9. Jolie
9
JOLIE
I keep my head down during rehearsals, focusing on not letting my mind wander to my midday appointment with Dr. Tanner or the eerie events of last night.
Not that I know what I’m even going to say when I see her.
I shouldn’t have been able to drift off to sleep last night. I should be more unsettled. Logically, this is the stuff of nightmares. If this were a movie, someone would be calling me and breathing heavily over the other line. I’m the girl that decides to go into the haunted house alone. A sitting duck, ready for the taking.
A smart person would have immediately left the apartment and called Lark. A smart person would have called Blake, demanding to stay at his place for once. A smart person definitely doesn’t keep thinking about Jax Frost .
My curiosity will be the death of me and there’s no one to blame but myself. I mean… Jax Frost? Isn’t that the little sprite that flits around for winter? A made-up story used to sell holiday movies? Not a real…whatever. Being.
“You ready to talk about why you called me last night?” my therapist asks, tapping her purple pen a few times against her clipboard. Her green eyes glint beneath tortoise-shell glasses, and she tucks an ash-blonde strand of hair into her bun. Then she waits. And waits. And waits.
“Do you ever have patients that, um…see things?” Once the words are out, I try not to panic, though there’s no good segue into I think I’m getting messages from a ghost that may or not be a childhood myth . “Like ghosts or something?”
Dr. Tanner takes a few beats before she responds. “Well, sometimes our grief can manifest in different ways.”
“So you think this is just my grief?” Would grief be able to throw something across the room and break it? I don’t think so, but I also don’t want to sound any nuttier than I do already. Of course, Dr. Tanner’s professional enough not to say I’m crazy to my face, though I’m sure delusional is now somewhere on that chart.
“I really don’t know, Jolie. But I think it’s important we explore this and find out.” Anything she says afterward is a blur as my mind reels over if I made up the name on my window, the strange wolf, or the broken antique Ouija board. While I’m grateful she doesn’t make me feel more insane than I already do, she’s also reinstated my weekly sessions.
That’s telling in itself.
I can’t dwell on that long, though, because before I know it our session is over and I am hauling ass back to the rest of rehearsals to dance until my feet blister and bleed and pain streaks down my thigh. My next physical therapy session is tomorrow, and I’m oddly looking forward to it. My therapist, Heather, reminds me that each time I go is a step toward progressing my career. I repeat that to myself over and over like a mantra, and it helps. Plus, I notice Mistress Maral is glaring at me less during rehearsals. That’s a huge improvement.
By the time I finish, it’s 3:30. I skip recovery bonding time today in lieu of meeting Lark at the Institute. I didn’t see her this morning before I headed to class. Honestly, it was for the best. I still need to search for her replacement board.
Every step toward the metro, I glance around, the ice and snow surrounding me like a personal taunt even as it glistens within the cracks of the bustling streets. The cold may have left the area, but it rattles my bones, culling a dissatisfied ache in my chest. I slide onto the seat in the metro and run through all the strange things that have been happening, half expecting to find the glass on the windows frosting over with another message.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t think of anything else.
After the metro ride, I hurry to JJ’s. The owners give me knowing smiles and immediately begin pouring our usuals even though it’s been months since I’ve been here.
“Long time no see. We’ve missed you,” Emily says from behind the counter, fitting the lids onto the to-go cups. When her gaze flicks up, she gives me a tight-lipped smile.
“I’m hanging in. Doing much better.”
“And you’re not returning to the Institute?”
“No.” I shuffle from foot to foot. “They were not happy that I extended my bereavement leave and filled my spot.” Though now it seems like they used it as an excuse to let me go after my hip injury continued to deteriorate. Sure, the accident and time off made things worse, but the pain that radiates down my leg on a daily basis came long before the crash. My body just showcases more of the pain now. The gashes that go down my back from my shoulder and the one along my knee…
“Shame on them,” Emily tuts.
