You're So Sweet

by Charis Marsh

  “What? I have a cold,” said Tristan. “Where would you rather I put my Kleenex? Or would you like me to have snot flying out my nose during pirouettes?”

  “Oh, do you have a coke problem?” asked Alexandra, starting to giggle again.

  “Huh?” asked Tristan, confused.

  “Gelsey Kirkland, in her autobiography,” Alexandra explained. “It’s one of my favourite dance biographies. It’s called Dancing on My Grave.”

  “Nice,” snorted Tristan. Alexandra ignored him.

  “Anyway, she writes about how snot used to fly out of her nose when she did fouettes and stuff on stage after she started doing coke.”

  “Didn’t anyone notice?” asked Tristan in disbelief.

  “Apparently not,” said Alexandra, shrugging. “They just said she was getting better all the time. They only started to do something about it when she started missing class and performances and stuff.”

  “Typical,” said Tristan, shaking his head. “People are so stupid. Can you loan me that book sometime?”

  “Sure,” said Alexandra. “What time is it?”

  Tristan looked at his cellphone. “Time for class.”

  Alexandra stretched out her legs and arms like a starfish, yawning. She didn’t want to get up off the floor: her body was so flexible and warm that it melted on the hard rubber ground. The first warm day of the year. She got up in one rush of motion and grabbed her bag. “Let’s go then.” They walked to the elevator and got on, the first students to leave. Alexandra punched the button and leaned back on the elevator wall as they began their descent to the bottom floor. “How’s Deer?”

  “What?”

  “Your Julian. He’s been out of it all week, I figured you’d know what was going on with him.”

  “How should I know? He doesn’t tell anyone anything. And he’s not my Julian.”

  “Why are you mad at him?”

  “I’m not mad at him!”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “How come you called him dear?”

  “D-E-E-R.” Alexandra spelled out the word. “Because he looks like one if you confuse him, and I think that should be his new nickname. I asked him what summer schools he was auditioning for yesterday and he just stood there looking blank.” They got off the elevator and walked toward the studio, passing dancers from a contemporary company that rehearsed upstairs.

  “Yeah, I don’t really know what is up with him. I asked him if he wanted to go to auditions with me, and he was just acting really weird.” Tristan pushed open the door and walked inside the large studio. They put their bags down in the middle-front of the room and carried a centre barre out to use. Alexandra began to develope a la seconde and held it. “That’s a lot higher,” Tristan commented admiringly.

  Alexandra smiled. “Thanks.” She looked in the mirror — she still wasn’t strong enough, and her extensions weren’t high enough. They were higher, and if she just kicked them up, she could get the height she wanted: but she wasn’t strong enough at that height to develope her legs properly; not without cheating.

  The other students began to run in, too late to get the best spots as usual, as Alexandra and Tristan had already taken them. In a few minutes the studio was full of ballet students, from the academy and other schools around B.C.

  Looking at the clock, Alexandra saw that Theresa was a bit late. She hung her back down over the barre to stretch it out, watching the dancers around her as she did so. Two barres down, Kaitlyn was laughing with one of the girls from her old school. Alexandra frowned. She really hoped that Kaitlyn wouldn’t get Swanhilda for June show. Otherwise she would just be even more insufferable. This morning she had been telling Michael and Chloe about the time that she had played Clara at only ten years old. Alexandra had wanted to interrupt to point out that the reason she had played Clara was that she had danced at a recreational school and was pretty much the only good dancer at the school.

  Theresa walked in, setting her many bags at the front of the classroom. Alexandra saw her look over and smile at Julian and Taylor. She frowned: what was that about? Did they know Theresa already somehow? She took out her Thera-Band and began to stretch her leg extensions with it.

  Theresa walked to the front of the room and clapped her hands together for class to start. “Good morning everyone!” she said excitedly. “Shall we begin?” She began to give them a plie exercise, but it was obvious that her attention was elsewhere. She stopped in front of Taylor and ran her finger along her leg as Taylor tendued to the side. “There. This is simply beautiful. Gorgeous, my darling, this is a lovely line.”

