Dark Turns

by Cate Holahan

  “You are young. You didn’t feel ready to have a baby.”

  Marta twisted the tissue back and forth. Bits of paper flaked into her palms. “You know what’s messed up? I passed that clinic every Saturday when I was tutoring. There were always teenagers hurrying into the doors and I’d always think they were these horrible people, too weak to abstain, too stupid to use condoms, too selfish to save their babies for adoption. And then . . .”

  Marta’s face reddened. She balled up the paper in her fist. “I’d gained, like, a million pounds in just three months. I couldn’t have hid it. I wouldn’t have been able to dance. I’m banking on ballet to help get me into college, you know? But Ms. V is ready to sideline me in the fall show, like, tomorrow, because of all this disgusting fat.”

  The girl grabbed her skin through her sweatshirt and yanked it as if she wished she could tear the extra flesh from her frame. “Please, don’t let her make me, like, the girl waving her arms in the background. My parents would ask questions. I promise, I’ll lose this in a couple weeks. I’m a good dancer. That’s really why I’m here. If you tell her that I’m working hard, maybe she’ll cut me some slack.”

  Nia swallowed. She felt bad for Marta, but she wasn’t sure she could help her with Ms. V. The teen’s extra weight left her off balance, and the fall show was at the end of the month.

  “Please tell her. I’m not a bad person. I just couldn’t go four more months with everyone here looking at me, making jokes. And my mother would have totally insisted I raise the baby. Have you seen the reality shows? Teen moms are completely ruined. Their parents resent them. Their friends abandon them. No one dates them. They end up totally alone.”

  Nia understood her fear of being alone. The same one curled up with her every night since breaking up with Dimitri.

  “Does the father know?” Nia asked, hoping to silence her own thoughts.

  “He doesn’t care.” Marta examined the couch pattern. She found a loose thread and picked at it. “He was just this college guy I met during a summer Spanish intensive in Barcelona. He was, like, amazingly beautiful and smart and well traveled, and he’d probably done it hundreds of times. I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t, or that I was in high school, or that I wasn’t on birth control.

  “It kind of hurt the first few times. He blamed the condoms, something about the latex irritating my skin. The fourth time, he said we shouldn’t use them and he would pull out.”

  She placed her palm on her belly as if feeling for the life no longer there. “I didn’t realize I was pregnant until I got home. By then, he was totally over me.” She made air quotes with her fingers. Bitterness hardened her voice. “‘You need to be a big girl and take care of it.’”

  Fat tears tumbled down her cheeks. “You probably think I’m a murderer.”

  Nia winced at the word. Lauren’s body waited behind her closed eyes. It floated into her vision, purple and blue skin like a stillborn. She forced her lids back open.

  Marta sniffed loudly. She rubbed at her nose with her sweatshirt sleeve. “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone. You’re the only one who knows. I didn’t even get a friend to take me home from the clinic. I took the bus. I looked like a homeless kid in big baggy clothes. I even walked to the far bus stop, like half a mile down the road, after I saw someone from school at the closest stop. I can’t have anyone know. You have to promise.”

  Clear snot shimmered above Marta’s trembling, puffy lips. She looked scared and beaten. Nia wondered whether the fear was justified. Maybe Marta’s parents were the spare the rod, spoil the child variety. Nia didn’t think wealthy people practiced corporal punishment, but maybe religious righteousness trumped riches.

  Nia raised her right hand. She swore over an invisible Bible. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  9

  Chaînés [sheh-NAY]

  Chains, links. A series of rapid turns on the toes or pads of feet.

  Nia sat alone at the end of a long table in the students’ dining hall, a sleepy sentry waiting for her shift to end. Dawn bathed the near-empty room in white light. She sipped a tepid black coffee and watched the molasses movements of the minute hand on the cafeteria clock. Another RA would relieve her at five minutes to seven.

  Her head ached like a cheap vodka hangover. A steady alarm pulsed from her heel. Marta hadn’t left her apartment until nearly two o’clock in the morning. Nia would try to sneak a nap sometime between dance class and her evening meeting.

