The Cursed Ballet (4 page)

Chapter 11

The next day, Ophelia began to avoid her friends again. If they were going to be jealous and judgmental, so be it. She didn't need them. She had Devon.

All day, Kayley tried to catch up with Ophelia, but Ophelia always managed to get away.

Every time she saw Kayley, though, the questions her friend had brought up echoed in Ophelia's mind.

She moved through the day in a fog, feeling sharp and alert only once, when her stomach growled. She grabbed a snack out of the snack machine but forgot about it almost immediately. Thoughts of Devon and his kiss overwhelmed her every time she went to take a bite. The day crawled by so slowly that Ophelia wondered if she would ever make it to midnight. She barely registered it when Ms. Traysor, the history teacher, told her she was flunking the class.

She had never flunked a class in her life. But nothing else mattered now. Nothing but Devon.

Ophelia forced herself to go to the second ballet class of the day. Her body felt tired and weak, but thoughts about perfecting the part of Giselle propelled her to practice.

When she walked into class, Madame Puant was speaking to that same lady Ophelia had seen before, on the day she passed out. The woman looked hard at Ophelia once again, and Madame Puant glanced at her too, a disapproving look on her face. For a second, Ophelia was afraid Madame Puant had found out about her nighttime forays. But Madame just pounded her cane again and ballet class started.

At the end of class, Ophelia grabbed her bag during reverence so that she could skip out without having to talk to any of the girls. As she walked into the hall, she turned left instead of right and hid in an empty classroom while she waited for her friends to leave.

The classroom was dark, but a few sunbeams slid through the windows up high. The space had obviously been a science room—old beakers and test tubes lie everywhere, scattered and dusty. Ophelia shook her head. She'd been at the academy for three years, and still, she didn't know the school. Whatever else Kayley was wrong about, she was right that this place was special.

“I know what you've been doing at night.”

Ophelia knocked into a side cabinet and glasses tinkled inside. The well-dressed lady Madame Puant had been talking to stood in front of her, one diamond-laden hand on a nearby table.

Ophelia tried to stop the hard beating of her heart. Yet again, the darkness started to fold in around her eyes at the edges.

“He makes you feel warm, but he's cold. Believe me. You feel like you're the only one, but you're not.” Sadness crept into the lady's voice.

Ophelia regained her composure and said, “Who are you? And what are you talking about?”

The lady traced her finger on the table, lifting it up and looking at the pattern she'd made in the dust. She wiped her hands together and sighed.

“Ophelia. I am a friend. I'm someone who knows what you're going through. And believe me, if I could stop it, I would. But you have to end it yourself. That's just the way it is.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ophelia said through clenched teeth. Though a part of her—a small, faraway part—knew exactly what the woman was talking about.

“My name is Jordan Johnson. I used to dance here.”

Ophelia's jaw dropped open. Jordan Johnson. One of
the
Johnsons—the people who own Dario Quincy Academy. Back in the nineties, she had been the best dancer the school had ever seen. She was a legend among all the students in the place—the person Ophelia got compared to the most. Only, rumor said that Jordan had become ill during her senior year. She stopped dancing. No one knew why.

“Did you ever hear stories about why I left the school?”

Ophelia shook her head. “Only that you got ill.”

Jordan nodded. “Yes, that's right. But my father made sure that no one knew why. You see, he didn't want to hear any more stories bandied about involving this school.” Her face darkened. “Even if those rumors were true.”

Ophelia wasn't sure what to say next, half afraid of what Jordan was about to tell her.

Jordan moved closer and clasped Ophelia's hands. “I left because I was ill. And I was ill because I was Giselle. My father decided to put on the ballet, despite the rumors of the curse. And I, of course, was thrilled to be the lead. I believed I could beat any curse that threatened me or the school.”

Ophelia shifted on her feet as a wave of dizziness washed over her, but she waited it out and kept listening. “I thought the person who did Giselle died that year.”

Jordan shook her head. “No. From what I can tell, the rumors have been a mix of truths and falsehoods for a while. My father couldn't conceal the fact that he had planned to put on
Giselle
. Too many people knew about that. However, he did what he could to protect my reputation—or his. To keep me from being part of the legend.”

