Third Position

by Melody Grace

  Raphael gives me a dizzying grin. He lifts me suddenly, spinning me around. “Tonight then,” he tells me, setting me back down with a gentle kiss on my forehead.

  It’s not enough. I tug his shirt, bringing his lips down hard against mine. I savor the kiss for as long as possible, trying to freeze this moment of excitement, possibility.

  But finally, I have to pull away. “I’ll text you when it’s safe to come over. I can buzz you in the front,” I tell him, backing reluctantly to the door. I’ve been gone too long already. Someone—probably Lucia—will have noticed I’m AWOL by now.

  “Until then.” Raphael presses a kiss to my palm. His lips curve in a secret smile. “I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

  His words make my pulse skip as I turn and hurry back down the hallway to our rehearsal room. I don’t know how I’ll manage to dance my turns with my head spinning like this, but knowing I’ll see him soon will make the afternoon practice that much sweeter.

  Soon.

  Soon, I’ll dance with him again.

  3.

  I nervously go through the motions with Mom at the apartment all evening. I push steamed vegetables around my plate, sit through the taped performances she makes me watch, and don’t even argue when she picks apart my turnout in rehearsal today.

  But all the while, a rebellious voice inside me is watching the clock. Waiting to make my move.

  The moment it hits nine o’clock, I fake a yawn. “You know, I’m really worn out from practicing,” I tell her, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to turn in now.”

  She nods approvingly. “Sleep is important, your muscles need time to recover.” She flips through the TV channels, scanning for something to watch.

  “You’re not going to bed?” I ask, fighting to sound casual.

  “Jet-lag,” she sighs. “My body-clock is still upside down. Some nights I’m asleep at eight, the next, it’s two AM. I have my Ambien but I hate relying on them.”

  “Oh.” I hover in the doorway. “Mademoiselle Ninette was complaining about that too,” I add. “She said it’s better to take a sleeping pill and force your body to reset to local time. Otherwise, the jet-lag could last weeks.”

  I feel a flash of guilt. It’s true, Mademoiselle told us all to get on a strict sleep schedule, but I still feel bad for deceiving Mom like this.

  She looks over at me, then nods in agreement. “You know, you’re right.” Mom shuts off the TV and gets up. “I want to be up early to take you through a workout,” she adds, heading to her bedroom. “Your stamina is still behind. A true athlete never stops training.”

  My guilt melts away.

  I go to my room and slide under the covers, still dressed in my loose pajama bottoms and a tank top. I’ve decided to meet Raphael in these clothes, so it’s easier to run back downstairs and cover if anything goes wrong. I feel like a kid the night before Christmas, waiting for the coast to clear.

  I lay there in the dark, my heart racing. Already, I can picture him, my mind flooded with memories of the last time we were together. His mouth sliding over my breast; his fingers working their magic between my thighs. And his tongue, God, his tongue. My cheeks flush hotter, and I feel the low coil of desire begin to build.

  My hands move lower, stroking over my hot skin. When I close my eyes, I see him staring back at me: the fevered lust in his gaze, looking at me the way no one else has.

  Like I’m special. Sexy. Powerful.

  He says I have a hold on him, but the truth is, it’s me who’s under his spell. He’s shown me a pleasure I never dreamed was possible, and awoke something deep inside me. Now I know, there’s no going back.

  All I want is more.

  Finally, I can’t wait any longer. I creep out of bed and down the hallway. I push Mom’s door ajar and peek inside.

  “Mom?” I whisper, holding my breath.

  She’s asleep.

  I tip-toe back to the living room and pull my phone from my bag.

  All clear, I text.

  A moment later, the reply comes. I’m here.

  I go to the security panel and check the video screen. Raphael is at the door. I buzz him in, and then grab a sweater and head for the door. I close it silently behind me, and hurry to meet him on the stairs.

  “She’s asleep?” Raphael asks, greeting me with a kiss.

  I nod. “We should be fine for a few hours.”

