by Yelana Black
“She did?” Vanessa said. If Margaret were still here, she would have been a senior.
“She was an amazing dancer, and so pretty,” Justin said, eyeing Vanessa as if he were talking about her, not her sister. “But also pretty vacant. Always scared of failure.”
Vanessa flinched. “Vacant?”
But Justin didn’t seem to realize that he was insulting Margaret. “Toward the end she couldn’t be bothered to talk to regular people. She kept warning us that she was writing everything down in her journal, but nobody ever found it.”
Journal? If her sister had ever written one, it would have come home with all of her belongings.
Justin shook his head. “I think the journal was all in her mind. Though she kept saying everything would come out in the end somehow.”
“What would come out?” Vanessa searched his face, as if the answer to what happened to Margaret were hidden beneath his heavy brow.
Justin threw his bag over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“But you must have an idea. It sounds like you were close to her, at least for a short amount of time.”
“Look, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but your sister wasn’t … all there. There was a point when nothing she said made any sense.”
His words stung. “Right,” she said tersely. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
Justin walked outside, falling in step with a girl who was about his height and heavyset—a rare sight for ballet school—with wide hips and bushy chestnut hair. She leaned in to hear Justin’s whisper, nodded slightly, then glanced at Vanessa over her shoulder.
Vanessa glared at her. She had seen the girl before; she was hard to forget in a school where most of the students were half her size. She was always hanging around another boy who looked just like her.
Vanessa looked away. When she looked up again, Justin and the girl were gone.
“Nicola. She’s one of the Fratelli twins,” said Steffie as they filed through bright hallways on their way to a class with Hilda. “Her brother is Nicholas.”
“She can’t be a dancer,” said Vanessa, trying to imagine the large girl in a jeté. “She’s so … big.”
Steffie pressed her books to her chest. “Apparently, they’re supposed to be pretty good, even though the witless call them the ‘Fat-elli’ twins.”
“That’s so not funny,” Vanessa said.
“And yet,” Steffie said, “it sticks.”
Her thoughts returned to her sister. Had she really gone crazy? If something terrible had happened at school, why didn’t she just tell someone? Why hide it away in her diary? Could Justin have been right, and Margaret had run away—not because she wanted to be lost, but because she already was?
“Vanessa?” Steffie said, breaking into her reverie. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Vanessa said, and followed her to the studio at the end of the hall. The room was blond and polished, with wall-to-wall mirrors that made it look far larger than it actually was. Most of the freshman and sophomore class was already assembled by the barre, wearing the school uniform for dance class: black leotards and pink tights for the girls, white shirts and black tights for the boys. Vanessa was about to join them when she spotted Justin by himself, warming up.
She must have been staring, because suddenly his eyes met hers. Quickly, she looked away and lined up next to Steffie, TJ, and Blaine.
Hilda paced at the front of the studio, favoring her left leg—she had a slight limp. On her command, the students went through the basics, so familiar to Vanessa that her legs moved almost reflexively.
“Tendu!”
“Dégagé!”
“Grand battement!”
“Plié!”
Hilda observed the students, the arrhythmic sound of her limp punctuating their steps.
Vanessa could see the back of Justin’s head bobbing up and down ahead of her, his sandy hair matted to his neck with sweat. His form was pretty good, she thought. So why was he in the underclassmen rehearsal if he was a senior? Maybe he hadn’t been the same year as Margaret. Maybe he’d made everything up.
By late afternoon the rain had slowed, and the sky was a rolling gray. Steffie caught up with Vanessa as she walked toward the exit. “That was intense,” she said, pulling on an oversized sweatshirt.
“Yeah,” Vanessa replied. “I guess Hilda isn’t as timid as she seems.”
“I meant you. You were staring straight ahead the entire time.”
“Oh,” Vanessa said. “I was just … lost in my thoughts, I guess.”
“Must have been a pretty gripping daydream,” Steffie said. “Are you going to observe the class with Josef?”
Vanessa opened her mouth to answer when Justin pushed past them, brushing Vanessa’s arm.