She went on, her head down. “I was close, though. To death, I mean. It was by sheer luck and love that I didn't die. Those before me weren't so fortunate.

“You see, very soon after rehearsals began, I met a boy. A beautiful boy who could dance like no other. And this boy and I would meet every night—every single night—to dance
Giselle
. Never before in my life had I felt such beauty. Never had I felt like I belonged to someone else. Never before had I been in love.”

Ophelia's face burned. She dreaded whatever would come out next.

“Have you been dancing with Devon, Ophelia?”

Ophelia backed up into the cabinet and heard glass break. “You have no idea what you're saying,” she said. “You don't know him!”

She searched for her bag and for the exit. She had to get out of there.

Jordan spoke quickly. “He is not from this world, Ophelia. He will kill you if he can! He
is
killing you. Look at yourself! Stop dancing before it's too late!”

Ophelia found her bag and started to sprint. She heard Jordan yell behind her, “Read my diary! You'll see!”

But Ophelia was already out the door. She turned sharply and ran right into someone. Kayley looked up at her from the floor with worried eyes. Ophelia shook her head and ran down the nearest staircase, tears spilling over her cheeks. She made it to the kitchen of the house, hiding herself between the big industrial refrigerators. The cold made her feel good. Made her feel like she was with Devon.

Her crying turned into dry heaves.

She had to find Devon tonight. She had to make sure she was the only one, that what that woman had said wasn't true. She had to. She felt like her life depended on it.

Chapter 12

Once she was all cried out, Ophelia stood up slowly. She had to grab on to the handle of the refrigerator to stop from falling. It swung open, almost taking Ophelia with it. She was so weak she could barely hold on. The cold air rushed over her.

Ophelia saw food inside the fridge and thought briefly that she should eat something, but she wanted to get up to her room and hide. Her head was pounding.

She climbed the stairs with caution and finally made it to her room, collapsing on the bed. She could feel every rib sticking out. Her heart beat erratically.

After an hour or so, Ophelia took out her diary and began writing in it, detailing everything Jordan had told her. Tears streamed down her face again.

It just couldn't be. Devon was hers and hers alone. How did Jordan even know his name? Ophelia would ask him that night. He would have to answer her then.

She set her alarm for eleven thirty and slept.

When the alarm went off, Ophelia sat up groggily and checked the clock. Adrenaline coursed through her. It was time to meet Devon. Butterflies danced in her stomach as she thought about her questions. But it was time. She had to know if what Jordan said was true.

She put on her dance clothes, feeling like an old woman. In the mirror, her hair was lank and lifeless. Her eyes were dark and sunken in. Her cheekbones looked like they could cut glass.

Kayley was right: Ophelia did look like death.

She walked up to the studio and made it there by ten to midnight, but she just didn't have the energy to dance.

Ophelia stretched halfheartedly, and at twelve, she turned to the center of the room, determined to see Devon come in.

His voice came from a dark corner of the room: “My Giselle.”

She turned slowly around to look at him. His pale eyes beckoned her, and before she could utter a word, he brought her toward him.

They began to dance.

After about five minutes, Ophelia knew something was wrong. She could barely stand up.

Stars danced before her eyes. Her breath came out short and panicky. She tried to get Devon to stop, but he kept whirling her around. Finally, she broke away.

“Did you dance with Jordan Johnson too? With other girls?”

He smiled an indulgent smile and said, “I am always here for you. When you dance Giselle on the stage, I will be there for you too. We will be together, always.”

Ophelia shook her head. She felt foggy and disconnected. “Jordan Johnson said you tried to kill her.”

His once-sweet face contorted in anger. “How dare you question me!”

He grabbed her, then pushed her away. Ophelia had no strength left. She landed on the floor buttfirst, head snapping against the wood.

The lights in the studio snapped on.

Someone grabbed Ophelia's shoulders, and she tried to back up, scared that Devon was going to hurt her.

Kayley's face came into focus. “Ophelia! Ophelia, are you all right?”

Ophelia blinked rapidly, trying to get her bearings. “Devon?” she said, worried he'd left.

