8. Earth to Nik?
Earth to Nik?
Nikolai
The moment Eleanor walks out of the door, tension leaves me with a quiet breath.
I’ve watched plenty of auditions throughout my career, even participated in them myself.
But the way Eleanor just danced… I haven’t seen anything like it since Daria.
There was passion, emotion, and a hint of sadness.
I could tell the moment I looked into her soft brown eyes.
Though she wore a smile, her eyes told a different story.
She danced with emotion written on her face, but it was less present in her movements. They were sharp, precise, and too perfect. It was like she was too afraid to let go and truly feel the music. I wonder what it would’ve looked like if she fully lost control.
“Nik, are you even listening to me?” Kasper snaps his fingers in front of my face, interrupting my thoughts. “Earth to Nik?”
“Huh? Sorry, I was…” My words fade out.
Kasper gives a wry, one-sided smile.
I’m not one to get flustered. I felicitate myself on being grounded because I trust in the One who guides me.
“Uh huh, right. As I was saying—I think her movements are a bit too perfect. I could chalk it up to nerves.” He scratches his chin. “Or it has to do with her training at the Metropolitan.”
“I was just thinking that actually.” I state matter-of-factly.
“Sure, Nik. Like you weren’t making puppy dog eyes at her the entire time,” he teases. “I don’t think you took your eyes off that girl for a single second. I’m surprised you didn’t scare her off.”
He isn’t wrong.
I couldn’t stop staring at her. She walked into that room like she had nothing left to lose. I’d seen that look before, burned into my memory. It’s the same look Daria had every time she stepped onstage.
Dance is clearly her passion; it shows in every movement she makes. What I can’t tell is why, what, or who, she dances for.
Sure, her form is impeccable, there’s no denying that.
The dancers I’ve performed with, or coached, have always danced because of one of two things: toxic parents who want their children to become successful enough to bring in loads of cash, or those who truly appreciate the art and dance because it heals something inside of them.
It’s rare to be a mix of both, because each option affects how you perform.
With Eleanor, it’s difficult to pinpoint.
Her expressions are captivating, like I can feel everything she feels.
I roll my eyes. “Please, I was watching her dance. There’s a difference, Kasper.”
“Sure, we’ll go with that.” He chuckles. “Anyway, what do you think of her?”
I shift my feet and fold my arms across my chest. “I think she’s good. She has what it takes, and I can always work with her on her épaulement.”
Kasper raises an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He starts for the door, gesturing for me to follow. “I’ve scheduled four more principal auditions this week, and I’d like you to accompany me. Even though it seems your heart has already set its sights on Eleanor.”
I snort. “And what makes you think that?” I open the door for Kasper to walk through.
He pauses just long enough to glance at me before stepping past. “The eyes don’t lie, Nikolai.” He winks, teasing me.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. Kasper loves to tease me whenever the topic of girlfriends—or girls in general—comes up, and at this point in my life, it’s a firm no.
He’s seen me at my lowest and dragged me out of the worst seasons of my life.
That’s not something I want to pull another person into.
Especially not a girl who carries that kind of hurt in her eyes.
Plus, she reminds me too much of Daria. I can’t fathom being with a woman who mirrors everything I’ve already buried.
“Hey,” Kasper interrupts me from my thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask you all morning. How is your mother doing? She called out for the rest of the week…” his voice tapers off, concern laced throughout his words.
There are two ways I can answer his question.
The most reasonable option is telling the truth, the second being that I can just avoid it all together.
There’s a nagging feeling in my gut that tells me to not speak the ‘C’ word out loud.
There is a certain power in our words when spoken aloud, and I don’t want the enemy to run around freely with them and use it against me.
We stop in front of Studio A. “She’s just going through some health concerns right now.” There, I’m not lying, but I’m also not letting the diagnosis hang heavy in the air between us.
Kasper tries to hide a wince. He knows my mother’s a cancer survivor. It’s why he gave her a job here as a seamstress, since her old job wasn’t able to hire her back. “I’m sorry to hear that Nik, I’ll keep her in my thoughts.”
“Thanks, Kas.” I step into the studio.
Dancers fill the room, stretching and chatting with each other. From across the room, Lily eyeballs me, already making a beeline in my direction.
