by Cate Holahan
“Of course. I’ll also make sure to apologize to my neighbors.” As she said the words she thought about how she could have it out with Aubrey without getting drawn into petty bickering.
“I’m sure that would be appreciated,” Ms. V said.
Nia kept her head high as she exited the room. The students watched her, undoubtedly looking for signs that she had been scolded, or worse. She walked straight to where Aubrey stood, beside Joseph. The pair must have made up.
“Aubrey.”
The girl batted her cartoonish eyes. “Yes?”
The other students watched the exchange. Good. She wanted witnesses to this confrontation.
“I’ve been made aware that I kept you up last night. I apologize for that. I was with my boyfriend, Peter.”
“Oh, he’s your boyfriend?” Aubrey tilted her head and glared. Her arms folded over her chest.
“We didn’t realize that our conversation could be heard through the thin walls,” Nia continued. “We will be more discrete in the future.”
“I understand that we all need to have a little fun.”
“Within reason.” Nia raised her voice. “As neighbors, we have to respect each other. I’ll keep it down. I’ll also make sure any business that I overhear or see is kept between us. I’m sure that you wouldn’t want any of your friends hearing excruciating details of what you do in your free time.”
Nia cast Joseph a pointed look. Alexei chuckled. This time, Nia wasn’t the butt of the joke.
22
Ballon [ba-LAWN]
Bounce. The light, elastic quality in jumping in which the dancer bounds up from the floor, pauses a moment in the air and descends lightly and softly, only to rebound in the air like the smooth bouncing of a ball.
Nia took the students through the usual stretch regimen of pliés, arabesques, and grand battements without suffering pointed stares or whispers. She then, per Ms. V’s instruction, spent another ten minutes reviewing fouetté turns, correcting hip position and toe points as the students attempted multiple twirls. Ms. V was giving her more responsibility, prepping her for when she would take over corps practices for the fall show.
Lydia and Aubrey had the turns down, so much so that they could perform several sets without stopping. June could do two sets but frequently spun away from where she started. The T twins had trouble with one.
Surprisingly, Alexei and Joseph proved very capable with the male version of the turn. Unlike a woman, a man only rose onto the pad of his foot and kept his leg extended through the rotation. Both boys boasted strong thighs and abs that easily supported the weight of their raised leg.
After class, Ms. V called attention to the lesson schedule. They had decided to start with the most promising students rather than the struggling ones. Ms. V had explained that, after hours of correcting basics like keeping toes pointed, arches flexed, knees turned out, and backs straight, Aubrey and Lydia would seem beyond reproach. Without corrections, the best couldn’t get better. Even principal dancers had choreographers to criticize their forms.
As the students slipped on their street shoes, Nia overheard Alexei tell June something about the police. “I got Detective Ed somebody. How about you?”
“They didn’t get to me yet. But I hear they’re interviewing everyone except freshmen,” June said. “What’d he ask?”
“He wanted to know if student cell numbers were listed anywhere publicly.”
“Like on a bathroom wall?”
“Or a Facebook wall,” Alexei said. “Of course, I told them no. People don’t just give out their cell. That’s private.”
“But Lauren’s number wouldn’t be difficult to find. She probably gave it out to friends or study groups . . .”
“You just want Theo to be innocent.”
“Well, it’s true. When they get to me, that’s what I’m going to say.”
Alexei and June continued debating out the door. Everyone filed behind them except for Aubrey and Lydia. Ms. V took Aubrey onto the stage to rehearse. For once, the teacher’s favoritism worked in Nia’s favor. She would get an hour with Lydia.
Nia started the music. Drums crept into the room like a far-off war cry. Battle had chosen a fusion of eighteenth-century classical and modern alternative by an Icelandic “postrock” band. Guitar strings, scraped by a violin bow, screeched into the room, followed by the male singer’s haunting falsetto.
Lydia bounced on her toes. “I love this band.”
