by Melody Grace
“So what will you do?” I ask, feeling guilty that Francesca left him high and dry on my account. If it wasn’t for me, then none of this would have happened.
“It’s fine.” Raphael brushes off my concern. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do!” I protest. “Don’t pretend like this isn’t important. Your partner just quit!”
“I said, I’ll be fine.” Raphael’s jaw is set, and he focuses hard on pouring me a coffee. I know he’s trying not to think about it, but guilt twists in my gut. This is all my fault.
“Can you dance solo for the audition,” I try, “maybe adapt one of the routines?”
Raphael slowly shakes his head. “My best work is choreographed for two,” he replies slowly. “Without Francesca...”
He sinks back against the counter, his face falling as if reality is just setting in.
“There’s got to be something,” I insist.
Raphael gives a shrug. “I could try to put a new routine together, but it’s not the same. Maybe if I wait, and find a new partner, I could try again next year...”
“Are you crazy?” I yelp, leaping to my feet. “You can’t wait, this is your chance!”
“But what can I do?” Raphael asks me, looking defeated. “This company is the finest around. Even with my best routine, with Francesca, it was always a long shot.”
“Now it’s still a long shot, but it’s one you have to take,” I insist. I take both his hands, clasping them to my chest. “Listen to me, Raphael: there’s always going to be something standing in your way. Bad timing, other dancers, an injury – it never ends. The question is whether you let that defeat you, or if you rise to that challenge and go after what you want.” I stare up at him, desperate to make him see he can’t quit now, not with his future on the line. “This is what you really want, isn’t it?”
He nods, and I can see the passion in his eyes.
“Then find a way. There’s always a way,” I swear. “And you’re not giving up before you even try. I won’t let you!”
I stop, suddenly realizing how bossy I sound. What are you doing, ordering him around? I step back, awkward, but Raphael doesn’t let go of my hands.
“You’re right,” he breathes, his face suddenly lighting up with a devastating smile. “I’ll find another partner for the audition. I already have!”
“Who?”
“You.” He presses one fingertip to my bare collarbone.
I shiver, laughing it off. “Come on, be serious.”
“I am.” Raphael’s smile drops, and now he gazes at me with blazing intensity. “I’ve seen you dance, Annalise, you’d be perfect.”
I shake my head, backing away. “No way,” I tell him, “you’re crazy! I can’t dance like that. I’m a ballerina!”
“You have the instinct for it,” Raphael argues, following me across the room. “Your training means you can pick up choreography in no time. And more important than any of that, we have the chemistry.”
He catches my arm, pulling me back around to him. “You felt it, when we danced together.” Raphael’s voice drops, hypnotic. He gently strokes my cheek, and I tremble under his touch, caught in his dark, determined stare. “That feeling, that passion, it can’t be faked.”
I catch my breath.
“Dance with me, Annalise,” Raphael whispers. “Dance with me, and see what it feels like to dance without rules, without boundaries. From the soul.”
I sway. I want to protest, to argue that I have my own rehearsals, my own training. Just because the audition is over, doesn’t mean the competition stops. Everyone in the company will be waiting for me to fail, and I can’t give them that satisfaction. I have to be perfect now, more than ever.
“I can’t,” I say again, weakly.
“Forget what happened with us last night,” Raphael insists. “Forget all your reasons why you can’t do it, just listen to your heart. What does it say, Annalise?”
“I don’t know.” I frown, helpless. “I can’t think straight.”
“Don’t think, feel.” Raphael places his hand over my heart. “What do you want? Because I only want to dance with you. Nobody else will do.”
What do I want?
It’s been so long since I asked myself that question. The answer was always a given. Ballet, the company, bigger parts, harder roles. I’ve been doggedly working towards the same dream for years, and then here, out of nowhere, Raphael crashed into my life, and turned everything upside down. And now...
Now I want more than just my old dreams, I realize, staring up into those beautiful eyes. I want him, too. I want to dance with him, to take the brief moments I’ve tasted, and turn them into something real. Something magnificent. I want our bodies to tell an epic story, I want to discover everything he has to teach.
I want more. I want it all.
Slowly, hesitantly, I nod. “Yes,” I breathe, taking that leap. “I’ll dance with you.”
Raphael’s face lights up, but he holds himself back. “Are you sure?” he checks. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I know you have a lot going on in your life already.”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, yes! But I’ll find a way. You’re right,” I add, suddenly exhilarated. “I want this.”
I want you, I silently add.
Raphael lets his smile take over his face, illuminating his features with pure joy. “You won’t regret it,” he swears, pressing my hands to his lips, and dropping a dozen tiny kisses on my palms. “I’ve been working on a new routine, and now with you, I can go so much further!”
I laugh, swept up in his enthusiasm. “But do we have enough time?” I ask. “I’ll have to learn a whole routine from scratch, and with my rehearsals back at the company—”
“We’ll find a way,” Raphael pledges, and I see it in his eyes. He believes in us, I realize. After all, this isn’t my audition we’re working for, it’s his future on the line, his dream hanging in the balance.
And he’s putting his faith in me.