“Pardon.” His eyes met Vanessa’s for a moment before he lowered his head and ran up the stairs, two at a time. She had to admit—he would have been handsome if it weren’t for the arrogant expression that seemed permanently embedded on his face.
Steffie grabbed Vanessa’s elbow. “What was that about? He looked like he wanted to kill you. Or throw you against a wall and make out with you.” She paused. “Or both.”
“Justin. He said he knew my sister. That they were the same year,” Vanessa said.
“So why is he in our morning class?” Steffie asked.
“I don’t know,” Vanessa murmured. “I thought maybe he was lying about being a senior, but now I think Justin might have been the boy in the white mask.”
“No way,” Steffie said. “The boy in the white mask was nice. This guy—Justin—seems like a prick.”
“I recognize his aftershave. It’s the same.”
“It’s probably a brand that everyone has,” Steffie said. “Eau de … handsome-yet-questionably-gay-teenage-male-dancer. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
The dance floor was still empty when they slipped into the rehearsal studio. It was so quiet that it took a second look for Vanessa to realize that the rows of chairs in the back of the room were already filled with students.
“Remember,” Steffie whispered. “No speaking. Josef’s rules.”
Vanessa scanned the crowd until she spotted TJ. She was nibbling on a packet of Junior Mints and whispering something to Blaine and Elly, her face flushed with excitement. When she saw Vanessa and Steffie, she waved, and the girls squeezed through the throng and wedged themselves in next to them.
Noiselessly, the twelve senior girls in Josef’s class filed out onto the floor. Taking their positions, they raised their chins to the light and held steady. Zep, the only boy onstage, stood in the center, his arms outstretched. Vanessa held her breath, transfixed.
“One and two and three and four.”
Josef paced in front of them holding a long stick, which he tapped on the wooden floor to keep the beat.
Zep’s shadow trembled as he curled his arms inward. He glided across the floor, the light shifting over the contours of his body like the sun rising and falling over an extraordinary landscape. Why couldn’t she look away? Something about his dark, steady gaze demanded her attention.
The other dancers arched their backs and braided themselves around him, slowly at first, then faster, like a flock of birds flying in formation. Josef had stopped counting and was now gesticulating wildly, swooping to the left, then low to the right, the dancers following, as if manipulated by his hands.
Vanessa leaned forward. Zep’s face shifted in and out of the shadows while he danced alone, without a partner, the role of the Firebird still not cast. Vanessa tried to imagine what it would feel like to lean into his sinewy arms, to feel his hands grip her waist and lift her like a feather into the air; but the only face she could imagine onstage was Margaret’s.
A scream interrupted her thoughts.
One of the dancers stumbled midstep, and the others froze. The entire audience turned in Vanessa’s direction. Could it possibly have come from her? she wondered, her heart poundin
g.
And then she heard a gasp.
“I’m sorry,” Elly cried from a few feet over. Her face was as pink as her cardigan, which was covered in club soda.
In desperation she turned to see who had spilled it on her. Sitting just behind her was Justin. He gave her an apologetic look but didn’t say anything.
Outraged, Josef threw his stick across the room. Vanessa cringed as it clattered against the wall.
“You,” he shouted at Elly. “Stand up.”
Trembling, she stood.
“What is your name?”
“Elly Pym,” she whispered.
Josef began to pace. “What did I tell everyone earlier?” he said. “Tell me, Elly.”
Elly’s chest heaved.
“I said that you could observe the afternoon lesson, so long as,” Josef said, not waiting for an answer, “you didn’t speak. Didn’t I tell you that?”
Elly gave him a quick nod. She looked like she was about to cry.
“So why did you speak?” he shouted, his face red with rage. “You interrupted the dance; one of your classmates almost fell. Do you know how much damage you could have done?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
Josef cut her off. “Silence. A ballerina must learn how to control her body and mind.”
Though by that logic, Vanessa thought, the dancers shouldn’t be affected by someone speaking.
Elly nodded again, her eyes trained on her feet. Vanessa leaned over and squeezed her shoulder.
