by Yelana Black
Steffie looked skeptical. “Sure, let’s ask the mad ballerina why she cracked.”
“The thing is, I don’t think she cracked,” Vanessa said. “I think someone cracked her.”
“What do you mean?” said TJ.
“I mean, yes, to an outside observer she would come off as crazy,” said Vanessa. “But the way she talked? She knew what she was saying, she was just scared.”
“Of what?” Blaine said quietly.
But no one had an answer for that.
The basement studio was empty when Vanessa arrived, a few minutes early. She threw her bag in the corner and flipped on the lights. She walked toward the familiar white figures on the walls, wondering what Justin had meant by saving her.
Where was Zep? It had been weeks since they’d really talked.
Tentatively, she touched one of the white figures, then another. They were warm beneath her fingers, as if the walls were burning. Vanessa recoiled, only to see the first figure she touched begin to brighten. Frightened, she backed away, when she heard a soft whisper, a lone girl’s cry. Vanessa.
“What?” Vanessa said shakily. It sounded as if it had come from one of the figures.
Vanessa, another girl seemed to hiss. Vanessa.
“What do you want?” Vanessa said. “Who are you?”
The figures around her began to glow, their outlines brimming with light until they peeled themselves from the wall, their faces contorted with horror. Chloë, they hissed. Margaret. Elizabeth. Katerina. Joy. Rebecca. Hannah. Josephine …
“Margaret?” Vanessa said, her eyes darting wildly about the room, searching for her sister.
The calling, they whispered. The summoning. Your soul for the taking.
Vanessa turned, her hair whipping across her face.
We are you. You are we. We are you. You are we.
“What?” Vanessa choked out.
They burned brighter as they chanted. We are you. You are we. We are you. You are we. They glowed, their faces twisting with agony. Their surfaces began to bubble, and large blisters formed on their arms. And before Vanessa had time to shield her eyes, they burst into brilliant red flames, their voices mounting into a hellish, tortured shriek.
“What are you doing?” Hilda’s voice boomed from the doorway.
Vanessa opened her eyes, only to find herself alone, cringing in the corner of the room. She lowered her hands from her ears and gazed at the figures on the wall. They were still and glossy with caked paint. There was no fire or smoke, no sign of burning. Had Vanessa imagined it?
“Did you hear anything?” Vanessa asked Hilda. “Just now?”
“Hear what?” Hilda asked, giving Vanessa a suspicious look. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t feel well,” Vanessa said. Her legs were wobbly as she stood up, steadying herself on the barre. “I think I have to lie down.”
Across the room, Hilda’s stout figure came in and out of focus. Behind her, the door opened and a pair of broad shoulders loomed behind her. Vanessa blinked.
“Zeppelin,” Hilda said. “Perfect timing. Vanessa isn’t feeling up to rehearsing today.” She inspected Vanessa, her gaze piercing. Startled, Vanessa studied Hilda as if there was more to her than met the eye, but the woman’s face quickly softened. “Please escort her back to her dormitory and make sure she gets some rest.”
Zep let his bag drop off his shoulder and rushed to Vanessa, his face worried.
Vanessa should have been happy, but instead she was overwhelmed with guilt. “But what about Josef and rehearsal?” she asked. “We can’t both leave—”
“I’ll deal with Josef,” Hilda said. “Don’t you worry about him.”
Zep held out his hand. “Hi,” he said softly.
Behind him, the princesses filtered into the room, swinging their dance bags and laughing.
Vanessa stared down at Zep’s hand. It was still there, waiting for her. He was here now. Without saying a word, she laced her fingers through his, and together they pushed past Anna and her friends and walked out into the bright autumn afternoon.
Neither of them spoke while they meandered around the stone walkway between Lincoln Center Plaza and Juilliard. Vanessa didn’t look up at Zep once; instead, she studied her feet, which moved in tandem with his, as if they were still dancing.
“Where have you been?” she asked suddenly, just as he spoke.
“With Josef.”
Their words mingled together, and when Vanessa realized they had read each other’s thoughts, she smiled.
“Here,” he said. “Do you want to sit for a minute?”
Vanessa nodded and he led her to a sunny spot on the marble ledge, protected from the November wind by the glassy buildings of Lincoln Center to their left.
“Why do you spend every evening with Josef?”
Zep hesitated. “He’s tutoring me,” he said finally.
Tutoring? If that was the big secret, why hadn’t he told her before?
“It’s been difficult for me. I don’t like to admit I’m having trouble with something. Especially with dance.”
“So he’s teaching you in private?” Vanessa said. “But aren’t all your scenes with me?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I do have two solos.”
All that time for just two solos?
Zep added, “They’re difficult. The way you’re having trouble with the final scene? I’m going through the same thing.”
Vanessa shook her head. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me before. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“You have enough to worry about,” Zep said. “I thought you just assumed I was practicing.”
“Right,” Vanessa murmured. “I guess that does make sense. The entire ballet doesn’t revolve around me.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, laughing. “It does sort of revolve around you.”