“I promise, I won’t let you down,” I tell him, moved by his trust in me. “We’re going to do this, together.”
“Together,” he echoes, kissing me. And for a little while, I forget everything except how good, how right it feels in his arms.
14.
Raphael drives me back through the dawn streets, dropping me back at the dorms before anyone is awake. I tiptoe down the hallway and fumble with my keys to open the door, trying my hardest not to make a sound. Raphael parked around the corner from the building, and then we spent another ten minutes making out against the wall, breathlessly gasping for just one more kiss before, at last, I tore myself away from his arms.
My skin is flushed, my whole body shimmering with a new awareness and power. I feel as if I could take off and fly. I can hardly believe what we did – what I did – last night, but there’s no shame here, no regret, only a wild thrill still racing in my veins that makes my hands shake, making it hard to fit my key in the lock. I fumble for a moment.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” There’s a voice on the other side of the door, and then it swings wide open, revealing Karla, still in her pajamas.
She glares at me. “Are you drunk?”
“No!” I protest, “I just—”
“I don’t care,” she cuts me off. “Just get inside, before someone sees you.”
She turns on her heel, stalking back into the room. I feel a tremor of anxiety, and follow her inside.
“Is everything OK?” I ask cautiously, looking around. Rosalie is sitting up in bed, reading. “Ros?”
Rosalie avoids my gaze. “This is between you guys.” She leaps up. “I’m going to take a shower.” She quickly disappears into the bathroom, leaving me and Karla alone in the small room.
I cross to the dresser and quickly strip off last night’s clothes. “Damn.” I try for a light tone. “I should have called the bathroom quicker. I need a shower, too.”
“I bet you do.” Karla’s voice is flat.<
br />
I turn. “What’s the matter?”
Karla doesn’t reply. She busies herself laying out her practice clothes, but I can feel the hostility radiating off her in waves.
“I mean it, Karla,” I press. “What’s with you?”
“Besides lying to everyone to cover for you?” Karla looks up. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot, you’ve been so busy running around with your boyfriend, you don’t even care about ballet anymore.”
I frown at her, confused by the sharp sarcasm in her tone. “First of all, I’m not running around. I went out to celebrate. I texted you that I wouldn’t be coming back last night.”
“Did you ever stop to think about what happens if you get caught?” Karla shoots back. “Me and Rosalie could get in serious trouble.”
“I’m not breaking any rules!” I protest. Karla opens her mouth, so I quickly add, “Sure, there’s curfew, but you offered to cover for me! I don’t understand why you’re being like this,” I frown. “You’re the one who told me to go to that party and meet him in the first place.”
“One party!” Karla exclaims. “Not this. You’ve already injured your ankle running around with him, but that still wasn’t enough to make you stop.”
“My ankle is fine.” I press my lips in a thin line.
“You don’t get it, do you?” She cries. “All of us are killing ourselves here, working around the clock for a chance to make it happen, but you’re just throwing everything away for some guy!”
I take a step backwards. “I’m working hard,” I tell her, but Karla shakes her head.
“Not like the rest of us. You clock out the minute rehearsals are done and then go running off to meet him. Where do you think I was last night? Running choreography with the others! Hell, even Lucia spends more time here than you, and she’s just your understudy!”
“That’s not fair!” I protest, a lump rising in my throat. “I’m trying the best I can.”
She shakes her head. “What’s gotten into you, Annalise? You said this was the only thing you wanted, to get a solo, to prove you deserve to be here, and now that you have it? You act like you couldn’t care less!”
“I do care!” I cry.
“Then why are you risking everything? And for what? Some guy?”
The words resound in my chest. How can she even think that? “He’s not just some guy!”
“Please,” Karla rolls her eyes again. “So you’re in love? You’re going to what, be long-distance after the residency is done? Is he coming with you to New York? Are you going to move here to Rome?”
“I ... I don’t know,” I shiver. A tremor of fear ripples through me at her words, and I realize, for all the dancing and kissing we’ve done, Raphael and I haven’t talked about it, about us. We haven’t even said what this is yet. “But it doesn’t matter,” I insist, trying to reassure myself, “this is something real.”
“God, just listen to yourself.” Karla looks furious. “It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not. Nothing should matter except ballet, remember? That’s why we’re all here, why we’ve given up everything. Sacrifice is part of the deal, why should you be any different?”
I stare back, trying to understand. “You’re mad because I have someone?”
“No, I’m mad because you have everything, and you don’t even realize it.” Karla’s face is twisted with anger. “You grew up in that fancy apartment, with a dance studio down the hall, and all the lessons you could ever want. You didn’t think twice about this trip, did you?” she demands. “You sure as hell didn’t have to work overtime at some shitty job for spending money and plane tickets. God, Annalise, you get a new pair of pointe shoes every other week. Do you even know how much they cost?”
I stand there, digging my fingernails into my palms. I feel under attack, helpless, even as I see the truth in her words.
