The Cursed Ballet (3 page)

Chapter 7

In ballet class that Monday, Ophelia was on cloud nine again. She and Devon danced the entire weekend, ending with a kiss that made Ophelia shiver every time she thought about it. Part of her wondered if that was because of his always-cold hands, but she knew it was because of something else: she was falling in love.

Ophelia stayed far away from Kayley, Madeleine, Sophie, and Emma during practice, but she could still notice their quick glances and their worried expressions.

As Ophelia relaced her shoe, hanging back from the center of the room for the third time, Madeleine tiptoed toward her. When Ophelia stood up, she was face-to-face with Madeleine's worried, kind eyes. Darkness threatened to overtake Ophelia—she must have stood up too fast. But the darkness receded into little points of light, and she looked at Madeleine impatiently.

“What?” she whispered to Madeleine, in no mood to deal with whatever nonsense Madeleine was going to spout.

“We're worried about you,” Madeleine whispered back.

Ophelia's eyes turned cold. “I don't need your worry.” She flipped around to the barre and worked her leg high up behind her, kicking it out and staring at the mirror in front of her so she wouldn't have to look at Madeleine.

Mirror-Madeleine looked helplessly at the girls across the room. Ophelia felt bad for just a moment. Then Madeleine's turn to dance came, and she toed her way to the stage.

Ophelia decided just to note all the looks the girls gave her or gave one another about her for further diary entries. She could document their jealousy in the pages of the diary. Then she'd have a date with Devon that was untainted by her frustration with her friends. What kind of friends were they, anyway? To not give her space when she needed it? She would have to find a way to avoid them more often, if that were possible.

Ophelia was relieved to see that Madeleine didn't come back toward her once she'd run off the stage. The corps danced on. Ophelia continued to stretch at the barre, getting ready to dance Giselle's death scene. As she bent over her knee to keep limber, a wave of blackness swept in. Dizziness overtook her. She stood up slowly, feeling her heartbeat thumping hard.

She took deep breaths, willing the dizziness to go away. This was one of Ophelia's favorite scenes to dance—no way was she going to miss it.

Madame Puant waved the corps off the stage and called to Patrick to play the death scene. She looked at Ophelia and said, “All right. Are you ready?”

Ophelia nodded, aware that all eyes were on her. Madame squinted at her, a look of concern passing over her face. Ophelia gathered herself up and took center stage, fighting back the darkness that still lingered in her peripheral vision.

Patrick started the music, and the feeling of the dance took Ophelia over. Everything she felt for Devon came through in her movements. She thought of the agony of losing him and tears almost started flowing. She used that pain, converting all the sadness, loneliness, and despair into a haunting performance. In that moment, Ophelia was Giselle.

As she came out of a particularly hard turn, she caught a glimpse of someone in the open studio door. A woman, stately and well dressed, stared at her with an intensity that could rival Madame. The woman wore a long, tailored coat and small diamond earrings. Her hair was tied back in a severe twist. Her dark eyes held on to Ophelia's until Ophelia forgot where she was and snapped her out of her reverie.

In that moment, the room went black. The last thing she heard was a voice say, “She's falling.”

Chapter 8

When Ophelia woke up, she was in a bed of some sort with an IV hooked up to her. The stern, bright eyes of the academy nurse hovered over her.

“Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Nurse John said.

Ophelia struggled to sit up, but Nurse John pushed her back down gently. “Nuh-uh, I don't think so. You blacked out and had a nasty fall in class. You'll be in here for a while.”

Ophelia groaned and moved her knee. She could feel a scrape rubbing against her tights. And then panic overtook her.

“What time is it?”

Nurse John furrowed his eyebrows and said, “Ten
P.M.
Why?”

Ophelia sighed and sank back. She hadn't missed Devon. She was cutting it too close for comfort, but at least she hadn't missed midnight.

“I'm just wondering how long I was out,” she answered.

Nurse John frowned and then checked her IV and moved some things on the table beside her. A large can of coconut water stood on Ophelia's table. The nurse cracked it open.

“Well, you passed out around five thirty, then came to about six when they brought you in here. Then you fell asleep and have been sleeping ever since. You clearly needed it.”

He brought a chair next to her bed and interlaced his fingers, his expression kind but worried.

“Ophelia, when was the last time you ate?”