The sun felt warm against Vanessa’s cheek. Zep squeezed her hand, which looked impossibly small in his palm. But even with Zep beside her, she couldn’t get the hoarse, chanting voices of the white figures out of her head. We are you, you are we, we are you, you are we. Their faces, their voices, their screams as the fire engulfed them—it all seemed so real. Yet Hilda hadn’t heard any of it. Was Vanessa losing her mind?
“Hey,” Zep said, bringing her back to the present. “What’s going on in there?” He traced his finger along her forehead, pushing the wisps of her hair away from her face.
Should she tell him? She wanted to but didn’t know how. What if he thought she was crazy? She didn’t want him to walk away from her.
Zep touched her cheek. “I’m here,” he said. “And I’m not leaving.”
Vanessa hesitated. “You won’t think I’m losing it?”
“The only thing I’m worried about losing is you. And if I can help it, that won’t ever happen.”
Vanessa gave him the beginning of a smile, and then she told him everything: how Helen grabbed her and told her to leave school, to trust no one but this mysterious Lyric Elite; about the voices in the basement studio that spoke her name; the rumors about how the lead ballerinas at NYBA kept disappearing. “What if it’s true?” she said. “What if I’m next?”
To her surprise, Zep didn’t look worried at all. “Is that what’s been bothering you?” he said, as if she had just told him she’d spilled a glass of milk.
Vanessa nodded, confused.
“And here I was thinking you had some sort of dance injury or fatal illness.” Zep laughed. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said gently. “All that’s happening to you is nerves. I mean first of all, Helen. She was two years ahead of me at NYBA, so I knew her a little bit, and all I can say is that she’s always been on the edge. She used to cry during rehearsals when Josef yelled at her. And sometimes she would just zone out, not even answer if I talked to her. Believe me, you’re nothing like her.”
Zep continued, “It’s true that a lot of girls do drop out, but that�
�s only because ballerinas tend to be, well, delicate. That’s partially why they’re such wonderful dancers, but it also lends itself to … insecurity.”
Vanessa bit her lip. She hated the stereotype, but she knew it was true.
“Have you heard any of the other legends about NYBA?”
Vanessa’s eyes widened. “No.”
Zep leaned back, squinting in the sun. “Well, there’s the one about how Hilda is a witch, and she chooses one boy each year to ensnare with a love spell.”
For the first time in days, Vanessa let out a real laugh. “You’re making that up.”
“I wish I were,” Zep said, smiling. “I’ve actually heard people talking about it in the lunchroom. Another legend is that one of the old costume designers haunts the dressing rooms beneath the main stage. The rumor is that she strangled herself to death with a roll of ribbon. Oh, and don’t forget Balanchine’s scale. It’s tucked away behind the main stage. If you step on it, you’ll gain twenty pounds.”
Vanessa couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re joking,” she said. “That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m not,” Zep said. “Do you want to go step on the scale then? Test the legend?”
“And risk gaining twenty pounds? I don’t think so,” she said with a smile.
“You would be just as lovely,” he said, gazing at her.
Vanessa blushed.
“As for the voices you heard this morning,” Zep said gently, “I think you’re just overworked and stressed out about the performance. The things you heard the figures say—they almost sound like audience members heckling you.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow. We are you, you are we, we are you, you are we. The chanting did sound like an angry audience, sort of.
“I really don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Zep said, grazing his fingers over the back of her hand, making her tremble. “You’re the most incredible dancer I’ve ever worked with. If I’ve ever seemed frustrated, it’s because I thought I wasn’t going to be able to match your skills.”
Vanessa searched his face. “Really?”
“Really.”
Vanessa traced the lines in his palm with her finger. “There’s one more thing.”
“Okay.”
“On Halloween, I saw Anna talking to Justin. She was crying. He told her to leave school, and then he gave her a bouquet of flowers. She ran to the basement studio and placed the bouquet on that ashy spot in the center. And then she left.”
“How do you know all of that?”
“I—I followed her,” Vanessa admitted. “Well, I was following Justin, because I thought he was you. Where were you that night?”
“I was with Josef, going over my steps. I wanted to be there. Josef pulled me away before I had a chance to tell you.”
“So you’re not seeing Anna?”
“Anna? No.”
His hand on her cheek interrupted her thoughts. “You’re the only one I want,” he said. “You know that, right?” He pulled her toward him, his hand tickling the back of her neck as he pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, her knees touching his, and for a moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay.
But when she got back to her dormitory, everyone else was at class and Vanessa was alone again. Her smile faded as she climbed the stairs to her room, trying to remember what Zep had said that made her stop worrying, but his voice kept drifting away from her.
Instead, she heard other voices, soft ones that grew louder, shriller. Your soul for the taking, your soul for the taking, your soul for the taking. The summoning. The summoning. Quickly, she ran into her room, slammed the door, and slid onto the rug, pressing her hands to her ears.
Without thinking, Vanessa picked up the phone and dialed the only number she knew she could count on. “Please pick up,” Vanessa said. “Please.”
“Hello?”
Vanessa had never been more relieved to hear her mother’s voice. “Mom? It’s me.”
“Vanessa? You sound out of breath. Are you all right?”
