by Megan Atwood
“I’m just wondering how long I was out,” she answered.
Nurse John frowned and then checked her IV and moved some things on the table beside her. A large can of coconut water stood on Ophelia’s table. The nurse cracked it open.
“Well, you passed out around five thirty, then came to about six when they brought you in here. Then you fell asleep and have been sleeping ever since. You clearly needed it.”
He brought a chair next to her bed and interlaced his fingers, his expression kind but worried.
“Ophelia, when was the last time you ate?”
Ophelia was startled. She hadn’t even thought of food. At the mention of it, her stomach growled like it had been called to life. She thought for a second. Had she eaten that day?
“I don’t know.”
Nurse John sighed and nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought.” He cleared his throat and said, “Ophelia, dancing is a tough business. It’s hard on your body, especially classical ballet. To do the work, you have to be properly fueled …”
Light dawned on Ophelia. This was Nurse John’s eating-disorder spiel. The coconut water, the close talking … Nurse John thought Ophelia had stopped eating on purpose.
Ophelia had a hard time not snorting. She knew a lot of ballet dancers had eating disorders. It’s not like that was news. The competition, the stress to keep a lean body, the perfectionism … Well, it was a perfect storm.
But that had never been Ophelia, luckily. She liked food a lot, but not too much, and she always ate when she needed to. Otherwise, well, she would pass out. And then she almost hit herself in the head; that’s exactly what had happen.
Now she just had to convince Nurse John that it wasn’t a disorder, just a mistake. Otherwise, she’d heard what happens to girls like that. They’d spend days trapped in the nurse’s office while he watches them eat. And if things don’t get better, they go off to treatment. Ophelia had seen it more than once.
She thought all of that was a great solution. Until now.
Nurse John’s voice reached Ophelia’s ears, “… overnight, at least for tonight.”
“Wait, what?”
“You’re going to stay overnight tonight, just so I can make sure your electrolytes are balanced and you’re properly fueled.”
“But I can’t tonight! I have to dance Giselle!”
Nurse John patted her shoulder. “And you will. But we have to get you better. And we have to make sure you eat. So tomorrow, you can dance!”
Ophelia couldn’t tell him the real reason—she’d miss dancing Giselle with Devon. Dancing at class was a faint second. But the determination in Nurse John’s eyes told Ophelia that she’d be doing exactly as he said.
Tears coursed down her face.
“There, there,” said Nurse John. “It’s only a dance.”
Ophelia sobbed. Not a dance. It was love.
Chapter 9
Despite her heartbreak at not seeing Devon, Ophelia was surprised at how hard she slept that night.
When she woke up the next morning, she ate a huge breakfast, making Nurse John smile.
And making herself feel much better, she realized. Ophelia hadn’t realized how awful she felt. She had been too wrapped up in Devon.
The familiar panic shot through Ophelia, but the feeling was more muted than it had been the day before. Missing one night with Devon didn’t seem as dire now. She had to remind herself to eat—she felt better than she had all week.
For the first time in days too, she wondered how Madeleine, Sophie, Kayley, and Emma were doing.
Nurse John gave her a pass to go to classes, but not to ballet practice. When Ophelia walked into civics, she smiled at Kayley and the girls. They all gave tentative smiles back. And when lunch came around, Ophelia sat at the table with them, heaping her plate with lasagna.
She dug in to her dish and said “Holy crap, this is good!” as the other girls stared at her.
“How are you feeling?” Madeleine asked. “That was so scary in class the other day when you fell.”
Sophie nodded. “Yeah, you had a little seizure. Like you were possessed or something.”
Ophelia swallowed. Nurse John hadn’t said anything about that. No wonder he was concerned. She was slightly embarrassed but shook it off.
“I’m fine, now. I just hadn’t eaten enough.”
She took another bite of her lasagna.
“Why not, though?” Kayley said. “No offense, but you looked like death. Your eyes were dark, and you seemed tired all week. Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”
Ophelia thought for a moment and then put down her fork. She wondered if she should tell them about Devon after all. She’d been dying to share her secret with them, but something always seemed to hold her back. Some part of her that wanted Devon all to herself. As she looked around at her friends’ faces, though, she knew she shouldn’t hold back.
She leaned in. “OK, there’s something going on, but you have to promise not to tell. And …” she looked at Kayley, “don’t be judgmental. Promise?”
Emma and Sophie nodded simultaneously, and Madeleine said yes. Kayley remained silent until Ophelia looked her way. Finally, Kayley nodded.
“Right. So, I’ve met a boy,” Ophelia whispered. She sat back, that old twinge of excitement sparking through her.
“That’s it?” Kayley said.
Ophelia nodded impatiently. How could she explain Devon? “Yeah, that’s it. Only, he’s more than a boy. He’s … he’s a dancer. And he makes me feel …”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she said, “Ophelia, are you in love?”
A smile from out of nowhere burst from Ophelia. “Yes,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice down. “Yes, I think I’m in love.”
Kayley rolled her eyes. “Emma, you always think people are in love. Ophelia, how in love could you be with someone you met, what, like a week ago?”
