“You must show this longing, this love, in your whole being. In every gesture, every expression. You must show that you ache to be with her, body and soul. Can you do this?”
Lucas is blushing, but he looks straight into the blue eyes that always make me think of frozen rivers and glittering jewels and snow falling on onion-shaped domes.
He nods and says, “Yes, Madame. I can do this.”
“And, Sparrow,” Levkova says, turning to me. “You have lost all your hope. You spend your days and nights grieving near a lake that is filled with your mother’s tears. But when you see this prince, when he touches you, you dare to believe that your life could be another way. That you might be saved. And when you look at him, when you touch him, you must make the audience believe that you love him. That you have given him your heart. That you have trusted him with your life.”
You could hear a pin drop in the studio. We are all enchanted, mesmerized by her voice, by the story and our roles in it, overwhelmed and humbled by the responsibility to dance it well.
“Now, then. This is what I want to see. Love. Hope. Trust. But mostly love. Passionate, heartbreaking love. Again, from the beginning.”
She claps her hands and tosses her head, like a diva at a curtain call. Raising her hand to Abby, the signal to begin, she gives Lucas and me one curt nod. She is done indulging us. Back to work.
This time, it feels different. We aren’t just dancing roles. We become Siegfried and Odette, both cursed, each in our own way.
Lucas makes it look like he aches for me, as though when I dance away from him, the space where I’d been moments before has gone cold. With my entire body, with all my heart, I dance the panicked fear of never being human again, the agony of imprisonment, of having no power over my body’s form or shape.
I dance, my heart breaking open, filling with love. I let myself melt into Lucas, wishing that I could stay safe in his arms forever, hoping that he will shield me and save me from evil. When I look into his eyes, I see a prince. I let my arms linger around his neck, even as I pull away in fear.
This time, it’s magic.
When we finish, staring at each other in embarrassment and exhilaration, there’s a deep silence all around us. The last notes of the piano float up to the high ceiling, fading away in the afternoon light.
And then Delaney starts to clap. “You guys! You stud muffins! You slayed it!” Abby stands up and joins her. Soon the entire room is filled with the sound of applause, while Lucas and I stand dazed and panting. Caleb lets out an ear-piercing whistle and shouts, “Brava! Bravo!” We don’t respond. We stand still, breathing hard, waiting for Levkova. Nothing is real, nothing is good, until she says so.
I tap my finger against the palm of my hand and count all the things I did wrong. My arabesques were wobbly. I was off at the end, almost two beats behind. I felt shaky on the lifts. I’m afraid of what Levkova’s going to say. I need her approval, her blessing, like I need air and food and water.
She comes gliding over to us. Her cheeks are flushed, and she is smiling, something as rare as an eclipse. Wordlessly, she puts her hands on my shoulders, kisses me on both cheeks, and tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. She rests the palm of her hand on my face for a long moment, gazing into my eyes like she wants to tell me something, then turns abruptly and kisses Lucas, who has to bend down so she can reach his scruffy face. She smells like lilacs and snow.
“Better. There is much work yet to be done, but today you have come a little closer to perfection.” Then she says the words I live for: “I am proud of you.”
Overcome with relief and joy and the sweet ache of tired muscles, I throw my arms around Lucas and hug him close. He lifts me off my feet, burying his face in my neck, spinning me in slow circles. His arms tighten around me.
“Oh my God, Lucas, that was amazing. You were amazing!”
“Sparrow,” he whispers, so quietly I can barely hear him. “I wasn’t pretending.”
Before I can react or think about what to say or feel, I see Tristan’s face at the door over Lucas’s shoulder.
Lucas’s words are lost in the roaring that fills my ears. All I can see is Tristan. Only then do I think to check the clock on the wall. It’s three o’clock. Rehearsal has gone on for half an hour past the time he always picks me up.
“Lucas,” I say. “Put me down.”
He sets me gently on the floor, but keeps his hands on my waist.
I check the window set high in the studio door. Tristan is gone.
