Dance of Shadows

by Yelana Black

  Justin froze, his face betraying a slight hint of embarrassment before he sat back down. He avoided Vanessa’s gaze while Josef pointed Vanessa and the thirteen princesses into position. Vanessa kept one eye on the door as Josef began clapping. She had memorized the steps to the final scene by now, and her body moved automatically, landing each step perfectly. A smile spread across Josef’s face. “Yes!” he shouted. “Yes!”

  When the dance was finished, she lowered her leg to the floor and let her body fall out of character. Josef began clapping. “Spectacular,” he said, his eyes traveling over Vanessa’s body, now damp with sweat. “Just spectacular.”

  Anna rolled her eyes and walked behind him toward the corner of the room. “Luck,” she whispered as she passed Vanessa. The other twelve princesses followed her.

  Too startled to think of a retort, all Vanessa could do was stand there stupidly in the center of the studio.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Josef whispered in her ear.

  Vanessa jumped, not expecting him to be standing so close to her.

  He followed her gaze as Anna slipped out the door. “If you can do what you did just now in our afternoon rehearsal,” he said, “no one will be able to stop you.”

  Vanessa should have been happy, but she wasn’t. The only person she’d wanted to see hadn’t been there. Where was he? Why hadn’t he shown up? She wandered toward the door when someone called her name.

  “Vanessa,” Justin said, beckoning her to the wall. “I wanted to tell you—”

  But Vanessa didn’t have the energy. “I can’t, Justin. Not now,” she said before he could continue, and pushed past him into the hallway.

  Her thoughts absorbed her for the rest of the afternoon, so by the time she met up with Steffie and TJ in the dining hall, it took her a moment to register what they were saying.

  “Have you heard from Elly?” TJ balanced her tray by the salad bar, spooning a bit of lettuce onto her plate. “She still hasn’t responded to any of my messages.”

  “Elly,” Vanessa murmured. She had actually been planning on sending her a letter, but had yet to write anything down.

  “It’s like she’s a different person,” TJ said. “The Elly I knew would never have acted like this. She never would have just left us behind and asked us not to talk to her. It makes me want to go to her house and shake her. I just don’t get it.”

  “I know what you mean,” Vanessa said. Her mind drifted to Zep, who also seemed to have two personalities—one that Vanessa understood and one that was completely foreign and unpredictable. “You think you know someone, and then they just change. They stop showing up or telling you where they’re going, and you have no way of knowing why.”

  “Exactly!” TJ said.

  Vanessa’s words had come out more passionately than she had intended, and Steffie paused, confused. “Did I miss something here?”

  “She’s upset because her boyfriend hasn’t been showing up for rehearsals,” Justin said from behind them.

  Vanessa turned around, only to be met with a smug smile. “He’s not my boyfriend. And you’re just the understudy.”

  “That doesn’t mean that I don’t know what’s going on in there,” Justin said.

  “Oh, because it’s such a secret,” Vanessa said, her tone sarcastic.

  Justin gave her a level look. “Maybe it is.”

  Vanessa waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said finally. She cocked her head at Steffie and TJ, and together they went to the register and swiped their IDs.

  As they found a table and sat down, Justin stood near them, holding out his tray. Vanessa couldn’t help but look at the clean lines of the muscles on his arms as he pushed his hair from his face, his T-shirt lifting at the bottom, betraying a sliver of smooth skin. Quickly, she looked away. He leaned forward. “Exactly. That’s how secrets work.”

  The basement studio was always exactly the same—wide and mirrorless, the walls scarred with burns and caked in thick black ash. Vanessa wanted to ask someone what it was from, but the other dancers still barely looked at her. Stenciled into the ash were the white shapes of ballerinas, the only spots where the original paint was still preserved. They lined the room like an accordion of paper cutouts, except each dancer was in a different pose.

  That afternoon she was so distracted by them that she almost didn’t notice the boy standing by the edge of the room, his broad shoulders bent as he put on his shoes.