“It is what it is.” I shrug, keeping my eyes on the floor. I don’t disagree with her, but there’s nothing else to say. “I’m dancing with Ballet Potomac now.”
“Ah! When’s your next performance?” Bryon asks with a grin on his face. I miss seeing them before rehearsals. If I could squeeze in a coffee, I loved starting my day with JJ’s. They are the sweetest couple, and it always brightened the mornings on the gloomiest of days. “We’d love to come see you.”
“It’ll be in March. We’re doing Giselle .”
“ Giselle ? I don’t think I know that one,” Bryon says, his brows scrunching together.
“It’s not as well-known as some of the others.”
Emily glances up while she pours some foam atop my latte. “What’s it about?”
“A peasant girl who falls in love with a duke who’s betrothed to another. She goes mad and dies of a broken heart, joining the wilis.” Trying to explain a ballet in a few sentences is pretty much impossible.
“Who are you playing?”
“I’ll be one of the wilis.” When they stare at me with confusion, I clarify, “They are the lost spirits of betrayed women that haunt the forest, luring men to dance to their deaths.”
“ Oh ,” Bryon croons, raising his brows a few times. “Sounds fun.”
“It will be.” And I actually mean it. I’ve danced this part before, years ago with the Institute. Thankfully, gives me a slight advantage. I know this ballet and its variations like the back of my hand. I’ll just need to translate that mastery into something that will impress the director.
“Well, keep us updated and put us down for two tickets for opening night.” They come around the counter and give me hugs before handing me the coffees and walking me to the door. My chest aches a moment as it sinks in that I won’t be needing a ticket for my mom this year. She always went around like the Institute’s personal saleswoman, getting everyone she knew to buy tickets to my performances. She’d been so proud of me, especially after my promotion to soloist. We’d made plans to go to the Ballet World Summit once I became principal. We spent hours watching videos of the showcase while I was growing up.
I guess I could still take the trip someday, but it wouldn’t be the same. Seeing the poster for it every day when I walk into class is a not-so-fun reminder.
The bell rings behind me when the door shuts, frosty breaths leaving my parted lips. Across the street, the Institute’s big sign is aglow. I inhale deeply, heart racing at the sight of it. Nearly every morning since I joined the company started with this view…until that terrifying night.
The coffees keep my hands warm as I cross the street, my gut churning with each step. I’ve been anticipating and dreading this since I woke up this morning.
It doesn’t help matters much that they are rehearsing for Swan Lake , a ballet I’ve been dying to perform since I saw the show at the Kennedy Center when I was ten. My mom took me as her date shortly after she and my dad separated. We dressed up, went out to Jean-Paul’s for a nice meal and then went to the ballet. Box seats. She had won them in a silent auction for some charity she was on the board of.
I’d watched, enraptured, as the dancers bouréed gracefully across the stage. Delicate and fragile yet strong and poised through every movement. While I already enjoyed going to my ballet lessons, that night changed my life. After that, I focused on honing my craft. I practiced for hours, listened closely to my critiques, studied every facet of my posture, perfecting my technique so I could have my big day. Not a wedding, like for most girls, but my big day. The day every ballet dancer dreams of when they get fitted for pointe shoes. From the moment I slipped them on, tying those ribbons and fastening them at the ankles, I knew this was my fate. Dance is the love of my life. There’s nothing else that even compares.
The night of Swan Lake also had been the night I realized that my mother and I would be okay. That it was us against the world, even if my father had left and decided to start fresh somewhere else. As if we’d never existed. Mom came to every performance, paid for training—she gave everything to see me make my dream come true. That night, it had become our dream. A dream I had to make happen for both of us, even if she’d never see it now.
Of course, after years of waiting for the Institute to decide to showcase it, they are finally doing Swan Lake without me.
