Dance of Shadows (3 page)

Blaine shrugged. “It’s true. But look, I’m half Japanese and half Mexican. How many people do y’all know who wash their margaritas down with a shot of sake?”

“What’s sake?” TJ whispered to Vanessa.

“Not to mention that I’m a guy who likes to wear tights and slippers,” Blaine continued, “and doesn’t eat red meat. It’s not easy growing up like that in Texas. Do you know how hard it is to find a decent salad down there?”

The room erupted in a chorus of giggles. “It’s not that bad,” Elly said, folding herself onto the bed next to TJ. “And the South
does
have one thing that the rest of the country doesn’t.”

“An excess of Mountain Dew?” TJ joked.

Elly smiled, her lips forming a pink crescent. “Southern gentlemen, preferably from Alabama.”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “They’re all farmers to me. Farmers with big fat hoes.”

Vanessa let out a laugh. “I’d take collared shirts and chinos over coattails and bow ties any day,” she said. “But I’m from Massachusetts. I like prep.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Blaine said. “Or I could settle for a Russian dancer. They’re so severe. I love it. I wouldn’t even care if he spoke no English whatsoever. As long as he made sweet, sweet love to me while feeding me caviar, and then helped me play with my set of Matryoshka dolls.” He paused. “Not that I have any Matryoshka dolls.”

Vanessa and the girls continued staring at him. “Then how would you communicate?” Elly asked quizzically.

“Darling,” Blaine said, leaning forward and batting his eyelashes. “The language of love requires no words. Haven’t you seen
The Little Mermaid
?”

That made even Steffie laugh. “Enough about Russian men and little dolls and Disney movies. We’re here to dance.”

Elly opened her laptop, which had a pink case and an enormous heart on the lid, and showed them photos of famous dancers who had graduated from their school: Anastasia Petrova in her leading role in
Giselle
, Alexander Garrel as the sinewy Rat King from
The Nutcracker
, and Juliana Faraday as an ethereal Princess Aurora from
Sleeping Beauty
.

“Those are the ones who made it out,” Blaine said. “What about the ones who didn’t?”

Vanessa grew rigid. “What do you mean?”

Elly cut in. “I heard a girl broke her leg last year during a rehearsal. One of the guys dropped her mid-jump. An upper-classman told me he could hear her bone snap.”

Vanessa cringed.

“Twenty are called,” TJ intoned, “but few survive long enough to graduate.”

“I’m
serious
,” Blaine said. “There are all these students who get hurt.”

“Not to mention the broken toes,” Steffie chimed in. “I almost broke one of mine last year,” she added, a thin silver anklet jingling as she rolled her foot.

“Or the broken hearts,” Elly added, giving Blaine a coy look. He threw a pillow at her.

“Or the girls sent home because of weight problems or drugs,” Vanessa added.

“When you guys dance, do you ever feel different?” Steffie said suddenly. “Like you’re—”

“Delirious?” Vanessa said, startling herself.

“Um—no, I was actually going to say weightless,” Steffie said.

“Delirious?” TJ said with an amused smile. “Like dizzy? Maybe you’re not spotting right.”

Vanessa laughed sheepishly. “Just kidding,” she said, embarrassed.

It only happened once in a while—the strange, delirious feeling. When Vanessa danced so perfectly the music was like a part of her heartbeat, the world around her spun into oblivion, and she felt like she was losing herself. But maybe it was just dehydration. That’s what her mother told her every time she tried to raise the subject. When Vanessa looked up, she realized Steffie was studying her. She felt herself blush, but Steffie only gave her an understanding smile, as if to say,
Whatever your secret is, it’s safe with me
.

“Orientation!” Elly said suddenly. Outside, the hall was strangely quiet. She glanced at her watch. “Crap. We’re already late!”

It couldn’t be.

The rest of the group ran ahead, toward Juilliard, where the orientation was being held. But Vanessa stood frozen in place on the curb, arrested by the sight of a frail girl with long chestnut hair.

