For reasons I still haven’t figured out, the following Friday night I find myself not at my shift at Monica’s Pub like I had initially planned, but at a fancy gala at the theater.
A gala hosted by The Norcastle Ballet.
If you pinched me, I don’t think I would feel it.
With a floor-length dark blue gown that clings to my body in all the right places—in James’s words, not mine—and a pair of kitten nude heels (because my ankle is still not the baddest bitch in town), one would think I’m blending in just fine, but…
Maybe not.
No matter whose face my gaze lands on, what dress or fancy suit, there’s something about some of these people that just…
I hate to say it, I really do, but they give me a weird feeling.
There.
It’s difficult to describe. This happened once before, in high school, when my friends fell in love with the new transfer, a girl from Chicago, and put her on some kind of pedestal. I was friendly at first, of course, but something about her gave me a weird vibe. It wasn’t anything specific, because she was funny and super nice to everyone, but it was there. My friends thought I was crazy—and jealous—when I brought it up, so I eventually let it go.
Two months later, we found out she had been insulting every girl in our class on her private social media accounts. So, there’s that.
Now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror as I wash my hands, I ponder the possibility that I’m just going insane. I accepted Kyle’s invitation tonight because I felt ready enough to move on, and I vowed to keep an open mind and my sad thoughts at bay.
The fact that I’m getting these weird feelings is a surprise.
“Did you see her dress tonight?”
“Feathers are so last year. Someone didn’t get the memo.”
A couple of feminine giggles come into the bathroom as I finish rinsing the soap from my hands, and a second later, two girls send me a smile in the reflection of the mirror. I only smile back because I was raised to be polite.
One of the girls—a brunette—comes to stand a few feet away from me as the other one—a redhead—disappears into one of the stalls. The brunette takes a red lipstick from her bag and starts reapplying it while she talks to her friend as if she were right beside her and not peeing behind a closed door.
“Not all of us can be graceful on and off the stage,” she comments so casually it takes me a second to realize it’s not a compliment.
The redhead snickers. “And she isn’t even that graceful on the stage to begin with.”
They may know I’m a stranger to TNB, or they wouldn’t be gossiping right in front of me, I think to myself as I use a paper towel to dry my hands.
“I heard she hasn’t hooked up with anyone in two years.”
All right. Time to go.
I don’t say a thing as I exit the bathroom, leaving those girls behind. What the hell was that? Is this how everyone behaves behind the scenes?
This is all a facade.
Still, being surrounded by people who were supposed to be my work colleagues and instructors feels like one of those strange dreams that leaves you all dazed when you wake up.
The Norcastle Ballet is hosting a fundraiser for a children’s hospital tonight, and Kyle wanted me to be his plus one. I was hesitant to accept at first, but James convinced me to take a chance and see how it would make me feel.
“You just want to see me in a fancy dress,” I teased him.
He smirked, his strong hands holding my hips like a magnet. “No, I want you to go have fun with your friend. The fact that you’ll come home to me later and I’ll get to fuck you in that dress is just a plus.”
And then he showed me just how badly he needed me, dress or not.
That was two days ago, and ever since my family left after their visit, James and I have seen each other every day. He’s picked me up from work every day, either to drop me off at my apartment or to spend the night at his.
Grace’s words about our age difference and our expectations for the future have been looming in the distance since she brought it up, but I’m too chicken to broach the subject.
There’s no need to do that right now, anyway. We’re just having fun. This is casual. No need to complicate things with heavy conversations when I don’t even know if he will wake up from this strange daydream tomorrow and decide he would rather be with someone closer to his age. Someone stable. Someone who has her future figured out and crazy savings in her bank account.
I shake my worries off when Kyle introduces me to a couple of his coworkers, two women who don’t seem to be much older than us, and we strike up conversation with them until the actual dinner and fundraiser starts.
“Are you having fun?” Kyle asks me after dessert is served. It’s some kind of fancy chocolate mousse with hints of orange, and I swear I’ve just had an orgasm in my mouth.
