Page 4 of The First Taste

“Those bloody idiots never know what to do with a bright girl like Isla.” My frown deepens. “Is that the entire story?”

“Apparently she also made her latest nanny quit.” She winces. “The service says that they are not going to send out any more replacements.”

“Those bastards. You’d think she was a bloody terrorist instead of a damned six year old.” My eyebrows rise. “They’re throwing in the towel, too, are they?”

Natasha pulls out her phone and reads out loud. “Eight nannies in five months is a sign that a child is seriously troubled. They recommend she see a child psychologist to help with her anger and attitude problems.”

Fury flashes through my veins, white hot and undiluted. How dare anyone talk about Isla that way?

Without even thinking about it, I pick up one of the chess pieces and hurl it across the room. It hits a wall and smashes into a million shards, making quite a racket.

I blink and screw up my face.

I should feel bad about it… Not about the property damage, of course, but about creating more work for others. I definitely didn’t exactly think it through.

Like father, like daughter, I suppose.

Then again, I am a job creator. Everything in this whole bloody building is owned by my family, built up over generations. I refuse to feel guilty for giving everyone, including my brother, a fucking job to do.

I grimace.

Two people come running into the room, but Natasha throws her hands up, warding them off. “Don’t come over here. There is broken glass everywhere! Watch your feet.”

She throws a look over her shoulder at me.

“Don’t even start,” I warn her. “Seriously.”

“Can I get a broom, a dustpan, and a rubbish bin?” she calls out.

While Natasha is busy cleaning up the fragments of the chess piece, I turn toward the window. The fury is still washing through me, lapping at me like the ocean at its shore. I try to focus my mind, looking out at the inky blackness as the last rays of sun are leached from the sky.

Two

I’m sitting on the sofa, watching the fourth hour of recorded dress rehearsals. It’s a regular thing in our household, watching the videos and commenting on every single movement, scrutinizing our past mistakes so that we don’t make them again.

Two of my roommates are watching with rapt attention as they sit on the bare concrete floor, doing the splits.

“The New York Ballet company is not going to be the same if you quit,” intones Patrice. She looks at me as she lowers her upper body toward the floor, stretching her already-limber quads even more. “Seriously, don’t leave us.”

Twitching a shoulder, I pull a face. “It’s not me that wants to leave. It’s the company’s doctor. He won’t even let me practice. He makes it sound as if I’m basically walking around on a death trap instead of a knee.”

“If you leave, that means that Patrice and I will be the only black ballerinas left.” Maddie wrinkles her nose. “Your role is gonna be filled by a white girl. You know that, right?”

“I’m not responsible for the NYB’s cultural diversity problem. Besides, I just got a look at the new class. They’re hiring a bunch of new faces. Balancing out their monoculture with a bunch of Asians and Latinas.”

“That’s hardly the point I was making.” Patrice sulks.

On the screen, Maddie dashes across the stage, leaping and executing several combinations and pirouettes. Toward the end, her movements seem stilted, making the dance seem like something she’s working at.

I wince but try to keep my face expressionless.

“Ah. You can totally tell that I’m nervous. Look at how much tension I hold going into that pirouette.” Maddie points to the laptop screen, tracing her finger over the shape of her body as she moves across the stage. “I need to work on that combination today when I get some studio time.”

“You’re doing a good job of faking it, cause I don’t see a single flaw in that whole scene.” Patrice, my other roommate, looks at me for confirmation. “Right, Ella? You may be out of the company because of your injury, but you’re still Little Miss Knows Everything About Ballet.”

Casting a glance at Maddie, I shrug.

“Maddie’s right. She does need to work on that combination. Just do it until you have the muscle memory down pat.”