Page 10

Serenity

CHAPTER TEN

Minute before

The anxiety over the premiere disappears.

As I wait for the curtains to open for my first solo performance, all I feel is peace. Finally, one of my dreams is coming true.

I don't have many, but the ones I allow myself to desire are the reason I get up every morning.

Today is my trial by fire. In just a few weeks at Madam Villatoro's dance school, I’ve achieved what many professional dancers spend their entire lives striving for.

There is no room for failure. I need perfection tonight.

I noticed, throughout the week, how the other dancers looked at me—with a mixture of spite and anger—but what they don't know is that I don't care about their judgment.

I even heard two of my professional colleagues whispering in the bathroom that I bought a place at our prestigious school, which anyone who’s even met Madam Villatoro knows is not only a lie but absurd. Madam has a reputation in the dance world for being extremely picky in her choice of pupils. She has even refused a princess, whose father, king of a small European monarchy, wanted to buy the place for his girl with gold bars.

I force myself to clear my mind of anything other than my performance. It doesn't matter what they think of me. I know how I’ve dedicated myself to this. Madam told me the day before yesterday that everyone who stands out carries a target on their back.

Success is uncomfortable, she told me, because it makes people look at their own navel and realize that they are not evolving.

I don't know if that's true. I'm not worried about what other dancers think. I don't worry about whether one or all of them achieve success; I focus only on how I will get there.

I flex my feet one last time before the curtains open, and I feel a stab of pain. If I take off my shoes, I know what I'll see: swollen, calloused toes from hours and hours of practice. Despite being my bridge to achieving the stardom I dream of, my feet are not a part of my body that I like. In fact, they embarrass me. It's one of the reasons I never go to the pool or beach, not at home, not even in swimming classes at boarding school.

I begged my guardian to negotiate in high school so that ballet could be defined as my sport, getting rid of anything that would force me to be barefoot in front of other students or teachers.

Sometimes my feet hurt even when I'm lying down to sleep. They throb from daily effort, but I never complain.

Ballet is my choice, my life.

Right now, they throb, but who cares? Dreams are never free. I'm willing to pay any price for mine.

Besides, I’m used to the pain. There is something pleasurable about it.

I feel my face heat up when I think about it. It sounds a little twisted to take pleasure in pain, and I don't understand why I feel this way, just that this is how I am.

When fellow children whined or fussed about a fall, I got up and carried on. When they cried about receiving vaccines, I watched the needle go in and didn't understand the reason for the distress.

I’ve thought about this a lot, and after I became an adult, I came to the conclusion that experiencing pain means I can feel, and if I can feel, I'm alive.

As I always do before starting a performance, I tune out everything around me.

I'm one step away from making my entrance, and my blood boils, excitement spreading through every one of my cells.

I hear the buzz from the audience, and I know the theater is packed. The whole place vibrates with energy.

I promised myself that I would keep tonight in my memory, but the thrill of my debut is so great that the next thing I know, I'm hovering on the stage, my entire body filled with adrenaline.

When did the music start? What did I feel when I found the audience waiting for me? I couldn't say.

My blood pumps, and I see flashes of faces staring at me from the seated crowd, but I focus my attention mostly on myself.

I’ve reached the state of ecstasy I always dive into while dancing.

There is no one else, just me and the orchestra.

With my performance almost completed, I smile, and it's one of the few real ones I've smiled in years.

Happiness. The purest happiness is what I'm feeling right now, because I know I haven't disappointed Madam. I haven’t disappointed myself.

Cambré, balancé, échappé. ? *

I execute each movement exquisitely, with the respect it deserves.

And finally, it comes to an end.

My heart swells inside my chest. Exhilaration and joy like I've never felt bring tears to my eyes, and there's a smile in me so spontaneous that I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop it.

The audience rises and gives me a standing ovation.

I scan them, automatically looking for JeAnne, but then I remember she's not here. She caught a cold and didn't want to take the risk of infecting people.

I push away the sadness and begin my révérence, curtseying to the audience.

And then, my attention is drawn to one of the boxes, to the left, a little above the main audience level.

I know it's the most expensive box there is. Although it’s very close to the stage, I can't see the features of its occupant, but somehow, I know he's looking directly at me and that he's just one man. I can see the outline of his suit, the rigid shoulders.

Another round of applause erupts, interrupting my curiosity. I force myself back to the present, but even after I leave the stage, I'm still thinking about the lonely observer

* ? Ballet movements.