“Birdy,” he says softly. “What is it? Did I upset you? What’s wrong?”
He looks hurt, and I know I should stay and at least acknowledge what he said. But I can’t. “I’m sorry, Lucas, I have to go, like, right now. I’ll text you later.”
* * *
I run to grab my dance bag, piled with the others in a corner near the window. Fumbling with the hooks in my tutu, I step out of it, pin it to a skirt hanger, and hang it crookedly on the metal wardrobe rack.
Lucas is still where I left him, frozen in place, watching me.
I forget the customary révérence to Levkova and Abby. Levkova calls out, “Savannah Rose, how dare you leave this studio so rudely! Have you forgotten your manners?” I know I’ll lie awake tonight kicking myself, that no apology will ever fix what I’m doing right now, but I keep going. All I can think about is getting to the changing room, taking off my pointe shoes, and meeting Tristan in the parking lot. But the girls in the corps surround me, smiling, patting my shoulders, giving me one-armed hugs.
“You were wonderful!” Ainsley squeals.
One of the younger girls, Emma, says, “You looked just like Gillian Murphy! Oh my God, your arms are amazing!”
“Thanks, guys, thanks,” I say, trying to smile and not be a jerk. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get out of here. Y’all were great! See you Monday!”
Caleb tries to high-five me as I make my way to the door, but I push past him and run down the hall.
“Aw, man, come on!” he calls after me. “Don’t leave a brother hanging!”
In the changing room, I pick at the stubborn knots in the ribbons on my shoes, cursing under my breath. The clock keeps ticking.
I hear the door open and the sound of pointe shoes on tile coming in my direction. Delaney plops down beside me, half of her tutu in my lap. She tightens her bun and leans close to me, examining my face like a detective looking for spatter patterns.
“What’s going on? No one leaves without Levkova’s permission. No one leaves without the révérence. Something’s up, and you need to tell me. Like, right now.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, finally loosening the knots and wrapping the ribbons around my shoes. I turn away and shove them into my dance bag. “I just need to get out of here. Tristan’s been waiting for more than half an hour. I hate making him wait.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. That’s not it. You’ve never, ever rushed out of the studio like that. In fact, you always stay late, because you are a masochist.”
“Yeah, but that was before I had a boyfriend. Is it so hard to believe that I want to leave on time so I can be with him?”
“Bird Girl, to be honest, you seem a little wigged-out.” She points at my face. “Your mouth is saying one thing, but it doesn’t square up with the rest of you.”
“Jesus, Laney, you’re worse than my dad! Stop with the third degree! I’m not wigged-out, okay? It’s just that I don’t like to keep anybody waiting. Especially Tristan.”
“So what if he’s waiting? You’re doing something that’s important to you, and it’s his choice to pick you up. It’s not like he’s out there bleeding to death. By the way, why does he always drive you to and from ballet now? Like, every single freaking day? Isn’t that, I don’t know, a bit much? What if you and I wanted to go have coffee at Nora’s, like we used to before you were in love?”
“If we wanted to have coffee, he’d be fine with it. And actually, no, it isn’t a bit much. It�
�s sweet. He says this way he can see me for a few minutes before I disappear into the studio for three hours after school and five hours on Saturday. You’re making it seem like some huge thing, and it’s not!”
“Right. If you say so, Swan Queen,” she says, standing up and adjusting her tutu. “I’m going back now. Levkova gave us five minutes to ‘stop acting like hysterical children and behave properly.’ You want me to tell her you’re sick?”
“Would you? Tell her I felt faint. Or I threw up. I owe you, Laney.”
“Oh, you’ll pay, trust me,” she says, walking to the mirrors. She leans in and licks her finger, dabbing at the mascara that’s smudged under her eyes. She leaves in a rustle of net and tulle.
As soon as she’s gone, I pull a short black denim skirt over my tights, shove my feet into the worn Uggs I’ve had since ninth grade, and shrug on the bolero jacket I wore on my first date with Tristan.
