Chapter 11 Kaia
Kaia
As I step out onto the stage of the New York Ballet, my feet and legs tingle. I can’t keep the grin off my face. Ella is right behind me, finding a spot and sitting down to put on her toe pads and pointe shoes.
I bend down, putting my own toe pad and shoes on. Mine are in terrible shape; I definitely should’ve worn a newer pair of shoes. But a new pair of shoes wasn’t in the budget this week.
These have to last four more wears.
I straighten, looking at the empty theatre. From where I’m standing, it’s easy to imagine the roar of excited applause, the hot lights, the other ballerinas watching from the wings.
I blow out a breath. Ella looks up at me. “Are you okay, Kaia?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Honestly, I never thought I would make it this far. My goal this whole year has just been to get to this moment.”
“Sit down and put your shoes on, boo. You look like a ghost. Get your shit together.”
I wince, but she is right.
She seems to be murmuring something to herself. I plunk down beside her and retape my third and fourth toes, pulling a face as I look at my feet.
All dancers have calluses on their feet. But ballet dancers have it the worst, especially ballerinas. I slip on my toe pads and put my pointe shoes on, fastening them.
“Be comfortable,” I whisper, shooting them a glare.
Ella glances over at me as she gets to her feet. “Can you believe we are here right now, about to audition?”
I spring to my feet, looking at the other twenty dancers. Everyone is practically vibrating right now. The nervous energy is almost palpable.
I stretch my right hamstring. “Can you believe that they fired the company’s prima ballerina and most of the corps? When I saw that they were auditioning for forty spots…”
Ella smiles coolly. “We need those spots.”
She takes first position, doing a series of plies.
I look at her, dead serious. “God, what if we actually get called back?”
Ella pulls a face. “Of course we’re going to get called back. We dance literally eight to twelve hours per day, six days a week. We deserve it.”
I flush, looking down. If I did the math, I am absolutely sure that I dance literally every minute I wasn’t asleep or commuting. But I don’t say any of that.
“Yeah,” is all that comes to mind.
Ella stands up straight and adjusts her dark blue leotard.
She nods toward the back of the theatre, where a dark haired woman in a blue skirt suit and a short blond man in a white tank top and black capri tights approach us.
The man claps his hands loudly; he’s obviously a teacher, because he seems used to holding court.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” he says, coming down right before the stage. “I am the head instructor here, Basil Smith. And this—“
The woman cuts in stepping forward. “I’m Emma Rosenburg. I’m the head of the board that oversees every action undertaken by this company.”
Basil gives her a long look. “Yes.” He turns his attention to the group on stage. “Your director is running late, it seems. He’s not polite enough to let anyone know about his tardiness—“
“Basil,” Emma chides.
He climbs up on the stage, looking annoyed. “But never fear. Emma and I will be judging. Also, I think someone is filming this audition.” He looks behind him, searching for how that is happening.
“What my colleague is saying is that you should be your absolute best self, starting right now.” Emma backs away from the stage, hurrying to find a seat in the fourth row.
An older woman comes out on the stage and finds a seat at the piano.
I can’t quite feel my legs because I’m so full of nerves.
You’d better make it in New York, my father’s voice sounds loudly in the back of my head.
Pushing that thought down, I try to concentrate. This is all about me, here and now. There’s no room in my head for Basil or Emma, Ella or my dad. It’s all about me, my talent, my precision and skill.
I just need to keep reminding myself of that.
“Line up four across,” Bas barks, clapping his hands. “Girls in the front, boys in the back. Let’s move, people.” He narrows his gaze at all of us. “God, try to act like you’ve all been in a chorus line before.”
I scurry into place beside Ella, my heartbeat going wild. Deep breaths. You can do this, I say to myself.
Basil waves at the accompanist, who starts playing Tchaichovsky. He looks at everyone flatly. “Let’s start very simply. Pas de chevalier to point. Tendu side in fondu. Close to fifth position. Okay?”
No one says anything, so he sighs. “And one, two, three, four…”
Never in my entire life have I arched by arms so high, moved so quickly, or stretched my leg back quite so elegantly. The moves are accomplished in the blink of an eye.
I look to Basil, who raises his eyebrows at the group. “Good. Again.”
I do it a second time, finishing with a perfectly shaped arabesque. After I’m done, my heart pounds in my ears.
Am I actually… good at this?
It feels like I’m killing it so far.
“Okay, now I would like to see something more complex,” Basil says.
He walks to the back of the stage, starting in fifth position.
Then he proceeds through a combination with a pirouette in the middle and ending with a grand jeté.
“And five six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four. And five six, seven, eight…”
My heartbeat rises. Every single move he executed is flawless, not that I expected any less. Toward the back of the theatre, the door swings open and a man enters.
But I’m too focused on what I’m doing to pay him any mind.
“Let’s go!!” Basil yells, clapping. “On my cue. One, two, three, and—“
The first line goes. I cue up right behind, trying to focus my attention on the moves.
“One, two, three, and—“
Like a puppet come to life, I am suddenly smiling and dancing. I keep my movements smooth and easy, doing a complex pirouette with several turns and then leaping across the stage. My legs carry me far. I land right in center stage, beaming, and lift my arms.
This is it. This is the feeling that I’m supposed to have, I think to myself.
That’s when I suddenly make eye contact with him.
