly a ballet dancer just yet. You need to have strong ballet technique to perform the type of contemporary dance they do here, and that’s exactly the kind of dance I’m best at. This place seems to have everything I’m looking for.
Inspired by the rehearsal I just witnessed, I enter the audition studio motivated and ready to give them all I’ve got. I wear my favourite pale-pink leotard—it’s high-cut and blends in with my pale-pink stockings to create the illusion that my legs are longer than they are. Line is everything in ballet.
The studio is large and open but still has that warmth that I felt earlier. At the front of the room is a long table with people sitting behind it, pens and paper in hand. They will be making the decision as to whether or not I am good enough to join their elite trainee program.
I have never wanted anything so much in my life. I’m meant to be here. I know I can do this.
* * *
My whole body is shaking with adrenalin as I reach the end of my audition class, curtsy and run out of the room. I can’t stop smiling. Everything went smoothly. I did four clean pirouettes, finally! My développés to second were high and my body felt technically the strongest it has ever been. I couldn’t have asked for a better performance after my body was so tired yesterday.
Packing up my dance bag, I pull out a change of clothes and throw them on before heading out to the mini bus that’s waiting to take us to the airport. Before I jump on the bus, I ask Miss Carmen if she could take a photo of me in front of the Washington Ballet sign.
Next stop: Miami.
* * *
Miami City Ballet. Wow. This is the last school on our trip, and I’m standing outside a massive white building with hundreds of windows. Everything is white and flashy in Miami and this ballet school is next level.
Ivy steps up beside me. ‘Clobay, I want to go shopping,’ she says, and I take one look at her and giggle. ‘Also, we should be on the beach right now.’
I wish I could share her enthusiasm, but I have come down with a cold and am feeling very worse for wear. It’s probably just exhaustion—I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath on this trip. It’s just been audition, fly, audition, fly, audition, fly. I haven’t even had an opportunity to see any of the cities properly. I guess my body has given up and needs a break. Taking some Panadol, I tell myself to toughen up and enter the building.
If I thought Washington Ballet studios were big, they’re nothing compared to the studio I am standing in right now. It’s gigantic, with big glass windows from floor to ceiling. Standing at the barre, I am still feeling a little congested. My runny nose is going to be a killer when I get to pirouettes. With a sigh, I start rolling my ankles around in a circular motion to warm them up for class.
‘It’s so fancy, right?’ Ivy says next to me as she checks out the studio.
‘Yeah, it’s pretty flashy,’ I say, only half listening as I continue to focus on warming up.
A group of people are chattering behind the doorway in the back corner of the room. Their voices seem to get louder and louder, but when I turn around to see where the noise is coming from, it suddenly stops. There’s a group of girls standing silently in the doorway ready to come in for class. Military style, they run into the room and each take a place at the barre. Whoa, these girls are disciplined. As soon as I see them, I know this school isn’t the right place for me. They’re exact replicas of one another; with tiny torsos and legs almost up to their ears, they are thin and ext
remely tall. They have what most people would consider the perfect ballerina body. My heart sinks a little as I realise I am probably the shortest girl ever to set foot in this studio.
As we commence the barre, it’s hard to concentrate as the girls around me draw my attention. To be honest, I just want to sit down and watch them all. They are freakishly talented, like some kind of advanced ballet alien species.
As we get to the grand battement, where you have to chuck your leg in the air and bring it down softly, I fight to keep up. Their legs are hitting their ears and while mine are not far behind, the only problem is, I am also half their size. There’s no way I can keep up with this.
By the end of the barre, I’ve come to the conclusion that not every school will be right for me, so I decide to just enjoy it for what it is: an incredible learning experience.
Leaving the building, the girls and I all hop on a bus and I wave goodbye to Miami. We are transported to the airport, where we await our twenty-three-hour flight home. Slumped in chairs or sitting on the floor against backpacks, we all catch up on some much-needed rest. I am wrecked, but my brain is already flicking forward to the upcoming performances and assessments I need to prepare for when I arrive back in Australia. I make a few mental notes, then let my eyes slowly close as I drift off to sleep and think of the amazing time I’ve had in America.
CHAPTER FIVE
American dreaming
MAY 2008
After we get back to Australia, America lingers in my mind. The experience has only intensified my desire to finish my diploma and expand my training at an international school. As a result I demand more from my body than ever before. With no time to waste, I get stuck into preparing for our huge mid-year production, Staged 08, in which we are to perform Swan Lake and a contemporary segment to a live orchestra, being assessed for our course every step of the way.
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