by Katie McCoy
Chase brought up a keg of his latest ale, and we all got popcorn and beer and settled in for a nice evening. The movie was a summer classic: Jaws. It was Hayley’s least favorite movie, which is why I suspected that Dante chose it. I didn’t know why, but the two of them always seemed to be at each other’s throats.
“This movie is disrespectful to sharks,” Hayley made sure to tell all of us before the movie started. “It teaches people that they are predators and they’re going to attack humans when they won’t! They only eat people if they think you’re a seal.”
“Remind me to leave my seal costume at home the next time I go swimming,” Dante said dryly.
“It’s not funny!” Hayley argued.
“It’s kind of funny,” Dante responded.
“Argh!” Hayley said with frustration before flopping down on her beanbag chair.
Everyone ignored the argument, as we usually did when Dante and Hayley went at it. The calmer he got, the more worked up she became. It usually ended in Hayley shouting at Dante and him walking away, which only upset her more.
I settled deeper into the couch, my arm around Juliet. She put her head on my shoulder, and a feeling of total contentment spread through me. I loved holding her, loved the way she felt in my arms, like she belonged there.
“I’ve never seen this movie before,” she confessed.
I looked at her, amused. “How is that possible?”
She shrugged. “I never really had much time to watch movies,” she told me. “My life revolved around dance.”
“But it’s Jaws!” I laughed. “Everyone’s seen Jaws.”
“Well, after tonight, that will be true,” she responded with a smile.
She surprised me. Every time I thought I was figuring her out, she still continued to surprise me. It was like she was discovering life for the first time after her dance career—wanting to experience all these new things. And I had gotten to be right there with her. Trying new activities, getting out of my comfort zone. My world had become bigger, just because she’d walked into it.
And that scared me.
Because when Carl told me to think about my goals, about my plans, I didn’t have any picture in mind. Which was new to me. Because my plans had been clearly set out for years now. I knew exactly what I wanted—until I met Juliet.
She had turned everything upside down.
I left her on the sofa to get a refill during the movie. Sawyer was hanging out at the keg, and I pulled him off to the side of the building, where no one would hear us. And then I told him about the job offer.
“That’s fucking awesome,” Sawyer commented, giving me a bear hug. “That’s what you’ve always wanted, right?”
“The catch is that the job is in New York.”
“Oh.” I could see Sawyer’s happy expression falter, but only for a second. “But it’s still a great promotion, right?”
“It’s an amazing job,” I confirmed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just don’t know if I should take it.”
Sawyer nodded. “It would be a big change.”
“I love Chicago,” I told him. “Love living here, working here, being close to you guys. And . . .” I looked back towards everyone still watching the movie. “Other things.”
“Juliet,” Sawyer filled in for me.
“We barely know each other,” I reminded him.
“That’s what Chase and Emerson said,” he told me. “Look where it got them.”
They were both incredibly happy. But they didn’t have the same problem that I did. The bar had been their dream. I wanted something else. Something more. Something that was just mine. A safety net. Protection.
This job would give me exactly what I needed. But was it worth it to leave all this behind? To leave Juliet behind?
“It’s a tough choice, man,” Sawyer told me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Sounds like a great opportunity.”
“Yeah,” I responded, my mind still cycling through all my options. “It is a great opportunity.”
If I only I knew what to do about it.
18
Juliet
Liam had been quiet all day. Actually, he had been quiet since I saw him last night at the movie night. He had been affectionate and engaged, but I could tell that something was wrong. I expected it was something to do with his mother and didn’t want to say anything. He had already shared so much with me about her, and it clearly wasn’t easy for him to open up, so I figured I would let him come to me if he needed support.
Besides, whatever was bothering him didn’t seem to affect the way he felt about me. Last night the sex had been intense. Passionate. Almost as if he didn’t want to let go of me. The urgency had surprised me a bit, but I didn’t mind. Not when that urgency was what had me coming three times in his arms.
I practically skipped into class that afternoon. Ever since I started teaching at Hayley’s after-school program, I had discovered that not only did I have the talent for it, but I loved it as well. There was something really special about being the one who introduced a kid to ballet. Especially when it was the right fit.
Because while most of the students were there just to learn something new—which I loved—there were a few students with real, natural, raw talent. A talent I was eager to develop. But I didn’t know how. At the end of the day, I was still a dancer first and foremost. I didn’t have teaching experience or the right education to teach, but I was starting to think that it could be something I would be really great at.
“That’s great, Marisol.” I walked around the room, observing the students as they practiced their positions. “Head up, Amber,” I instructed. “Try to straighten your leg more, Ashley.”
All of the students were focused and passionate about the class, and they all came ready to work every afternoon. We practiced, but I also brought in tapes of famous ballet performances, as well as some of my old performances.
Those had been the hardest to watch with them. At first. I hadn’t even been able to look at the screen for a while, turning away whenever I knew I was going to be featured. I had watched those tapes dozens of times in the past, but always for the purpose of seeing what I had done wrong and figuring out how I could improve myself.
