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Prologue

I was ten years old when I fell in love.

For the first and only time in my life.

Mommy pulled me out of recess time in school and snuck me into the backstage of the Met Opera.

I remember gaping at the towering archways and the enormous wall of glass lit up by thousands of bright lights.

I thought I was going to Mount Olympus, and the gods were waiting for us behind those doors—we’d just learned about Greek myths in class that day.

My little heart pounded as my breathing thinned in anticipation.

I knew my life was going to change forever.

“Today is a magical day,” she told me as she led me through a side door.

A harried looking woman beckoned us inside, all the while looking surreptitiously around as if we were criminals she wasn’t supposed to be letting in.

My older sister, Grace, would get the occasional special days when Mommy would take her to the bookstore, and I’d get the random magical ones.

Mommy said it was because she worked all the time, and this was her way of making it up to us.

She told me she knew someone at the Met Opera, and she wanted me to see professional ballerinas on stage.

Mommy said I was just like her—bitten by the performance bug and born to dance.

I remember hiding backstage behind the thick velvet curtains and feeling the heavy weight of the disapproving stares from adults towering over me.

I bet they could smell the stench of the week-old hot dog I had for breakfast, see the holes in my favorite rainbow leggings, or the frayed edges of my beloved pink ballerina T-shirt.

Or perhaps they were looking at Mommy, whose eyes were unusually bright, lipstick fire-engine red, wearing the slinky black, glittering mini dress required for her work at the dance club.

She squared her shoulders and glared right back at them.

Then she gently squeezed my hand in reassurance.

We didn’t belong there, that was obvious enough, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

Because I saw them .

The ballerinas on the stage—beautiful fluffy tutus so white, I imagined they’d never get dirtied like my well-worn sneakers.

They were fairies dazzling under the bright spotlights.

But none of them were as beautiful as her .

Odette, the white swan.

She was twirling on the stage, each spin so graceful, so breathtaking, I couldn’t look away.

Jenny from school must be wrong.

Magic did exist in the world because this…

this gorgeous princess gliding across the stage had to be magical.

I remember the feeling of bubbles forming in my chest, my muscles clenching with giddiness.

The world around me faded into black until all I could see was her wearing her glorious white dress, delicate white feathers in her hair, moving so effortlessly on her tiptoes she appeared to be floating.

She was dancing with her prince, her one true love.

She looked at him like he held her world in his hands, like he hung the moon in the skies just for her.

It was then I fell in love right alongside them.

Tumbled into it, head over heels.

It was as magical as Mommy described.

Mommy believed in love—she used to tell me she was drunk on it.

Grace would roll her eyes and tell me she thought Mommy was silly, but I’d always thought that was impossible.

Because what would make an adult feel this way?

What would make someone as smart and kind as Mommy want to risk everything over and over again even though she’d secretly cry in the dark when she thought we were asleep because the men would ultimately disappoint her?

I had the answer then.

That day at the Met Opera.

The butterflies flapping their wings in my stomach.

The lightness of my breath.

My body coming alive.

I felt like I could soar high in the skies, that everything in the world would be okay as long as I was in this moment, surrounded by this feeling —dancing with them, knowing everything would be all right as long as the other person was by your side.

This had to be it—why Mommy was in love with love.

But then the unthinkable happened.

Odette died at the end of the ballet with her prince, because the evil black swan, Odile, and her villainous sorcerer father schemed against them.

The glorious white swan didn’t survive, only the ugly, scary black one did.

There was no happily ever after.

I bawled my eyes out, unable to stop the sobs tearing from my throat despite others trying to shush me because I was causing a scene.

I didn’t care. Mommy always said holding in your emotions wasn’t healthy.

My little heart clenched in pain, not understanding why something so magical could end so tragically.

“It’s not the true story, little Tay,” Mommy whispered, tugging me to her side as we rode the subway back to our dingy apartment in the Bronx.

I clutched the beautiful white swan figurine to my chest. Mommy caved and bought it for me, even though I was sure it meant we’d be eating instant noodles for a week.

But it was beautiful, one of those dolls that’d twirl and there was even a small compartment to store knickknacks.

“It isn’t?”

She shook her head, her warm eyes crinkling at the corners, but there was sadness in them—sadness she tried her best to hide.

“You see, in the real story, there once was a beautiful white swan named Odile, and she loved her older sister Odette so, so much. However, they had an evil father, one who couldn’t be there for them, but he was all they had left because their mother had passed away.”

I shifted in the hard plastic seat and leaned against her chest, listening to the steady drums of her heartbeat blending with the rumbling of the subway train on the tracks.

She continued, “Odile wanted a better life for her and Odette, because she knew they couldn’t count on their father. So, she worked really hard to be the smartest and the strongest swan. She’d catch the largest fish, swim the fastest, and protect the other little swans in the flock. But some of the male swans were jealous of her abilities. You see, they thought she was taking their jobs away from them.”

My breath stalled, dread coiled in my throat.

“What happened?”

Mommy frowned, her eyes unfocused.

“One day, they cornered her while she was hunting. They backed her into a patch of grass so tall it blocked them from view of the other swans. Ruthlessly, they pecked at her and plucked her beautiful white feathers off, one by one. She fought hard, but there were too many of them, and after all, she was just one female swan. Everything hurt and as she laid on the ground, bleeding from her wounds, she watched the dark red blood stain her skin. At that moment, she thought she was going to die. But then, if she did, who was going to protect Odette?”

My lips wobbled.

Tears blurred my eyes.

This story was sad and horrible.

I wanted the fairytale—the poor princess getting her happy ending; a prince riding by in his golden carriage and sweeping her off her feet.

Mommy took my hand and squeezed it.

“It was her strength and willpower that led her to recover. But this time, when her feathers grew back, they became black. As beautiful and inky as the nighttime sky. She realized she didn’t need to be the graceful white swan because she was the warrior black swan all along. She was a fighter. She vowed to become even more powerful and no one would ever hurt her or Odette again.”

Mommy yawned, her hand flying to her mouth.

A few of her dark tresses had slipped out of her glittery updo—all part of her costume for work.

Her dark eye circles were stark against the harsh fluorescent lights and thin lines appeared between her brows, but she was still the most beautiful person I’d ever seen…

aside from the white swan I saw at the Met Opera.

My chest pinched. I hated seeing her so exhausted.

But I knew if I told her that, she’d give me a sad smile and tell me everything was fine.

“Because it’s just us girls against the world ,” she’d say.

Maybe Mommy was the black swan in her story.

I shifted in my seat, raking in a breath of stale air, then closed my eyes.

“I’m tired, Mommy. I’m going to take a nap. Can you finish the story of Odile later?” Maybe she’d sleep and get some rest too.

“Yes, sweetheart.” I heard the smile in her voice and slowly felt her relax next to me, her soft snores soon filling the air.

I wasn’t tired. Not one bit.

My mind was filled with images of the fierce black swan, her shiny black feathers glinting like the sharpest blades under the pale moonlight—her armor against the world because the other swans ravaged and took from her.

Stole. Hurt. Maimed.

All her beautiful white feathers gone .

I decided then I didn’t like Mommy’s story.

I wanted to be the perfect white swan dancing with her prince, even if they didn’t survive in the end.

At least she got to be happy for a moment.

She was beautiful .

It was magic.

Mommy never did finish telling me her story of Odile before she passed away years later, and I never asked, because I didn’t think I needed to know the ending, since come hell or high water, I was going to be Odette.

But I never thought there’d be a day when I’d finally understand what she was trying to tell me.

Because I end up becoming the black swan.