7. Break a Leg
Break a Leg
Eleanor
My alarm blares through the room, startling me awake. I blink at the ceiling, trying to gather myself. Anticipation already knots my stomach.
Today is my audition. The moment I’ve been waiting months for is finally here.
I sit up slowly, pulling back the covers. The air in the room is still, like the moment before something incredible—or completely disastrous—happens. My mind is already moving ahead of me, racing toward the outcome.
Which would be my fate?
In the bathroom, I brush my teeth, tie my hair back, and wash my face with cold water. The shock of it helps ease my nerves a little.
I pull on the soft pair of leggings and cropped hoodie I set out the night before, then move to the kitchen.
My stomach growls, but my nerves flare too sharply to ignore.
I grab a protein bar from the cabinet and only manage to eat half of it before tossing the rest in the trash.
Instead, I take a few small sips of water.
My dance bag is already packed and waiting by the front door. Still, I double-check it. Tights. Leotard. Ballet shoes. Warm-up shrug. Bobby pins. Rosin. Almonds. All there.
At 5:58 a.m., my phone buzzes with a text.
Scarlett: I’m outside. Are you ready?
I grab my bag, shove my feet into my Converse, and pull the door open.
Scarlett waves from the driver’s seat, her smile wide and easy.
As much as I love my sister, I can’t shake the feeling that her being here isn’t entirely sincere.
I was surprised when she agreed to drive me, especially after Edward shut me down without hesitation.
I didn’t even bother asking Mom. So when Scarlett said yes, I couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted something in return.
I toss my bag in the backseat, then slide into the passenger seat, the protein bar threatening to make an appearance.
“Good morning,” Scarlett greets in a sing-song voice.
I dip my chin in response. It’s apparently the wrong choice, because her smile falters just a little.
Guilt flares in my chest anyway. Am I being rude?
Maybe. But just because Scarlett’s being kind now doesn’t mean it won’t come back to bite me later.
I’ve learned to be cautious. She should understand that.
“Do you have the address?” she asks, her smile dutifully fading.
I nod again and type it into the GPS, already bracing myself for the long drive.
For the first ten minutes, the car is silent. The city blurs past the windows, and I stare out at the awakening sky, hands clasped in my lap, nerves creeping higher into my throat.
“How did you sleep?” Scarlett asks, keeping her eyes on the road.
I let out a soft sigh. “Not great.”
“I figured.” She glances over briefly. “You’re way quieter than usual.” She worries her bottom lip, then gives a small shrug. “And… It’s a big day. I’m sure the nerves aren’t helping.”
I give a small nod, staring out the window. “It just feels like everything is riding on this. Like if I don’t get it, that’s it… That’s the end of the road.”
She doesn’t even understand the worst of it. If I don’t nail this audition today, I have no idea what I’ll do with my life. I’m not smart like her or Edward. I could never be a nurse. Or a judge, for that matter.
Ballet is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. And without it, all I have left is Forma, and that’s not exactly something to brag about.
“It’s not,” she says gently. “But I get why it feels that way.” She glances at me, drawing in a steady breath. “You can’t let Mom get in your head, El.”
I recoil, thrown by the fact that she isn’t defending Mom for once.
“Easy for you to say.” I scoff. “She won’t disown you for quitting nursing. But she would obliterate me if I quit ballet.” My voice drops. “Because at the end of the day… what am I without it?”
Scarlett goes quiet, likely searching for an answer she won’t find.
“Exactly,” I state flatly.
She stays silent a few seconds longer before finally speaking. “I think you have so much to offer the world, Eleanor,” she voices carefully. “But you’ll never find it if you keep looking through rose-colored glasses.”
I turn toward her, brow arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She keeps her eyes on the road. “I know how badly you want this. I do. But you’ve never explored anything outside of ballet. Not boys. Not school. Not even getting into trouble.” She exhales. “Your whole life has been consumed by it, and I just… I don’t want you to fail and be left with nothing.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. I know she means it sincerely, and that somehow makes it worse.
“You know, Scarlett, if I wanted Mom to bring me, I would’ve asked her,” I say, slouching back in my seat.
“El,” she sighs.
But I cut her off before she can continue. “I get it, Scarlett. There’s no need to explain yourself.”
The rest of the drive passes in near silence. I use it to focus on the audition ahead, on the steps and combinations I’ve drilled into my body for years, rather than picking apart my life with Scarlett as the judge and jury.
