Chapter 9
My nerves were suffocating the air the next morning as I blew my big brother at least ten kisses.
Through his sports car’s tinted windows, I could make out his eye roll followed by an embarrassed flush of his cheeks, the red overtaking his freckles.
But I didn’t apologize because it was his fault for starting it.
He knew what he was doing when he woke me up with affectionate texts.
At one point, my family used to be somewhat normal. I didn’t have a whole lot of memories of this time in my life, but Jules would sometimes tell me about it—how my mom would brush my hair every night, how my dad let me sit on his lap during business meetings, the family trips we went on together.
But when I was four, all of that changed.
My parents became harder. They started stealing Jules—who was only eleven—away from me, instructing him in the ways of the family business. And me?
They shipped me away.
To ballet lessons. Boarding school. University. Anywhere that wasn’t with them.
I didn’t know what caused my life to crack, but I saw the shards of whatever it was every day. I spent most of my life without affection, and whenever I got it, I was determined to keep it forever.
One day, my Prince Charming would fix the holes inside of me, the ones that begged to be loved.
Maybe that would be Alek.
Or maybe I should have been looking harder for my cat.
My therapist said my OCD—and my people-pleasing tendencies—were because I was desperate to earn love and approval.
And sometimes, when I offered to cover too many shifts or give away what little money I had to someone on the street who needed it more, I thought she might be right.
Maybe I was someone craving reassurance and a gentle touch.
But other times, I wondered if I was more of a masochist. Because I wasn’t sure anyone who wanted love and approval would join the ballet.
“EEK!” Mia screamed, running over to me and wrapping me tightly in her arms as soon as I entered the main theater. “You’re here!”
I hugged her back, though my brows furrowed against where I was pressed to her shoulder. Even with my shoes on, Mia practically towered over me. “Um… Mia? You saw me yesterday.”
“Ugh, and it’s been too long! Come on. Let’s go warm up.”
My chest loosened a fraction as I set my bag backstage and followed Mia to a makeshift set of barres where we began to stretch together. My hips groaned in protest as I held my leg almost as high as my head, yet it was a good pain, the kind that meant I was back where I belonged.
While I stretched, I moved on autopilot.
I switched out of my flimsy sneakers and tied my pointe shoes.
I smoothed my pink leotard and tights before slipping on a matching short skirt.
Our clothes had to be tight and somewhat revealing so Madame Germaine could watch our movements closely, pointing out all of our mistakes with her scary-looking black cane.
I fidgeted with the straps of my tank top before pulling my hair back into a ponytail and wrapping a ribbon around the tie, fixing it into a cute bow that sat neatly on top of my head. I smiled at my reflection, urging myself to actually like what I saw, while Mia giggled.
My smile instantly dropped. “What?”
“You are so cute. I can’t believe you think Alek is actually staying away from you.”
I opened my mouth to question her, but before I could, Madame Germaine’s voice rang out. Our accompanist began to play trilling notes on the piano in the corner. The director clapped her hands, gesturing for us to surround her in a semicircle.
The room quieted instantly. I felt the silence down to my marrow.
“Today is important,” she said. “Auditions for our leads, Romeo and Juliet, will begin shortly. I expect professionalism, focus, and courage. Even if you are not selected as principal, today will determine your role in the show.”
My pulse quickened. You got this, I tried to tell myself. It’s just an audition. You’ve had tons of those.
“You are not good enough to be here,” a voice inside of me trilled.
“And,” Madame Germaine added, “we will have a guest observing.”
A ripple went through the room as we all wondered who the guest would be. Company auditions and rehearsals were always kept far from the public eye. We wanted people to see us at our best—not the weeks it took to get there. Even I, as a newbie, knew that.
“The Company has recently acquired a new investor,” our director explained, her lips almost twitching down in the corners. “He will be watching today’s audition and, if he so chooses, giving feedback on the roles selected.”
The room shifted to the darkened rows of seats beyond the stage, where we all knew our new investor would be sitting. I tried to peek beyond the curtain, but the lights were too bright and the chairs too dark. All I could make out was a silhouette of shadows.
My skin prickled with awareness. Like there was a monster out there, inhaling all the atmosphere until the only thing I could breathe was the sensation that they were watching me like they hungered for me. My chest tightened, breath coming shallow as my thoughts scattered like birds.
“Not perfect.”
“Not perfect.”
“Not perfect.”
“Not perfect.”
I pressed my thumb into the inside of my wrist, grounding myself in the sharp sensation. Once. Twice. Three times.
Breathe, Eva.
Without meaning to, my mind drifted to several weeks ago.
To Alek’s hands steadying me against the cold, making me feel desired for the first time in years.
Desire and a flicker of something sharper—unease, maybe—wrapped around me like armor.
Somewhere beyond the music and mirrors, I felt a trace of him, a shadow at the edge of the room, and though I didn’t want to admit it, it made me braver.