James won’t be too happy about it since he’s claimed all of them for himself.
I nod, although I still haven’t fully gotten rid of that weird feeling. “Thank you for letting me tag along.”
Kyle gives me a weak smile and shifts on his seat. I know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. “I didn’t know if I was making a mistake in bringing up this gala to you at all,” he confesses, eyes on his mousse. “I didn’t want you to think I was flaunting all this around to make you feel bad.”
My heart softens at that. “Kyle, no. I know you would never do that.” I place a hand on his sturdy shoulder and give him a friendly squeeze. “And I could have said no, you know? I’m happy for you, truly. I’m proud of you for passing the audition, and I can’t wait to attend the Christmas show.”
The Norcastle Ballet always puts together the most magical performances during the holidays, and I feel like a proud mother just thinking about Kyle up on that stage.
This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “You’re the best. I hope you know that.”
Once the main part of the gala ends, a DJ comes out and the hall transforms into a dance floor. Kyle is still talking to everyone, being his usual social butterfly self, and I stay by his side because I literally know nobody here.
As I scan the room, I spot the girls from the bathroom gossip session chatting animatedly with a woman wearing a short dress made of black feathers. Huh.
I’m distracted by my phone buzzing in my clutch. A small smile starts forming on my lips, knowing exactly who it is.
James: Are you having fun?
He wanted me to come tonight—he encouraged me, even. Yet his eyes couldn’t hide the worry that I would relapse, so to speak, and fall down that pit of self-destruction again.
Me: Yeah. The food was amazing, and Kyle fits right in
James: I’m glad to hear it, baby
I get tingles every time he calls me that. I never thought I would be a fan of that term of endearment, but it sounds sexy coming from him.
His next message is a picture of Shadow and Mist curled up on his legs as he watches TV.
Me: You look so cozy. I want to be there 🙁
James: Just say the word and I’ll pick you up
My heart jumps at his offer. Does he always have to be so chivalrous? Not that I’d ever complain.
Me: I can just get an Uber. Don’t worry about me.
James: Not possible
Maybe I should find his protectiveness overbearing, but it brings me a sense of warmth and safety to know he cares about me. That he would go out of his way to make sure I’m okay.
I’m about to text him back when Kyle nudges my arm, and I snap my head up, only to come face-to-face with Suzanne Allard.
Holy shit.
“Maddie, I want to introduce you to one of my instructors, Suzanne Allard. Suzanne, this is Maddison Stevens,” Kyle says like he hasn’t just rocked my world.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” My voice comes out steadier than I could’ve ever wished for, and so does my hand when I hold it out for her to shake.
The smile she gives me is friendly, warm, and it puts me at ease instantly. “The pleasure is all mine, Maddie. I can call you Maddie, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”
It takes everything in me not to gape at her. “Have you?”
This can’t be happening. Surely, the Suzanne Allard, one of the best choreographers in the goddamn United States, hasn’t heard about me. It’s just a form of speech. Right?
“Indeed.” She touches Kyle’s arm affectionately. “Kyle here has told me all about your time together at ballet school. He spoke about an ankle injury, if I’m not mistaken?”
I exchange a quick look with my friend, and he gives me the most mischievous smirk known to humankind. I don’t know whether to hug him or kill him. Maybe both.
I clear my throat. I was lucky enough to find my voice in front of this woman once when I introduced myself, and I’m hoping for a second miracle. “Yes.” Good, it’s not shaking. I check that my hands aren’t either before I continue. “I was meant to audition for The Norcastle Ballet, in fact, but I got injured a few days prior.”
Her face is the true depiction of horror. “Oh, dear. I hope it isn’t giving you much trouble now. How is the recovery process going?”
“I’m done with physical therapy, and I was lucky it didn’t require surgery.” My cheeks warm up, but I don’t think she notices. “My doctor was the best, too.”