  “Zep?”

  He stood up, looming over her. She could see her silhouette in the reflection of his eyes. He looked almost guilty as he parted his lips to say something, but before he could speak, Josef’s voice sounded through the room. “Let us commence!”

  The afternoon practices were small, intimate, with just the primary cast. On occasion, Josef asked Justin to show up, since he was the primary understudy, but more often than not, it was just Vanessa, the princesses, and Zep. Vanessa’s understudy was Anna Franko, who he sometimes asked to observe Vanessa, just in case. Now everyone in the room crowded around Zep, asking if he was all right before shuffling into position. Vanessa stood back, waiting. She had wanted to see him for days, but now that he was here, he didn’t look like he had been sick. He looked healthy.

  “Vanessa.” Zep held out his hand to her cheek, but she flinched.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I tried knocking on your door but you never answered.”

  “I was at the infirmary,” Zep said.

  “Oh,” Vanessa said, feeling suddenly guilty. Here she had been imagining all of these awful things when really, he’d been sick. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was so worried.”

  “I wasn’t myself,” Zep said, confused. “It wasn’t about you.”

  It wasn’t about you. His words, so similiar to his earlier text, made her wince as if she had been slapped. Something about the way he looked made her want to disappear, to run out into the crisp New York afternoon and not stop until she was so far away from NYBA that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back if she tried.

  She looked away, not wanting to see the pity in Zep’s eyes, but when she glanced in the mirror, she was only met with Justin’s reflection. Caught in the act, he tried to pretend like he hadn’t been listening, but Vanessa could tell from the uncomfortable look on his face that he’d heard it all.

  Vanessa let out an exasperated laugh. She couldn’t get away. Everywhere she turned, Justin or Anna or the rest of the princesses were looking at her, waiting for her to misstep.

  “Positions!” Josef said, eyeing Vanessa and Zep.

  Vanessa took her place at the center of the floor, just inches from the ashy scar. Zep stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  Before she could respond, Josef raised his hand. “One and two and three and now—”

  Following Josef’s commands, Vanessa arched her head up to the lights, raising her arm.

  “I should have been more thoughtful. I was just so tired that I could barely open my door,” Zep said, his hand tickling the small of her back.

  The dancing princesses circled them in a strange and erratic rhythm. All the while, Josef counted out the beat, which changed meter so capriciously that Vanessa could hardly keep up. She slid her leg outward on Josef’s command, and leaned back into Zep’s arms.

  “Your door? But I thought you were in the infirmary?” Vanessa whispered, confused.

  Zep’s eyes seemed dull as he stared down at her.

  “I was. Until last night, I mean. They sent me back after dinner.”

  “Now lift,” Josef said to Vanessa. “Slowly, as if you’re a coil of smoke.”

  Zep had been in his room?

  “Higher!” Josef said. “And release, two-three, one-two-three.”

  Vanessa struggled to keep up with Josef’s counting. She knew the steps, but today it was as if t
he beat were at odds with her body, trying to shake her from completing the dance. Still, she pressed on, Zep gliding smoothly beside her.

  “Did you hear me knock on the door?” she breathed when he lowered himself over her.

  He hesitated, his hair dangling over her forehead. “No.”

  Vanessa let her body sink backward into a languid dip.

  “Yes!” Josef said. “Beautiful! You are nothing. You are a wisp of smoke curling into oblivion!”

  For a moment, it felt true.

  “What about my text from the other day? Did you get it?”

  Zep gave her a guilty look. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I should have tried to get in touch with you earlier,” he said. “I was just really distracted.”

  Vanessa felt his hand slide up her leg as she extended it into an arabesque.

  “Too stiff!” Josef said. “Too slow! The rhythm is changing. You must change with it.”

  Vanessa’s body grew tight. “Distracted? By what? I thought you said you were sick.”

  She waited for Zep to answer, but he only looked surprised to have been caught in a lie.