I straightened my spine and prepared myself to dance. Whatever today held—whether that was a role or a rejection—I could do this.
We started the auditions with warmups, all of the dancers splitting into two lines where we would perform classic leaps and turns to jaunty music, one after another after another, like an assembly line of ballet.
My nerves began to flare up once more while I watched the older, more experienced dancers move with grace and poise.
While these were just warmups, everyone knew that Madame Germaine was already beginning to form her finalists.
We were lucky to be given the chance to audition with each show, the principals ever changing. Not every theater was like that.
I pressed my palms briefly to the wall before falling into the back of the line, grounding myself in the familiar coolness of the wood. The buzzing inside my chest hadn’t gone away—not exactly—but it dulled, like static turned down a notch.
The dancers continued moving through calypsos until it was only Mia and me left to go. We gave each other soft smiles before taking our place.
And then my body started to move before my mind could interfere anymore.
My arms lifted, my spine lengthened, and my feet found their marks.
Instinct had taken over, almost two decades of dance experience winning out over my fear of not being good enough.
The nerves tried to claw their way back in, whispering too stiff, too slow, too much, but I drowned them out with breath and rhythm.
On and on through warmups. Turn. Leap. Land. Pose. I felt centered, strong, and powerful. Everything a dancer always dreamed of being.
By the time we moved on to choreography, my lungs burned, and sweat dampened the back of my neck, yet I had never felt better. I no longer had the voice nagging me to prove that I was perfect, to knock against the floors or pick at the skin of my hands.
We began to move through the audition dances, twisting and turning over and over again while Madame Germaine watched. I heard the sound of her heels clicking against the floor before I felt her presence behind me. I stiffened, bracing myself for her corrections.
But to my surprise, she stepped in front of me and tilted her head.
“Evangeline,” she said, her voice shockingly warm despite her cold face. “You’re dancing well today.”
My chest fluttered. “Thank you,” I murmured, my face dropping automatically to the floor.
She lifted my chin with two fingers, raising my eyes to meet hers. She studied me for a few moments before clicking her tongue and shuffling forward.
My heart was going haywire—butterflies practically slaughtering each other—when she ordered us to repeat the combination, this time keeping her gaze solely on me.
I raised into an arabesque, then dropped into a dégagé, arabesque, then dégagé, Juliet’s variation settling inside my bones.
And when the music slowed and the combination ended, I looked to Madame Germaine, only to find her watching me with a subtle smile.
She nodded before telling us to get a drink and ordering the men out for their piece.
While we sipped our water, Mia pulled me to the side and squealed under her breath. “Evie!! Oh my God, she smiled! Do you know what this means?”
“That her facial muscles work correctly?”
“No! Madame Germaine only smiles when she sees something she really, really, really likes. I think you have a chance at a lead role!”
Something tight loosened inside of me like the ribbons of a corseted dress had been undone. A lead. That was more than I ever could have dreamed of. Me. A lead?
What if I were Lady Capulet? Or Lady Montague? Perhaps Rosaline? Or—
I swallowed.
What if I were Juliet?
I shook my head before the dream could intoxicate me too much. “No. It’s my first year, Mia. There are more deserving people out there. People like you!”
She rolled her eyes. “Madame Germaine will never make me a lead. And anyway, I don’t want to be one. I like being in the corps de ballet, shining without the spotlight. But you? I think you’d be perfect center stage.”
Mia moved on to a different topic—namely, one of the male dancers’ extremely tight tights—but her reassurance stayed, settling deep in my bones. For the first time in years, my chest ached with want. Not with the feeling of not being good enough, but with the feeling that I could belong here.
After a quick water break for everyone, Madame Germaine thumped her cane on the stage floor three times, gathering our attention quickly.
She called forth four male dancers to be considered for Romeo, and I politely clapped after each one.
We weren’t supposed to show favoritism to anyone during auditions, which I guessed was good considering I kept wanting to scream in delight after each one.
A restless energy settled beneath my skin as Madame Germaine announced Raphael as Romeo, the same principal who played the Prince in The Nutcracker.
“Congrats, Rapha.” I smiled at him as he joined the rest of us, waiting for the director to speak once more.
Madame Germaine rose from her chair. “And for Juliet, I’d like to watch Elsie, Jeanine, Alexandra, and… Evangeline.”
My world froze.
My name.
Did she say my name?
I bit my lip to contain the biggest smile I’d ever had before turning to Mia, who gave me a thumbs up.
“Told you,” she mouthed as she was swallowed by the crowd of people who came to congratulate me, apparently uncaring of the etiquette rules Madame Germaine had set.
“Congrats, Evangeline.”
“Way to go, Rookie!”
“Good luck!”
Madame Germaine tapped her cane three times as a call for the celebration to finish and for the finals to begin. She nodded toward the accompanist. And in a voice I felt down to my core, she said, “Let’s begin.”