Bette and Will share glances. They know what Morkie wants. They’ve been here forever. They know how to please her.
“You need to get it together,” Bette says, picking invisible lint off her impeccable sweater. “Morkie doesn’t do drama or excuses.” She leans into a stretch, warming up as if she’ll be called to the center any second. As if she’s here for a reason. “And you need to not drink so much.”
“Ouch, Bette,” Will says.
I try to keep the shock off my face. “I actually never drank before,” I tell her in a whisper. If Bette is surprised, she doesn’t let it show. But it’s humiliating to say it. Before I came to New York and moved in with my cousin Alec and his family to go to the conservatory, my whole world was just dance class and school and sitting on the couch with my British host mother, waiting for a call or text from Henri. New York is totally different from London. “I didn’t know it would hit me that hard.” I want to call Bette out for pushing the wine on me, but I don’t. She’s pretty much the only real friend I’ve made since I’ve got to New York, and I’m not about to mess that up.
“Some days we’re just off,” Will says, and pets my leg like that will help.
I feel my eyes get watery. I lick the strawberry gloss off my lips, hearing my mom’s scolding voice in my head as I do it. She says it’s totally unladylike. I look over my shoulder and watch Sarah Takahashi nail the lift with Scott that I couldn’t. Morkie beams at her.
“Don’t worry, Cassie,” Bette says. “Will can help you look good out there. He’ll rescue you like he’s always done for me.” The word rescue lands hard. Will’s eyes dart around the studio, like he’s watching a fly.
Bette flashes me a smile that’s so big I can see all her teeth. Perfect, just like the rest of her. I’m called back to the center, and now Will is too. I can feel Bette’s gaze following Will as Morkie shows Will and me the next part of the pas. We mark the movements one at a time, with painful precision. It takes me almost an hour to perfect them the way Morkie wants them before she lets us try on our own. Then, finally, I stand in the center, ready to show her what I’ve learned.
I prepare to dance, waiting for the chord of music to start moving. My mind quiets: the worries, the criticisms, the faces in the glass all drift away. I see Will ahead waiting for me. I pretend that it’s Henri. I step into my first movement, folding myself into the music, each arm motion embodying the cadence. I jump and turn and leap and glide. I flutter over to Will.
“Right on the melody,” Morkie yells.
Will’s hands find my waist. He lifts me up into a flying shoulder lift. His right shoulder presses into my butt, carrying my weight, effortless.
“She’s not a box, William,” Morkie says. “She’s a jewel. Carry her like one. So pretty. So light.”
His fingers press into my hipbones as he struggles to hold me there.
“Beautiful, beautiful,” Morkie yells over the music. “Smile, Cassandra.”
I smile as hard as I can. I keep my eyes on the mirror and focus on Morkie’s instructions. Here comes the fish dive, slow, graceful, deliberate. Except it’s not. Will’s not supporting my weight anymore, and I wobble, trying to counterbalance, but it’s too late. His fingers feel like they’ve disappeared. Not at all like we’ve practiced. With his support gone, my right leg drops.
I topple, like I’ve fallen off the edge of a cliff. The floor feels so far away until I hit it.
ACT I
Fall Season
1
Bette
THEY SAY ANTICIPATION IS SOMETIMES sweeter than the actual event, so I’m going to enjoy every moment of the waiting. Mr. K certainly loves dragging it out. We swarm around him in the American Ballet Conservatory lobby, waiting for his annual speech on The Nutcracker. Then he’ll reveal the student cast list. Twice a year, in the fall and the spring, students get to replace the company dancers for a night at Lincoln Center, a test of our mettle. A taste of our future.
That piece of paper basically sums up your worth in our school, the American Ballet Company feeder academy. And I’m worth a lot. Alec and I hold hands and I can’t contain my smile. In just a few moments, my name is going to be on the wall next to the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy, and the rest of my life can finally begin.
I saw my older sister, Adele, dance the role six years ago, when I was cast in the part of a cherub and bouncing around in gold wings and my mother’s lipstick. Back then, the anticipation wasn’t the best part. Back then, the best part was the heat of the lights on my skin and the presence of the audience before us, and dancing in perfect time with my little ballet girlfriends. The best part was the scratchy tights and the sweet metallic smell of hair spray and the sparkling tiara pinned into my baby-fine hair. The glitter dusted onto my cheeks. The best part was the hole of nervousness in my stomach before getting onstage and the rush of joy after we pranced off. The best part was bouquets of flowers and kisses on both cheeks from my mother and my father lifting me in the air and calling me a princess.
Back then, it was all the best part.
The school’s front doors are closed and locked. Mr. K’s speech is that important. I glance over my shoulder through the big lobby windows and see a few people with red noses, bundled up to fight the October air. They’re stuck on the stairs and in the Rose Abney Plaza, named after my grandmother. That door won’t open again until he’s finished. They’ll just have to freeze.
Mr. K rubs his well-groomed beard, and I know he’s ready to start. I know these little things about him, thanks to Adele, a company soloist. I straighten up a bit more and wrap my hand around Alec’s neck, tickling the place where his buzzed blond hair meets his skin. He grins, too, both of us perfectly poised to finally take our places as the leads in the winter ballet.
“This is it,” I whisper in his ear. He smiles back and kisses my forehead. He’s flushed with excitement, too, and I just know that from here on out I will love everything about ballet again. Both of our auditions went well. I remember how ridiculously happy Adele looked when she was dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy, and how the role got her plucked straight out of the school and given a spot in the company, and I just dream of feeling that full. There’s no one standing in my way. Even Liz is struggling a little bit this year. And no one else can do what I can.
I drop my hand down to his and squeeze Alec a little tighter. Alec’s best friend—my ex-friend—Will glares at me. Jealous.
Parents and siblings grow quiet, standing behind the expanse of black leotards.
“Casting each of you in The Nutcracker isn’t just an exercise in technique,” Mr. K begins. Our ballet master speaks slowly, like he’s just deciding on the words right now, even though he gives some version of this speech every year. Yet I cling to every word as if I’ve never heard it before. Mr. K is the single most deliberate human being I’ve ever met. He makes eye contact with me, and I know my fate is cemented in that quick connection. That look my way is purposeful. It has to be. I bow my head a bit with respect, but can’t stop the edges of my mouth from doing their own little upward pull.