JACK London Contemporary Dance Academy
JACK
London Contemporary Dance Academy
The end-of-year performance is putting everyone’s nerves to the test. I never would’ve imagined that an event like this, however important, could stir up such intense competitiveness, not just among the students but among the teachers as well.
After months at the academy, I know my fellow classmates pretty well by now, and I’m fairly certain at least half of them would sell a family member without flinching if it meant landing a spot in a higher-profile company.
Saying the level of competition in the world of professional dance is high feels like a laughable understatement.
And while, on a personal level, I know I can only really count on Ludo and a tiny handful of others here at the LCDA, I truly didn’t expect to witness seasoned professionals like Claire Donovan and Etienne Moreau go to war with each other, through ballet, of course, using us students as their preferred blunt instruments.
When the roles were assigned and I found out I’d be dancing a pas de deux with Ludo, under Etienne’s supervision no less, I couldn’t help but briefly wonder whether his decision had something to do with my Italian friend’s not-so-subtle crush on our partnering instructor.
However, it only took a few days of rehearsals for me to change my mind.
Moreau might want to get Ludo into bed, but he’s no fool. His ambition to shine outweighs pretty much any other desire, and he was the first to realise that the chemistry between me and Ludo, when we dance together, would be nothing short of electric on stage.
When Donovan, who’s decided to bet everything on her protégé, the Australian Beatrice Brooks, came to watch our rehearsal, it was obvious, even behind her usual composure, or rather, her trademark iciness, that she was both impressed and surprised by what we were doing.
Mixed in with those emotions, though, was something far less pleasant: the frustration of having let someone else, a colleague no less, swoop in and showcase what could have been her own triumph, as a talent scout, a teacher, and above all, a choreographer.
Etienne craves the spotlight just as much as she does, but unlike Claire, he still has that sliver of humanity needed to actually see people. To connect with them, at least a little.
The piece we’re working on is clearly his brainchild, and the core choreography is his. But Ludo and I, through performing it, have made it our own. I think it’s fair to say that, starting from Moreau’s vision, the three of us have built something together that belongs just as deeply to all of us.
Under Etienne’s guidance, I have to admit that both Ludo and I have truly blossomed.
At the start of our time at the academy, young Visconti, with his strong background in classical training, already shone when it came to technique, but he still had some gaps when it came to the interpretative side of performance.
I, on the other hand, was immediately recognised for my emotional depth and ability to connect with the audience, but it was clear my technical foundation still needed polishing.
Etienne Moreau’s skilled direction has managed to merge our strengths, helping each of us grow exactly where we needed it most, and that, I have to admit, is something only truly great teachers can do.
Obviously, getting to this point hasn’t come cheap, in terms of time, effort, and no small number of sacrifices.
Ludo and I have put in loads of extra hours to make sure our performance meets Etienne’s expectations, and now that the big day is getting closer, everyone’s anxiety has gone through the roof.
It’s not just about our teachers’ reputations or our final grades, which we need to move on to the next year, and in my case, to keep my scholarship.
What’s really at stake, and the reason everyone’s pushing so hard, is the very real chance of being noticed by the recruiter from one of the most prestigious professional dance companies in the world.
It might sound far-fetched, but it isn’t. And if it actually happens, it could open the door to a future that, maybe not guaranteed, because nothing ever is in this business, would at least be steadier. And in my field, that’s already saying a lot.
The piece we’re working on is nearly finished, and it already feels like mine, like I belong to it, like something I’ve built with my own hands.
It’s based almost entirely on physical connection, on shared weight, on mutual trust and risk.
A contemporary contact duet that still honours some of the more traditional elements of our discipline, without ever losing that spirit of experimentation and exploration that makes me love contemporary dance so much.
Set to the hypnotic rhythm of Last Dance by Oliver Coates, our bodies reach for each other, hold and repel, moving through a sequence of partnered lifts, off-balance phrases, and controlled falls. Ludo and I push through raw, sometimes messy hoists, followed by moments of tension and surrender.
It’s a challenging piece, no doubt, but I know this is the most demanding and meaningful work I’ve ever done, and without question, the best.
By the time I reach the studio, I’m buzzing with energy, partly because I’m excited that, before long, I’ll be showing Francis what I’m working on…
and partly because tonight, we’re having a proper evening together.
