by Megan Atwood
Someone else was in the studio.
She clambered up to see a dark form between the squares of illuminated floor. A soft, male voice said, “Don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The voice didn’t belong to any of the boy dancers that Ophelia knew at the school.
Ophelia felt naked in front of this stranger. She backed up against the mirror.
“Who the hell are you? And why are you in this studio?”
The boy came into the light.
He wore some seriously weird clothes, as if he were in the early 1900s: short pants to his knees—Ophelia was pretty sure they were called knickerbockers—and a tuniclike shirt with buttons all the way down one side.
He also wore a cap that Ophelia knew was from the olden times; squat to the head with a bill that stuck out a bit. She wondered if she was dreaming.
He put his hand out. “Forgive me. But your dancing was so beautiful.”
The boy was good looking, Ophelia had to admit. Like, really good looking. He had dark hair under his hat, thick eyebrows, and long lashes. And he had a strong jawline and startling eyes of a color that Ophelia couldn’t make out in the light. He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, right around Ophelia’s age.
She stuck a hip out and put her hand on it, but her voice softened a little. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. What are you doing here? Who are you?”
And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she said, “And what are you wearing?”
The boy chuckled, then took a step forward into the darkness between the lighted squares on the floor.
“I’m Devon,” he said, with some sort of accent Ophelia couldn’t place. Then he took another step forward, into the light. “This is my school. And these are the clothes I wear to dance. May I dance with you?”
After another step, Ophelia could see his eyes. They were pale gray with dark rings around the pupils. She couldn’t stop looking at them.
When he smiled, she couldn’t help but smile back. He put his hand out to her.
Tentatively, she reached her hand out in return. His palm was strangely cold, but he pulled her close to him and Ophelia’s whole body tingled.
The boy smelled vaguely dusty, like he’d just walked through an old library, but there was also a deep, woodsy, spicy smell lingering. It made Ophelia just a little dizzy.
In her ear, he whispered, “You are Giselle, no?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.
“Well, I am your prince, come to dance with you.”
With that, he led her around the room in a pas de deux, big dancing movements that covered the entire dance floor.
Ophelia couldn’t catch her breath. His dancing was beautiful and fluid, like nothing she’d ever experienced. And the woodsy smell kept her leaning in close.
After what seemed like only seconds but must have been a quarter of an hour, Devon pulled away and stepped back. Ophelia stood there, struck dumb, her chest heaving and her body still tingling.
He began to walk toward the door, and Ophelia almost called out to him. But he turned around and said, “Tomorrow night? Same time?”
All Ophelia could do was nod. And then the boy of her dreams walked out of the room.
Chapter 4
Ophelia got back to her room at two o’clock and couldn’t get back to sleep. She could smell Devon on her leotard and on her hair. Every time she moved her head, she could almost feel him near her. Never before had she felt this way. Ever.
In ballet class that morning, though she hadn’t gotten any sleep, she danced the Giselle part so well that even Madame was surprised. She hardly needed any help on the choreography and felt light as air. Even her smile, which Madame had called wooden in past performances, was genuine and huge, and it stayed on her face well after she finished dancing.
At the end of class, Kayley, Madeleine, Sophie, and Emma came up to her.
“All right, what gives?” Kayley said.
Ophelia shrugged, but the smile came back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, almost giggling.
Kayley exchanged looks with Sophie and Emma while Madeleine said, with a sly smile, “All right, who is he?”
How did she know? Ophelia wondered. For reasons she couldn’t put into words, she wanted to keep Devon all to herself. She didn’t want anyone else seeing him or dancing with him. The very thought made her whole body tense up. She turned on Madeleine, grabbing her arm. “Who do you mean, he? What were you doing last night?”
Madeleine stepped backward with each of Ophelia’s words. Ophelia was immediately sorry—what was she doing? Madeleine had just asked a simple, innocent question. She was always nice that way.
Ophelia let go of Madeleine’s arm, and Madeleine began rubbing it right away.
“I’m so sorry,” Ophelia said. “I just …”
The others stared at her, their faces shocked and angry. Kayley especially looked upset.
“It just was a long night, that’s all,” Ophelia mumbled. Then she grabbed her bag and ran out of the room.
Somehow, for the rest of the day, she would have to avoid her friends, Ophelia thought. Before they had her committed.
Chapter 5
Ophelia faked sick for the rest of the afternoon. She even skipped her second ballet class, which she never did. She just couldn’t face Madeleine and the rest of the girls.
But there was something else: she didn’t want to tell them about Devon, and she didn’t think she could keep it a secret around her friends.
All day, Devon had been all Ophelia could think of. The way he guided her around the dance floor, his smooth steps, and his spicy smell … those gorgeous eyes.
A little thrill skipped down her back. Tonight.
By eleven thirty, Ophelia was pacing in her room. She’d tried to take in more of Giselle but couldn’t concentrate. She wanted to dance, not sit back and watch.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Ophelia snuck up to the studio and began the warm-ups. Soon she was lost in her work, and when she turned around from a particularly high jeté, she saw him there. In the shadows.