  The pianist seemed to be hitting the keys a little harder than usual and Alexandra could feel herself snapping all her movements in response, making them jerky and awkward instead of fluid and elastic. “Let’s do something a little different today with the music,” Theresa said suddenly, wincing at the closing notes of the tendue exercise. “Mary, do you think you could play some Christmas music?”

  “It’s April,” Alexandra whispered to Tristan.

  Tristan shrugged. “That is irrelevant,” he whispered back. “I want some Christmas music.”

  Theresa walked over to the piano and began humming “Deck the Halls.”

  “Oh!” Theresa gave a start of surprise as some of the ladies of the Vancouver Ballet Society came in to watch. She hadn’t yet gotten used to them dropping in to view classes. “We are just about to listen to some lovely Christmas music!”

  They smiled politely as Mary began to play, hitting the keys even harder. Theresa began to choreograph a frappe exercise to the carol, and the class marked along with her. Alexandra smiled: there was something about the discordant combination of sun pouring through the windows and Christmas music being thumped out of a piano that made her very happy. Theresa came over to her and grabbed her leg, jerking it in and out while holding her knee at a solidly turned-out angle. She let go and Alexandra attempted to mimic what Theresa’s hand had forced her to do, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

  “Almost,” Theresa assured her. Alexandra smiled at her, grateful to receive some positive corrections, but almost immediately Theresa moved on to work with Julian. “Much better,” she gushed. Alexandra frowned and her smile dropped as she began to work harder.

  As she worked, she looked in the mirror in front of her, shooting glances throughout the exercise with her eyes as her head moved with her arm the way it was supposed to. Nothing was good enough yet. Not for competition, not for getting a position with a company. Her arches weren’t strong enough yet; she couldn’t consistently roll through smoothly; her arms were awkward when she was nervous; and her legs, although flexible, were nowhere near strong enough. Let alone the right size. Her thighs still looked huge. She looked across at Taylor, and bit her lip. It didn’t matter that Taylor was messing up the exercise every few seconds, or that she had sloppy technique, Theresa would still correct her because she had a good body type. Leonie Camden had had a good body type. What is wrong with you, Alexandra? She asked herself between grand battements. I need to get better. I need to lose weight. I need to be skinnier than Taylor, and stronger than Kaitlyn, and they are both younger than me. With every goal she set she grand battemented a little higher and more violently, and on the last one she got stuck up in the air, nearly throwing out her back and coming down a count late.

  “Easy, careful!” said Theresa, appearing behind her and patting her on the shoulder with a bony hand. She jabbed her finger in Alexandra’s stomach. “You have to work on this being stronger, your back is very loose and it needs to be supported.”

  Alexandra nodded and wiped away the sweat that was dripping down her forehead.

  Alexandra didn’t bother changing out of her wet dance clothes, instead slipping a dress overtop of her tights and bodysuit and slipping on her leather boots. She could feel the sweat from her bodysuit seeping through to the fabric of her dress. Grooosss …

  “You’re in a hurry,” Grace commented, leisurely brushing
out her thick light brown hair in front of the change-room mirror.

  Alexandra looked up from tying her boots. “Yeah. Tristan and I have a private with Mr. Demidovski.”

  “Oh. Yeah, you’re doing all those competitions, right?” Grace looked condescending. “I guess that makes sense, for you.”

  Alexandra stopped in the middle of picking up her bag. “What do you mean, ‘for me’?”

  “Well, it’s like going to be hard for you to get a job, right? You’re going to need like a reeaaallly good resume, with lots of medals and stuff.”

  “Uh, everyone does. That’s kinda how you get a visa.”

  “Well, not everyone,” said Grace delicately. She smiled at Alexandra through the mirror as she rummaged through her makeup bag. “I mean, I don’t do competitions, and the Demidovskis never told me that I should do them.”

  Alexandra stared at her, disbelieving. “They never told you to do them because you suck at competitions!”

  Anna came out of a stall, her eyes wide. “Wow. Defensive much?”

