Dance of Shadows (8 page)

“Good,” Hilda murmured as she walked past Vanessa. “Very good.”

Vanessa opened her eyes to see TJ in front of her, stepping completely out of the meter.

Hilda walked up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “First listen,” she said, and tapped the rhythm onto TJ’s collarbone. “Now try.” But it was no use. TJ’s limbs didn’t seem to want to stay in place.

She wasn’t the only one having problems. Vanessa could hear Steffie breathing heavily behind her. Up ahead, Elly struggled to keep in time, her legs a half beat too slow. The only other person who seemed to get it was Blaine, who had inched so close to the boy in front of him that he could touch the back of his tawny head.

“And now it switches,” Hilda said. The music changed tempo again. “Imagine the seeds of a dandelion blowing away in the wind. We are trying to capture the pattern of chaos. One-two, and three and four, five-six, and one …”

Vanessa pressed her lids shut, trying to imagine herself as the long stalk of a flower standing in a breezy field.

And suddenly, it made sense.

Her body bent and arched and flexed and curved, her arms pushed this way and that, as if she had lost herself and become the flower.

And then a strange feeling took hold of her.

Her steps became quicker, her limbs seemed to move without her. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, but it was too blurred to see. The beat of Hilda’s clapping seemed to echo her own pulse, and time around her started to thin.

Faster, faster she twirled, her toes curling in their boxes as
she spotted. The room began to warp, the floor melting away. Vanessa’s classmates faded into a dizzying wisp of colors. Hilda’s clapping sounded distant, watery. Her voice slurred.

Margaret
, Vanessa thought.
Margaret
.

Hilda’s loud clap brought her back to reality. She slowed to a stop and bowed her head, waiting for her eyes to refocus.

“You looked great,” Steffie said while the other girls wandered away for a water break. “No one else could finish that turn, but you kept going like you were weightless.”

“Just luck,” Vanessa said, holding on to the barre to steady herself.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Steffie lowered her voice. “You’re an amazing dancer, Vanessa. Like,
amazing
doesn’t even do it justice. Your dancing kicks amazing’s ass. When someone compliments you, all you have to do is say thank you. Okay?”

Vanessa gave her a sheepish smile and thought of her mother, who always told her to take a compliment when she was given one. Still, part of her
did
think it was just luck.

“If you don’t want her accolades, then I’ll take them,” Blaine said, poking his head between them. “Those steps were
hard
.” He wiped the sweat from his brow, reminding Vanessa that he had been the only other dancer who finished the exercise. “I know how you feel though,” he said softly to Vanessa. “Like you’re a fraud. Like every time you land a jump or finish a complicated step it’s because some outside force helped you do it—not your talent.”

Vanessa froze. It was as if Blaine could read her thoughts.

He let his gaze drift to his reflection in the mirror, studying
it with a critical eye. “I thought it would go away if I became the best dancer at school. And when that didn’t work, I thought it might go away when I got into NYBA, and now I keep hoping that if I just prove myself to Josef and Hilda and get cast in one of the productions, then I’ll really feel like I deserve it.” Blaine hung his head. “The better you are, the more pressure everyone puts on you to keep being good. And once you’re at the top, the fall to the bottom is a lot longer and more painful.”

Vanessa nodded but said nothing. She hadn’t seen Blaine so sincere, so vulnerable before.

“You’re lucky though,” he said, filling in the quiet. “You could still be chosen for the Firebird.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Unless I’m cast first,” he teased.

Vanessa laughed. “You’d make a stunning Firebird,” she said.

“Don’t you have something to say to me?” Steffie coughed dramatically, reminding Vanessa that she had praised her dancing.

Vanessa took a breath. “Thank you for your compliment.”

“See?” Steffie said. “That wasn’t so hard.” And together they walked to the water fountain on the far side of the room.

Vanessa took a drink, then said, “Have you ever felt things change when you dance?”

Steffie squinted at her. “What do you mean?”

Vanessa glanced around to make sure no one could hear them. “Sometimes when I get all of my steps right, things around me start to blur. Sounds get muddled and colors look like they’re melting away. It’s like time starts to slow down.”

Steffie gave her a hard look. “That’s never happened to me.”

“Never?” Vanessa asked.