By the time we pull into the small parking lot beside Hollingford Ballet Company’s old brick building, the sun finally appears through the clouds.
I stare up at the entrance. Clean brick. Polished glass. Banners displaying elegant dancers suspended mid-air. My heart thumps wildly in my chest.
“This is it,” Scarlett says, putting the car in park.
I school my features. “Yeah.”
“Call me when you’re done. I’ll be nearby to pick you up.”
I don’t know what to say. So instead, I open the door, reach into the backseat for my bag, and step out toward what could either make or break my future.
As I walk toward the doors, everything inside me tightens. I inhale a deep breath and step inside.
The sight steals the breath from my lungs. The lobby isn’t like the sterile, modern studios I’ve grown used to in the city. The air is cool, carrying the faint scent of bergamot, varnished wood, and old pointe shoes.
Everything here has a well-loved elegance. The worn stone floors gleam softly under my feet. Tall windows let in buttery morning light, and the high ceilings are framed with exposed wooden beams that speak to the building’s age and history.
My footsteps echo softly as I move toward the reception desk. A woman in her early fifties sits behind it, caramel hair swept into a neat twist as she studies a clipboard, tiny glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
She raises her eyes as I approach, and offers a warm, welcoming smile.
“You must be Eleanor Montgomery,” she greets, standing slightly from her seat. Her voice is soft and melodic. “We’re so happy to have you here today.”
I manage a small smile, my nerves pinching at the corners of my mouth. “Thank you.”
How does she know I’m Eleanor?
She extends her hand across the desk, and must read the look on my face. “I’m Robin. I handle reception, and scheduling. We don’t get many new people walking through these doors. Don’t worry, love, we’ll take good care of you.”
Something about her—maybe the way she calls me ‘love’—eases some of the tension in my chest.
Robin points down the hallway to the right. “You’ll find changing rooms down this corridor. There’s a studio adjacent for warm-ups, and auditions will be held in Studio B—past the atrium, first door on your left. If you need anything, just come find me. I’ll be here.”
“Thank you,” I say again, a little more sincerely this time.
“Of course,” she smiles, then winks. “You’ve got time. Don’t rush.”
I re-adjust my bag on my shoulder, and head down the hallway. The walls are lined with framed photographs. Sepia portraits of dancers from decades past, black and white rehearsal stills, a few color shots from what looks like more recent seasons.
Each photo screams legacy. One day, maybe I’ll earn a place among them. A framed reminder that I made it, a small victory solidified in glass and wood.
The changing room is quiet when I enter—just one other girl finishing her bun in the mirror. I nod politely, then move to an empty bench and begin to change.
As I pull on my leotard and tights, Robin’s voice still rings in my ears.
We’ll take good care of you.
I don’t know if that will prove true. But for just a moment, inside these warm, storied walls, I allow myself to believe it might.
I slip into my ballet shoes, and pull my warm-up shrug snug around my shoulders. I give my reflection one last glance. Bun secure, tights smooth, leotard neat, I zip my bag and step back into the hallway.
The company is quiet this early in the morning. Like the stillness is sacred. I follow the signs toward Studio B, the soft thud of my slippers muffled by the old wood floors. I turn the corner toward the atrium, only to collide with a flash of red hair.
“OhmygoshI’msosorry!”
The girl stumbles back a step, arms flailing slightly, wavy auburn hair swishing as she comes to a stop.
Her eyes are wide, glaucous, and so expressive it almost feels like they’re too much to look at straight on.
She’s wearing a Hollingford warm-up jacket over her leotard, with pink leg warmers scrunched at the ankles like she’s been mid-warmup.
“It’s okay,” I blurt in a rush, stepping back to give her space.
“I was looking for Nik,” she says breathlessly, already glancing over her shoulder as if he might magically appear behind her.
“He said he’d be in the smaller studio but now I can’t find him, and I’m going to be late for—” She stops and blinks at me.
“Wait. Are you new? I haven’t seen you here before. ”
“I—sort of. I’m here for the audition.”
“Wait, wait, wait. The audition?” Her face lights up like someone’s reminded her it’s her birthday.
“That’s so exciting! Oh my gosh, don’t be nervous.
Everyone totally freaks out before, but the panel here is actually super nice, that must be where Nik is, and Studio B has the best floors and—wait, shoot, I’m doing it again. ”
She blows out a breath and giggles, brushing a hand over her forehead.