The faces of Madeleine, Sophie, and Emma came into view behind Kayley's.

“Devon?” Madeleine said. “Who's Devon?”

Kayley frowned and looked at Ophelia. “Devon is the one who tried to kill Jordan Johnson.”

With that, Ophelia passed out.

Chapter 13

For the second time in two weeks, Ophelia woke up in the nurse's office. This time, though, she woke up to the faces of her friends.

“Nurse John,” Kayley said, “she's awake.”

Nurse John came into focus and said, “Ophelia, you passed out again.”

Ophelia tried to croak, “Duh.” But it just came out as a grunt.

The nurse patted her arm. “You just rest here. Your friends are going to look after you.”

After he left, Ophelia found it hard to look at her friends. Silence overtook them, and no one moved.

Kayley was the first one to speak. “How do you feel?” she asked, putting her hand on Ophelia's arm. Tears came to Kayley's eyes.

Ophelia laughed a shaky laugh. “Like crap.” She added, “What happened? … I don't know what's been happening.”

Madeleine nodded and went to the other side of the bed, putting her hand on Ophelia's arm.

“You aren't getting enough nutrients, so they're giving you dextrose,” Madeleine said. “Your electrolytes are off. Your heart rate's messed up too.”

“That's the short version,” Kayley said.

“You came close to, well … being really sick,” Emma added.

Ophelia closed her eyes and let tears spill. She didn't open them when she murmured Devon's name.

When Ophelia did look up, Kayley stared down at her with compassion. “I overheard your conversation with Jordan Johnson. I heard about the diary. So we went and found it, in Madame Puant's office. It's super old-looking all right.” Kayley held the diary toward Ophelia. “Don't even ask me how we snuck in there. Do you want to read it?”

Ophelia did and didn't. She couldn't bear the thought of Devon being with anyone else. She wouldn't believe that she was just another victim in a long line of victims. Or that Devon would hurt her in any way. But she remembered his look of anger and the way he shoved her. She swallowed hard and took the diary, opening it to the first page:

My friends are acting strange, and I know it is because they are jealous. The only thing that gives me comfort right now is Devon. Dancing with him makes the whole world disappear. I find that I long for him every single night—I wait with bated breath to be reunited with him. He feeds my soul like nothing else can. I needn't eat nor sleep, for Devon is my nourishment. Those around me only serve as distractions, and they will never understand this need I have for him, this yearning that consumes me.

Ophelia closed it with a hard
thunk
. The words were the same ones she had written in her own diary. Exactly the same. And she'd bet that the rest of the diary was at least as similar.

Her friends gathered around her and hugged her.

After a few minutes, Ophelia pushed them away and sniffled, reaching for a Kleenex. The rest of them reached for one too, and the five of them laughed together, a long, hard laugh. Ophelia realized it was the first time she'd laughed in ages.

It felt good.

When they finally stopped, she said, “You guys, I don't know what happened. I feel so … out of control.”

She wiped her eyes impatiently. “It's just, no one makes me feel like he does. And I got so wrapped up in everything, I didn't even …” Ophelia sobbed again. “I'm so sorry. I've been so awful to all of you! I don't know how to let him go.”

She told all of them the whole story. Every single bit. And for the first time in a long time, Ophelia felt light. She no longer had a secret, no longer had to sneak around. She was desperately afraid of losing Devon, but she knew that he wasn't good for her. She knew there was something up with him. And the only way to combat that was to get her friends involved.

If she had learned one thing at Dario Quincy Academy, it was that friendship trumped any curse.

When she was done telling the story, Kayley twisted her lips in thought. “We need to figure out a way to get him. But, Ophelia … I don't think you should see him again. We'll all work together to find a way. Deal?”

Ophelia nodded her head slowly. “OK. But I will probably need to stay in someone else's room at night.” She looked away guiltily.

Madeleine nodded. “Done. We have four nights until the performance, and you have four friends,” she said. “It seems like we'll have just the right amount of time and people to figure this out.”

“Thanks, you guys.” She looked at each of the girls with complete sincerity. “You saved my life.”