Steffie shook her head. “And this happens every time you dance?”

“Only when I get the steps down perfectly.”

“I don’t know—” Steffie began to say, but was interrupted by a cough.

Startled, Vanessa looked up to find Hilda right behind them, curiosity illuminating her small eyes. How long had she been there?

“Do you have something you’d like to share with us?” Hilda asked.

“What? Oh, um—no,” Vanessa stammered.

“Why don’t you share with us a hundred pliés at the barre then,” Hilda said, a sour expression on her face, “so you won’t waste your breath talking nonsense in class.”

Startled at the harshness of the punishment, Vanessa exchanged a glance with Steffie as she walked to the barre and began her pliés, feeling the smooth wood beneath her fingertips, the sweat beading on her neck, the floor pushing back against her toes until her muscles burned. Hilda had brought her back to reality with her irrational punishment, and even though it hurt, Vanessa was relieved to feel the ground beneath her feet again.

The overhead lights blinked.

“It’s time,” Steffie said, smoothing her black silk dress.

Vanessa gazed over the balcony at the glass chandelier hanging above the orchestra section while they squeezed through the aisles to their seats. Josef had led them through Lincoln Center, past the Vivian Beaumont Theater and the Metropolitan Opera House, around the magnificent fountain, and into the New York City Ballet—where, if they were lucky, some of them would get to dance one day. The mezzanine inside the theater was crowded with luxury: high heels, expensive perfume, suits and pleats and tasseled leather shoes, carved combs, white mustaches, a shock of red lipstick, and the flash of lace stockings beneath the flounce of a skirt.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Blaine said, fingering
the lapel of his suit coat. It was incredibly tight on him, its navy-blue color accented with a bright-pink tie.

“Did you get that in the kids’ department at JCPenney?” TJ teased.

“Hey, Ms. Acorn Squash. Don’t hate on me because I’m skinny,” Blaine snapped, and buttoned his coat.

TJ—whose pleated orange dress
did
make her resemble a fall vegetable—blushed.

“This week lasted forever.” Blaine sighed dramatically. “Plus, I haven’t even found a boyfriend yet.”

“A boyfriend?” Vanessa repeated. She’d barely ever kissed a boy back home, let alone had an actual boyfriend. “It’s only been a week.”

“I know!” Blaine exclaimed. “I thought it would only take a day. Maybe two.” He gave her a wink.

“I honestly thought I was going to die after three toe lessons in a row,” TJ added.

“I know,” Steffie said, her long chain earrings dangling down to her shoulders like icicles. “It’s like learning to dance all over again.”

“Or realizing you never learned to dance,” TJ interjected. “I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” Vanessa said. “You got in here, didn’t you?”

TJ suddenly looked sheepish. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, reminding Vanessa of the way her roommate had reacted when she’d revealed that her parents were on the board of trustees. At first it made TJ seem sort of lucky, but now Vanessa
wondered if being connected wasn’t more of a burden. If TJ felt like she didn’t truly earn her spot at NYBA.

“If Elly were here, she’d say that everyone has something they’re truly great at,” Steffie added. “You just have to find that thing.”

The four of them fell quiet, feeling Elly’s absence. For a few days, Elly had grown more and more withdrawn, and it showed in her dancing too. She’d been making elementary mistakes, and Hilda and Josef were noticing.

“What’s she doing tonight?” TJ asked, brushing back her curls.

“She said she was going to stay in and read,” Vanessa murmured, and glanced down at her playbill for the opening night of the New York City Ballet production of Tchaikovsky’s
Sleeping Beauty
. “She seemed so sad when she told me. She really wanted to come.”

“Speaking of sad,” said Blaine, breaking the mood, “I went on a date with Andreas. That angular blond guy in our class? You know, the one who’s friends with those two scrawny brunettes from Brooklyn?”

TJ gave him a sympathetic look. “Didn’t go well?”

Blaine looked forlorn. “He has this bizarre obsession with Wagner. After dinner, he made me listen to the entirety of
Die Walküre
on his surround-sound speakers, and let me tell you—there’s only so much horn this southern boy can take in one night, and that about filled my quota for the
year
.”

TJ grimaced, but Vanessa and Steffie only laughed at the image of Blaine enduring Wagner at full volume.