  Grace’s eyes began to tear up. “I can’t believe you said that to me,” she sniffled. Anna passed her a wad of toilet paper.

  “God, Alexandra, you are such a bitch!”

  Alexandra stared at the tableau in front of her. No words came to her rescue. “You know what — just — I don’t even know. I have to get to my private. Because I work at dance? Instead of just resting on being a favourite?” she finished angrily, walking out of the bathroom and swinging her bag onto her back. The door was the heavy kind that takes a while to close and closes with a slow wheeze when it does, so Alexandra didn’t even get the satisfaction of slamming it. Instead, she ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator in order to stomp down the cement steps. It made her feel slightly better, and as she walked out the front doors she said, “Bye!” to the receptionist.

  She pushed open the big glass doors and took a deep breath in. Fresh air was so much better after leaving a sweaty studio. The sunshine was misleading, as it was still cold outside, and the wind was swirling everything upwards. A newspaper was drifting lazily across the street, and Alexandra turned sharply around to walk to the bus stop. “Agh! Omigod, sorry!” Alexandra had accidentally run straight into Theresa. She stepped backwards, her eyes wide with the horror of it. “I’m so sorry!”

  Theresa laughed. She looked more amused than angry. “That’s fine.”

  “Um, see you tomorrow in class. Thank you. Geez. Sorry.” Alexandra continued on her way, her face red and her steps stiff as she tried to regain her dignity. To make matters worse, it appeared that Theresa was also going that way.

  “Are you walking to the bus stop?” Theresa asked brightly.

  “Yeah,” said Alexandra, falling back to match Theresa’s pace.

  “Which way are you going?”

  Alexandra pointed. “I’m going to my normal school to have a private,” she explained.

  “Oh? Which school is that?”

  “The Vancouver International Ballet Academy? But everyone just calls it the academy. People who know it, I mean. It’s a super-long name, like nobody calls it that but the Demidovskis, because they named it that —” Alexandra stopped talking, realizing that she was babbling.

  Theresa smiled calmly. “Yes, I know the academy,” she said. “I admire some of their training — not all of their methods, but they have produced some very good dancers. I’m going there myself.”

  “What, really?” Alexandra said. As soon as she had spoken she realized that she had sounded rude, and so she added: “That’s nice, it’s really a very nice school.” She wanted very badly to ask why Theresa was visiting the academy, but she thought that would probably be rude, and so she forced herself not to.

  The bus pulled up to the stop, and Theresa and Alexandra got on. Alexandra walked behind Theresa, unsure what she was supposed to do. Should she sit next to Theresa? Or would Theresa not want her to? Theresa sat down on one of the benches, and seeing Alexandra start to head toward the back of the bus, she patted the seat beside her, saying: “You can sit next to me. I really don’t take up that much room, you know.”

  Alexandra sat. Carefully. She set her bag down in her lap slowly, being careful not to hit Theresa with it. Alexandra had never sat on a bus with posture that good in her entire life.

  “Do you know the two students in your class, Julian and Taylor?” Theresa asked casually as the bus pulled away from the stop. “Are they in your class at the academy?”

  “Uh, yes,” said Alexandra, glad of something to talk about. “Julian Reese and Taylor Audley, they’re in my class … my class has several levels in it. It’s not that big of a school.”

  “How old are they?” Theresa asked, staring at Alexandra intently.

  “Well, um, Taylor’s just turned fifteen, I think, and Julian’s my age, so like, fifteen turning sixteen?”

  “That’s good,” said Theresa, nodding approvingly. “That’s a very good age.”

  Alexandra sat there, a bit confused and a bit hurt that Theresa had asked about Julian and Taylor. “Uh, yeah.” The bus pulled up in front of the academy and Alexandra got up, stepping backwards so that Theresa could exit first and then following her up to the school.