Romantic and all. And if I can’t wait to end up in his arms, I also can’t wait for him to see what I’m doing here.
Rehearsals are obviously off-limits to outsiders, but even at home and with friends, I’ve kept completely quiet about what Ludo and I are working on, and I’ve asked him to do the same.
I can’t wait to show the results of all this work to my friends and family, but more than anything, I’m beyond excited to share it with my boyfriend. Ever since we met, he’s never seen me dance live.
Sure, I’m pretty certain he’s gone digging for every possible performance of mine on YouTube, some I’ve even shown him myself.
And yes, he watches me warm up practically every morning at his place.
But he’s never actually seen me perform.
This will be the first time, and I want it to be unforgettable. I want it to be special.
I know he wants me to move in with him, but he’s too cautious to ask.
Sometimes he treats me like I’m made of glass, and while he doesn’t need to, part of me is flattered.
Because I know Francis sees how strong I am.
His thoughtfulness is his way of showing me how much he cares; how much he respects me.
Still, I can’t wait to move to Kennington Park Road for good, to be with him and our Adele. I’m just waiting for the academic year to end and for this whole recital-prep phase to be over, so I can tell him properly, and finally carve out a bit of time for our little family.
It’s just a matter of holding out a couple more months. Once the show’s behind me, I’ll ask him if I can move in.
“What’s that little smile about, Jack?” Ludo asks as he walks into the studio, a teasing note in his voice. While I’m taking off my hoodie and shoes, he adds, “Don’t tell me you had an early morning encounter with your handsome doctor…”
“Ludo,” I warn him, giving him a look.
I know he loves winding me up, and I’m also pretty sure he’d never actually cross any lines with my boyfriend, even if he never misses a chance to joke about how hot and ‘daddy’ Francis is, but when it comes to my infuriating doctor, I’m so ridiculously possessive that I practically bristle the moment someone else so much as mentions him.
“What doctor?” Thank God Etienne shows up just then, before I can strangle my classmate.
“Don’t tell me one of you is sick, hein? We have to rehearse!” Etienne snaps before we even get the chance to reply. “If someone’s got a fever, or whatever… prenez ce que vous voulez, I don’t care. But we are rehearsing. Compris?”
Whenever he gets worked up, he starts slipping into half French, half English. Ludo and I end up turning to each other at the exact same moment, barely managing to stifle a laugh.
“Understood!” we chime in unison, while Etienne glares at us with that trademark frown Ludo finds ridiculously sexy and I just find… ridiculous.
After the warm-up, he gives us his instructions for the section of the choreography we’re still fine-tuning, and once the music starts, we finally begin to dance.
Ludo and I are dressed exactly the same, both in all black, as Etienne requested: loose tank tops, leggings, and dance socks.
From a distance, with our similar builds, we’d be practically indistinguishable, if it weren’t for my reddish-brown mop of hair standing out next to Ludo’s perfectly styled blond locks.
The music Etienne chose wraps around us in a hypnotic build, an alluring instrumental track that flows naturally with each lift, spin, and increasingly daring balance.
Ludo and I move as one, reaching for each other, pulling apart, finding our rhythm again.
Until we reach the final leap, the climax of the whole piece.
He slides past me, orbiting in silence, while I push off the ground.
This is the moment where we separate, where the choreography breathes.
I push upward and, for a split second, everything sharpens to an almost surreal clarity: the sheen of sweat on my skin despite the light layers, the air rushing under me, the pounding of my heart in perfect time with the music.
I land alone, just as I’m supposed to. It’s a difficult jump, but one I’ve always handled with confidence.
Only this time, something goes wrong.
My foot slips, barely, on the sweat-slick floor, but it’s enough. One imperfect landing, and my ankle gives way.
The pain hits, sudden and brutal.
I crash to the floor, breath caught in my throat, Etienne and Ludo shouting my name as the music plays on, cold and indifferent in the background.
Hot tears run down my cheeks like they don’t even belong to me, and I can’t tell if they’re from the searing pain in my ankle… or from the crushing realisation that my career, just as it was beginning, might already be over.
I manage to whisper only one word. “Francis…”
And then, mercifully, everything goes dark.