by Charis Marsh
“Good job,” Theresa said as he finished.
“Thanks,” he panted. The solo was short but exhausting. He pulled his wet shirt away from his skin and shook it to let in some of the moist warm studio air.
“Julian,” Theresa said slowly. “You really do have something special, you know that, right? Other dancers, they might have stronger technique, or more tricks, but you have the heart. That is your strength. Don’t ever forget to use that. Remember why you dance.”
Julian nodded. For some reason he felt uncomfortable about Theresa praising him in front of Charlize. Charlize had started swinging her leather-clad foot in an annoyed manner. Up, and down ...
“What do you think?” Theresa asked, turning around fast enough to catch Charlize yawning.
“Oh, it looks good,” Charlize said. “How is their pas de deux coming along?”
“Very good,” Theresa said. “They’re definitely improving. Now, do you want to see anything else? Because I feel that I can really coach them best with some privacy.”
“Well, I would like to see my daughter dance,” Charlize said pointedly. “This is a shared private, right?”
“Fine, of course, of course, Taylor, dear, come and do your solo.”
Taylor nodded, walking away from the wall and toward the corner. She was doing Kitri’s variation from Act 1.
“Now, remember, Taylor, it’s about the flavour,” Theresa said nervously. “Kitri has attitude, she has fire. Okay?”
Taylor nodded, biting her lip. She was obviously nervous to do her solo. Which makes sense, Julian thought. In the last three privates she’d had with Theresa, Theresa hadn’t rehearsed Taylor’s solo once, opting to work on their pas de deux and Julian’s solo instead. I wonder if Taylor tattled to her mom? I bet she did, that’s probably why Charlize came to watch today.
She began her solo a bit late, and Theresa stopped the music. “Again,” she said. “Take a breath, dear.”
Taylor nodded, and took a melodramatically big breath, puffing out her cheeks and then letting the air out in a shuddering gasp. She shook out her arms and legs and then stepped into position once more. “Okay, I’m ready now.”
“Okay.” Theresa pushed Play again, and this time Taylor was on time until about halfway through the solo, at which point she got behind, and then in trying to catch up, got ahead.
Taylor finished in a giggling mess. “Oops,” she said. Theresa looked utterly unimpressed. Charlize looked upset.
“We have mostly been working on their pas de deux,” Theresa explained, turning to Charlize. “Apparently she hasn’t been improving with her own practice — Taylor, have you been practising at home?”
Taylor nodded. Charlize swung her foot violently, and the motion forced Theresa to look over at her. “But I’m not paying you so that she can practice at home,” Charlize said sweetly. “Taylor needs to know what she has to work on. That’s why we come to you.”
“Of course,” Theresa said, getting flustered and annoyed. “But we need to rehearse everything.”
“Including her solo.”
“Of course, of course. Now that we know it needs work we can spend more time on it next week.”
“Next week is very close to competition time — maybe you could give her something to work on now?”
“Yes, yes, let me see,” Theresa twisted her hands, nervous and put on the spot. “Julian, what do you think she should work on? You’re good at critiquing others.”
Julian started. He’d been zoning out. “What?” What, she wants me to correct Taylor? Oh geez, this is going to make Charlize furious … “Um, maybe you could work on your timing, Taylor? And control the landings of your jumps more?”
Taylor nodded, not listening. She was busy looking at her mother, who would have had steam and shooting fire around her head if she had been a cartoon character.
Theresa looked at the clock. “Oh, look, it’s time!”
“Do you mind if I talk to you a minute?” Charlize asked, standing up.
“Of course,” Theresa agreed, clearly meaning anything but. “I have a meeting, though, so it will have to be quick.”
“Go get changed,” Charlize ordered Taylor and Julian. They obeyed, walking out of the room as slowly as they could, hoping to hear something.
“I am not paying for privates so that my daughter can watch Julian rehearse —” Charlize said as Taylor closed the door behind them.
Julian was worried as they went downstairs. “I hope your mom isn’t mean to Theresa,” he said.
“My mom isn’t mean!”
“I know, it’s just Theresa didn’t mean anything by not rehearsing your solos. She’s just been busy working on our pas de deux.”
Taylor didn’t comment.
“What? You don’t think she meant anything by it, do you?”
Taylor shrugged. “Do you have your hotel booked?”
“Yeah. Me and Tristan are going to be sharing a room. You staying with your mother?”
“Yeah. Should be so much fun.” Taylor sighed. “She is so annoying to travel with. Are your parents coming?”
“No.”
“Did you ask them to?”
“No, they know when it is, but I don’t really care if they come or not, so I just didn’t ask them. It’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah. I wish I could make my mom stay home and not watch. That would be cool.”
“Your mom’s nice. She really cares about the stuff you do.”
“I’d rather have cool parents like yours. They let you do whatever you want! Me, if I’m like half an hour late I get in so much trouble, and you could probably disappear for weeks and your parents wouldn’t care.”
Julian shrugged. “Yeah, but then again, they also don’t drive me everywhere, and plan my life for me, and help me with my homework.”
“I’d still take your parents over my mom any day. My dad’s cool, but my mom’s so annoying. She just doesn’t get that it’s my life.”