“This is the music for the soloist in the fall performance,” Nia continued. “Ms. V and I are teaching the routine to both you and Aubrey, as you each demonstrate superior technique. Only one of you will get it. The other will be the understudy and also learn a pas de deux to perform with either Alexei or Joseph.”
Lydia’s big brown eyes grew serious. Her pixie chin lowered. “I want this solo.”
Nia admired the ferocity in her look. She wanted a competitor for Aubrey and she had gotten a good one. “And I want you to win it.”
They listened to the song twice before Nia demonstrated the first movement. She watched Lydia absorb the dark melody that exploded into a triumphant march during the refrain, only to be drawn back into the depths during each verse until it finally wrested free in a joyous coda.
Lydia took direction like a professional. Nia never needed to give the same correction twice. If she told the girl to raise her leg higher or keep her hip down, the leg stayed up and the hip lowered each time the step repeated. The petite prima also memorized choreography at first sight, often imitating Nia’s demonstrations before she had completely finished.
Still, there was work to be done. Lydia had an impressive arabesque, but not the jaw-dropping full split that Aubrey flashed with such ease. Nia was certain she could get Lydia there. The girl could perform a split in multiple directions, and a standing split utilized the same muscles and ligaments. Lydia also lacked the power of Aubrey’s leaps, but Nia couldn’t fix that as easily. Innate Achilles strength determined jumping power as much as training. Lydia was already well trained.
What Lydia lacked technically, she compensated for with something that couldn’t be taught: she internalized the music. The girl breathed the rhythm until her rib cage rose and fell in time with the song. She never needed Nia to clap the tempo for pointe work. She danced as if the music compelled her legs to rise, her toes to point. She heard the beat, no matter how intense, dissonant, or distracting the melody. And she translated every step, even the new ones, into seemingly effortless expressions.
By the end of practice, Nia knew Lydia could beat Aubrey. The only question was, could Nia instruct as well as Ms. V did?
The other individual sessions were a letdown. She’d pulled Talia, June, Joseph, and Marta. Ms. V took the two Russians, Tati and Alexei, as well as Kimberly and Suzanne.
The dancers in her group weren’t poor. On the contrary, most were solid for a preprofessional program. But the corps steps bored Nia. They didn’t challenge and so were less interesting to demonstrate and more of a pain to instruct. The students felt they knew the quick toe sweeps and little jumps. As a result, they got lazy. Toes weren’t pointed to the extreme. Knees slipped into the forward position.
Pas de deux practice with Joseph was the exception. His movements were polished. His jumps showed real power. He’d even proven adept at the lifts, which Nia had demonstrated by playing the role of his partner. Unfortunately, there was a downside to his talent. He didn’t appreciate direction. Joseph felt he knew the “man’s role,” and he clearly didn’t want his female partner telling him where to put his hands.
By the time Marta entered the room, Nia was relieved to bid Joseph good-bye for the day. His overconfidence would lead to mistakes. She didn’t want to be propped above his head when he made one.
Nia welcomed Marta into the studio, holding her tongue about Theo, for the moment. First and foremost, she had a job to do. She couldn’t have Marta running away before her lesson started.
The practi
ce went well. Marta’s weight loss had helped her regain her center of gravity. Now she moved fluidly. Her posture remained erect. She had a beautiful straight line when she pliéd. Her flexibility surprised Nia. Marta could almost pull her foot to her head.
“You’ve been holding out on me.” Nia meant the compliment, though she said it to put Marta at ease. Now was her chance to bring up the police.
Marta completed a pretty arabesque followed by a deep bend to one knee.
“The you-know-what gives you this hormone that stretches your ligaments,” Marta said. “I guess it helped in one way.”
“The way you look now, you could land the other pas de deux part.”
“Yeah, right.” Though the words were clearly intended to be sarcastic, Marta couldn’t cover the hopeful rise in tone that turned her statement into a question. Right? Do you really think so?
“I mean it.”