“You wouldn’t know anything about him,” Ophelia said. “I know how I feel about Devon. He’s … he’s perfect.”
“How did you meet him?” Madeleine asked.
Ophelia got excited again. “He just showed up one night while I was practicing. In the studio. And he can dance … he knows Giselle! When he kisses me—”
She cut herself off. It was not like her to gush, not like her at all. She felt her face go red.
But Kayley’s face was red too. “So. Let me get this straight. You’re the star of a cursed ballet where the main character—you—always dies. And some strange boy shows up when you’re dancing, and you don’t think twice about it. Have you guys gone out on a date? Is he from town? Why is he just showing up here at the studio? If we’ve never seen him before, he’s clearly not a student. How does he know Giselle? Where does he dance?”
Ophelia sat back, flustered and angry. She realized she didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. “You’re just jealous,” she said, standing up. “You’re always jealous of me. Jealous of how I can dance and jealous that I’ve met the man of my dreams.”
Kayley stood up too, scraping her chair against the floor. Conversation across the lunchroom stopped. “You’re being an idiot, Ophelia! This isn’t like you at all! What do you know about this guy?”
Ophelia grabbed her bag and walked away furiously. After a few steps, she turned around and said, “I know that I’d rather be with him than hang out with any of you losers.”
And she stomped away to her room.
Chapter 10
As much as Ophelia didn’t want to admit it, Kayley’s questions nagged at her.
Where did Devon come from? How did he just show up? And his clothes … why hadn’t she asked him any questions? He just appeared, and they danced.
Ophelia took out her diary and wrote down everything that had happen, all the feelings she felt. When she looked at the clock, it was already eight. She’d missed dinner. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t hungry again. Thinking about Devon had ruined any appetite she might have had.
&n
bsp; After putting the diary away, she thought about what to do. Kayley was right—the whole thing with Devon was a little weird. But she just couldn’t believe anything was wrong with him. She just needed to ask him some questions, that’s all. Maybe even ask him out—out of the studio and into public. She smiled at the thought. She’d love to show him off, although she didn’t want any other girls to get any ideas. He was hers and hers alone.
She thought.
She chewed her fingernails. They were going out, right?
Bouncing her knee, she tried hard to distract herself until midnight.
Finally, at twenty to twelve, Ophelia ran up to the studio. She did halfhearted warm-ups and felt her heart beat hard again. She wished she’d eaten. She still felt weak from the day before, and as she did her stretches, she started feeling woozy. Just as darkness threatened at the corners of her eyes again, she saw him.
As usual, he stood in the moonlight. She walked to him, ignoring her advancing lightheadedness.
“My Giselle,” he said and took her hand, pulling her to him. She melted into him, breathing in his woodsy, spicy smell. Wasn’t there something she was supposed to do? She tried hard to think of it, but all she could do was feel his closeness, his hand on her back, the muscles along his arm, the cold breath on her cheek. His eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t think of anything else but the dancing.
Ophelia stumbled a little during one turn, and for a split second, Devon’s face contorted in anger. It was enough to snap Ophelia out of whatever trance she was in.
She stepped back from him. “Where are you from?” she asked.
He looked confused. “I’m from here. Now come. We must dance that last part again. You ruined it.” He waved his hand, urging her forward.
Ophelia wanted more than anything else to come to him. She felt absolutely ashamed that she had stumbled. She wanted more than ever to fix it. But she forced herself to ask again:
“No, I mean, are you from town? Are you a student at another ballet school? Why do you wear the same clothes every night? And why don’t we ever go out?” She swallowed and asked the biggest, hardest, most important question. “Am I your girlfriend?”
Devon’s expression softened, and he came to her again, pulling her close.
“Darling Giselle,” he whispered in her ear, “there is no one else but you. You are my partner.” He began to lead her in the same steps they’d danced before.
Ophelia relaxed into him and let the moves take her over. She didn’t need to think. She didn’t need to question him. She was the only one for him. He’d said it.
As the turned on the dance floor, Ophelia whispered, “I love you.”
Chapter 11
The next day, Ophelia began to avoid her friends again. If they were going to be jealous and judgmental, so be it. She didn’t need them. She had Devon.
All day, Kayley tried to catch up with Ophelia, but Ophelia always managed to get away.
Every time she saw Kayley, though, the questions her friend had brought up echoed in Ophelia’s mind.
She moved through the day in a fog, feeling sharp and alert only once, when her stomach growled. She grabbed a snack out of the snack machine but forgot about it almost immediately. Thoughts of Devon and his kiss overwhelmed her every time she went to take a bite. The day crawled by so slowly that Ophelia wondered if she would ever make it to midnight. She barely registered it when Ms. Traysor, the history teacher, told her she was flunking the class.
She had never flunked a class in her life. But nothing else mattered now. Nothing but Devon.
Ophelia forced herself to go to the second ballet class of the day. Her body felt tired and weak, but thoughts about perfecting the part of Giselle propelled her to practice.