“As punishment, you will not be attending the Lincoln Center performance this Friday, and you are forbidden to leave campus until I deem you ready. I’ll expect you in my office later, where we can discuss your progress.”
Elly looked horrified.
“Did you hear me?” Josef asked sharply.
Elly glanced up. “Yes.”
Josef turned, his hands clenched in fists. “En suite,” he shouted to the dancers. “One more time from the top.”
Vanessa watched him walk to the left of the stage, where he stood with his arms crossed, his face contorted into a scowl. He looked so different from the charmingly rebellious choreographer who had delivered their orientation speech that Vanessa could hardly believe she had found him even remotely charismatic. All she could see now was a bitter man, standing halfway in the shadows, as if the rumors of his mysterious past were still clinging to his shoulders.
That’s when Vanessa realized that he still wanted to dance. He was older than the average dancer, though in good shape and not too old to perform. So why couldn’t he? What could he have possibly done that was so bad he could never dance again?
Chapter Five
Mornings arrived with the snap of a leotard, the smooth slip of a pair of tights, and the shhh! of the faucet splashing warm water into the sink. A straw unwrapped, and a can of Diet Coke being opened with a hiss. Bobby pins spilled across the counter. The door creaking open and shut, then footsteps. Breakfast was a rushed affair; most chose to skip it.
The girls’ dressing room near the dance studio was dusted in talcum powder. Girls flocked around the benches, bending and beating their ballet slippers. Stray ribbons lay curled on the floor like petals.
The morning sounds were like a familiar song as Vanessa made her way to the mirror. They’d been in school for a week; she was beginning to know everyone’s faces, and most of their names too. A line of girls—Jessica, Isabelle, Tabitha—wearing pink tights and leg warmers stood in front of the sinks, pinching and powdering their faces.
“Excuse me,” Vanessa said, and they parted, letting her squeeze between them.
She splashed her face with water, rubbed her cheeks, and stuck five bobby pins between her lips. She twisted her mane of long red hair until it was tight against her head and fastened it in place with pins. She tilted her head left, then right, to make sure it was secure. With damp fingers, she brushed back the wisps.
Her friends were sitting on one of the long wooden benches that lined the dressing room, breaking in their pointe shoes. Vanessa dropped her bag and sat down beside Steffie, whose black hair was pulled back into an impeccable knot.
“It sounds like it was just an accident,” she was saying to Elly and TJ as she unrolled a package of gauze. “He was dating the prima ballerina in Paris, but they fought all the time. Apparently, he has a really bad temper.”
Since her meeting with Josef, Elly had seemed pensive, distracted. She’d said that Josef had reprimanded her for her inability to control her reactions. If she wanted to make it as a dancer, he’d said, she would have to learn how to be silent, and in keeping with his warning, Elly refused to divulge any other details about their meeting.
After Josef’s outburst at rehearsal, Vanessa and Steffie had gone back to the dormitory and looked him up online, trying to figure out what the scandal was that had forced him out of his company in Paris.
“It went down like this,” Steffie continued. “During a rehearsal the other dancers heard Josef and the principal ballerina arguing backstage. Then, in the middle of a dance, the ballerina leaped into an écarté, only instead of completing the lift, Josef dropped her.”
Vanessa shuddered, imagining the ballerina diving into the air where Josef’s arms were supposed to catch her. But instead, she slips through his grasp and drops to the hardwood floor with a loud crack. The scene had been haunting her ever since she and Steffie had read about it.
TJ’s eyes widened and Elly gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“She broke an ankle and was out for the rest of the season. She claimed Josef dropped her on purpose. He denied it, but the company still forced him out. Intentional or not, no one wants a lead dancer who drops girls onstage.”
“What happened to the ballerina?” Elly asked.
“She recovered and started dancing again, but slowly went insane. Really paranoid, like everyone was out to get her. She eventually quit and disappeared.”
A somber silence followed.
Steffie tied her ribbons around her ankle in a tight knot. “It could have been just an accident,” she said. “In Cincinnati, there were lots of girls who tried to sabotage me for no reason other than that they were haters. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come here.”