Kasper pats me on the shoulder. “Have a good class, Nik. I’ll let you know when I schedule the other auditions this week.”
I nod, just as Lily stops right in front of me and Kasper closes the door behind him.
“Nik, I was looking for you all morning,” Lily states impatiently. “You also weren’t answering your phone which isn’t like you by the way.” Her eyebrow rises as she folds her arms across her chest.
I give her a pointed look. “Sorry, Lily. I was at an audition this morning with Kasper and Russell.” I start walking toward the podium that contains the training we’re covering today.
Lily follows close behind. “Yeah, I gathered that when I ran into your auditionee this morning, what was her name again…”
I stop short, making her almost faceplant into my back.
If she ran into Eleanor this morning, I could only hope it was good.
Lily is animated on her worst day. She can be a lot to handle the first time you meet her.
She always has the best intentions and a personality that is brighter than the sun itself.
Even if she’s one of the best people I know, I’m well aware she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
“Oh right! Eleanor,” she continues, pointing her finger up like she just discovered an answer to a tricky math problem.
I stand in front of the podium, and turn toward her, leaning against the worn piece of wood. “You ran into her?”
“Oh yeah, I did. Thank goodness she didn’t fall to the floor. Remind me to not run—” she starts to giggle.
Not liking where this is going, I stop her. “I’m sorry, you knocked her over?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Lily—”
“No, she didn’t fall. If you would listen, and let me finish you would’ve known that.
” She plants her hands on her hips. “As I was saying, I almost knocked her over, looking for you, but she was totally fine.” She continues.
“Anyway, I was looking for you this morning because my mom wanted to invite you and Mama Rina to dinner tonight. Dad, Grace, and Austin will be there too. So, what do you say?” She gives me her best smile, which makes it hard to say no.
I rub the back of my neck. My family—excluding my father now—are great friends with the Ellis’.
When my parents moved to New York from Russia, Evelyn and Richard Ellis were some of the first to welcome them with open arms. Evelyn and my mother unexpectedly met at a craft store, and after talking about different fabrics, buttons, sewing machines, and who knows what else for an hour, they became quick friends.
One thing led to another, Evelyn invited my parents to their church, and the rest is history.
Lily’s family is basically my family considering we all grew up together.
Her parents treat me as their own, and while Lily and Grace can’t replace Daria, they count as my sisters in all the ways that matter.
Lily remains in front of me, not leaving until I give her an answer that satisfies her. But I’m not sure what answer to give her. Mama needs a lot of support right now, but she also needs rest. And if Lily’s asking me this now, it’s clear that Mama hasn’t told them the latest news.
I settle for, “I’ll call her after class, how’s that?”
She claps her hands together. “Perfect. Mom’s making lasagna.” With that, she spins on her heel and skips over to two other dancers in the class, Gabriel Fields and Dillon Pendry, who happen to be two of our closest friends.
We grew close at Hollingford Academy of Ballet, and when I learned they attended the same church as Lily and me, our connection deepened even further. They became like brothers, walking with me through my self-destruction and then my injury, the very turning point that led me to coaching.
I pick up the papers laying on the podium, and scan over what training would take place today.
Pilates, bands, weights, jumps, fundamentals, and lifts.
Fun. I place the papers back on the podium and take a deep breath, trying not to think of the pain I’ll endure after a class like this.
I clap my hands a few times, drawing everyone’s attention.
Every dancer gets into position, waiting for their next cue.
I gesture to the pianist to start playing, and we get to work.
Sweat drips down my back by the time class is over.
I kneel down by the podium, pick up my water bottle, and drink its contents until it’s bone dry.
Today has been a lot; the stabbing pain in my hip is proof enough.
The only thing I can think of at this moment is going home, soaking in a bath made of ice, and rubbing an entire tube of lidocaine cream on my hip.
But the little gray cloud hovering above my head, threatening to spill rain reminds me of what I told Lily earlier.
I stay true to my word, no matter how awful I feel.
I reach over, and pluck my phone from the podium. I pull up Mama’s contact and press call. Holding the phone to my ear, I listen to it ring for what feels like forever. She usually answers right away. Before I can freak out, she answers.