Chapter 13
Thirteen
Isit beside Sam on a bale of hay. He stares blankly at the form. His expression reminds me of a kid who has dropped their ice cream on the ground, and is watching the sweet, delicious treat melt into soup. The only sound around us is the horses.
“I don’t think you’re doomed. Your captain seemed nice. She doesn’t appear to be the type of person who would set you up for failure.”
Artem comes to mind, but I push all thoughts of my past aside. This isn’t about me right now. This is about supporting Sam.
“Captain Yates is a brilliant leader. She’s always watching out for us.
” He takes a deep breath and scrubs his forehead with his hands.
“But the Princess Alice Cup . . . gah, it’s laughable for me to enter.
The type of people who compete were born knowing how to polish and make their uniforms perfectly presentable.
I’m going to be the worst turned-out trooper. ”
“Do you mind translating for this novice? What’s the big deal about the Princess Alice Cup?”
“The Princess Alice Cup is an annual competition between the Blues and the Life Guards to see who has the best turned-out soldier and horse. Each regiment gets to put forward six challengers, who then compete for eight finalist spots in the Royal Windsor Horse Show. We’re judged by the top brass from other branches of the armed forces.
The winner gets bragging rights, five hundred quid, a saddle, and a trip to Canada. ”
“What part of it is scaring you?”
He takes a moment to find his words. “The part where it normally takes a participant eight to ten weeks to prep for it and the contest is in four weeks. I’m going to have to start spending every waking hour of my downtime polishing my kit to catch up.
I’m slow and not good with detailing all the little bits and bobs on stuff like my horse’s tack.
It’s going to be a useless exercise for me. I’ll be knocked out the first round.”
“I don’t believe that.” I place a hand on his knee.
Sam puts a hand over mine. His rough calluses tickle.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but trust me, I know I’m a lost cause.
I don’t have the knack for meticulous attention to detail.
What I think is decent is usually barely acceptable to the commanding officer.
I always have a problem with stuff like tarnish on my helmet, fingerprints on my cuirass, or excess polish on my boots. ”
“Not to play devil’s advocate, but have you ever tried to put in the effort?”
“Of course.” Sam pulls his hand back and stands. “How can you say that?”
I’ve hit a sore spot. He’s frustrated and I get that.
Trying to keep my voice calm, I tell him, “You once admitted to me that you were one of the guys who didn’t like to stay up late polishing things. It sounds to me that if you put in just a little more time, even if its ten or fifteen minutes, you could improve on what you’re already doing.”
He stares at the ground. His boot shifts a few stray pieces of hay.
I decide to change tactics. “How badly do you want to become a riding instructor?”
“I’ll do anything to be able to keep working with horses.
My time in London is coming to an end. We normally only get two years here.
If I don’t become a riding instructor, it means I’ll have to move on to Bulford and the armored side of the regiment.
I mean, I’d do it anyway if I were told to.
But given the choice, horses win every time. ”
“Then you have to do this.”
“I don’t know if there’s a point. I don’t know if I want to put myself through all the emotional and physical stress.” Sam shoves his hands into his pockets. “I can’t compete against the others who’ve already entered.”
“The Sam I know wouldn’t give up without trying.”
“Clearly, you don’t know me well.”
Hearing him say that stings. I’ve seen how he acts around animals.
I see how gentle and dedicated he is to them.
If he can care for temperamental living beings, he can learn to do the same for his uniform and equipment.
He just needs practice. Like his captain said, it’s a literal crash course on habits and skills he needs for the future.
“Maybe not, but I’m trying to. What happened to the man who was so confident around his captain?”
“He’s a coward.”
“I don’t believe that.” I stand. His attitude is starting to grate on me.
He‘s not even trying to accept the help that’s been offered to him.
He’s being a bratty, selfish child about it.
“You know, you’re lucky. Your captain believes in you.
She’s given you an opportunity to learn and prove to everyone that you are capable of perfect presentation.
Not everyone has that chance . . .” My voice cracks.
“For a lot of people, their dreams rest outside of their control. Trust me, I’ve been there. ”
I take a few deep breaths. My nerves are on edge. I’m losing a grip on my emotions. I don’t want Sam to have to go through what I did.