Now, watching it with students, I saw the looks of complete awe on their face as I spun on the screen. My director had criticized me for months after for that spin, calling it an embarrassment of form and figure. But my students didn’t see any of the problems. They just saw it for what it was—someone dancing. And to them, it was amazing. It was special. It was something that they aspired to do.
I wanted them to love dance. I wanted them to love ballet. Because I had loved ballet, and maybe what I needed the most was to learn how to love it again. To love it the way that they did. With enthusiasm and excitement. Not with criticism or judgement.
After class, Marisol came up to me.
“Ms. Juliet?” she asked, looking a little shy.
She was one of the best in my class—a willowy fourteen-year-old with great feet and tons of natural talent.
“How can I help you, Marisol?” I asked.
“I just wanted to tell you that I really, really like your class,” she said. “It’s my favorite class here.”
“Thank you,” I told her, smiling. “I really, really like having you in my class.”
She blushed.
“You’re very good,” I continued, wanting to encourage her. “And if you’d like to come early to class one day, I can go over some more advanced techniques that I think you’d be able to incorporate into what we’re learning in class.”
Marisol lit up. “Really?” she asked. “That would be so cool.”
I couldn’t help grinning at her enthusiasm. I remembered what it had been like to be so excited about dance. When had that changed? And could I change it back?
The other night I had gotten a text from Viktor asking if I would come to his practice this afternoon. I had told him I would think about it, but after
my conversation with Marisol, I decided that I would have to go back to my old stomping ground sooner or later, so why not do it tonight? Besides, I wanted to talk to some of my former instructors to see about teaching dance in a more official capacity.
The building smelled the same. That same combination of baby powder and sweat that pretty much lingered around any ballet studio. I couldn’t help closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Yeah, it was a little weird, but this had been my home for so many years that it was hard not to take a moment to process everything.
Viktor popped his head out of the rehearsal room and rushed me with a hug.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, picking me up and spinning me. “Ooof, you’ve gotten heavy,” he said when he let me go.
I wasn’t offended, even though it was a passive-aggressive jab. I was happy with the way I looked and had absolutely no regrets about the change in my diet or appearance.
“Don’t have to fit into those costumes anymore.” I poked him in his still-flat stomach. “Plus, I’ve discovered I really like eating. Have you heard about this thing called pizza? It’s really delicious.”
“Hilarious,” Viktor said, but I could tell he was nervous.
“You’ll be fine,” I told him. “It’s just a rehearsal.”
“I know,” he snapped. “I just can’t get this one move and I can’t figure out why.”
I remembered that pressure. The pressure and frustration when you couldn’t do what the director and the choreographer wanted. I followed him into the rehearsal space.
Immediately all eyes fixated on me.
I could see that this bothered Viktor. He liked to be the center of attention. Especially in a rehearsal for a piece where he was the featured performer.
But everyone was looking at me.
There was the world’s longest silence, as if the entire room was holding its breath. Then, it broke, and people started crowding around me, hugging me and asking how I was. There were lots of familiar faces, but a few new ones as well.
One of the newer ones, her eyes wide open, came over to shake my hand.
“I’m just, like, the biggest fan,” she said, gripping my hand tight. “Does this mean you’re coming back?”
The silence returned, as everyone stared at me, waiting for my answer.
I gave the girl a smile—as much as I could muster one.
“No,” I told her. “I’m not coming back. I’ve retired from dancing.”
It seemed that half the room was disappointed, and half of them were relieved. I remembered how it had felt when I was one of them. How we were all friends, but competitive as well. You cheered for each other when you succeeded, but also compared yourself to your friends. To your peers. It hadn’t been very healthy, and I hadn’t even realized how much I hated it until I was out of it. Until I had a job where I wasn’t competing with anyone. I was part of the family.
“OK, OK.” Viktor waved his hands. “I think we should give Juliet some space.”
The crowd dispersed, and I took my place against the wall with the other people who had come to watch the rehearsal—understudies, newer dancers, and some teachers. One of the teachers had taught me, and she gestured for me to come sit next to her.
“OK,” the choreographer addressed the room. “We’re going to be starting from the top of the piece. Viktor, I hope you’ve been working on your elevation.”
Viktor shot me a look. I nodded, indicating I’d be watching for it as well. Viktor had always had a problem with his turnout. I’d given him advice in the past, but he had been stubborn and had chosen to ignore it for the most part. And he’d been lucky. He was an excellent dancer, strong enough to hide his flaws. But this new choreographer apparently wasn’t interested in Viktor’s usual tricks. He wanted elevation on the leaps and he was going to ride Viktor until he got what he wanted.
And Viktor wasn’t the only one under scrutiny. The young ballerina—the one who had been brave enough to ask about my returning to the company—was also in the piece, and I could tell that she wasn’t quite up to the material.