“Watch your dress,” he added as Vanessa climbed the stairs. “You have to kick and then take a step,” he said, flourishing an imaginary gown. “That way you won’t stomp on that lovely lace hem.” He paused. “Don’t ask me how I know that.”

“Thanks,” Vanessa said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Vanessa scanned the rows, looking for their seats, when she felt someone watching her.

A dissonant chord floated up from the orchestra pit as the musicians tuned their instruments. It mounted until it silenced the audience.

Slowly, Vanessa’s gaze wandered to the opposite aisle, where Zep stood, his face sharp as forged metal. He was wearing a sleek black suit and a tie, his broad chest rising and falling as if it were going to burst through the fabric. His hair was slicked back, giving him a dapper look that was incredibly appealing—like a young Fred Astaire, only way hotter, just as he’s about to whisk Ginger Rogers onto the dance floor. Zep was beautiful, that much was undeniable, and hearing Blaine talk about going on a date made her wonder what it would be like to sit down with Zep for a fancy dinner in a romantically lit restaurant and get to know each other properly.

Vanessa blinked and studied him again. One hand was hidden in a pocket; the other held a playbill. Anna Franko clutched his elbow, but his eyes were locked on Vanessa.

She felt him studying her face, her neck, her collarbone. She flushed, but she couldn’t look away. The distance between them seemed to collapse, and it no longer mattered that they had never met, or that Anna Franko was standing beside him,
her eyes narrowing as she gazed from Zep to Vanessa. It already felt like they were intimate, that they had known, maybe even loved, each other in some previous life.

Vanessa shuddered as the screech of the orchestra peaked and then came to an abrupt stop. Zep gave her the beginning of a smile.

In a moment of panic, Vanessa lowered her eyes and turned to follow Steffie, who was making her way into the row. She was being ridiculous. Zep didn’t love her. He had a girlfriend.

They found their seats toward the middle, next to a group of girls from their toe class. The red plush seats were soft against Vanessa’s thighs through the thin fabric of her dress.

“It’s really awful Elly couldn’t come,” TJ said, gazing at the general splendor of the audience. She pointed to a man wearing a tuxedo, who was escorting a woman in a silk gown. “Everyone here is just her type.”

“Maybe Josef will let her come next time,” Vanessa said, smoothing out her dress.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said.

The people at the end of her row stood for Zep and Anna, who were pushing toward her. Vanessa looked straight ahead and swallowed, watching in the periphery as they took their seats on the other side of Steffie, just two seats away from Vanessa.

The lights dimmed. A lone violin quivered. The audience applauded as the conductor reached the podium. Out of the corner of her eye, Vanessa caught Zep stealing a glance at her. She smiled to herself just as the curtain rose.

The dancers swept across the stage in a flurry of toile, satin, and ribbons, moving more swiftly and lightly than any earthly beings. Vanessa didn’t know how long it lasted, only that it was too short. There was something truly remarkable about the ballet. Even though Vanessa wasn’t sure she wanted to be a ballerina, watching a troupe of dancers tell a story with such emotion and elegance, with exquisite music in the background, moved her deeply.

When Vanessa was dancing, she wasn’t thinking about her missing sister or her overbearing mother. She could dance things she couldn’t find the words to say. Feel emotion she didn’t know how to show in everyday life. She could defeat the villain, seduce the prince, enchant the nymphs of the forest, find her true love, and live happily forever after, just like that.

Gazing at the dancers onstage, Vanessa wondered if they ever felt that ballet was a release from the real world. Vanessa thought about what Justin had said—how her sister said she was keeping a journal, how she didn’t fit in. Maybe there wasn’t anything sinister about Margaret’s disappearance. Maybe she had simply … escaped.

When the last act ended and the music stopped, she felt as if she had been woken from a dream. The dancers gazed out at the audience and bowed, bridging the gap between their world and Vanessa’s. The curtain fell, the applause slowed, and Vanessa sat back in her seat with a sigh.

Around her, as everyone began to filter toward the exits, Vanessa and her classmates stayed put. But when TJ raved about the ballerina’s grand jeté in the final act, Blaine brushed her
off. “Please,” he said. “Any of us could do it ten times better. Didn’t you see all of the mistakes she made?”