  Horrified, she pushed away from Zep. She was off the beat, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes stung and her face felt hot, so hot that it might burn up.

  “Keep in line!” Josef shouted, circling her. “Control your body! Straighten your legs. Count with me. One-two, one-two, two-three-four, two-three-four …”

  Vanessa resumed her position, but the rhythm kept confusing her legs, making them go faster, then incredibly slowly, in a switch so abrupt that it felt as if her body were being thrown about the room by a blustery wind. The dance doesn’t want to be performed, she thought. It wanted to be unconquered.

  “Non!” Josef said, shaking his head. “Stop thinking and let your body take over!”

  Her muscles burned. She wanted to please Josef, but it was useless. She lifted herself up and balanced en pointe, her weight pressing down through her bones until her legs trembled and her feet ached. She could feel Zep behind her, could smell the sweet fragrance of his sweat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I want to make it right.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling his fingers graze her back, and went rigid.

  “Non!” Josef’s voice was so loud that it halted everything in the room. “Non, non, non.”

  He strode toward Vanessa, who stepped out of position, her feet throbbing in pain. Without warning, he rapped his staff against the back of her thighs, shocking them into position. “Straight!” he shouted, and pressed his hand to her back, pushing it erect. “Comme ça,” he said coldly, and positioned her arms above her head.

  She must have cringed, because he seemed to see the fear in her eyes and released her, his expression softening.

  “Something is bothering you,” Josef said, studying her face.

  Unable to help herself, Vanessa gazed up at the figures on the wall.

  “You are distracted by the decorations? They are for another performance. Don’t worry about them.”

  Vanessa shook her head.

  “Then tell me,” Josef demanded.

  She looked up at Josef. “Why do you think I can perform this dance when no one else could?” Even her sister ran away before she had to perform it, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

  Josef stepped back, surprised. “Is that what you are worried about?” He laughed. “Vanessa, I chose you to be the Firebird because I’ve never seen anyone dance like you do.” He walked around her, his eyes traveling over her legs, her arms, her neck, as if she were a statue carved out of marble. “I gaze at you,” he said, his voice so intimate it made Vanessa tremble, “and the rest of the world melts away.”

  With a swift motion, he pulled her close to him. “Let me show you.”

  He placed his hand on her ribs and guided her across the room, away from Zep. Her skin quivered, his body warm and hard against her back. “Shh,” he told her. “Not so stiff.”

  She swallowed and tried to make her body relax.

  “You are trying to count the beat. To memorize it,” he said. “But that won’t work. Let the time push you forward. Let it weigh you down, feel its tedious thumping in your chest.” With that, he let go of her arms and watched as she danced, the color filling her cheeks until she felt the heat pulse through her veins. Alive, she thought. I am alive.

  Josef paused, studying her. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Should we try again, then?”

  Vanessa gave him a timid smile. Maybe Josef was right. Maybe she could do it.

  “Bon,” he said, and turned to the rest of the dancers. “From the beginning.”

  Raising her head high, she walked toward Zep, who put his hand on her waist. “Let’s start over,” he whispered. And then the dance began again.

  Another week passed, and while Vanessa improved, she was not able to duplicate her one early success with La Danse du Feu. Josef would shout, and all of his kind words melted away, his compliments replaced by counting, always counting, the rhythm fighting her, trying to get her to quit. Day after day, she barely managed to finish the steps, her feet stumbling over Zep’s in a confused jumble, her legs still tender from the day before. The princesses sneered, their own steps simpler versions of hers.

  Josef lashed at out at Zep, too, his narrow eyes scouring Vanessa and him while he made them repeat their steps over and over. Every so often, he would lurch in and correct the angle of Vanessa’s leg, the position of her waist beneath Zep’s hands, the crest of her neck. Vanessa was so involved in her own dancing that she never noticed the mistakes Zep had made. Was it her fault? Were her errors making Zep stumble too?