Ophelia was startled. She hadn't even thought of food. At the mention of it, her stomach growled like it had been called to life. She thought for a second. Had she eaten that day?

“I don't know.”

Nurse John sighed and nodded. “Yes, that's what I thought.” He cleared his throat and said, “Ophelia, dancing is a tough business. It's hard on your body, especially classical ballet. To do the work, you have to be properly fueled …”

Light dawned on Ophelia. This was Nurse John's eating-disorder spiel. The coconut water, the close talking … Nurse John thought Ophelia had stopped eating on purpose.

Ophelia had a hard time not snorting. She knew a lot of ballet dancers had eating disorders. It's not like that was news. The competition, the stress to keep a lean body, the perfectionism … Well, it was a perfect storm.

But that had never been Ophelia, luckily. She liked food a lot, but not too much, and she always ate when she needed to. Otherwise, well, she would pass out. And then she almost hit herself in the head; that's exactly what had happen.

Now she just had to convince Nurse John that it wasn't a disorder, just a mistake. Otherwise, she'd heard what happens to girls like that. They'd spend days trapped in the nurse's office while he watches them eat. And if things don't get better, they go off to treatment. Ophelia had seen it more than once.

She thought all of that was a great solution. Until now.

Nurse John's voice reached Ophelia's ears, “… overnight, at least for tonight.”

“Wait, what?”

“You're going to stay overnight tonight, just so I can make sure your electrolytes are balanced and you're properly fueled.”

“But I can't tonight! I have to dance Giselle!”

Nurse John patted her shoulder. “And you will. But we have to get you better. And we have to make sure you eat. So tomorrow, you can dance!”

Ophelia couldn't tell him the real reason—she'd miss dancing Giselle with Devon. Dancing at class was a faint second. But the determination in Nurse John's eyes told Ophelia that she'd be doing exactly as he said.

Tears coursed down her face.

“There, there,” said Nurse John. “It's only a dance.”

Ophelia sobbed. Not a dance. It was love.

Chapter 9

Despite her heartbreak at not seeing Devon, Ophelia was surprised at how hard she slept that night.

When she woke up the next morning, she ate a huge breakfast, making Nurse John smile.

And making herself feel much better, she realized. Ophelia hadn't realized how awful she felt. She had been too wrapped up in Devon.

The familiar panic shot through Ophelia, but the feeling was more muted than it had been the day before. Missing one night with Devon didn't seem as dire now. She had to remind herself to eat—she felt better than she had all week.

For the first time in days too, she wondered how Madeleine, Sophie, Kayley, and Emma were doing.

Nurse John gave her a pass to go to classes, but not to ballet practice. When Ophelia walked into civics, she smiled at Kayley and the girls. They all gave tentative smiles back. And when lunch came around, Ophelia sat at the table with them, heaping her plate with lasagna.

She dug in to her dish and said “Holy crap, this is good!” as the other girls stared at her.

“How are you feeling?” Madeleine asked. “That was so scary in class the other day when you fell.”

Sophie nodded. “Yeah, you had a little seizure. Like you were possessed or something.”

Ophelia swallowed. Nurse John hadn't said anything about that. No wonder he was concerned. She was slightly embarrassed but shook it off.

“I'm fine, now. I just hadn't eaten enough.”

She took another bite of her lasagna.

“Why not, though?” Kayley said. “No offense, but you looked like death. Your eyes were dark, and you seemed tired all week. Are you going to tell us what's going on?”

Ophelia thought for a moment and then put down her fork. She wondered if she should tell them about Devon after all. She'd been dying to share her secret with them, but something always seemed to hold her back. Some part of her that wanted Devon all to herself. As she looked around at her friends' faces, though, she knew she shouldn't hold back.

She leaned in. “OK, there's something going on, but you have to promise not to tell.
And
…” she looked at Kayley, “don't be judgmental. Promise?”

Emma and Sophie nodded simultaneously, and Madeleine said yes. Kayley remained silent until Ophelia looked her way. Finally, Kayley nodded.

“Right. So, I've met a boy,” Ophelia whispered. She sat back, that old twinge of excitement sparking through her.

“That's it?” Kayley said.

Ophelia nodded impatiently. How could she explain Devon? “Yeah, that's it. Only, he's more than a boy. He's … he's a dancer. And he makes me feel …”

Emma's eyes widened, and she said, “Ophelia, are you in love?”