When she walked into class, Madame Puant was speaking to that same lady Ophelia had seen before, on the day she passed out. The woman looked hard at Ophelia once again, and Madame Puant glanced at her too, a disapproving look on her face. For a second, Ophelia was afraid Madame Puant had found out about her nighttime forays. But Madame just pounded her cane again and ballet class started.
At the end of class, Ophelia grabbed her bag during reverence so that she could skip out without having to talk to any of the girls. As she walked into the hall, she turned left instead of right and hid in an empty classroom while she waited for her friends to leave.
The classroom was dark, but a few sunbeams slid through the windows up high. The space had obviously been a science room—old beakers and test tubes lie everywhere, scattered and dusty. Ophelia shook her head. She’d been at the academy for three years, and still, she didn’t know the school. Whatever else Kayley was wrong about, she was right that this place was special.
“I know what you’ve been doing at night.”
Ophelia knocked into a side cabinet and glasses tinkled inside. The well-dressed lady Madame Puant had been talking to stood in front of her, one diamond-laden hand on a nearby table.
Ophelia tried to stop the hard beating of her heart. Yet again, the darkness started to fold in around her eyes at the edges.
“He makes you feel warm, but he’s cold. Believe me. You feel like you’re the only one, but you’re not.” Sadness crept into the lady’s voice.
Ophelia regained her composure and said, “Who are you? And what are you talking about?”
The lady traced her finger on the table, lifting it up and looking at the pattern she’d made in the dust. She wiped her hands together and sighed.
“Ophelia. I am a friend. I’m someone who knows what you’re going through. And believe me, if I could stop it, I would. But you have to end it yourself. That’s just the way it is.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ophelia said through clenched teeth. Though a part of her—a small, faraway part—knew exactly what the woman was talking about.
“My name is Jordan Johnson. I used to dance here.”
Ophelia’s jaw dropped open. Jordan Johnson. One of the Johnsons—the people who own Dario Quincy Academy. Back in the nineties, she had been the best dancer the school had ever seen. She was a legend among all the students in the place—the person Ophelia got compared to the most. Only, rumor said that Jordan had become ill during her senior year. She stopped dancing. No one knew why.
“Did you ever hear stories about why I left the school?”
Ophelia shook her head. “Only that you got ill.”
Jordan nodded. “Yes, that’s right. But my father made sure that no one knew why. You see, he didn’t want to hear any more stories bandied about involving this school.” Her face darkened. “Even if those rumors were true.”
Ophelia wasn’t sure what to say next, half afraid of what Jordan was about to tell her.
Jordan moved closer and clasped Ophelia’s hands. “I left because I was ill. And I was ill because I was Giselle. My father decided to put on the ballet, despite the rumors of the curse. And I, of course, was thrilled to be the lead. I believed I could beat any curse that threatened me or the school.”
Ophelia shifted on her feet as a wave of dizziness washed over her, but she waited it out and kept listening. “I thought the person who did Giselle died that year.”
Jordan shook her head. “No. From what I can tell, the rumors have been a mix of truths and falsehoods for a while. My father couldn’t conceal the fact that he had planned to put on Giselle. Too many people knew about that. However, he did what he could to protect my reputation—or his. To keep me from being part of the legend.”
She went on, her head down. “I was close, though. To death, I mean. It was by sheer luck and love that I didn’t die. Those before me weren’t so fortunate.
“You see, very soon after rehearsals began, I met a boy. A beautiful boy who could dance like no other. And this boy and I would meet every night—every single night—to dance Giselle. Never before in my life had I felt such beauty. Never had I felt like I belonged to someone else. Never before had I been in love.”
Op
helia’s face burned. She dreaded whatever would come out next.
“Have you been dancing with Devon, Ophelia?”
Ophelia backed up into the cabinet and heard glass break. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” she said. “You don’t know him!”
She searched for her bag and for the exit. She had to get out of there.
Jordan spoke quickly. “He is not from this world, Ophelia. He will kill you if he can! He is killing you. Look at yourself! Stop dancing before it’s too late!”
Ophelia found her bag and started to sprint. She heard Jordan yell behind her, “Read my diary! You’ll see!”
But Ophelia was already out the door. She turned sharply and ran right into someone. Kayley looked up at her from the floor with worried eyes. Ophelia shook her head and ran down the nearest staircase, tears spilling over her cheeks. She made it to the kitchen of the house, hiding herself between the big industrial refrigerators. The cold made her feel good. Made her feel like she was with Devon.
Her crying turned into dry heaves.
She had to find Devon tonight. She had to make sure she was the only one, that what that woman had said wasn’t true. She had to. She felt like her life depended on it.
Chapter 12
Once she was all cried out, Ophelia stood up slowly. She had to grab on to the handle of the refrigerator to stop from falling. It swung open, almost taking Ophelia with it. She was so weak she could barely hold on. The cold air rushed over her.
Ophelia saw food inside the fridge and thought briefly that she should eat something, but she wanted to get up to her room and hide. Her head was pounding.
She climbed the stairs with caution and finally made it to her room, collapsing on the bed. She could feel every rib sticking out. Her heart beat erratically.
After an hour or so, Ophelia took out her diary and began writing in it, detailing everything Jordan had told her. Tears streamed down her face again.