4. Someone Worth Keeping #2
My eyes slowly lift to his, and there goes any hope of hiding. “Julian. What a surprise. I was just thinking this day couldn’t get worse.”
His hand swoops over his chest. “And here I was thinking you’d be thrilled to see me. Don’t pretend I’m not the most interesting thing to happen to you since your career imploded.”
“You know,” I start, grabbing a stack of papers and filing them away. “I’m genuinely impressed.” I gesture toward him with a few papers in my hand. “It must take some real effort to be this self-absorbed and still find time to breathe.”
He lets out a huff of air, and smiles like he’s utterly unfazed. “Talent, Ellie. You should try developing some.”
After I file away the last paper, I pick up a towel from underneath my desk.
If I’m not holding something right now, I don’t trust myself to not launch my water bottle at his head.
“So, what brings you here Julian? Don’t you have other places to be?
Like pushing children at the park… or finding a mirror to kiss? ”
“I was scheduled for a private session with Vincent.” He smirks. “But it seems someone wiped the calendar clean, and he forgot when my session was supposed to start.” He shrugs. “He asked if I could come in early.”
My eyes unintentionally roll. “Right. Makes sense.”
He slides his arms into a stretch like he’s posing for Vogue. “Well, if your little desk job fails, I hear barista gigs are very in right now. Just don’t forget to twirl when you hand someone their latte. Gotta keep the dream alive somehow.”
I ring the towel in my hand, willing it to stay there. Then I look him straight in the eye and smile. “You know what? You’re right.”
He blinks, lips parting before drawing into a line.
“I should definitely take advice from someone who peaked during Nutcracker season and still hasn’t come down.”
His smirk falters for just a second, but it’s enough to satisfy me.
He laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “Still bitter, I see. It looks cute on you.”
I set the towel down on the desk. “Well, I’d better get back to work. My little desk job doesn’t do itself.”
I turn on my heels and walk toward the break room before he can say another word. The last thing I need is to say something that’ll actually get me fired. Again.
When I sit down, the chair’s plastic creaks beneath me. I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and refresh my email.
Another rejection.
My twelfth one since I started applying to companies five weeks ago.
I stare at the screen until the words blur together. The polite phrasing is always the same—we regret to inform you… we wish you the best in your future endeavors. I can practically recite it by heart now.
Each night, I sit on my bed and type email after email.
At this point, I’m surprised my fingers haven’t fallen off from all the excessive typing.
But it still isn’t enough.
I’ve emailed every single company in New York City, and while some reject me outright, most just don’t respond at all. Their silence is almost worse than rejection itself.
It’s the reason behind it that gets me.
I could understand if they say my lines aren’t clean enough, or that I lack the strength and precision they’re looking for. But deep down, I know it isn’t about that. It’s about Soren.
Rumors of my dismissal from the Metropolitan Theatre of Ballet have started to circulate.
Even though everyone was instructed not to speak to the press, somehow it leaked that I’d offered to sleep with my coach for a promotion.
A lie so far from the truth, it makes me sick just thinking about it.
Now, that lie follows me everywhere. Every email, every audition request, it’s like my name carries a stain no one wants to see.
The company that just rejected me isn’t even that prestigious. Which somehow hurts worse. They hire dancers who are torn apart by critics, girls who return after devastating injuries, but somehow I’m untouchable. Not because I lack talent, but because of a rumor I can’t erase.
I slump forward, defeated. It’s like my entire career has been rewritten by someone else’s story.
If there’s any chance of finding a company now, it will have to be outside the city limits.
I don’t mind the idea of leaving Manhattan, but I know that it means smaller, lesser known companies that are often struggling to stay afloat.
Most of them shut down within a few years of opening. Joining one is a risk.
But what other choice do I have? I’ve already been rejected everywhere else.
If I’m thinner… maybe I’ll be someone worth keeping. Maybe I won’t feel so visible in all the wrong ways. I won’t be stuck at some little desk job or forced to smile through a shift as a twirling barista. I’ll be doing what I’m meant to do. Dance.
It’ll just be a few pounds. Then they’ll see. Then they’ll be sorry.
JULY
I grip the barre so tightly my knuckles turn white.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe.
In for four, out for four. My chest rises and falls in a slow, deliberate rhythm as I fight to keep the nausea at bay.
Bile burns the back of my throat, and I clench my jaw to swallow it.
Sweat trickles along my temples, and I welcome the distraction.
It gives me something else to focus on besides the spinning room.
“Eleanor, are you alright?” Adrian asks, his soft voice laced with concern. He places a steady hand in the middle of my back, grounding my swaying frame.
“I’ll be okay when this room stops spinning,” I murmur, cracking open one eye to meet his hazel gaze. “Thanks, Adrian.”
He nods and pulls his hand away, heading toward the back of the studio. He digs through his bag for a few minutes before turning around with a water bottle and a protein bar.
“Here,” he says, handing me the water first. “We did a lot of cardio and breathwork today. You need to refuel.”
I take it, mutter a quiet thanks, and drink it down to the last drop. My eyes drift to the bar still in his outstretched hand.
“Eat this, too, especially if you’re staying for my next class.” He presses the bar into my palm with a wink, already moving to set up for balance and foot articulation.
I stare at the bar in my hand. If I eat this, I’ll go over my allotted calories for the day.
Barely, but enough to ruin my weigh-in later.
I glance down at my legs, still shaky, but still standing.
It doesn’t matter how many of these classes I take, the weight is still coming off too slowly.
I can’t risk undoing even a fraction of the progress I’ve made today.
I take a steady breath and walk over to Adrian, who’s hunched by the stereo, scrolling through his phone, probably searching for a playlist. He looks up and smiles when he hears me approach.
“Staying for my next class?” he asks before his eyes dart to the bar still in my hand. “If you do, I’d definitely eat that. You know I don’t hold back.”
“Oh, I know.” I force out a small laugh.
“Actually, I think I’m going to head home.
I have dinner waiting, and I’ve been looking forward to it all day.
I don’t want to spoil myself,” I lie, handing him the protein bar.
Mixed greens, cucumber, egg whites, and steamed zucchini aren’t exactly thrilling, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He grabs the bar, unfazed. “If you’re sure.” He rips it open and takes a bite. “Are you coming tomorrow? Or are you doing Vesti’s class?”
“Probably both,” I say with a shrug. “I have to be in shape for the fall season.” If a company even chooses me at this point.
He nods, still chewing. “Have you found a new company yet?”
His question stings, and I scowl involuntarily.
“No,” I say bitterly. I’ve sent applications to every company within the outskirts of the city. So far, I’ve received nothing but rejection. I cling to the hope that their silence might still mean hope and that Soren hasn’t completely ruined all of my chances.
Maybe it’s your weight, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.
His expression softens. “You’ll find a place, Eleanor. Just keep putting yourself out there. You’re doing the work. Keep pushing.”
I give him a tight smile. “Definitely. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave goodbye and walk out of the studio, the uneaten calories of the protein bar lingering in my hand and my mind.
I head toward the dressing rooms and toss my things into my dance bag. Normally, I’d shower after my sessions, but tonight I’m too wiped to bother.