The familiar sage awning looms over me as I stare at the entrance. The District Dance Institute is in bold block letters on the sign next to the double doors. How many times did I walk past this sign and barely give it a glance? Now I’m noticing every tiny crack in its lettering while I avoid taking the plunge and opening the door.
The alleyway next to the studio would be the perfect spot to hide out and text Lark that I can’t make it…
I shake the thought off, mustering up the courage to go inside. I tuck one of the coffees into the crook of my arm and use my free hand to pull open the heavy door against the wind threatening to slam it shut. Quickly slipping in as the door smacks into my dance bag, I stumble forward, clutching my caffeine tightly. Brown spatters my jacket and scarf, my coffee spilling from the cup.
Great.
It’s only made worse by the fact that everyone in the lobby is looking in my direction.
I’m unwrapping my coffee-stained scarf when murmurs flow out the door opening from studio A. Lark is out the door with a flurry of other corps girls, a few new faces, but when Stasia and Denise shoot me a smile and wave, it feels like I’m back home.
I try not to let disappointment get the best of me when Blake is nowhere to be found. He likes to stay after and practice before taking a few hours in the recovery room. So did I, once upon a time. To be fair, I didn’t text him ahead of time that I’d be coming by. It’s not like he’s expecting me. Just when I think that maybe I should pass by the doorway to get his attention, Lark shoots me a look like she already knows what’s going through my mind.
“Principal meeting.”
I know better than to interrupt that. Things are usually tense the weeks following when the ballet is announced. Aside from the excitement, there are the nerves that come with casting—not that Blake has ever had to worry. He’s their best principal. There was no way he’d get any role other than Prince Siegfried.
God, he will be brilliant at it. Makes me all the more envious that I won’t be able to watch him rehearse. The way he moves to the music stirs something within me. The few times we’ve partnered after rehearsals, well…let’s just say that’s how things truly began. His tight grip on my hips, hungry eyes roving over me, moving in the dimly lit studio… We hadn’t even made it home that first night, our bodies coming together quickly in the alleyway I’d just been considering hiding away in.
There wouldn’t be any more nights like that, but knowing we could finally come out about our relationship outweighs the disappointment. While going to the preview gala and opening night will be hard for me, the idea of being on Blake’s arm ignites me. I might be stuck in the corps at Ballet Potomac, but Blake’s spotlight is bright enough to shine on us both. Who knows? Maybe once I make my comeback and become an established principal with Ballet Potomac, I’ll be able to return to the Institute? We can finally dance together and be together out in the open.
“Earth to Jojo,” Lark says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you disappear to?”
“You know me, always a dreamer.” I laugh it off and hand her the coffee. We chat together in the lobby, and I get sporadic hugs from familiar friends as they head out. In some ways it feels like nothing’s changed. Then there are moments when they talk about the ballet or ask me about Ballet Potomac and a line feels drawn between us, skating along discomfort.
Studio C opens, and my breath catches in my throat. A few of the principals ignore me or give a quick nod before leaving. Blake comes out, talking to Nina and Beth, who are set to play Odette and Odile, the white and black swans in the ballet. The roles hold an elegance I dream of. I imagine myself clad in ivory feathers and delicate satin, lights warming me from above while a full audience watches me share my craft.
I stand up from the couch, and Blake pulls me in for a hug. “So good to see you, Jolie.”
“Yeah, Jolie,” Nina says, lips flattening into a thin line. She’s about three inches taller than me, but something about her makes her always feel like she’s towering over me. Her champagne bun is slicked back, and when she hugs me, it’s as ass-out as it can get. She never warmed to me when we danced in the corps together, or even when we were soloists. She was promoted to principal last year. I envied her then, and I do even more so now. “We’ve missed you.”
Uh-huh, sure.
“We have,” Blake agrees, shooting me a charming wink.
“We’re running to the juice bar, then we have to go through more choreography,” Nina says.
“Sorry to have to run.”
“Sorry to have to run.”
