Page 32 of The Breaking Pointe

family matters

NOELLE

If I can’t have my dance studio forever, then all I can do is make the best of what I have left. Still—that seems like the hardest thing to do when I keep worrying about what the future holds. Coffee shop forever? That’s hell in the making, if you ask me.

I don’t get paid as much as the average person would believe to do shows at the New York City Ballet. Most of the time it’s enough to pay for rent, and then the rest is up to me. That’s why the coffee shop helps. I haven’t had to rely solely on auditions and shows in a really long time. I’m sort of scared to go back to that lifestyle—and the constant worrying if my dancing abilities are good enough. I like teaching the art more than anything. Seeing every hopeful little glimmer in every little girl’s eyes when they learn something new is the entire reason I find joy in it as much as I do. It’s magical for me, every time.

I’ve sent a letter home to each parent. Regretfully, I mailed them this morning. I have no choice now. I won’t take any help.

It’s been my responsibility and my mistakes that got me here, and are for me to reap the punishments of. I’ve been offered help by Colton in many ways, directly and indirectly, but I think he finally gave up. When I say gave up, I mean completely. Ever since our Friendsgiving dinner, he’s removed himself even more than before. Most days we play phone tag—calling each other back and forth, and messaging if we can. And other days, like today, I get nothing but simple messages every few hours. I hate to sound selfish, but if he’s taking a break from training, what work could he be doing every day this week?

He’s at home alone, all day, due to us getting our first big snow. So, as far as I know, he’s alone. Really, he could be doing anything, now that I think of it.

I’m struggling to not feel guilty about worrying, but it’s more than me speculating. I’ve seen the way people respond to grief in the past. Isolation is one thing, but elongated isolation is even worse. The honest cure for losing someone is finding a way to say goodbye. He’s not said any farewells, or even thought of a way to. It seems to me that he’s moving along as though nothing has happened. It’s the build-up of a shitty breakdown—if I’ve ever seen one before.

It’s all my mind can wrap itself around while I finish altering the Nutcracker costumes.

The recital comes faster than I thought it would. Next week, all my littles will be prancing around on stage, with me alongside them. Proud is an understatement. They’ve worked their tiny little tails off. In my eyes, the show will be perfection, but I can tell by their little faces, during rehearsals, that some of them are still feeling unsure. I’ve tried to express how it’s okay to feel nervous—but of course, the feeling is bigger than you at such a young age. One day, they’ll come to appreciate it all.

I’ve been sewing and altering costumes for around five hours. Seventeen dresses, plus one more—my dress. Unfortunately, mine is the hardest one to alter, being as it’s the biggest one. I have to say that handling their tiny sized tutus and leotards makes me have serious baby fever. They’re too dainty and adorable not to think about having your own little human in one, putting on their very own ballet show. So cute and adorable that I need to take a dance break to get my mind off of every bit of it.

I would be astounded if I were the parents of every one of these young girls.

I fucking miss my parents.

Tony made a pretty kind suggestion by encouraging me to invite Colton, except I’m too much of a wuss to ask him. I feel that it might be too much. First I’m thinking I’m in love—and now I’m wanting him to meet my parents. I think it sounds perfect, but I bet it sounds manic and diabolical to an outside person. I’d like to stay very far away from the labels ‘crazy’ and ‘sociopath’ while in this relationship, just because I’m trying to display what I believe to be true love and adoration for someone. When someone is important to you, in a romantic manner, you want to share your world with them.

And I want to share my world with Colton.

I take a break from altering and put on my pointe shoes. Pushing myself up on my toes, I line up each of my feet, lifting my arms into their position. Each stretch coaxes a jolt of fluidity through my limbs.

Sometimes I like to pretend that I’m a statue. It’s a perfect description of a ballerina. We can conform to every movement you ask us to. It’s very easy, and requires little to no thinking. We just go ahead and do it. Every move we make has to be finely

tuned. The strength in my calves, the grace in my arms, the slenderness in my fingers—everything must align seamlessly. I take a deep breath, allowing the sound of the music to play in my head and flow through my body, its enchanting notes igniting my spirit.

I glide across the polished wooden floor, embodying the character of Clara. My feet delicately brush against the floor, ex- ecuting a series of pirouettes—spinning on my toes, striving for both balance and elegance. Each turn is a delicate dance between control and freedom, muscles taut yet fluid, pushing against gravity while drawing upon the earth for support. There’s an exhilaration when I can feel the imaginary audience watching from a distance, even if it’s just practice.

Their silent anticipation fuels my desire to shine.

Beneath the beauty of ballet lies the struggle. The hours of practice can be so grueling. My feet often ache from the confines of my pointe shoes. They press into my arches, giving me a pain that’s a constant reminder of the dedication required to master this art. I’m always fighting to maintain my stamina, knowing that the performances call for not only physical strength, but emotional resilience as well. The pressure to look effortless weighs heavily on my shoulders as I reach for that ideal perfec- tion. In real life, and on stage.

As I leap into an arabesque, I feel the rush of wind as I momentarily defy gravity. In the air, there’s a fleeting sense of immunity—a taste of privilege. As I land, a jolt springs through my knees, stinging the tendons within them and making me wince, slamming straight into a muscle filled chest.