“You’re different than me, Minerva, you’re a talented designer.”
“Designing and fashion weren’t my dream, though. That’s a more recent development.”
I see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I have his attention. He’s looking at me like a student focused on a teacher during a lesson they find interesting.
I take a deep breath. “From the time I was a kid ’til I was twenty-two, all I wanted to do was to become a professional ballerina.
Dancing was my purpose in life. It was the reason I got out of bed in the morning, and the thing I dreamed every night about.
There was something magical about putting on a pair of satin pointe shoes and telling stories with your body.
When I danced, I always felt like I was living in my own little slice of heaven. ”
“Why aren’t you dancing? Why would you give it all up?” Sam’s voice is raspy. “I can’t imagine my sisters giving up doing what they love.”
“It wasn’t my choice.” My eyelids flutter.
“The thing nobody tells you as a kid is that you wanting it isn’t enough.
Eighty percent of becoming a ballerina is all based on luck.
There are so many things you can’t control, like how tall you’ll end up being as an adult, or if you’ll end up having the right type of feet.
Getting a job in a company depends one hundred percent on the subjective decision of the artistic director.
You either have what he or she wants, or you don’t. It’s black and white. Cut and dry.”
Sam closes the distance between us. He’s standing a few inches from me. I look away from him. “Min? What happened?”
“I was twenty-two. Despite being told I didn’t have natural turnout, I defied the odds and managed to make it into the corps de ballet with the Los Angeles Ballet Theatre.
Barring injury, I was supposed to have many years of dancing ahead of me, but one evening, the director of LABT pulled me into his office and told me point blank my contract was terminated, and that was it.
There were no second chances or opportunities to prove him wrong.
My heart shattered. Everything I’d worked my entire life for up to that point was taken from me. ”
Sam wraps his arms around me, and he pulls me into his body.
He’s warm, as if I’ve been sitting next to a campfire.
I feel the strong muscles underneath the scratchy cotton fabric of his camos expand and contract as he holds me.
He smells surprisingly clean, like a mixture of grass and fresh laundry detergent.
“That’s bollocks. Absolute bollocks. I’m half-tempted to jump on a plane and give that ignorant director a proper dressing down. How dare he let you go.”
“As much as I would love to let you have a go at Artem for me, I’ve moved on. The company doesn’t even exist anymore. It went bankrupt.”
I stay in his arms a few more moments, then let go. I take a few deep breaths. Speaking about LABT has gotten a little easier, but it’s still like touching a rose full of sharp thorns. It stings.
“Did you ever try for another company?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I auditioned, auditioned, and auditioned, but the only thing I ever heard back from these other companies is that they’d reach out to me if a position opened. It never did. All I heard was silence. I caused me to grow to despise ballet and what it represented—failing.”
I stare at the horses around me. They seem attuned to my distress. I have several pairs of dark eyes tracking my every move. It’s a strange feeling, but also slightly calming.
“The reason I’m telling you this is because you have a person telling you how to get what you want. I know that if it were me, and I’d been given a path into a new ballet company, I would’ve taken it in a heartbeat.”
Sam runs a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know . . . what if I do all this and I come out of it worse for wear? What if I muck it all up and end up proving to the officers that I’m not the man they thought I was?”
So that’s it. He’s afraid to fail.
“Failure sucks. It shatters you. But you know what, when you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s only one direction you can go—up. Every time you don’t succeed, you learn a valuable lesson.”
Sam mulls over my words. “One thing I admire about you, Min, is that you’re like me. You aren’t afraid to tell me what’s on your mind.”
I rub the back of my neck. “It’s taken me a long time to get to the point of acceptance. Four years, if I’m being honest. You are the reason I’m able to talk about this. A few of my London friends know pieces of my past, but you’re the only one I’ve ever spoken to about it in detail.”
“Why me?”
“Because everything inside of me is telling me you need to hear it. I know that by telling you this, you’ll understand that I’m not looking for pity.
I want you to learn from me. I want you to take the golden ticket that’s being offered to you and run with it, because being on the other side is ugly. ”