Marta pulled her leg to her side. “Suzie always gets the partner dances. Ms. V thinks she and Alexei look good together. Aubrey usually dances with Joseph and does the solo.”
“Well, whoever dances the solo won’t get the pas de deux this time.”
“But we have Lydia now.”
Nia crossed the room to the computer. She turned off the band that had screamed from the speakers for most of the day. It was a credit to the musicians that she could listen to the singer’s wail on repeat for five hours without tearing her hair out.
“Well, I still think you have a chance. Your movement shows a lot of emotion.”
Marta shrugged, demonstrating the nonchalance that teenagers strived so hard to perfect. The teen picked up her street shoes and then tucked into the corner and pulled off the slippers plastered to her feet. Her body language didn’t invite conversation. But Nia didn’t have a better time to talk to her.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me. You got contraceptives when you went to that place, right?”
Marta froze like a lizard trying to camouflage itself against the background. Her fingers hovered above her shoe, still grasping the laces. She didn’t look up. “Yeah.”
“You could potentially tell the . . . people that you went into the city to check out birth control options and saw Theo waiting for the bus.”
Marta’s legs retreated toward her chest. “My parents would be really upset if they knew I was even sexually active.”
“But if Theo’s innocent, you wouldn’t want—”
“Shouldn’t you both be done by now?” Aubrey’s head ducked into the room. She looked like a disembodied doll.
Marta jumped into standing position. Her right shoe remained untied. “I’m good. Let’s go.” She ran from the room.
Marta’s speed showed Nia what she needed to know. The girl’s fear of her parents would prevent her from admitting going anywhere near an abortion clinic. Nia couldn’t appeal to Marta’s desire to do the right thing, and she couldn’t let a teen’s cowardice put an innocent boy in prison.
Nia headed home. The detective’s card was on her dresser.
*
The phone rang, a shrill siren that reminded Nia of her first day on campus six days ago. Detective Kelly hadn’t wanted to hear her theory that Lauren had been strangled. Would he want to hear her share another student’s alibi for Theo? Wasn’t that hearsay?
She had to try. Peter’s description of his favorite student replayed in her head. The boy was a promising, sensitive poetry student and she, like everyone else on campus, had convicted him just because he’d dumped, and possibly cheated on, his girlfriend. Infidelity was not in the same realm as murder. She’d been wrong to assume the worst.
The gruff, Massachusetts accent picked up on the fourth ring after a pause, as though his work line had forwarded to a cell phone. “Detective Kelly, Connecticut State Police.”
“Hi. It’s Antonia Washington. We met on Monday.”
“Yes. I remember.”
Cheering overwhelmed the speaker. A woman screamed for someone named Mikey to “go, go, go.” People clapped.
“Excuse me.” Kelly seemed to shout. “Little league game. Just give me a moment.”
Nia heard the sound of shuffling and walking. The cheering died down, though she could still hear yelling in the background.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“How can I help you?”
“You’d said to call if I thought of anything or learned anything.”
“And . . .”
Marta’s face filled her vision. Nia winced away the image. The girl would have to understand. An innocent teenager’s freedom was on the line. “A student recently told me that she saw Theo in Claremont on Saturday.”
“Did you give her my number?”
“She’s afraid to talk to you.”
“She can bring her parents.”
“No.” The word came out too quickly. Nia fumbled for an explanation that wouldn’t require too many details. “She is pretty unwilling to come forward.”
The background noise intensified. It sounded enthusiastic. The home team must have gotten a hit.
“Why don’t you come on in tomorrow and we’ll talk? I’m at the state police barracks in Claremont. Bus drops off at the station.”
23
Rat [ra]
A slang term for a child dance student at the Paris Opéra. The term, coined early in the nineteenth century, was derived from the children’s appearance: always in movement, with lean faces, and incessantly nibbling at food. The “petits rats” are the lowest rank of dancers in the cadre of the Paris Opéra ballet.