He stepped forward and smiled at her. He wore the same clothes as he did the night before, and even from across the room, Ophelia could once again smell the dusty, woodsy, spicy smell that meant Devon. The moonlight shined across his eyes, it seemed, making them glow with an otherworldly light.
Ophelia smiled back, and nerves sparked like fireworks through her whole body.
“My Giselle,” he said and held out his hand to her.
She took his hand, and they danced again. Ophelia had never felt so at home, so in tune, with another person. Through dips and holds, turns and leaps, they held onto each other, dancing like they were one, completely in synch.
It was intoxicating.
As before, Devon stopped dancing after what seemed like seconds but had to have been much longer and looked into Ophelia’s eyes. But this time, he stepped closer instead of stepping away.
Ophelia’s heart began to race. He was so good looking that she thought her knees would go weak. Devon ran his hand down her cheek.
“Giselle,” he murmured. “You are mine, always.”
In one swoop, he pulled her even closer and kissed her on the mouth.
The fireworks inside Ophelia exploded.
He stepped back and said, “Tomorrow night, then. Same time?” He smiled at her gently.
All Ophelia could do was nod.
Chapter 6
For the next four days, the same thing happened:
Ophelia went to classes, ballet, and school; ignored her friends; and danced with Devon.
Mealtimes were the hardest, so she just started skipping them altogether, grabbing a granola bar here and there from snack machines, snagging the occasional muffin before the meal crowd came in.
Not that it mattered. Ophelia wasn’t even close to hungry.
All she could think about was Devon and their dances. They hadn’
t even had one real conversation, but Ophelia didn’t mind. The dancing was enough for her.
Each day in ballet class, she danced as if she were alone with Devon, and her dancing had never been better. She even heard Madame describe it as “exquisite” over the phone when she passed by Madame’s office.
Even though the long nights were taking their toll, she felt energized like never before. She knew she had big bags under her eyes, that she’d lost weight, but she didn’t care.
The only thing that mattered was Devon and the way he made her feel.
After the last ballet class of the day on Friday and after Ophelia had sprinted out of the studio to avoid her friends and wait alone in her room for her time with Devon, she heard a knock on her door.
For a ridiculous second, she thought it might be him. She ran to the door and flung it open.
It was Kayley. And Kayley didn’t look happy. Her arms crossed, she said, “Can I come in?”
Ophelia didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. But now that Kayley was there, Ophelia didn’t know how she’d get rid of her, so she opened the door wider and gestured for Kayley to come in.
Her frown remained as Kayley strode over to the dressing table chair and sat down. Ophelia remained standing, crossing her arms and tapping her feet, her eyebrows up.
For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other.
“Well?” Ophelia said.
Kayley sighed and knit her hands together, looking down with an expression so forlorn, Ophelia actually felt bad for a second.
“What’s going on with you, Ophelia?” Kayley finally asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned around and pretended to shuffle things on her desk, though she hadn’t done her homework all week. A note from one of her teachers atop the pile of papers gave Ophelia two days to finish an assignment or she’d get a zero. But all of that seemed so trivial—what did any of it matter when there was dancing to be done?
Kayley shook her head and fiddled with a brush on the dressing table. When she finally looked up, there were tears in her eyes.
“You’ve been disappearing every day. You don’t talk to any of us or eat with any of us. You look like crap. I know something is up. Just like you knew something was up when I took those shoes. This house has a way of … isolating you. You know that.”
Ophelia waved her hand. “Oh, come on! That’s ridiculous. And anyway, I’m fine. I just feel like being alone right now.”
“I know you believe in this stuff,” Kayley said. “Remember the ghost hunt?”
“I didn’t actually believe a ghost was taking our stuff! I just wanted an adventure.”
Kayley took two steps toward her, her eyes earnest and concerned. “Whatever adventure you’re on right now, Ophelia, it is doing something strange to you. You look like your life force is draining or something. And you’re not talking to your friends. That means something is up.
“Whatever you believe about the house, know this: Don’t always believe what you see or hear. Question anything that seems a little strange. Because in this house, it probably is. And with the curse of Giselle … well, you especially have to watch your back. Until then, whether you want it or not, Madeleine, Sophie, Emma, and I are watching your back.”
Before Ophelia could respond, Kayley marched out of the room.
Ophelia stared at the door in disbelief. Was that some sort of threat? Had her friends been spying on her? Did they know about Devon?
Panic gripped her as she searched her mind, trying to find a time when someone might have spotted her. But it couldn’t be. Devon would have noticed, even if Ophelia hadn’t.
How dare the girls decide they knew what was best for her! They were jealous of her dancing. They were jealous that she’d found something (someone) else to take up her time, that she no longer involved herself in their petty lives and the school’s petty goings-on.
Jealous.
Rage raced through Ophelia. She needed some distraction before her midnight date with Devon. She tapped her mouth with her fingers, trying to think of what could work.
Riffling through her closet, she found the old box she kept full of yearbooks, show programs, and old notebooks. She dug through the box and came up with what she was looking for: a journal. Her mom had given her the journal when she came to Dario Quincy three years ago. But since Ophelia wasn’t much for feelings, she’d tossed the journal aside with a snort and hadn’t thought of it since.