  His lips curve in a devastating smile. “But a few hours will never be enough.” His hands slide around my waist. He nudges me back against the wall and dips his head to kiss along my neck. Electricity ricochets through me, and I sink back, already shivering under his lips. We’re alone in the stairway, and already I just want to push him against the wall, or sneak back to my room and make those hours count the best way I can think of.

  But his audition is in two days, and I know this means the world to him.

  “Come on,” I say, reluctantly pulling back. I take his hand, and give him a stern look. “Play later. Now, we’ve got work to do.”

  “Is that a promise?” Raphael laughs.

  “Maybe…”

  “Well,” he murmurs, leaning in for one last kiss. “You can count on me collecting.”

  He follows me up the spiral staircase higher, past another floor of apartments, until finally we reach the exit to the roof. I push open the door, stepping out onto the flat space. I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn’t have a chance to check it out earlier, and I wasn’t sure if it would suit, but the wide expanse of space is perfect.

  And the view of the city lights is spectacular.

  “Did you bring music?” I ask, turning back to Raphael. “We can’t play it loudly in case someone hears, but it would help me keep time.”

  “Right here.” Raphael sets up his phone, and the familiar chords of his audition piece begin to play. I pause, letting the music wash over me as I try to leave Annalise Taylor the ballerina behind, and inhabit my new role. Strong. Powerful. Sensuous.

  Raphael takes my hand, and we begin.

  We practice for hours, until dawn light streaks the sky and we can’t dance another step. I collapse on the low wall at the edge of the roof, looking out as the city slowly comes to life below us.

  I can’t help thinking of the millions of people down there, living lives I’ve never imagined.

  “Do you ever think about quitting?” I ask quietly. The moment the words leave my lips, I flush, like I’ve betrayed myself even asking. The other dancers at the Company would think my question was weakness, a sign I’m not cut out for it. And God forbid my mother ever heard those words.

  But Raphael doesn’t seem to judge me, he just looks out at the city and sighs.

  “I used to,” he admits. “Back when I told my parents I wanted to dance professionally, it caused them so much grief. My father didn’t think it was respectable,” he explains, his voice heavy with regret. “But my mother, it was worse for her, I think. She wondered how I would support a family, settle down the way she always dreamed for me. I hated disappointing them, and part of me wondered if it would just be easier if I gave it up. Trained to be a lawyer, or a businessman like they wanted. Make everyone happier.”

  “So why didn’t you?” I ask. I know Mom has been strict my whole life, but I can’t imagine having gotten this far on my own, without her support and encouragement.

  He chuckles. “Because dance is air to me. Water. Light. I could no more give it up than you could.”

  I pause. “I don’t know about that.” I look down, toying with the strap on my shoes. “Sometimes I wonder… what else could I be? Who else could I be? I’ve spent my entire life training to be this perfect ballerina, just doing this one thing, all day, every day, reaching for a goal I never seem to get any closer to. What if there’s something else I love?” I ask, raising my eyes to meet his. “What if there’s a whole different person I could be, if only I’d chosen something different?”

  Raphael thinks for a moment, and reaches to cup my
cheek with his hand. “I’ve seen you dance. Felt you,” he says softly. “I know this is your passion.”

  “Dancing with you, maybe,” I agree. “Like this. No rules, no pressure, just… free. But the rest of it?” I get a tight feeling in my chest just thinking about it. “Counting every calorie, feeling guilty about every missed practice. We dance until our toes bleed, did you know that?” I ask him, hollow. “The pain is something we’re supposed to live with. Like our success is worth the cost. I just don’t know if it’s worth it anymore. I’ll never be as good as her.”

  “Your mother?”

  I nod. “All this time I thought…maybe if I trained hard enough, sacrificed enough, I could make her proud.”

  Raphael frowns. “But don’t you love it, too?”

  “I used to.” I sigh. “There were always bad days, but the good ones made up for it, you know? Until they didn’t anymore. I can’t even remember when it shifted. But somewhere along the line, that love got buried under expectations, and pressure, and constantly feeling like I’m not good enough.”