A smile from out of nowhere burst from Ophelia. “Yes,” she said, trying hard to keep her voice down. “Yes, I think I'm in love.”

Kayley rolled her eyes. “Emma, you always think people are in love. Ophelia, how in love could you be with someone you met, what, like a week ago?”

“You wouldn't know anything about him,” Ophelia said. “I know how I feel about Devon. He's … he's perfect.”

“How did you meet him?” Madeleine asked.

Ophelia got excited again. “He just showed up one night while I was practicing. In the studio. And he can dance … he knows
Giselle
! When he kisses me—”

She cut herself off. It was not like her to gush, not like her at all. She felt her face go red.

But Kayley's face was red too. “So. Let me get this straight. You're the star of a cursed ballet where the main character—you—always dies. And some strange boy shows up when you're dancing, and you don't think twice about it. Have you guys gone out on a date? Is he from town? Why is he just showing up here at the studio? If we've never seen him before, he's clearly not a student. How does he know
Giselle
? Where does he dance?”

Ophelia sat back, flustered and angry. She realized she didn't know how to answer any of those questions. “You're just jealous,” she said, standing up. “You're always jealous of me. Jealous of how I can dance and jealous that I've met the man of my dreams.”

Kayley stood up too, scraping her chair against the floor. Conversation across the lunchroom stopped. “You're being an idiot, Ophelia! This isn't like you at all! What do you know about this guy?”

Ophelia grabbed her bag and walked away furiously. After a few steps, she turned around and said, “I know that I'd rather be with him than hang out with any of you losers.”

And she stomped away to her room.

Chapter 10

As much as Ophelia didn't want to admit it, Kayley's questions nagged at her.

Where did Devon come from? How did he just show up? And his clothes … why hadn't she asked him any questions? He just appeared, and they danced.

Ophelia took out her diary and wrote down everything that had happen, all the feelings she felt. When she looked at the clock, it was already eight. She'd missed dinner. It didn't matter. She wasn't hungry again. Thinking about Devon had ruined any appetite she might have had.

After putting the diary away, she thought about what to do. Kayley was right—the whole thing with Devon was a little weird. But she just couldn't believe anything was wrong with him. She just needed to ask him some questions, that's all. Maybe even ask him out—out of the studio and into public. She smiled at the thought. She'd love to show him off, although she didn't want any other girls to get any ideas. He was hers and hers alone.

She thought.

She chewed her fingernails. They
were
going out, right?

Bouncing her knee, she tried hard to distract herself until midnight.

Finally, at twenty to twelve, Ophelia ran up to the studio. She did halfhearted warm-ups and felt her heart beat hard again. She wished she'd eaten. She still felt weak from the day before, and as she did her stretches, she started feeling woozy. Just as darkness threatened at the corners of her eyes again, she saw him.

As usual, he stood in the moonlight. She walked to him, ignoring her advancing lightheadedness.

“My Giselle,” he said and took her hand, pulling her to him. She melted into him, breathing in his woodsy, spicy smell. Wasn't there something she was supposed to do? She tried hard to think of it, but all she could do was feel his closeness, his hand on her back, the muscles along his arm, the cold breath on her cheek. His eyes bored into hers, and she couldn't think of anything else but the dancing.

Ophelia stumbled a little during one turn, and for a split second, Devon's face contorted in anger. It was enough to snap Ophelia out of whatever trance she was in.

She stepped back from him. “Where are you from?” she asked.

He looked confused. “I'm from here. Now come. We must dance that last part again. You ruined it.” He waved his hand, urging her forward.

Ophelia wanted more than anything else to come to him. She felt absolutely ashamed that she had stumbled. She wanted more than ever to fix it. But she forced herself to ask again:

“No, I mean, are you from town? Are you a student at another ballet school? Why do you wear the same clothes every night? And why don't we ever go out?” She swallowed and asked the biggest, hardest, most important question. “Am I your girlfriend?”

Devon's expression softened, and he came to her again, pulling her close.

“Darling Giselle,” he whispered in her ear, “there is no one else but you. You are my partner.” He began to lead her in the same steps they'd danced before.

Ophelia relaxed into him and let the moves take her over. She didn't need to think. She didn't need to question him. She was the only one for him. He'd said it.

As the turned on the dance floor, Ophelia whispered, “I love you.”