“Is your dad coming?” Julian asked to change the subject. “He lives in the States, right?”
“Yeah, he lives in L.A., but he can’t come — he has a business trip.”
“Oh.” Julian bit his lip. Taylor really liked her dad and thought he was super cool — he was a talent agent in California, and she talked about everything he did like he was perfect, but Julian thought he sounded like a bit of a douche. He also didn’t seem to care nearly as much about Taylor as she thought he did. When she had told him that she was considering dropping out of school, he had told her to follow her heart, which Taylor had taken to mean that he was supportive, but Julian thought that it more showed that he just really didn’t care. Charlize seemed nuts at times, but she also seemed to genuinely care about what Taylor did and was always trying to force her to do things that she thought would help her.
“Julian!” Julian turned around. Cromwell Gilly was waving at him from the door of the change room.
“Hey.” He walked over. “What’s up?’”
“I found a different costume for you to wear for your variation,” he said excitedly. “Come here.”
Julian followed Cromwell Gilly into the costume room. It was protected by a large fire-resistant door, and resembled a dungeon, if there was a type of dungeon that had walls lined with ancient, sweaty-smelling tutus and fake flowers. Julian picked up a fairy wand and began rapping the shelves with it as he passed them by. He always felt a bit nervous walking in this place; it was cramped and underground, so it had no windows, and it reminded Julian of an Edgar Allen Poe story he had read when he was a kid. He couldn’t really remember the names of the characters or anything had happened, he just remembered that some guy had accidentally walled himself up in a dungeon while trying to wall another man up. Julian shivered.
“Stop that,” Cromwell Gilly said, annoyed. He walked backwards and snatched the wand out of Julian’s hand. “Come on. Don’t touch anything.”
They got to the back of the costume room, and Cromwell Gilly
took down a hanger. “Here. Try this on.”
Julian pulled the loose Arabian pants over his ballet shorts. The top elastic bit actually fit his hips, and the legs were the right length. “Cool! This fits so much better, Cromwell Gilly!”
“Good,” Cromwell Gilly muttered, stepping back to look at it. “Yes it looks much better. Move about a bit.”
Julian jumped up and down and flung his arms and legs about.
“Stop! Okay. Good. Now, try this on —” Cromwell Gilly handed him a matching vest.
Julian tried to pull it on. “It doesn’t fit.”
“That’s because you haven’t undone the hooks,” Cromwell Gilly said with a sigh. Julian took the vest off his head and handed it over to Cromwell Gilly, who undid it and then handed it back to him.
“Now it does,” Julian said, raising his arms as Cromwell Gilly did up the hooks for him. “It totally fits.”
Cromwell Gilly laughed. “You idiot. Okay, I know it will work now, so take it off before you do something stupid and destroy it.”
Julian took it off. “Did you just find it?” he asked. The costume that he had worn for festival had been the only one that Cromwell Gilly could find that remotely fit him.
“No,” Cromwell Gilly said, delicately putting the costume back on its hanger. “Andrew Lui’s mother just donated a bunch of costumes.”
“What? I’m actually wearing one of Andrew Lui’s old costumes?” Julian said excitedly.
“Yes.” Cromwell Gilly smirked. “Go upstairs. To the landing by Studio A.”
“Why?”
“Go look. There’s a picture that you should see.”
Julian frowned, confused. “What?” He ran out of the costume room and up the stairs, making a racket on the way up. He stopped at the landing, spinning around on his heel as he tried to see what Cromwell Gilly wanted him to see. Pictures. He walked around, looking at each one in turn as he tried to look for something that made sense. There was an old black-and-white of the Demidovskis dancing together when they were young, a signed poster from Vancouver Ballet, a recent picture of Leonie Camden alongside an article telling of her promotion to soloist, and oh! Julian looked closer at a photo of Andrew Lui in a jeté. Those are totally the same pants! Julian ran downstairs. “Thanks, Cromwell Gilly!” he called from the doorway of the costume room, not wanting to enter again. “I saw the picture! So cool!”
“Mmm,” Cromwell replied from somewhere in the depths of the costume room. Julian left, running upstairs to get a space at barre. He could hear the increase in noise upstairs that meant that class was about to start.
After class, Julian sat down on the bench in the boys’ change room, too exhausted to move. He wished that he could apparate home. He didn’t want to get up and put on his clothes and go outside and wait for the bus in the cold, and get off and then walk another four blocks until he was finally home. He let his head hang down and his eyes close for a minute. He yawned. The cold front of his locker felt good against his back, which was loose and warm from the day’s dancing.
“Julian.”
“What?” Julian complained, opening his eyes slightly.
“Wake up.”
“No.”
“Okay, fine then, go to sleep here, I don’t care.” Tristan walked off, whistling the music to his Sleeping Beauty variation as he went to get changed.
Julian groaned and unhappily got up, pulling his jeans over his shorts because he was too tired to get fully changed. He fell back down to the bench again to put on his shoes.
“How’s your contemporary pas going?” Tristan called from the sinks.
“Good,” Julian answered.
“Who are you getting to coach it again?”
Julian pretended he didn’t hear.
“Julian?”