She had potential, tons of it, but she wasn’t practiced enough to be in this piece. As I watched, I couldn’t understand why she had been cast in the first place. Just looking around the room, I spotted at least half a dozen ballerinas who could have done the piece exactly the way the director wanted. Instead, he had chosen someone who wasn’t ready to do the intense choreography he wanted.
“No, no, no, no!” he shouted, stopping the music. “I’ve never seen such sloppy dancers.” He glared at all of them. “Clearly none of you have been practicing, because I don’t see any improvement. If anything, you’ve all gotten worse.”
Viktor stood there, his chin up, taking the criticism stoically. The young ballerina, on the other hand, was clearly struggling to keep from crying. I could see her chin wobble from the other end of the room.
And I knew exactly what the choreographer was going to do next. He stalked right up to her and started shouting in her face.
“Are you going to cry?” he screamed. “In my studio?”
“No, sir,” she barely managed, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
“You’re pathetic,” he told her. “Ballet isn’t the place for weakness. It isn’t a place for crying. For hurt feelings. If you’re not strong enough to take criticism, then get the fuck out of my studio.”
The ballerina burst into tears and ran out of the room. The choreographer sighed and gestured for the understudy—a dancer I knew was more than capable of performing the piece—to join Viktor and the others in the center of the room.
And then, as if there hadn’t been any sort of outburst from the choreographer, the rehearsal continued. I just sat there, my entire body tenser than it had been in months. Because I could remember being yelled at that way. And I could remember a time when I thought that was normal. That it was just something I had to accept.
I hated the way it felt. Because I felt completely helpless. Even though the choreographer hadn’t been yelling at me, and even though he hadn’t even been wrong about the dancer’s inability to complete the move, I still didn’t think that this was the way to go about getting what he wanted. But there wasn’t anything I could do. Just like it had been when I was a dancer.
But back then, I would have never thought of stepping in, because it wasn’t something that dancers did. You didn’t criticize or comment on the way your choreographer, or director, ran a rehearsal. Sure, my friends and I would complain about the choreographers and directors that we thought were unnecessarily harsh or cruel, but in rehearsal, we did what we were told, and we did it while holding back tears.
Now, I couldn’t step in because I wasn’t part of this world any more. Not really. I didn’t have any authority to speak. Even if the other dancers agreed with me, I was still an outsider. And as an outsider, my opinion didn’t matter.
So I sat through the rest of the rehearsal and watched Viktor. I could see exactly what he was doing wrong, and I could also see how the choreographer wasn’t asking him to change the right thing. It wasn’t the elevation of his jumps that was the problem, really, it was the way Viktor was moving into the next part of the choreography. He just needed to add a step or two and everything would flow together more organically.
But I couldn’t say anything until the rehearsal was over. So I waited, watching as the choreographer got more and more angry until he finally stormed out of the rehearsal space, swearing and screaming. His assistant followed him, the glum set of her mouth indicating that this was a regular occurrence.
I went over to Viktor, who was drying his face with a towel. All of the dancers were drenched in sweat from the two-hour rehearsal. I didn’t envy them at all. In fact, I felt bad for them. Which I hadn’t expected.
“So?” Viktor asked, his hands on his hips.
I explained to him what I thought the problem was and walked him through what I thought he could do to make the move work. He tried a few times
, but wasn’t really getting it, so I finally had to kick off my shoes and show him.
It had been a long time since I’d done any kind of dancing, and while I wasn’t doing anything nearly as complex as I had been doing before the accident, my muscles were still resistant at first to any kind of ballet movement. It took a while to warm them up, but once I did, I was reminded of why I loved to dance. Of how good it felt to move that way. Especially if no one was yelling at me.
I showed Viktor the move twice, and after the second time, there was a smattering of applause from the dancers who had lingered. Even the young ballerina had returned, her eyes red and swollen, but she had smiled and clapped at my demonstration.
Viktor didn’t look pleased that I was the center of attention, but he cheered up when he tried my suggestion and it worked perfectly. It also helped that everyone clapped for him as well, only louder this time.
“Thanks for that,” he told me. “It really helped.”
“No problem,” I told him, before jerking my chin in the direction of the young ballerina. “Is she going to be OK?”
“Caroline?” Viktor asked, looking over at her. “Yeah, she’ll be fine.”
“The choreographer was very harsh with her,” I commented.
Viktor looked surprised, as if we had both witnessed something different.
“She can’t do the move,” Viktor reminded me.
“But he didn’t have to berate her in front of everyone,” I suggested.
Viktor’s expression would have been the same if I had suggested replacing all the of the dancers in the company with dogs in tutus.
“That’s the way he works,” Viktor said, as if it excused everything. “He’s the best choreographer in the country right now. We’re lucky to have him.”
I remembered feeling that way. I remembered how important it had been to work with certain dancers, certain directors, certain choreographers, even if we all knew that they were cruel and abusive in their dancing and teaching style.