“No worries.” I look up at him from beneath my lashes. While I don’t want to seem too enamored by him in front of everyone, I’m disappointed he is on his way out already. I clear my throat, wrestling away my sudden shyness. “I figured things would be busy.”
“I’ll shoot you a text later.” He gives me another squeeze and a swift kiss to my temple. I follow him with my stare as he reaches the door, but it’s the white blur across the street that ends up snagging my attention.
Two iridescent eyes peer at me. The beast halts there, licking its lips. A glint of sharp teeth keeps me pinned beneath its stare. Silvery-gray spots are mixed into its white fur. A terrifyingly beautiful wolf .
I blink a few times, and in a flash, it disappears.
Maybe this is all in my mind.
Thirty minutes later, after I’ve visited with my former company mates, Lark and I head out to go home.
“Hey, let’s cross the street real quick,” I suggest, wanting to get a closer look at where the wolf was. I need to know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me. Besides, Dr. Tanner said to explore the things I was seeing. A giant, unexplainable beast seems like something to look into.
Especially when it has those eyes that have haunted me for months.
“Um, sure.” Lark squints across from us for whatever has me wanting to go there. “Any reason why?”
“Just feeling adventurous.” Pretty sure “I keep seeing a wolf with sparkling eyes” won’t win me any sanity points right now.
Lark shrugs, then presses the button at the intersection. “If your adventure doesn’t involve making moon eyes at Blake, I’m all for it.”
“Why do you hate him so much?”
“I don’t hate him. He’s just not good enough for you.” She grabs my hand and we cross the street, watching the light count us down before angry DC drivers honk at us. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve stuck with public transportation around here. “Please tell me you’re at least putting your birthday present to good use since the boy doesn’t strike me as one to know what he’s doing, which you only confirmed for me the other morning.”
My birthday present, aka a massive vibrator she named Buzz.
I groan. “Not this again.”
“Stress relief is important,” Lark says with a smirk, giving my side a nudge with her elbow. “He’s obviously not relieving it.”
I don’t make eye contact. If she says anything about me blushing, I will deny that it’s due to anything more than winter’s chill. “Dance is the only stress relief I need.”
“Says someone not getting any other kind of relief ,” Lark grumbles. She gives me a strange look when I step onto the snow-covered grass. “Ignore your prince and take a night to yourself. And Buzz.” She winks. “Delilah and I will be out on a date.”
“Okay.” But my attention is pinned to the very large paw prints in the snow leading toward the woods.
“What the hell are those?” Lark asks as I follow the tracks. “They’re huge.”
My face snaps to look at her. “You see them?”
“Not sure how I could miss them.” She trudges after me, keeping a few steps behind. “What are you doing?”
I’m too busy trailing after the wolf’s prints to respond. I’m certain this is its tracks, as certain as I am that the sky is blue and the seasons change. We walk, and walk, and walk some more into the tree line.
“Jojo, did you hear me?”
My legs are sore from rehearsal, numbing pain spreading down the back of my thigh until it’s wobbling. But I don’t stop, too focused on each pawed imprint in the snow. I’m a fish on a line, reeled in by some unseen force.
Three steps later, they vanish.
They don’t even taper off. Just poof —gone. Like the wolf disappeared in the wind.
Before I can investigate further, Lark catches my wrist. “Hey.”
My attention finally snaps back to her, and she releases her hold, pulling her beanie over her ears. She scans the park’s clearing that’s just a blanket of white with peeks of frosted grass. “What are you looking for?”
“Something. Nothing.” My brows furrow. “I’m not really sure.”
“Well, can we head back home before we freeze our asses off? I’m not built for this cold.” She loops her arm in mine, shivering against me.
“Of course.” I huff out a laugh, gray mist wisping in front of us.
As we walk in the direction of the metro, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder. There’s no way more than one wolf has eyes like that. How can I be seeing it on the opposite side of town? And why do I get the feeling this won’t be the last time?