“But he dropped her,” Elly said. “And you saw him at that first rehearsal. What he said to me. He’s … evil.”
Steffie put a hand on her hip. “To be honest, you did scream when he specifically told us not to talk. I’m not siding with the guy, I’m just saying that we don’t know what happened.”
Elly shrank back, and TJ rolled her eyes. Steffie threw the rest of her stuff in her bag and turned to Vanessa. “Everyone’s saying Josef might observe us today,” she said. “And he might even be scouting for roles in The Firebird.”
“Oh?” Vanessa said, trying to sound excited. Emptying her bag, she took out a pair of new pointe shoes, the satin still pink and clean, and began bending them.
“Do you think any of us will get cast?” TJ said. “I mean, obviously not in a lead role, but maybe something better than just corps?”
Elly sat sullenly by the wall. “Probably not me,” she said softly. “I blew it already.”
“Just dance well,” Vanessa said. “Nothing else matters.”
Elly nodded, though Vanessa could tell she wasn’t convinced.
“I wonder if all of the roles will be taken by seniors,” Steffie said. “Did you see the way they danced in Josef’s rehearsal? I could barely see their feet, they moved so quickly. I wonder how much Red Bull they drink before class.”
TJ stood in front of the mirror, examining her body in profile. She pinched her side and sucked in, puckering her big lips for show. Vanessa laughed.
“That’s better,” TJ said with a smile, though her eyes lingered on the tiny pouch on her belly. “I bet Anna Franko will be cast as the Firebird,” she said, pinning loose wisps of hair to her head, and then anchoring the whole curly mess with hairspray.
Ste
ffie coughed and swatted the misty cloud away with her hand.
“It only makes sense,” TJ continued. “I heard she’s one of the best dancers at school. And it can’t hurt that she’s dating Zep.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Vanessa said, stuffing the toe boxes of her shoes with lamb’s wool. “If Josef were going to cast Anna as the Firebird, he would already have done it, like he did with Zep. So there’s still a chance.”
Steffie gave Vanessa a quizzical look. “How is it that you’re so calm?”
Vanessa bit her lip. “What do you mean?”
“You show up twenty minutes after everyone else, with barely any time to get ready, and you’re still totally cool. I mean, class starts in, like, ten minutes, and even though I just told you that Josef might be visiting, you’ve barely even broken in your shoes. Aren’t you nervous at all?”
Vanessa shrugged. “I’m just going to do my best, and see how it goes.”
Steffie let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t get you, but I envy you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Vanessa said under her breath, but no one seemed to hear her. She gently peeled away the corner of the bandage on her foot. The cut beneath was red and scabbed. Wincing, Vanessa dabbed on a bit of ointment, replaced the gauze, and gently slipped her foot into her pointe shoe.
“I heard that a girl named Chloë was supposed to dance the role of the Firebird,” TJ said.
“Why isn’t she now?” Vanessa asked.
TJ began tying her ribbons. “She went missing over the summer. Just before school started.”
Vanessa’s back went rigid. “Like, she ran away?”
“I’m not sure,” TJ said. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. I forgot—”
“It’s okay. It happened. You don’t have to pretend like it didn’t.” Vanessa stared at her pointe shoe, imagining her sister’s initials scrawled into the soles. “Margaret was supposed to play the Firebird, too.”
“Everyone says it’s a really hard role,” Steffie murmured. “They probably just felt too much pressure.”
Vanessa nodded, yet she couldn’t help but wonder. Was it a coincidence that two girls cast as the lead in The Firebird went missing? Maybe there was something strange about the Firebird ballet; maybe it was cursed. But as soon as the thought entered her head, she shook it off. The Firebird was renowned as a difficult dance. She dipped the toe of her right foot in the box of pale-brown rosin, rubbing it into the smooth sole of her shoe until it was rough enough to grip the waxed floor, then switching to the heel, and finally to her left foot. Steffie, Elly, and TJ did the same, barely speaking until a whistle blew from outside the studio, signaling the start of class.