More than you’ll ever know.
“I’m glad to hear that, Maddie. Are you able to dance again?”
I beam at that. If someone had told me two weeks ago that I would be excited about this, I wouldn’t have believed them at all. “I’ve recently started a position as a dance instructor at a local studio, and so far my ankle isn’t giving me any trouble.”
That’s right. Believe it or not—and I hardly do myself—I got hired right away after my interview on Monday. So far I’ve only given two lessons at this local dance school that’s just a few blocks away from my apartment, but I enjoy it. A lot. The girls are around six and seven, and they’re the best.
My boss, a forty-something-year-old Russian woman, is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. She asked me to take over one of her groups to see how I adapted to the flow of the classes, and so far, I’m loving it.
If this is the path I’m meant to take as I fully heal, I’m not mad about it.
“That is wonderful, dear. But surely you’d want to do something a bit more…” Suzanne starts, a notch forming between her delicately trimmed eyebrows. “How do I put this, meaningful with your career, wouldn’t you?”
I freeze at her words.
Meaningful?
Meaningful.
Is she saying… Is she saying teaching ballet to children who are at their prime age to start their dancing careers is something inconsequential?
Kyle tenses beside me, as if he knows exactly what’s going on inside my head right now.
I blink once, twice, because I cannot believe those words have left the mouth of someone who teaches for a living. Sure, she teaches at one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the country—maybe in the world—but she teaches, nonetheless.
If I ever dared to dream about having a career in ballet in the first place, it’s because someone decided to do something not meaningful—apparently—with her life and become a ballet teacher. Grace, specifically.
She was my first ballet instructor when I was four, and the only reason she didn’t become a professional ballerina is because she didn’t want to. Her path was meant to go in a different direction, and as a best-selling children’s author, I would say it went pretty well.
Maybe my own path was always meant to go in the opposite direction of this, after all.
I’m too stunned to speak, and hurt, too, that someone I held in such high regard would be so…so…so damn classist.
I don’t get a chance to say anything because she continues, oblivious to how ignorant she’s just sounded. “We are actually holding an open audition in the winter. You should consider paying us a visit.” She throws me a knowing wink, and my traitorous heart leaps.
“An open audition?” I parrot back. “Aren’t auditions invite-only?”
“Usually, yes, but we want to experiment this year,” she tells me. “They will only be open for three days, though, so you should keep an eye out. I’m sure there’s information about it on our website, or Kyle can remind you.”
“Absolutely,” he beams, as if he had been presented with the opportunity himself.
“Thank you. I will consider it,” I say, still dumbfounded, still breathless, still confused, and still angry.
Is the universe kidding me right now?
She gives me another smile I don’t consider all that kind anymore. Not after that one comment. “It was lovely meeting you, Maddie. I will see you on Monday, Kyle. Have fun.”
To be honest, I don’t recall saying goodbye back to her. But I remember Kyle turning to me, eyes wide and full of excitement, and letting out a silent scream.
“Maddie!” he whisper-shouts. “This is huge. Oh my God. Are you going to do it?”
I know James said I shouldn’t try my luck in professional ballet for at least a year, but what if…
“I’ll think about it,” I decide. His face falls, and I laugh, looping my arm around his. “Come on. You still haven’t introduced me to everyone and their mothers.”
When James picks me up an hour later, I don’t bring up Suzanne Allard or the audition. I don’t bring up how weird that comment was, how shitty it made me feel, or how confused I am right now regarding my future.
What if I put The Norcastle Ballet on a pedestal just like my high school friends did to the new girl?
What if it’s nothing more than an institution full of classism and inflated egos?
That’s not an environment I want to be in, or work in, ever.
But Kyle isn’t like that, so maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it’s just one bad apple. Or two, or three.
The opportunity to audition in the winter doesn’t feel real, anyway. Plus, I already know what James’s answer would be if I brought it up.
I’ll tell him…eventually. Just not tonight.