She was waiting on the corner by a bus stop, her shoulders bare above a cotton sundress, reading a magazine. Her arms were dotted with dark, familiar freckles.

Vanessa’s heart seemed to stop. Could it be?

Slowly, Vanessa approached, pushing through the people on the sidewalk until she was just inches away from the girl. She took a step closer, gazing at her sister’s delicate skin.

“Margaret?”

Exhaust from the passing cars made the air thick. Vanessa’s long red hair blew about her face.

The girl glanced over her shoulder, her face foreign and strange.

Vanessa went rigid. “Oh, I—I’m sorry,” she said, and backed away. She felt a hand on her arm and, startled, she jumped.

“Are you okay?” Steffie asked.

Vanessa nodded.

“What were you doing?”

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” Vanessa said, her gaze lingering on the girl’s back. “But it’s stupid, right? I mean, New York has millions of people. What are the chances of finding one person out of all of them?”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Steffie said softly.

Vanessa stared at the flood of people on the sidewalk and the crowded mess of storefronts and brownstones and skyscrapers that framed them. The windows that dotted the sides of the buildings looked minuscule from the ground, and it suddenly made Vanessa dizzy to think that a person lived behind each little square of glass, thousands of them just in this three-block radius. Her sister was here somewhere.

And that was why she had come to New York: she wanted to find Margaret.

“Come on,” Steffie said. “We’re late.”

When they caught up with the others, they were standing in front of a wooden door, looking lost.

“I thought it was here,” Elly said, glancing down the hallway full of dance studios. “But the door is locked.”

“Maybe they locked us out because we’re late,” Blaine said.

“Here, let me try,” Vanessa said. Using all her weight, she gave the door a firm push. It swung open, and the five of them hurried inside.

They were in a large ballet studio. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the warm light and making the room seem endless. The entire student body was sitting on the floor, staring at them.

“How interesting,” a woman said in a slight German accent, scrutinizing them. She was so short that Vanessa had barely noticed her. She was middle-aged, her body plain and squat, with thick legs and dull brown hair. “Your first day and your timing is already off.”

“We’re sorry,” TJ blurted out. “We got lost.”

The woman squinted at them. Her face was round and maternal like a country farmwife, her gaze stern, yet somehow still kind. “Let’s just hope your dancing is a little more elegant than your entrance. We have space for you—right—up—here.” She pointed at her feet.

Trying to avoid everyone’s eyes, Vanessa led them up to the front of the room. Her RA, Kate, sat by the barre with a few girls, smiling sympathetically. Other students’ eyes met hers as she wove between them—girls with braids coiled into buns, tortoiseshell headbands and barrettes nestled into their hair, their lean shoulders bare beneath tight tank tops; boys in black jeans, white undershirts, and cutoff sweats that allowed a glimpse of rock-hard biceps and firm abs.

None of them bothered to move to let Vanessa and her friends pass.

Just before she sat down, she noticed a group of older girls leaning against the mirrors in the corner of the room. They were beautiful—long and languid—as they whispered to each other. All thirteen of them had sunburns, as if they had just come back from the beach.

“As I was saying,” the woman up front said, clearing her throat. “My name is Hilda, and I will be your assistant choreographer.”

Vanessa squeezed in next to Steffie, who smelled faintly of vanilla. She had noticed the older girls, too, because she said, “Someone forgot the sunscreen.”

Vanessa was about to smile when Hilda caught her eye.

“And now I’d like to introduce your choreographer, Josef.”

A sinewy man with the compact figure of a dancer approached the front of the room. He looked young at first, but as he grew closer and his features came into focus, Vanessa realized he was probably in his late thirties.

Hilda moved aside and Josef smiled, baring a set of charmingly crooked teeth. He ran a hand through his hair, which was wavy and brown, streaked with gray. He wore tight black jeans and a white V-neck tee with a lick of chest hair sticking out the top. Even though he was neither tall nor particularly good-looking, his presence filled the entire studio.