  A hefty black man in a white apron emerged from the staff-only kitchen, pushing a cart topped with pans and portable gas burners. He brought the cart to a tablecloth-covered counter at the far end of the room and then hoisted two baking trays atop a ministove. He peeled back the foil tops. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the room.

  A group of boys at the other end of Nia’s table rose to get their trays. Hot breakfast would start the morning rush. Though some kids with morning electives like crew or dance had already popped in for bagels and pastries, the early risers were in the minority. Most school activities took place after the end of the academic day. As a result, most kids ate between eight o’clock and the start of first period.

  Long blond hair swished into the room. Nia recognized Aubrey from her straight, dancer’s posture and the navy leotard stretching above her sweatpants. She’d probably thrown the bottoms on over her tights. Nia would have done the same if she hadn’t been instructed to wear yoga pants and a top.

  The group of boys snickered as Aubrey entered. One boy licked his lips like a dog salivating before a steak. “Bow chicka wow wow,” he said, mimicking the soundtrack to seventies skin flicks. “I love the Internet.”

  His friend laughed and slapped him five.

  Aubrey ignored them. She took a brown dining tray from a stack beside the hot breakfast counter and brought it away from the guys to the cold buffet. If she’d wanted eggs, she wasn’t willing to stomach standing next to those boys in line to get them.

  Aubrey poured herself a bowl of bran cereal and milk. She added a banana from one of several bowls of fruit before carrying her tray to an empty table.

  Nia considered joining her. Perhaps her presence would keep the guys from talking about the tape.

  Nia started to rise from her table. As she did, she saw Joseph enter the room. He grabbed a tray from the cold buffet and slid it in front of Aubrey, claiming his seat. The appearance of Aubrey’s boyfriend made Nia return to her chair. Joseph would keep the chatter from becoming too loud.

  Joseph squeezed Aubrey’s shoulder and then headed to the hot breakfast line. The boys stopped laughing as he approached. He wasn’t a broad guy, but he was tall and muscled. Moreover, he had a confident air that probably kept people from messing with him.

  More kids filed into the dining hall. Nia recognized ballet students in the crowd: the T twins. Alexei. None acknowledged her. The room grew louder. Plates clattered on trays. Conversations tangled together, creating a web of human sound. Nia glanced at the clock again. Twenty to seven.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  For a moment, she mistook Peter for a student. He was dressed in khakis, a white button-down, and a blue blazer, akin to the school uniform. He held a tray topped with a whole-grain bagel and a mug of something steamy.

  “Good morning.” Nia gestured with an open hand to the chair across from her. “Are you here to take over for me again?”

  “Sorry. No.” He lowered his tray onto the table and took the seat. “I teach a poetry elective on Wednesdays. I’ll keep you company for twenty minutes, though.”

  “I’d like that. Thank you.” Nia yawned. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Excuse me.”

  “Not an early riser?”

  “Usually I am. A student wanted some counseling last night.”

  Peter’s eyebrows raised. “You actually got a taker?”

  “Not really.” She swished the cold, muddy water inside her coffee cup. “She wanted to discuss something else.”

  Pete
r put a tea bag into his mug. He moved it up and down in the hot water, a fisherman with a lure on the line.

  Nia propped her elbow on the table. She let her head fall onto her half-closed hand. “So what do you teach in your poetry elective?”

  “Emerson. Eliot. Some Eminem.”

  “The rapper?”

  Peter chuckled. “I try to keep my quatrain analysis interesting.”

  A genuine smile stifled Nia’s coming yawn. “Which songs do you use?”

  “Just ‘Stimulate.’” He grinned.

  “They’re arresting Theo!”

  A boy shouted the news from the lunchroom doorway. Students fell out of their seats in an effort to be first out the door. Their rubber soles squeaked on the wooden floor like scurrying rats. Peter jumped up and ran to the exit, trying to beat the swarm of students.

  Nia followed him, but too slowly to catch up. Boys’ voices bounced off the walls. She hurried in the direction of the commotion.