Delaney’s right. I need to chill out. I smile to myself, imagining how Tristan’s arms will be around me in minutes, how he’ll kiss me before he pulls out of the parking lot, just like he always does.
I say Sophie’s words, the ones that make me feel instantly calm. “All will be well, all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” He loves me. Everything is fine.
I run down the hall. Tristan is waiting.
5
Fourth of July
Tristan stomps hard on the gas pedal, making the tires squeal as we turn right onto Main Street. “How come every conversation with your father is like a verbal colonoscopy?”
“I’m so, so sorry. He’s completely embarrassing. It’s the lawyer in him. He feels a moral obligation to cross-examine you every time he sees you. It’s not you, personally. He trusts no man around his daughter.”
Tristan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, and he scowls at the windshield. He goes quiet. Quiet is dangerous. At least when someone is screaming, you know where you stand.
“When I was thirteen, my dad told me that if he could get away with it, he’d send me to a convent until I was thirty, then arrange my marriage to the rich, impotent son of some obscure European noble family. He said the Benedictines would be a good choice, because I look nice in black.”
Tristan turns to me, still frowning. “You think it’s funny, Savannah? Because I don’t. He makes me feel like a freaking criminal, and it’s starting to piss me off.”
I feel sick, like my stomach is crawling up into my throat, and the palms of my hands are sweating. I wipe them on my skirt.
“No, I don’t think it’s funny. I promise I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll get him to back off.”
“Hand me a beer. There’s a six-pack on the floor behind you.”
“You want a beer while you’re driving? Really?”
His voice rises into a high falsetto, mimicking me. “Yes, really, I want a beer while I’m driving.”
Suddenly he jerks the car to the right and slams on the brakes. I’m thrown forward, and my seat belt locks, digging into my collarbone. He reaches into the back seat and pulls a sweating bottle of Blue Moon from the stash behind me. He twists it open, tosses the cap out the window, and swallows half of the beer.
Tristan guns the engine, pulls away from the curb, and we tear through the traffic lights down Main Street. My sweet little town passes in a blur. Lily and Isabelle locking up their vintage shop, Sadie the corgi waiting patiently at their feet. Nora’s cottony white hair behind her bakery case. The twinkle lights sparkling on the gazebo in the town square. Everything flies by so quickly, like visions from a dream.
I can’t stand his silence. I don’t know what he’s thinking, if he’s just irritated about my dad or this is blowing up into something bigger.
“I’m super-excited about tonight, aren’t you? I know you were at Delaney’s Fourth of July party last year, but it will be so much better this year, for me anyway, because we’re together. I love Delaney’s house, almost as much as I love mine. When we were kids, we spent every weekend at each other’s houses. Mostly at mine, but sometimes I went to hers, and her mom always made me feel like I was another daughter. So tonight’s going to be—”
“Shut up, Savannah. I can’t stand the sound of your voice right now, okay? Just stop talking. Whatever you have to say, I don’t care.”
Shut up. Don’t tell. Got it. I’m good at being quiet.
Tristan speeds up. He’s grinding his teeth. I dig my fingernails into the armrest. He’s going so fast I’m afraid he’ll lose control of the car.
“Tristan,” I say softly. “Please slow down. The police are always out on the Fourth of July. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I don’t ever get in trouble, Savannah. Trust me.”
He speeds up, probably going sixty where the speed limit is thirty-five.
“You’re scaring me. Could you please slow down? For me?”
“I will if you hand me another beer.”
“I can’t reach behind me.”
“Take off your seat belt.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and twist myself around, kneeling on the seat to reach the beer behind me. The hot alcohol smell in the car, on his breath, is making me dizzy and sick. In an instant I am a child again, and my parents are in the kitchen, arguing. I hear the crystal sound of glass bottles thrown hard into the big green trash can next to the back door, the sound of my father’s furious whispering, and my mother, crying.
Caro, you can’t keep forgetting to pick her up at school! What the hell were you doing?
I was working! I got involved in my art, okay? Savannah was fine!