  The academy had once been a church, then had been a community centre, and had finally been bought by the Demidovskis. It was an impressive building, with a stone exterior and wood inside, and the entryway had a beautiful stained-glass picture of a female dancer kneeling under a tree to put on her pointe shoes and a male ballet dancer standing behind her holding on to the tree. Alexandra loved the academy’s building, but she rarely looked at it from the outside. The inside was falling apart, with plumbing that was always broken and a roof that constantly dripped so it was easy to forget the beauty amid the daily annoyance. But walking up to the school, Alexandra saw it as Theresa must be seeing it, as the beautiful old building that it was, and she felt proud.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Theresa whispered, standing to admire the doorway before she walked in. Alexandra smiled. Inside there was an onslaught of noise, with little kids running around everywhere, and mothers standing around awkwardly taking up space.

  “The little kids always have extra festival practice during spring break,” Alexandra said, shrugging.

  “Which way is the office?”

  Alexandra pointed at the door through the maze of pink bodysuits and sparkle-clothed children. Theresa made her way in that direction, and Alexandra continued down the hall toward the change rooms. She wondered why on earth Theresa wanted to stop by the academy. Oh! She probably knows the Demidovskis, she decided suddenly. With that she hurried into the change rooms, stuffing her bag and clothes in her locker and pulling out a pair of pointe shoes, her toe tape, and her CD. She hurried upstairs again to put on her pointe shoes. It felt like there was absolutely nowhere to sit, and she found herself huddled in the corner as she taped her toes. Ugh. All the sweat on her body had gone cold and there was no time to change her bodysuit. She tried to warm her feet up quickly, and then looked at the clock again: it was time. She headed upstairs to the top studios where her private had been scheduled. Her stomach felt weird, like it was turning in and out and around, and when she sucked it in, it felt too full, so she went into the upstairs bathroom and locked the door behind her. The toilet was old, and chipped in places. She quickly threw up the remains of her tomato soup. There. That was better. When she held her hands around her waist the space between her hands was the one she was used to. She flushed the toilet, which looked quite disgusting with the red soup against the white bowl, and took a deep breath in. The water she washed her mouth and hands with was cold, and it felt good against her hot face. She left the bathroom and walked back to the studio, feeling a little better.

  Tristan was already stretching at the doorway. He looked up, surprised. “You’re almost late,” he commented.

  “I had to take the bus. But what are doing here?”

  “Mr. Demidovski change
d your private with Mr. Yu to a private for both of us with him,” Tristan explained. “Mr. Yu’s not feeling well.”

  The door opened and Mrs. Castillo came out, ushering out a scared-looking nine-year-old girl. Her mother was waiting in one of the chairs and quickly stood up.

  “What are you feeding her?” Mrs. Castillo asked abruptly, her hand on the little girl’s shoulder.

  The mother looked confused.

  “For example, lunch. What do you pack her for lunch?” Mrs. Castillo asked the woman impatiently.

  “Um, a sandwich, and yogurt, and —”

  “What is in the sandwich? Peanut butter?” Mrs. Castillo pressed her hand against the girl’s stomach and gestured impatiently for her mother to come over. “See? I press, and in. Mushy, mushy. The other girls in her class, they do not have this problem. See the good ones, see Violet, in her class or Chloe, a bit older, but still slimmer than her.” Mrs. Castillo pushed the girl’s stomach in once more. “You see?”

  The girl’s mother looked like she was about to cry. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

  “I will talk to you about what she should eat,” Mrs. Castillo said firmly.

  Alexandra and Tristan slipped into the studio. It was five minutes after the time their private should have started. “Do you have the music?” Alexandra asked. “I only have the music for my variation.”

  “Yeah, course,” Tristan shrugged. He walked over and put it in the CD player. “Want to run through it once before Mr. Demidovski comes?”

  “Sure.” Alexandra stood up, testing out her ankle. It was still extremely weak — it had been bothering her for a while, but she kept hoping it would get better. It would be completely fine, but then sometimes she would step on pointe and it would just give out under her, or sharp jabbing pains, warm like electricity, would shoot up from her foot.

  Tristan turned to her before he put the CD in. “Hey,” he began nervously. “Lexi, I was wondering, do you want to go shopping with me after class tomorrow? Julian’s birthday is coming up and I wanted to get him a present.”