  A crowd clogged the vestibule outside the dining hall. Nia watched Peter push through it. She trailed after him, slipping through the clearing he’d created.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Peter. Good that you’re here.”

  Dean Stirk stood between Detective Frank and a campus cop. Theo stood behind her, flanked by Detective Kelly and another uniformed policeman.

  “These officers are taking Theo in,” Stirk said.

  “And you’re just going to let them?”

  “A student is dead, Mr. Andersen.” She raised her voice, ensuring that all the whispering kids could hear the exchange. “We here at Wallace must make every effort to help authorities learn what happened and to ensure our students’ continued safety.”

  “But like this, Martha?” Peter lowered his voice. “Couldn’t his parents have brought him in discretely?”

  Detective Frank cleared his throat. “Both of Mr. Spanos’s parents were notified. The boy’s father has been less than helpful.”

  “Well, you can’t question him without them.”

  Frank waved a piece of paper. “As this arrest warrant makes clear, we have every right. Theo is no longer a juvenile. He’s eighteen as of August third.”

  Peter ran a hand over his hair. “You don’t know that he’s done anything wrong. Doing it this way—”

  “He texted the victim right before her time of death, begging to meet at the boathouse.”

  The officers steered Theo toward the double doors leading outside. Theo wore the school’s full uniform. He stared at his black leather shoes. Stirk followed behind the arresting officers, head held high, a fellow jailer.

  Peter whirled to face the hovering students. “Everyone go to your rooms or return to the cafeteria. If you don’t leave, I’m citing you for unbecoming conduct. Your parents will be notified.”

  The kids shuffled down the hall, looking over their shoulders at their classmate, sandwiched between two officers. Theo held his head down as though locked in stocks. Nia saw snickers among the shocked faces in the crowd. She could imagine the Facebook posts. The students would convict by morning.

  10

  Penchée [pahn-shay]

  Leaning, inclining. An arabesque penchée is an arabesque in which the body leans well forward in an oblique line, the forward arm and the head being low and the foot of the raised leg the highest point.

  A platinum sky shone outside the dance studio windows. Raindrops streaked the glass. Nia debated whether she could make it home before the sky really opened up. She’d forgotten to check the weather that morning and didn’t have an umbrella.

  She covered a yawn before returning her attention to the students, now stretching their backs over the barre following an hour of Ms. V’s instruction. Their bodies formed a bridge of stomachs, flat enough to roll a quarter down.

  She walked beside the line of upside-down faces. “Good job. Really reach for your calves.”

  Marta avoided eye contact as she passed. Nia didn’t blame her. Confessing to a stranger was embarrassing enough without having to see said stranger the following morning. Nia tried not to let her eyes rest on Marta’s stomach, which already looked less bloated than yesterday. Water weight drained fast.

  She clapped her hands. “All right, let’s loosen our hamstrings with some grand battements.”

  The students pulled up from the barre, a wave of rising bellies. They stood beside the beam and placed their right hands on the wood. Nia admired the collective precision.

  “Brush your foot on the floor before you kick,” she ordered. “Really massage your toes against the ground.”

  Legs lifted into the air at ninety-degree angles or more. Aubrey and Lydia’s working legs shot up toward their ears. Tati rolled her eyes at the pair. What the T twin didn’t realize was that Aubrey and Lydia weren’t showing off so much as competing with one another. The rest of the class didn’t matter. The girls watched their reflections in the mirror, each noting the angles of her rival.

  A competitive germ itched Nia’s insides. She could easily extend into 180 degrees en pointe. More if she wanted. She looked away from the class stars, suppressing the desire to show off.

  “Okay. Let’s try some arabesque penchées,” Nia said. “Use the barre for support.”

  Kim’s athletic thigh stuck out at a right angle behind her. The girl had muscle, but the flexibility wasn’t there. Marta had it. Her leg lifted to an oblique angle. Unfortunately, her balance was still off. Her standing leg wobbled, begging to bend. With luck, she would regain her center of gravity once she lost the weight.