Jesus, your art. Give me a break. You weren’t painting, and she wasn’t fine! She’d been crying for hours by the time I got there. We’ve been over this a thousand times! You can’t drink! You can’t stop taking your meds! You have to try, love. Sweetheart, you need to do better than this.
I close my eyes and hang on to the back of my seat with both hands. When my head clears, I hand Tristan a beer and buckle myself back in.
He grins at me. “Thanks, babe. You weren’t afraid I’d stop real quick and send you flying through the windshield?”
“Why would you do that? You love me.”
He takes a long swallow of beer and flies through a light just as it turns red. Horns blare in our wake, and I grab on to the armrest again and bite the insides of my cheeks.
“Tristan, please, please slow down. You’re really scaring me.”
“We’re almost there. I thought you wanted to get to the party, because you just love Delaney’s house. I’m only trying to make you happy, baby.” He’s starting to slur his words, and I wonder how much he had to drink before he picked me up.
I try to count the streetlights whizzing past, starting over after every ninth one. In my head, I say the rhyme I made up when I was six. It’s stupid, but it calms me down.
One, two, three, count with me. Four, five, six, almost fixed. Seven, eight, nine, I’ll be fine. But it doesn’t help tonight.
Tristan screeches to a stop in front of Delaney’s house, one of the rambling old Victorians on Glastonbury Court. Her brother, Sean, and his band are tuning up in the backyard, and the sound of mandolins and banjos floats out to me across the soft night air.
Tristan cuts the engine and turns to me, running his hand through my hair. I’ve left it soft and loose for him, because he hates the bun. He says it makes me look uptight. He leans over and kisses me gently, tracing his thumb down my cheek. I lean my head into his palm, kissing him back. I love him so much when he’s like this. He traces softly down my neck to my shoulder then stops. He jerks his head back, and my heart starts to race.
“Where’s your necklace?” he asks quietly, enunciating carefully, not slurring like he was before. So I’ll understand what I’ve done. What I’ve failed to do.
“Tristan, I’m so sorry! I must have forgotten to put it on after ballet yesterday.”
Thunderclouds are massing in his gray eyes. “You promised me y
ou’d never take it off, ever. Were you lying to me, Savannah?”
Last month, Tristan took me on a picnic to the Honeysuckle Pond to celebrate our three-month anniversary. He opened a bottle of champagne and handed me a black velvet box. Inside, there was a necklace with a silver heart pendant, a sparkling stone at its center. Blue topaz, the color of a summer sky. He made me promise I’d never take it off, because then it would be like he was always with me.
“I didn’t lie to you, Tristan, I promise! I know I said I’d wear it all the time, but we’re not allowed to wear jewelry in class. I forgot to put it back on. I’m so, so sorry.”
“How do you think that makes me feel?” he says, clenching his jaw. I can see the muscles tighten in his face. “I guess that expensive necklace doesn’t mean anything to you. Maybe I don’t mean anything to you either.”
He reaches out to the hollow in my throat, just above where the heart usually rests, and spreads his fingers so that they’re around my neck. His eyes never leave mine. My breath quickens, and he starts to squeeze, just a little, but it hurts and I’m afraid.
“Don’t, Tristan,” I whisper. “Please.” He squeezes again, harder this time, then lets go. My eyes are watering.
I reach out to touch his face, to stroke his hair. He recoils like I’m trying to hand him a snake.
“Tristan,” I say softly. “Please don’t be like this. I love my necklace, and I love you. I was an airhead and forgot to put it back on, that’s all. I was excited about the party, excited to see you tonight. I’ll make it up to you, I promise, and I’ll put it on as soon as I get home. I’ll never take it off again, no matter what Levkova says.”
I lean over and press my lips to his. He doesn’t kiss me back.
“Let’s go inside, okay? Delaney’s waiting.”
I jump when Brandon bangs on Tristan’s window, holding up his beer. Tristan’s face changes in an instant, morphing from anger to amusement. He holds up his empty bottle. “I’m way ahead of you clowns,” he says. “Get me another one. I’ll be right there.”
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