Now, though, she felt this was the perfect time to put down her thoughts. She felt compelled to write about Devon. He was so ethereal that she was afraid he would disappear. She wanted to write down everything he said or did, everything he made her feel. And she wanted to write about her friends and how strange they were acting.
She opened up the diary and wrote the first words that came to mind:
My friends are acting strange, and I know it is because they are jealous. The only thing that gives me comfort right now is Devon. Dancing with him makes the whole world disappear. I find that I long for him every single night—I wait with bated breath to be reunited with him. He feeds my soul like nothing else can. I needn’t eat nor sleep, for Devon is my nourishment. Those around me only serve as distractions, and they will never understand this need I have for him, this yearning that consumes me.
After an hour and a cramped hand—who ever writes longhand anymore instead of using a computer?—she read over the first few lines. Crinkling her forehead, she reread them. The words were exactly how she felt, only somehow, they didn’t sound like her.
A trickle of nervousness ran through her. Kayley’s words about the strangeness of the house echoed around Ophelia’s head. Then she happened to glance at the clock. Eleven fifty.
She jumped up and got ready to sprint to the dance studio.
Devon would be there, and she couldn’t be late.
Chapter 7
In ballet class that Monday, Ophelia was on cloud nine again. She and Devon danced the entire weekend, ending with a kiss that made Ophelia shiver every time she thought about it. Part of her wondered if that was because of his always-cold hands, but she knew it was because of something else: she was falling in love.
Ophelia stayed far away from Kayley, Madeleine, Sophie, and Emma during practice, but she could still notice their quick glances and their worried expressions.
As Ophelia relaced her shoe, hanging back from the center of the room for the third time, Madeleine tiptoed toward her. When Ophelia stood up, she was face-to-face with Madeleine’s worried, kind eyes. Darkness threatened to overtake Ophelia—she must have stood up too fast. But the darkness receded into little points of light, and she looked at Madeleine impatiently.
“What?” she whispered to Madeleine, in no mood to deal with whatever nonsense Madeleine was going to spout.
“We’re worried about you,” Madeleine whispered back.
Ophelia’s eyes turned cold. “I don’t need your worry.” She flipped around to the barre and worked her leg high up behind her, kicking it out and staring at the mirror in front of her so she wouldn’t have to look at Madeleine.
Mirror-Madeleine looked helplessly at the girls across the room. Ophelia felt bad for just a moment. Then Madeleine’s turn to dance came, and she toed her way to the stage.
Ophelia decided just to note all the looks the girls gave her or gave one another about her for further diary entries. She could document their jealousy in the pages of the diary. Then she’d have a date with Devon that was untainted by her frustration with her friends. What kind of friends were they, anyway? To not give her space when she needed it? She would have to find a way to avoid them more often, if that were possible.
Ophelia was relieved to see that Madeleine didn’t come back toward her once she’d run off the stage. The corps danced on. Ophelia continued to stretch at the barre, getting ready to dance Giselle’s death scene. As she bent over her knee to keep limber, a wave of blackness swept in. Dizziness overto
ok her. She stood up slowly, feeling her heartbeat thumping hard.
She took deep breaths, willing the dizziness to go away. This was one of Ophelia’s favorite scenes to dance—no way was she going to miss it.
Madame Puant waved the corps off the stage and called to Patrick to play the death scene. She looked at Ophelia and said, “All right. Are you ready?”
Ophelia nodded, aware that all eyes were on her. Madame squinted at her, a look of concern passing over her face. Ophelia gathered herself up and took center stage, fighting back the darkness that still lingered in her peripheral vision.
Patrick started the music, and the feeling of the dance took Ophelia over. Everything she felt for Devon came through in her movements. She thought of the agony of losing him and tears almost started flowing. She used that pain, converting all the sadness, loneliness, and despair into a haunting performance. In that moment, Ophelia was Giselle.
As she came out of a particularly hard turn, she caught a glimpse of someone in the open studio door. A woman, stately and well dressed, stared at her with an intensity that could rival Madame. The woman wore a long, tailored coat and small diamond earrings. Her hair was tied back in a severe twist. Her dark eyes held on to Ophelia’s until Ophelia forgot where she was and snapped her out of her reverie.
In that moment, the room went black. The last thing she heard was a voice say, “She’s falling.”
Chapter 8
When Ophelia woke up, she was in a bed of some sort with an IV hooked up to her. The stern, bright eyes of the academy nurse hovered over her.
“Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Nurse John said.
Ophelia struggled to sit up, but Nurse John pushed her back down gently. “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. You blacked out and had a nasty fall in class. You’ll be in here for a while.”
Ophelia groaned and moved her knee. She could feel a scrape rubbing against her tights. And then panic overtook her.
“What time is it?”
Nurse John furrowed his eyebrows and said, “Ten P.M. Why?”
Ophelia sighed and sank back. She hadn’t missed Devon. She was cutting it too close for comfort, but at least she hadn’t missed midnight.