  I swallow back a sob, embarrassed to be getting so emotional. But the past few weeks have pushed me to a breaking point, and Raphael is the first person to whom I’ve been able to open up and admit the fears that have been swirling in my heart for years.

  “It will all be OK.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and holds me close. I sink against him, grateful for the feeling, like I’m not totally alone in this anymore.

  “You don’t know that,” I whisper.

  “But I do.”

  Raphael tilts my face up to him. His eyes burn bright with reassurance. “You have a gift, Annalise, but what you choose to do with it, that’s all your choice. Your decision. I know it seems hard,” he adds, “but I believe in you. I know you have the strength to take the right path. No matter what that path is.”

  His faith makes the knot in my chest ease, just a little. I turn my head and rest it against his shoulder before he can see the tears stinging in the corner of my eyes.

  How does he know the right thing to say to me? How can he see a strength in me that I don’t even know is there?

  He squeezes my shoulders gently and holds me, wordless as we watch the sun rise over Rome, bringing a new day.

  4.

  I plan my escape with military precision.

  Raphael’s audition is on a Saturday, at 4pm. Usually, I might be able to ask Karla to cover for me; tell Mom we’ve got an extra rehearsal, and then slip out to make the schedule. But Karla is still barely speaking to me after our big fight. I miss her like crazy, but I’m still stinging from the cruel things she said.

  Even though you know part of it was right…

  There’s no time to think about it. I’m too busy coming up with a way to sneak off from Mom and the Company for four whole hours without anybody knowing I’m gone. Weekends are still free time, for rest and exploring the city, but with the big performance looming closer, most of us squeeze in an extra few hours of practice. If I could just find a way to shake Mom’s constant shadow…

  Luckily, my break comes on Saturday morning. I’m warming down from our strength workout in the living room when Mom looks up from her tablet. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asks.

  “I’m meeting Karla at the studio,” I lie. “We’re going to critique each other.”

  She nods with approval. “Good.”

  “What about you?” I ask, with a tremor of nerves. Please don’t let her offer to stay and watch too, I silently pray.

  “I’m going to meet some old friends across the city for lunch and shopping, so I’ll walk you over.”

  “Great!” I realize too late that my outburst is out of character, so I quickly calm down. “I mean, it’s nice you finally get to enjoy the city. You’ve been so great, working all day with me, but you should have a chance to relax, too.”

  Mom looks at me with a frown for a moment, then softens. “Of course I’m helping, sweetheart. You know I only want the best for you.”

  “I know,” I repeat quietly, feeling that knot of guilt return. I focus on the upcoming audition instead; after I text Raphael to say I’ll meet him at the venue, I run through the routine in my head, over and over again, until I’m sure it’ll be perfect.

  I don’t want to let him down, but more than that, I want to enjoy every minute of it: get to that point where my brain shuts off and my body takes flight. It’s exciting to be part of his big moment, and I can’t wait to show the judges what we can do—what he can do.

  And then, I can’t wait for a private performance…

  I shiver, feeling the same hot surge of exhilaration that comes whenever I think of him. I know I’ve been holding back when we’re together; I didn’t want to rush when it’s my first time ever exploring these feelings, but with every day that passes, our bond deepens.

  I know him. I trust him.

  And I want to learn everything his body can teach me. I want it all.

  By the time Mom walks me to the studio, my nerves are wound up tight. We pause at the front doors, and I wait to slip away. “Look, there’s a cab,” I nod down the street. “You should grab it.”

  Mom turns to flag it down, just as Karla comes flying around the corner. “Good, you heard,” she says breathlessly.

  “Heard about what?”

  “Emergency rehearsal,” Karla says. “Gilbert called the whole company together. He wants us to run from start to finish!”

  My heart plummets. “Now?” I ask feebly, but of course I know the answer. The full performance runs for two hours at least, not counting breaks and do-overs. I’ll never make it to the audition in time!