The bus pulled away, stranding Nia in Claremont. Even though it was Monday, the bus didn’t run regularly at midday. The next one wouldn’t come for two hours. If she didn’t time her conversation with Detective Kelly just right, she’d risk missing her individual lesson with Lydia. Nia didn’t want to disadvantage her student. Moreover, she couldn’t miss her afternoon class and give Ms. V a new reason to believe her irresponsible.
She briefly regretted not asking Peter to drive her, but the decision was for the best. She couldn’t spill Marta’s secret to anyone else, especially not to someone inclined to repeat it at school in order to clear his favorite student’s name. She felt bad enough telling the cops.
Nia rounded the corner to the address on her phone. The state police complex lorded over a four-lane road, more minicity than office building. She jogged up the steps to brick columns flanking a glass entrance. Words etched into the double doors read, “Connecticut State Police.”
She approached a long, mahogany countertop in front of a glass wall cordoning off uniformed officers from visitors. A heavyset policewoman sat at the counter. She wore her hair pulled back in a severe bun. The style suited her unfriendly expression.
“Hi. I’m here to speak to Detective Kelly about the Lauren Turek murder.”
The officer examined her face, staring into her eyes, a pit bull challenging a Pomeranian. The reaction took Nia off guard. Wouldn’t the police be happy that someone was coming forward with information?
“He gave me his card and said to talk to him if I thought of anything.”
The female officer sat back in her chair. She picked up a clipboard from the desk and handed it to her. A pen rested on top.
Nia expected the attached form to resemble the documents she’d filled out at doctor’s offices. Name. Age. Social Security Number. Instead, the first question asked that she check a box if the crime involved a minor.
“I’ll page him,” the officer said.
Nia spied gray plastic chairs in the corner. She moved to one and read the form. Most of the questions involved a suspect. She didn’t write anything on it.
Detective Kelly stepped from behind a frosted-glass door at the end of the hallway. He wore a navy-blue suit with a red tie. He’d cut his gray hair shorter since she’d last seen him. It sat close to his head, military style. Maybe seeing himself on the nightly news had enco
uraged him to get a cleaner cut. Nia felt suddenly underdressed in the zip-up sweatshirt covering her leotard and leggings.
He held the door open and motioned for her to come through, as if directing a reluctant car into an intersection. “The dance teacher that made the awful discovery. Good to see you again.”
How was she supposed to respond to that greeting? “I hope I can be of some help.”
She handed him the clipboard as she entered. He tucked it under his arm, apparently unconcerned about the contents.
“Sorry about the quiz. The media attention has attracted a lot of fake information.”
Nia followed him into an open room lined with blond wood desks of the IKEA variety. Papers and manila file folders were stacked atop most of them. The air smelled like newspaper.
Kelly settled in a rolling desk chair. He motioned to an empty one beside him.
“So, you said on the phone that a student told you that she saw Theo, but she doesn’t want to come forward?”
Guilt hollowed out Nia’s insides. Marta was a very troubled teen. But she still couldn’t stand by with information that could establish someone’s innocence. She’d help her deal with the fallout.
“Yes. I’m the RA in the junior and senior girls’ dorm. A girl on my floor told me that she saw Theo at a Claremont bus stop on the Saturday evening when Lauren went missing.”
Kelly’s eyebrows rose in an inverted V. “What time?”
“Sometime around five o’clock. She’d be able to narrow it down.”
“Who’s the girl?”
Nia swallowed her guilt. “Marta Hovnanian.”
He scratched at his temple and leaned forward in the chair, ready to share a secret of his own. “Maybe this girl is just a friend of Theo’s trying to help his reputation at school. I mean, if she really saw him, then why wouldn’t she tell us? Maybe because it’s not true.”
Nia scooted forward another inch on her seat. She needed Detective Kelly to take her seriously and he didn’t want to. The police had a suspect. News that they’d charged the wrong guy would not be welcome.