Chapter 10
Zoe
Which parts of the world do you want to see most?
London. Verona. Edinburgh. Paris. Rome. Barcelona. Lisbon. After graduation, I would love to travel around Europe all summer and see every theater.
—P
I spend the rest of the day hiding behind a fake smile, even though I’m constantly nauseated and feel like I’m going to lose it at any moment.
The conversation with Francesca was difficult mainly because I had to lie, and I’ve never been a good liar.
She wasn’t thrilled with my behavior, but because it was my first day and nerves are normal at the beginning—her words, not mine—she let me get away with it.
However, she also made it clear that she won’t tolerate any more scenes like that. I have to get a grip on myself.
Somehow, I manage to get through lunch break with Mae.
Kaya, Jessica, and two other girls from our class sit down with us, but I only register a fraction of their conversation.
The afternoon goes only marginally better.
I take notes during theory lessons, writing down the dates of exams, when we’re going to cover which topics, and which books we’re supposed to buy, even though most of them are already on my desk.
I’m present and functioning, but I’m not really here.
I can’t think of anything but Jase and that damn pas de deux class.
I keep feeling his hands on my skin and the panic that hit me totally out of the blue.
I don’t understand where it came from. My last panic attack was months ago. I went on dates and danced with other boys to prepare for the entrance exam. I really thought I had myself under control. Obviously, I was wrong.
I should probably talk to someone. My parents. Caleb. Dr. Somers. But if I did, they’d make a bigger deal out of it than necessary. They’d jump to conclusions, and in the worst case, they’d pressure me to leave school again because they’re worried. They’re always worried.
I’m so tired of it. I’m tired of the worry and the panic. It’s over, and that’s how it’s going to stay. Today was an isolated incident. A tiny, insignificant loss of control because I had to dance with Jase, of all people. Nothing more. It won’t happen again.
For two days, I manage to convince myself of it.
For two days, I manage not to go crazy, even though Mr. Conrad and our other teachers touch me several times to correct my posture.
Until the next pas de deux lesson on Wednesday, when Francesca assigns me a new partner.
Ches is nice. He’s taller than Jase, and thinner, with a friendly smile and a warm look in his brown eyes.
But the second he puts his hands on my waist—hands that feel so different from Jase’s—I realize I’ve been lying to myself over the last forty-eight hours. I didn’t panic because the hands on my body belonged to Jase.
It was because they were large and masculine, with a grip that was firm and confident.
My chest tightens again. I can feel my heart beating out of rhythm.
I hear Francesca’s instructions like I’ve got cotton balls in my ears, but I can do this.
I must. If I fail, my dream will be over, and I can’t allow that.
Pull yourself together, Zoe.
Just get a damn grip on yourself. It’s not that bad.
You’ve got it under control. You are stronger than this.
But I’m not stronger, and what Ches and I are trying to do for the next half hour is anything but ballet. It’s a disaster of epic proportions, and I want to cry and scream, but the panic chokes me. Everything, simply everything, is awful.
After forty-five minutes, Francesca assigns me a new partner, but things aren’t any better with Theo either. The fear is still there, all the time, and I hate, hate, hate that I can’t just shake it off. I feel sick again, but I can’t fall apart now. Not again.
Keep your eye on the goal. That’s all that matters.
I keep reminding myself of this, because it’s what saved me over the past few months.
I had a goal, and I did everything I could to attain it.
That goal was getting into this school, and now that I’m here, I’m losing my grip because every other goal is too far away.
There’s nothing left within reach, nothing I can cling to and fight for. That’s why I’m failing.
Again and again.
Francesca ends the lesson with a worried crease between her eyebrows, her gaze lingering on me for a moment too long.
I rush out of the room before she can call me back and ask what my damn problem is.
Because it’s pretty obvious that my strange behavior this time wasn’t due to excitement or the fact that I didn’t eat enough.
I can’t hide from Mae, though. She asks me what’s going on.
She does it in a sweet, caring way, but I can’t bear to tell her the truth.
We’ve only known each other for three days.
Instead, I avoid her. She’s understanding, but I can tell she’s worried.
I would be too, if I were her, but that doesn’t change anything.