“Well, here we are.” He spoke with a slight French accent. “At the apex of the world. Welcome.”

With his words, the room seemed to lighten. Vanessa glanced around her and saw the other students smiling.

“Every dancer dreams of attending the New York Ballet
Academy, and rightly so. We are a school of dreams. Here, you will learn how to transcend this world. You will transform yourselves into fairies, princes, swans both pale and dark, wicked queens, and demons from the underworld. You will float like a cloud and disappear into shadows. The audience will think it’s a trick of the light, but all of you will know that you
are
the light. You
are
the music. You are nothing but movement.”

The room was so still, Vanessa could hear him let out a breath.

“Speaking of movement, I must mention that a quarter of the freshman class doesn’t make it through the first year. This may come as a surprise, as you have worked so hard to come here that you cannot even imagine the prospect of dropping out.” He paused, his eyes darting around the room. “I suggest you leave your preconceptions of ballet behind and come to rehearsal soft and malleable, ready to be molded.”

Everyone glanced from side to side, eyeing the other students as if trying to figure out who would leave first.

“But enough of that,” Josef said, suddenly upbeat. “Every winter, we put on a main stage ballet. I’m proud to announce that this year we will be performing Stravinsky’s
The Firebird
.”

For the briefest moment, Josef’s gaze fell on Vanessa. She thought she saw a hint of recognition in his eyes before he looked away. Had he known her sister?

“The ballet centers on Prince Ivan, who enters a magical realm called Kashchei, named after its ruler. There, the prince captures a Firebird, who offers to assist Ivan in exchange for its
eventual freedom. When Ivan falls in love with one of the thirteen princesses, it is the Firebird who helps him defeat Kashchei and win his true love.”

In the mirror on the wall, Vanessa thought she saw a flicker of something dark and foreign, but when she turned to look, everyone remained still.

“The curtains will open on December 13. It is only September now, so this may sound far away, but I assure you it’s not. Casting will take place in one month. The main roles almost always go to the upperclassmen, so for our newcomers, don’t be disappointed if you aren’t chosen. Your time will come. In the meantime, I expect to see you here, on barre. Practice is everything.

“There has only ever been one student who dazzled us enough to catch our attention from the very start. She was a freshman when we cast her in a lead role, and a magnificent dancer. Ethereal.” Josef closed his eyes, apparently conjuring her in his mind. “Unfortunately, she collapsed under the pressure and dropped out. Her dream was shattered.” He scanned the room. “Do not let this happen to you.”

Margaret
. Vanessa glanced around the studio, but no one seemed to know who Josef was referring to. No one, that is, except for Steffie, who watched Vanessa with a curious expression.

Embarrassed, Vanessa hugged her knees, trying to will herself to react more discreetly, when once again she thought she caught Josef’s eyes flitting over her. But it could have been her imagination.

“Hard work and patience pay off just as much as talent. Which reminds me—the role of Prince Ivan has already been cast.” Josef scanned the crowd. “Zeppelin Gray, could you please stand up?”

Vanessa saw his reflection first, his eyes deep and smooth like dark metal. He was sitting with the girls in the corner of the room. As he stood, he seemed to unfold himself, his shoulders broadening, his spine lengthening, until he towered over the rest of the room. He was like no one Vanessa had ever seen. He was too tall to be a dancer, too rough, yet he moved with grace, his black hair lustrous beneath the warm lights.

Zeppelin
, she thought, her eyes traveling up the contours of his arms, when suddenly their eyes met.

His gaze was startling, unnerving, and as he tilted his head his face seemed to change, his sharp edges melting. His sunburn gave off a brassy glow, making him look like a chiseled sculpture. Vanessa felt like she could stare at him for hours and still not see what lay beneath the surface. She faltered, her lips trembling, but she couldn’t look away.