“Ow—fuck!” I yelp.

Two arms wrap around me as we collide, holding me tight”

Oh my God—I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”

a startled voice emerges

from above my head.

Blinking until I can see more than just black blotches, I look up at the owner of the voice, seeing Colton’s wavering eyes. I groan quietly, grasping his arm as I stand up straight.

“When did you get here? How long have you been watching?”

I rub my arm softly with my other hand.

He takes a breath”

I just walked in a couple minutes ago. I didn’t mean to scare you,”

he says, checking me over with his eyes.

“It’s okay,”

I lowly reply, fixing myself as I step back.

His hoodie is dirty, and so are his hands. Paint, dust, and many other things were covering his fingers, and his jeans might as well be a part of a construction site. His hair is pulled back underneath a blue bandana, allowing his curls to fall out the back—but there’s paint and dirt on that, too.

“It doesn’t seem like it. It seems like I interrupted you,”

he admits, not holding back.

I look down, scouring”

You didn’t.”

He pauses, then runs a hand over his head”

Is it me…?”

I sigh, shaking my head as I continue to stare at the lines on the wooden floor”

You didn’t talk to me all day, and I’m worried,”

I quietly admit.

He doesn’t respond immediately, so I raise my head to see him harboring a penitent expression.

“I…got busy. I’m sorry,” he says”

It’s not anything bad, though. I promise,”

he calmly adds.

“Okay,”

I whisper, dropping my head again”

Noelle, look at me,”

he commands.

I shyly raise my gaze to meet his, seeing him now holding a warm smile.

“It’s all good. Please don’t worry.”

The only way I’ll feel better about that is if he answers me one thing.

“Colton, I need to talk to you,”

I say, taking his bicep and pulling him to some chairs nearby.

I sit us both down, faced with his puzzled look”

Uh…should I be scared?”

he asks hesitantly.

“I don’t know,”

I answer honestly.

He nods very slowly. I cross my arms and toss one knee over the other.

“It’s about me going to Chicago soon,”

I tell him.

“I almost forgot about that…”

he says in a melancholy voice”

That’s the thing, Cole. You don’t have to stay here. What if you and Steven came with me? For the Christmas holiday.” I

tense up after the question finally gets out.

He sits back in his seat, looking as if he’s thinking it over”

Like…in less than three weeks?”

he questions me.

“That’s when Christmas is…”

I sheepishly shrug, nodding. He sits quietly again, now looking at his feet.

“That’s incredibly last minute, Elle, what about your parents?”

He shakes his head, already doubting.

“They love guests,”

I dismantle his argument with my excuse”

They’ll be fine—I know it. My dad watches your tournaments, anyway. They’d love to have you,”

I say, buttering him up to the idea.

His face proceeds to fill with more doubt.

I deeply breath, taking one of his hands”

I don’t want you two to be alone. Please? You won’t regret it,” I beg.

He glances at me, curling his fingers around mine and nodding. I smile, kissing his hand”

Look. I don’t know about you, but we’ve been seeing each other for well over six months, almost an entire year. I think they should get to know who this Colton

guy is that I keep talking about.”

He flashes a quick grin”

Talking about me and saying what, exactly?”

I suck my cheeks in slightly to control my smile”

Nothing. How I feel about you. That’s all.”

“And how do you feel about me? I wanna know, too.”

He squints, cheekily playing detective.

I love when he interviews me, but right now? I think honesty is not the best policy.

“I don’t know if I should say that,”

I say, taking grasp of my stockings, pinching them.

He scoots closer to me, placing his hands on my thighs”

Are you scared to tell me, or something?”

He chuckles, getting closer to my face.

Yes. I am. Ridiculously scared.

“I’m grateful for you. And you look cute in that bandana.”

I smile, kissing his forehead.

His perky smile fizzles out, as if he expected something more special or out of the ordinary to come out of my mouth.

“Thanks…”

he settles”

Uh…how’s the rehearsals coming along?”

He swiftly changes the subject, taking his eyes off of me.

I half frown, watching him”

The girls are doing great. They got it down. I’m really excited,” I begin”

But I sent the letters out today. I can’t stop wondering what’s going to happen to them,”

I explain, feeling sorrowful as I do.

“Noelle, about that—”

He taps his thumb along my hand”

Things are gonna work out. With the studio, I mean—it’s gonna be fine,” he says.

He’s so sweet, but he can’t make miracles happen.

“How do you know that? It’s too late for another chance, Cole.

I’m fucked beyond measure,”

I tell him.

“Can you trust me on this one? I’m more than sure,”

he says confidently. I look at our hands, then him, bobbing my head slowly.

“Alright then. I have a plan. I need you to be patient.”

He holds my hand with both of his now.

I inhale”

You can’t make them change their minds.”

“No, but you’ll be happier. Believe me, my plan is better,”

he assures me, smirking.

I perk at his hidden amusement, and break a smile”

Tell me.”

“I can’t do that, so sorry.”

He chuckles”

But you’ll see. Soon.

And it’ll explain everything about why I’ve not been keeping in touch so much.”

He squeezes my hands.

I’m relying on him. I hope he knows.