  All she knew was that Josef was deeply dissatisfied, and not just with her. That much was clear at the end of every rehearsal, when he called Zep to stay late and practice. Every night, Zep threw a towel over his shoulder and gazed back at her, his shirt damp with sweat, his eyes exhausted and vulnerable. Stay with me, they seemed to say, but Vanessa couldn’t. Why was Josef so upset with Zep, and why hadn’t he asked her to rehearse after hours too?

  The regular Firebird rehearsals were going fine; it was the afternoon sessions—when they practiced the strange dance—that she struggled with. She wanted to talk to Zep, but every afternoon Josef called him over as the dancers were filing out, before Vanessa could even say good-bye. Finally, on Friday afternoon, she worked up the courage to ask him out. “Would you want to get dinner with me tonight?” she whispered in the middle of the dance.

  Zep gripped her waist. “I would love that.”

  Vanessa smiled to herself, and they finished the sequence in silence.

  At the end of rehearsal, Vanessa gathered her things and waited for Zep by the door. But before he approached, Josef’s voice rang out over the studio. “Zeppelin. Wait for me in my office. We have work to do.”

  Vanessa felt something inside her collapse. Zep’s gaze met hers in what seemed like an apology, as Josef came up behind her and swept her into the hall. “I want to talk to you about your practice schedule,” he said, pulling her into the shadows.

  Vanessa tried not to wince as he grasped the inside of her arm, where a collection of yellowing bruises still lingered. “Okay,” she said, gripping her bag.

  “The performance is upon us soon, and I want to make sure you’re taking it as seriously as the rest of us.”

  Vanessa frowned. “Of course I am.”

  Josef examined her, looking concerned. “Yes, but you are not getting better. Are you practicing after classes?”

  Vanessa shifted her weight. “Well, sort of.”

  Josef’s face hardened. “That is not enough. If you want to be a professional ballerina, you must act like one. By Monday, if you haven’t improved, I will be forced to make changes.”

  Vanessa felt the color leave her face. Before she could respond, the door opened and the rest of the dancers spilled out into the hallway. Josef backed into the crowd and gave her a solemn look.

&n
bsp; “I’ll do better,” she called after him, and then turned back to the studio to look for Zep. But to her dismay, he was already gone.

  Lincoln Center Plaza was lonely when she stepped outside, the chilly night air biting into her cardigan. Across the plaza, she could hear Anna and the other princesses, their laughter echoing off the tall buildings. Without thinking, she turned and headed toward Broadway.

  The night air blew in a brittle swirl, stirring the leaves on the sidewalk around Vanessa’s ankles. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to be alone, if only for a moment. Across the street, the long glass panes of Lincoln Center glowed a buttery yellow. She saw silhouettes against the glass—two people kissing, a mother and child licking ice-cream cones, an elderly couple sitting on the edge of the fountain, holding hands. The traffic light turned red. Vanessa waited beneath a streetlamp and watched the figures move as if part of a gentle, meandering dance.

  And then, out of the corner of her eye, something else moved. Vanessa glanced over her shoulder, but there was no one else around, only a tall stone building swallowed by darkness. Ignoring it, she turned back to the street when she saw it again—something shifting in the night. This time she was sure it was real. She pretended to check her bag and glanced behind her, only to see a shadow detach itself from the building.

  The figure came up quickly, its looming shape stalking directly toward her. It looked like a man, but she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t want to find out.

  She didn’t wait for the light to change; after making sure no cars were coming, she hurried across the street. For a moment she thought she was wrong, that no one was actually following her, that it was just the darkness acting upon her imagination. She stopped at the edge of the plaza, catching her breath, when she heard a car horn. Then footsteps.

  A second later and she wouldn’t have seen him. The shadow that had terrified her was Justin, passing beneath a streetlamp, the Fratelli twins on his heels. Vanessa tucked herself into a crevice on the side of a building and waited.