And then it’s Friday. My first week at the ballet school is coming to a close faster than I expected.
I should be happy about the weekend, like everyone else.
Two free days that most of us will spend in the ballet studios anyway, but they’re two days when we can do whatever we want and not be judged. We can practice on our own.
Unfortunately, there are still a few hours left before the weekend, and I have to dance with a partner for two of them. Or try to, at least. I can’t panic again.
But I can feel the fear the entire time.
It’s lurking there beneath the surface long before I even enter the dance studio.
I feel nauseated, and I am sweating even though it’s not warm.
I’m nervous, and part of me wants to run away, but I’ve got to face the inevitable.
Somehow, I’ll get through it. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. I have to.
I’m stretching the backs of my legs, eyes fixed on my feet, when Francesca rushes into the room like a whirlwind.
She doesn’t waste time with a greeting but points first at Mae and then Jase, assigning every girl a partner.
She hesitates for a split second before saying my name and then tells me to dance with Devon.
He groans with annoyance, and I blush. Of course he noticed how badly things went with Ches and Theo. My legs tremble as I stand next to him.
“Can you try not to do the all-bad thing again today?” he says not very quietly, with his arms crossed over his chest.
Kelly, who is standing just a few steps away from us with Ches, giggles, and Ches shoots Devon a dirty look.
I stare at him, speechless, too shocked to reply.
His mouth twists into something like a condescending smile, which, despite his best effort, doesn’t cover up the fact that he’s giving me side-eye.
He checks out my pale tights and form-fitting leotard with the narrow straps, and his eyes stay a little too long on my breasts.
The panic eats its way through to the surface, and all I want is to run away.
“Concentrate!” Francesca orders. She didn’t hear what Devon said to me or see how he looked at me, and while I wish she had, I don’t say anything, because I hate being a snitch.
“We’ll begin where we left off on Wednesday. Chester, Kelly, you start. We’ll continue in order. Zoe, Devon, you’re next.”
* * *
“No, it’s not going to work like this.” Francesca rubs her temples and stares at me with such desperation that one would think I’m causing her physical pain.
I can’t blame her. I’m in pain too. It’s twice as bad with Devon as it was with Ches and Theo.
My body is rebelling against being touched by him with all its power.
Every muscle is stiff and cramped. There’s no grace or control.
I lose it as soon as he puts his hands on my body, on the thin fabric of my leotard.
I feel naked, and it’s all wrong. I feel like I’m about to burst into tears.
“Zoe, I really don’t know why you’re making such a big issue about dancing with a partner. But whatever the reason, you’ll have to get it under control. Otherwise . . .” Francesca sighs, as if that says it all. And somehow, it does.
My heart falters. No, no, no! If I can’t get a grip on myself, I’ll be kicked out of school.
For flunking a course. In the first week of the semester.
I’m such a failure. Tears burn in my eyes, and I blink them away.
I try with all my might to swallow the hard lump in my throat and almost choke on it.
“It would be better for all of us if she just ran away again,” I hear Devon murmur.
I haven’t even made it through a week, and it looks like I might have to give up my dream because my body can’t deal with it. Because it’s not doing what I ask it to. Because it’s fighting me.
“Fine. Let’s try something else.” Francesca carefully evaluates one boy after another. “Jase, I want to see you with Zoe again.”
No. Please, no. Please, please.
The words strain to come out, hoarse and pleading, but I can’t bring myself to say them. I can’t move. I can’t manage to walk toward him. It’s impossible. Why can’t she see that?
“Zoe?” Francesca says, but my body is paralyzed, and I suddenly feel terribly cold.
Jase looks at me again. His empty expression is so unlike the boy I used to know that this time, my heart doesn’t clench in fear.
“Come on, Jase. We don’t have all day,” Francesca says.
I can see he wants to protest, but then he moves toward me with lithe steps.
He doesn’t look at me but past me. His eyes are fixed on a point behind me, and his face is a mask of complete indifference.
As though he doesn’t care one bit that he has to dance with me now.
Every hair on my body stands up when Jase steps behind me. He’s not close enough to touch me, but he’s near enough that I can detect his unmistakable scent, sweet and musky all at once. My skin starts to tingle, and my breath catches in my throat.