  June was also considerably flexible, though she lacked technique. Nia cupped the girl’s heel in her palm and pushed her spindle leg a few inches higher, nearing a standing split.

  “You can do it,” Nia said. “Really feel the length in your legs. Stretch as high as you can go.”

  June’s jaw clenched. Her pale face reddened as she brought her tiny foot higher. She reminded Nia of a child’s drawing of a person, all lines with a circle head. No shape.

  “Hey, Lydia.”

  Nia turned to see Aubrey sashay over to her only competition. The girl smiled as though she’d just had a fantastic idea.

  “Let’s get a pic of us in penchée position. It will make a cool shot for the yearbook.”

  Lydia’s face lit up. Nia understood her excitement. An older, relatively popular kid was taking an interest. It couldn’t be easy to break in at a boarding school where most kids had lived together for a year or more. Dance class was particularly cliquey.

  Aubrey grasped Lydia’s hand and led her into the center of the room. She dipped forward until her working leg made a straight line in the air. Lydia faced Aubrey and copied the motion, letting her torso drop parallel to the ground. Her raised limb, however, didn’t form a vertical line like Aubrey’s own. Lydia was several degrees shy of a full split.

  “Ms. Washington,” Aubrey shouted, “will you take a picture?”

  “Okay. Hold it.” Nia pulled her phone from her sweater pocket and hit the camera application. She centered the frame on the two girls and clicked.

  “You got it?” Aubrey asked.

  “Yes.”

  Aubrey’s leg whirled down like a propeller. She ran over to Nia, hand outstretched. “Let me send it to myself.”

  Nia handed over the device. Aubrey typed in a number and hit the send key. A muffled beep sounded from a bag in one of the cubbies.

  “I got it.” Aubrey turned the phone to Lydia. “Look at our lines. We’re almost mirror images.”

  Nia detected a slight dig in Aubrey’s statement. The girls were “almost” mirror images because Lydia couldn’t match Aubrey’s flexibility. Judging from the photo alone, anyone would believe Aubrey to be the superior dancer.

  Lydia continued to smile as though her fellow ballerina was being friendly.

  Nia clapped, breaking the class’ attention away from the primas-in-training. “Okay. Let’s free stretch. Work out whatever feels tight. Pay special at
tention to your feet.”

  Marta sat on the ground and reached toward her toes, lengthening her back muscles. Lydia dropped into a deep lunge and then twisted to grab her back leg, stretching her inner thigh. The T twins joined Kim and Suzanne at the barre. They took turns pushing each other’s legs toward a standing split, apparently determined that the starlets would not be unchallenged when it came time to audition for the fall performance.

  Alexei approached June at the far side of the room. He rotated his ankle as he whispered. The girl rubbed the back of her shoulder. Her expression tightened.

  It was okay to socialize on Nia’s watch, but they still had to stretch. She walked toward them. “Alexei, if your ankle feels tight, you have to do more than just rotate it or the ligaments could get damaged. Resistance bands really help.” Nia pointed to one of the cubbies by Ms. V’s office. “I can grab you one and show you some strengthening exercises.”

  Alexei dropped his foot on the floor. His mischievous smile turned embarrassed. “My ankle is fine. I was just telling June what she missed in the dining hall this morning.”

  June looked up at Nia. Her pained expression wasn’t from any physical ailment. “You saw Lauren’s body. You don’t think Theo really killed her, do you? It could have been an accident, or maybe she was upset . . .”

  Stirk’s warning bellowed in Nia’s head. “I don’t know.”

  Disappointment drew down June’s face. She looked near tears.

  Nia thought of the grief-counseling book on her kitchen counter. “If you feel upset by Theo’s arrest, you know I’m an RA and I’m always available to talk.”

  June nodded vacantly, and Alexei stepped between her and Nia, ending their conversation. Nia scanned the room for other students that needed help or reminders to stretch during warm-downs.

  Aubrey stood at the wall of windows. She stared outside, her face blank, eyes unfocused, as if lost in her own head. Joseph came up behind her. He grasped her waist. She pivoted to face him and then bent backward, using his grip like a support beam.