“Ballet was just handed to you on a silver platter,” Karla says, her tone full of emotion. “You never had to fight for it, you never had to earn it—”
“Bullshit!” I finally find my voice. “You think it’s been easy for me, living in my mother’s shadow? Everyone compares us, all the time. I have to work twice as hard just to get them to see me for me!”
“So what the hell are you doing?” Karla yells. “If this performance is everything, how can you jeopardize it like this?”
Her words crash around me. I feel a numb ache in my chest. “Is it?” I ask quietly. “Everything, I mean. What happens after? Another audition, another role? More fighting, more struggle, more skipping meals and making our toes bleed...?” I catch my breath, suddenly feeling so lost, I can hardly bear it. “I want it,” I say helplessly, my emotions whirling like a thunderstorm. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But now... Maybe I want there to be something more.”
Karla stares at me. “I don’t understand.”
I catch my breath. “What if we’re wrong, and this, all of this—” I gesture around the room, at our practice clothes and pointe shoes, the ballet biographies, the posters and videos we pore over. “What if this isn’t enough?”
I stop, my darkest fears suddenly trembling on the tip of my tongue. The blackness that pulls at me in the night, the doubt that’s been rising, whispering louder, every year.
Never mind if ballet isn’t enough. If I’m not good enough, then what will I do?
It’s been the center of my life for as long as I can remember. The gravity, my North Star, guiding every moment and decision in my day. Without ballet, what is there?
Without ballet, who am I?
Karla’s lips press together. “You’re not thinking straight,” she tells me firmly. “You’ve been spreading yourself too thin. This guy has got you all confused. I get it, crushes are crazy, you start feeling things you’ve never felt, and then...” Karla stops, and a shadow slips across her face, almost like she’s remembering something. Then the moment is over, and she folds her arms, firm again. “But trust me, it’s not worth it. Nothing’s worth risking your career over, and you know I’m right.”
There’s silence. I don’t know what to say, I don’t even know how I feel. Everything she’s said to me makes sense, even I can see that. And now, agreeing to be Raphael’s partner, juggling it with my rehearsals here for Swan Lake? I’m risking everything, acting so far out of character, no wonder she thinks I’ve lost my damn mind.
“I need to get to get ready for class,” I tell her quietly. I turn away, rifling through the dresser for fresh clothing.
“Annalise ...” Karla’s voice comes. “I’m sorry. You know I’m only saying this because I’m worried about you.” Her voice twists with regret, but I don’t reply. I’m biting down on the inside of my cheeks, trying my hardest not to cry.
“I’m your friend, remember,” Karla’s voice comes again. “I know you. And this, this isn’t you. This Raphael guy is bad news, not just for you, but your whole career. Are you going to let him ruin everything?”
I don’t say a word. I just let the tears fall, silently, and I’m more confused than ever. When I’m with him, it feels so right, like the only place in the world I belong is in his arms. I feel more myself now than I ever have in my life: happier, bolder, stronger.
How can that be wrong?
15.
I sleepwalk through rehearsals on autopilot, memories of Raphael racing through my mind. I feel so alert, alive, my body still humming from his touch. When our choreography session comes to an end and I realize I’ve barely paid attention to a single movement, I realize what Karla’s saying is true.
My head isn’t in the game right now. I need to pull it together, and fast.
There are additional studios we can use for private practice, and luckily, one is free tonight, so I skip dinner and go straight upstairs, closing the door behind me.
My mom calls as I’m cuing up the music, but I let it go to voicemail. I’ve been avoiding her calls all week. They’re all the same: demanding my schedule, quizzing me on my practice and weight. “You have to be p
erfect,” she’s told me, so many times I can’t listen any more. The guilt is too much for me, that terrible feeling of impending failure that haunts every conversation and harsh lecture.
This one is no different. I play the voicemail, and hear her familiar scornful tones echoing through the studio.
“You better be drilling those steps until you can dance them in your sleep. Why are you avoiding me? If it’s your diet you’re worried about, it’s nothing a little discipline won’t solve. Honestly, Annalise. I dropped ten pounds in two weeks for Giselle when I was your age. You just have to try harder.”
Try harder. Train more. Just the sound of her voice makes my heart ache with fear and frustration. What if nothing I do for her is enough? Will it stop with this performance, or is this just her latest quest? What about when I’m back in New York, and there’s nothing to shield me from her bitterness? No Raphael to inspire my dancing, and make me enjoy the movements for the first time in so long?
I throw myself into my warm-up and routine, trying to chase the questions away. My ankle is healing better now, able to take more arduous leaps and stretches, and I push myself to the limit, drilling my steps over and over again until they’re crisp, precise. Perfect.
I catch my breath, pleased. Karla is wrong, I tell myself. My work isn’t suffering here. I can do this. I can do both.
A noise startles me, and I snap out of my steps, spinning around to find Mademoiselle Ninette standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She steps into the room, wrapped in another of her trailing silk scarves.
“Did you need something?” I ask, nervous. If anyone would notice my ankle, it’s her.
Instead, Mademoiselle goes to the window. “You know, I came here when I was a young dancer,” she says, looking out over the rooftops of Rome. “I must have been your age, maybe a little older.”