Vanessa shook her head. “There’s something really wrong at this place,” she said. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I know it’s real. The walls, they’re … there are girls in there.”
“Vanessa, I can’t understand what you’re saying. Something about a wall?”
“Yes,” Vanessa said. “I keep hearing them. I can’t get them out of my head.”
“What?” Her mother paused. “Vanessa, where are you?”
“I’m in my room.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in rehearsal?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t feeling well. They excused me from practice.”
“Excused you from practice?” her mother said sharply. “Is anyone with you?”
“No. Everyone’s at class. But I can’t tell anyone. They’ll think I’m crazy.”
A long pause. “Okay, Vanessa, what I want you to do is to take a deep breath, hang up the phone, and go to bed.”
Vanessa shook her head. “No. Then they’ll come back.” She heard papers rustling in the background.
“Vanessa, you need to rest. You’re overworked and stressed out about your performance. Try and catch up on sleep. You’ll feel better in a few hours.”
“Stress? No, Mom, it’s not like that. I really hear them. They’re not made up—”
Her mother swallowed. “Hear what?”
“Voices. Girls in the wall. I saw them. They were burning.”
She heard her mother exhale deeply. “Vanessa, please try to get some sleep. Promise me you will. This is all stemming from fatigue. I’m going to call your doctor.”
Vanessa’s breath caught in her throat. “What? I don’t need a doctor. You told me to call you if anything was wrong, if—”
Vanessa stopped herself. If she went on, her mother would probably come and pick her up from school. She would take any excuse to get Vanessa out of NYBA. But was that really what she wanted?
No. She had to stay.
“You’re right, Mom.” Vanessa changed the tone of her voice to something softer, less urgent. “I do need some sleep. I haven’t had a break in weeks. I’m sure I’ll feel better after a short nap.”
“Exactly, honey,” her mother replied. “Rest your head for a few hours. Take care of yourself. I’ll call you tonight and see how you’re feeling. Okay?”
Vanessa nodded. “Okay.”
But after she hung up, Vanessa didn’t go to bed. She stared at the phone, thrusting it back in her pocket. Now what? There was no one left to call. Except …
Vanessa searched through her contacts list until she found Elly’s cell phone number. But she had tried that dozens of times with no luck. What she needed was Elly’s home phone. But how? None of them had it.
Vanessa thought back to the morning after Elly left, when Steffie told her that their RA, Kate, had gone to the main office, where she had found Elly’s home number. She was about to call, Steffie had said, when Hilda stopped her. Kate might still have the number, she realized, and ran down the hall.
Kate’s door was decorated with autumn leaves cut out of construction paper and a sign counting down the days until the first performance of The Firebird. Vanessa knocked, but no one answered. She knocked again and tried the knob. To her surprise, it was unlocked. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she opened the door and slipped inside.
Kate was organized. All Vanessa had to do was sift through the files on her desk until she found a school directory. She scanned the pages and found Elly’s name. Beneath it was printed an address and cell phone number. Written into the margins next to it in Kate’s loopy cursive was a second number, labeled HOME Vanessa scrawled it on the back of her hand with a pen and ran to her room.
Seconds after she punched in the number, Elly’s mother answered the phone. She had a warm southern drawl and sounded like she was in the kitchen. Vanessa heard dishes clinking together in the background.
&
nbsp; “Hi, I was wondering if I could speak to Elly,” Vanessa said.
“Elly?” her mother said with a laugh. “Well, honey, Elly’s at dance school in New York and won’t be home until Christmas.”
Vanessa felt the color leave her face. “Dance school?”
“Of course. In fact, she sent me an e-mail only two days ago saying how much she’s loving the city. Her cell phone is broken, so I wouldn’t recommend calling her there, but I can give you her e-mail address.”
Vanessa lowered the phone from her ear, her hands trembling. What was going on?
“Who is this again?” Elly’s mother said, her voice now tinny and far away.
It can’t be real, Vanessa thought, staring at the mouthpiece. A lump formed in her throat. Elly had to be home.
“Hello?” Elly’s mom said. “Are you still there?”
Not knowing what to do, Vanessa hung up. She leaned against her bed, wishing that her mother had been right; that she could just crawl into bed and close her eyes, and when she woke up everything would be simple once more.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What the—?” Steffie said, catching her books before they dropped.
Steffie was unlocking the door to her room when Vanessa burst down the hall, nearly bowling her over, deeply relieved to see Steffie’s face—pinched frown and raised eyebrow included.
“What are you—”
Vanessa didn’t let her finish. “Quick,” she said. “Get inside.”
They fell into the room, Steffie stumbling as her papers scattered across the floor. “What is up with you?” she asked as Vanessa locked the deadbolt behind them. “Aren’t you supposed to be in rehearsal now?”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” Vanessa said, opening Steffie’s laptop.
“That much is obvious.” Steffie watched, hand on hip, as Vanessa turned up the stereo until music blared from her speakers. “And what are you doing? Did I say you could touch my stuff?”
“No,” Vanessa said. “But I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m about to say.”
“Which is?”
“I called Elly—”
“And her cell phone was off?” Steffie said, looking unimpressed. “I left a message the other day for her birthday.”