Eyes as dark blue as sapphire, and glittering just like two gems. Dark hair, grown a little overlong, shoved back from his face. High cheekbones, a jawline that could cut diamonds, a cruel yet perfect pout.
And that big, rugged, sinful body that I know all too well. The very same one that I dreamed about riding last night.
Mr. X is here.
And he is glaring right at me.
Oh god.
All my worst fears, all in one place. The person who judges me is the very same one who I’ve been all but fucking at Club X. The same person that already inquired if I had training from a good ballet school, knowing perfectly well how taboo that is.
My smile falters, my arms droop. All the blood plummets to my feet.
“Get out of the way,” Bas snaps at me, waving his hand. “Next line, keep going…”
I manage to break his gaze and force my feet to carry me to the side of the stage. It’s only when Ella reaches out and mouths, “Are you okay?” that I realize I’m trembling.
I bob my head woodenly. There is no real reason to alarm Ella and I certainly do not want to draw any more scrutiny to myself.
“Let’s go again!” Basil calls out. “Same combination. Same lines. Let’s go, first group!”
I line up in the second group, automatically taking fifth position.
I raise my arms and begin with the rest of my group.
Somehow, though, the magic that I felt only a few minutes ago has disappeared like smoke.
Now every leg lift is harder, my grand jetés less exaggerated.
Even my pirouettes seem to take forever.
Everything slows down.
Knowing that I’m being watched by those searing deep blue eyes just makes all my steps clumsier, all my lifts less impressive. I can feel myself powering down.
Is this really happening to me right now?
I finish the combination a good four steps after the rest of my group. Basil looks me up and down, pushing out his lips in a dissatisfied expression. “Do better,” he warns.
I nod at him quickly, glancing out at Calum and Emma. Neither has much expression on their face. But Calum’s gaze is burning a hole through the middle of my torso.
I scurry to the side of the stage, turning away from that gaze. Ella comes to stand next to me, raising a brow as she glances back at our audience.
“Do you know him?” she asks in a hushed whisper.
I take a breath, trying not to panic. “Who?” I ask, all innocence.
She narrows her mahogany gaze at me. “Obviously I’m talking about the sexy guy standing next to Emma. He’s been glaring at you since he got here.”
Not wanting to risk a glance over my shoulder at Calum, I just shake my head. “Nope. Never seen him before.”
The lie burns as it leaves my mouth. Ella gives me hard look, knowing that something is up. But Basil claps his hands together, drawing her attention away.
“All right! Now it’s time for your solos.
I know that you weren’t expecting to perform them quite so soon…
” He shoots a cool look off the stage. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but he quickly moves on.
“Anyway, we need to see them now. You can line up right here and give the pianist your music. Then we’ll start. ”
For a long second, nobody moves. It’s a sea of inexperienced, wide eyed kids, all looking to the others for reassurance. Then Ella clears her throat, grabbing my hand. “Right away, Basil. We’re ready to go with our solos.”
My cheeks flush as I let her pull me over to the other side of the stage. Everyone hurries to line up after me. Basil smiles coolly at Ella.
“Thank you. Are you ready?”
Ella nods, dropping my arm. She turns to the pianist and tells him to play a selection from Romeo and Juliet. The woman starts playing the beginning notes of the piece and Ella strides to a starting point, lifting her chin and smiling.
As I watch her dance, my stomach drops. She’s better than most of the dancers I know, better certainly than me.
Who isn’t better than you, little mouse?
I swallow against the whisper of my dad’s voice. Blinking rapidly, I glare out off the stage, where Calum is staring me down.
I won’t cry.
I can’t.
This is my only chance.
Ella finishes her routine, bowing elegantly. There is a smattering of polite applause. Basil nods and turns to me. “Next?”
I clear my throat, turning to the pianist. “Would you please play the beginning of the second act of Giselle?”
The accompanist arches a brow at my choice of music; I’ve chosen one of the hardest pieces to perform for my solo.
She starts playing and I hurry to my place at the back of the stage. My heart is beating like a drum in my ears. It’s almost hard to hear the music over it.
Luckily, I have practiced this exact piece thousands of times.
Using nothing but muscle memory, I smile as I parade out, doing a dizzying number of pirouettes as I dash across the stage.
All time stops. Everything just becomes about my breath, my limbs, my feet.
Making sure I push myself into the next movement.
The music is very upbeat and I smile along as I do the arabesques and grand jetés that are required. I am moving too quickly to see any one particular person.
But when I come to center stage and pause for a moment, Calum is still standing there, staring at me like I am an insect to be crushed.
Holy shit.
The judgment I see written all over his expression is terrifying. I turn, pirouetting once more before I complete my three grand jetés off stage.
Somehow, I land slightly off balance coming out of the pirouette. Then I’m forced to try to overcompensate as I carry that force into the first jump.
And everything slides off kilter, suddenly. My timing is off; my feet don’t seem to land in the place that they should. My legs are heavy, my arms near useless.
By the time I finish my solo, I can feel tears brimming in my eyes. I still turn and curtsy to signal that I am done. And there is a scattered bit of applause. I look toward Basil, my heart thundering in my ears.
He looks at me, his mouth twisting like he just ate something bitter. “Your ending could really use some work, honey.”
My heart wrenches. The sob that has been barely contained in my chest flows up and out of my throat.
I crumple, turning and running offstage.
I finally had my big chance… and I fucking blew it. Openly sobbing, I run away from the stage, pointe shoes and all.