  Karla disappears inside. I linger on the sidewalk, not sure what to do.

  “Don’t be late,” Mom tells me, nudging me towards the doors. “Gilbert hates tardiness.”

  She stands, waiting, so I have no choice but to climb the stairs and head inside. I turn in time to see her slide into a cab and drive away, but my feet keep walking, down the hall to the rehearsal studio.

  What do I do now?

  The entire company is gathered around the edges of the room, limbering up and getting ready. I find a spot by the wall next to Karla and open my bag. My ballet shoes are nestled beside my heels, the shoes I wear for my routine with Raphael.

  I stare at them, torn.

  The piano accompanist begins to warm up, playing a familiar refrain. Karla stretches beside me, focused, getting her game face on. But my mind is miles away: picturing Raphael waiting at his audition, wondering when I’m going to show.

  I look around, sick with the choice I’m facing.

  I should be here. I have to be here.

  But I need to be with him.

  Clarity suddenly pierces the fog. I find myself stuffing the ballet shoes back in my back and getting to my feet. “Karla?” I whisper.

  She turns, her expression still hard.

  “I have to go,” I murmur.

  Her eyes widen. “What? Where? Why?”

  “I just need to go. You don’t have to cover for me,” I add. “Tell them whatever you want. I’m sorry,” I add. “But this is something I need to do.”

  “Don’t!” Karla grabs my arm. “I know you think he’s important, but you’re risking everything. Nothing’s more important than this,” she vows fiercely.

  I shake her off. “But it is.”

  I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip out of the studio, my confidence growing with every step. I push out of the main doors and into the sunshine, my heart pounding. Maybe I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my career, but I can’t leave Raphael waiting.

  I need to see this through.

  I’ve made my choice.

  5.

  The dance collective is holding auditions at a big warehouse at the edge of the city. There has to be at least a hundred people here, and all of them look way more confident and cooler than I feel inside.

  “Are you sure I’m ready?” I murmur a
nxiously, clutching Raphael’s arm. We’re waiting for his number to be called, and now my nerves are going crazy. Every time I think about what I just did—walking out of rehearsal like that—I feel sick to my stomach.

  No, I have to block it all out. Nothing matters now except his audition.

  Raphael rubs my arm, soothing. “You’re ready.”

  “But that last lift ...” I hear the doubt in my voice and stop. “What am I doing?” I yelp. “I’m supposed to be the one giving you the pep talk, not the other way around.”

  Raphael manages a smile. “It’s good, you’re distracting me,” he says, holding my hand tighter. “If I stop to think about this, I’ll psych myself out.”

  “No negative thinking,” I scold him. “You’ve got this. I bet you’re ten times as good as anyone here.”

  Raphael glances around the waiting room, his eyes skipping over the crowd. “I don’t know ...” he tells me in a low voice. “I know some of these dancers, I’ve seen them around. They’re good. Really good.”

  “But you’re better.” I squeeze his hand.

  Raphael squeezes back, but his expression stays anxious. The minutes tick past.

  “It should be soon,” I reassure him.

  I watch the couple before us head in, dressed in cool jeans and tight T-shirts. I tug at my outfit, insecure. Raphael is dressed in his blank pants and a black shirt, and I’m wearing a dress I borrowed from Rosalie, knee-length blue with a swirling skirt. It’s supposed to show the line of my movements, whipping out when Raphael spins me around, but compared to all these super-fashionable dancers, I feel overdressed, and old-fashioned, too.

  Suddenly, Raphael bolts to his feet.

  “What is it?” I look up, startled.

  “Nothing. I think I’m going to get a soda,” Raphael says hurriedly.

  “But we’re up next!” My protest falls on empty space. Raphael is already striding quickly away.

  I look around, panicked. The other couple will be out in a minute, so there’s no time for him to go wandering off. I check my watch, anxiously counting the seconds as they pass, willing Raphael to get back in time, but the seat beside me is still empty when the door opens again, and the dancers emerge.