“What? I’m going home now, see you tomorrow, ’kay?”
“’Kay.”
Julian walked upstairs and down the hall. He could feel something hurt on his inner thigh; he had probably pulled it during class when Mr. Moretti had grabbed his leg and pushed it up toward his head.
“Julian,” Taylor called. She was standing at the entranceway, still in her dance clothes.
“See ya,” Julian called, waving.
“No, come here,” she called. Julian fought the urge to run for the side door, mostly because he was too sore to run, and walked slowly over to her. “What?”
“Want to go upstairs and rehearse? We haven’t gotten to do our contemporary pas together at all this week.”
“Um —” Julian ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t really have a choice, it had to be done. “Okay.” He followed Taylor upstairs, and took off his jeans and socks. At least he didn’t have to go downstairs to get his ballet shoes. Taylor put the music into the player and pushed play. Julian massaged his leg, an expression of pain on his face. “Ow, ow, ow …” The music, “Sail,” by Awolnation, started to play, and Julian straightened up.
Charlize walked in. “Hey guys. Working hard?”
“We just started, Mom,” Taylor said, annoyed. “Can you please push Play for us?”
“Okay.” Charlize walked over, her heels making a clicking sound on the floor. Taylor walked over to the side of the stage with Julian. “Now?”
“Yes.” The piece was highly energetic and dramatic, which suited them normally, but at the moment they were both so tired that they barely got through it. Charlize watched them with a frown. “Why don’t you guys just work on pieces of it, instead?” she asked. “Like that penche you have at the end, Taylor, it’s not quite reaching 180 degrees. Can you make it straighter?”
“Yes,” Taylor said indignantly. She went into the penche and straightened up.
“It’s not there yet,” Charlize informed her. “It has to be higher.”
Taylor pushed upward with her chest, held her supporting leg’s hamstring until it felt like it was on fire, and pulled her working leg up farther with her back, butt, and leg.
“There, that was it, Taylor,” Charlize said enthusiastically. “Julian, maybe you should work on that attitude turn you have? It isn’t quite as steady as it probably should be.”
Julian nodded and started to work on it. Funnily enough, his turns got better when he was tired … he went around and around, his mind clearing of everything except for the pleasant feeling of turning into a human top.
After Charlize dropped Julian off at home, he went straight to the kitchen. His dinner was waiting for him on the table, and he sat down, eating it as fast as possible. He squirted some dish soap on the plate, ran some water over it, and sort of cleaned it off with the dish cloth, then stuffed it on the drying rack. He went into his room and collapsed on his bed, summoning just enough energy to take off his clothes, turn off his light, and crawl into bed. Teeth? Crap. No teeth. As he lay there under his covers, he felt a strange sort of peace. It was pleasant to be this tired, to know that he had done all that he should for the day. Oh! Noooo … he moaned and rolled over, burying his head in the blissful blackness of his pillow. He’d forgotten to do his homework for math class. I’ll do it in the morning, he told himself, reaching out and setting his alarm for half an hour earlier than normal.
Chapter Twelve
Alexandra Dunstan
Caaaaaaallllifornia!!! Mom can’t stop playing the Beach Boys <3
There are a few things that some people plunge into with glee, which others view with abject horror. Some might find the idea of performing solo in front of a somewhat large audience undesirable, and avoid it at all costs. Add on to that scenario a situation where afterward you are judged on said performance, and most will have fled. Alexandra was not of their number. Alexandra was of the 1 percent, the percentage that lived for the stage and loved nothing better than squashing the hopes and dreams of others by proving that she was more worthy than they. So it was only natural that Alexandra was practically skipping as she danced through her house making sure that she had left nothing behind. It was nothing to her that it was 6:00
a.m.; she was wide awake and ready.
Justin was not so thrilled. Having been entrusted with the task of taking his mother and sister to the airport and was currently in the awkward position of trying to sleep on the small kitchen island as they gathered their stuff. “Are you ready yet?” he asked. Or, rather, moaned.
“Justin!” Alexandra shouted. “It’s time to go!” Her sympathies did not extend far, and quite excluded her brother; therefore, the idea that the decibel level required to express her excitement might make her brother momentarily hate her did not cross her mind. Her mind was happy, in the blissful state that comes when someone is about to illustrate why they deserve a place on this earth. Existential angst was a disease that frequently troubled Alexandra, but YAGP had put this disease in remission. They went to the car and Justin turned the heat up full blast.
“Alexandra.”
“Yes?” Alexandra turned to her mother.
“You are going to do beautifully. I can feel it.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I don’t tell you enough, but you really do make me and your father proud.”
Alexandra was not sure what to say. The words coming out of her mother’s mouth were the polar opposite to the opinions she had been expressing in the last couple of weeks. At the wheel, Justin appeared to be thinking the same thing; and he snorted. Snorting he could do at this hour.
Julian was barely awake as he followed Tristan up to the gate and set his suitcase on the conveyor belt. U.S. security guards never failed to make him nervous. In fact, the United States in general never failed to make him nervous. He thought of the things that his parents and their friends babbled about, lack of freedoms and overreactions, and he smoothed his hair back with a sweaty palm.
