Fin grips my fingers and gives them a reassuring squeeze. I respond with a grateful smile, and we make our way to stage left. We stand there, holding hands in solidarity, as we watch Paige’s performance come to a close. The cheers that follow tell me the audience is quite large, and my gut clenches at the knowledge.
“Go, go,” Professor Moriari says, shooing us forward as Paige and her partner bow and exit from the far side of the stage.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I release Fin’s hand and stride boldly forward, placing my feet gracefully on the stage’s sparse black floor. The music may not have begun, but my performance has already started.
The bright spotlights blind me as I turn to face the audience, striking my entry pose. I can’t see a single face, and that calms me. I can do this. Though I’m trembling, I remind myself to rely on my body’s memory. Fin and I have practiced relentlessly for the past month. We’ve performed our routine so many times I’ve started to do it in my sleep.
The first note of our song brings me to life, and goosebumps rise on my arms. My mind goes blank, bringing with it a confident serenity. Rising to en pointe, I let my body guide my way as I silently remind myself of all the techniques my professor has drilled into me.
As the music builds, echoing around me and commanding me to move. Like a sailor drawn to a siren’s song, I obey. I spin and leap and glide across the stage, drawing closer to Fin as if by magnetic force, only to twirl away.
His hands close confidently on my hips for the first lift in our number, and I flick my feet, launching myself upward as I tighten my now rock-solid core. The shape of my arms takes on a new form as I port de bras. I move through the air weightlessly for one glorious moment before touching down again.
Each motion drives me forward into the next, and my nerves wash away as I realize I’m ready for this. Confidence pounds through my veins and the bitter scent of fear is replaced with the fresh earthy smell of victory.
Spotting a single shadowed face in the audience, I lock my eyes on them as I pirouette, spinning again and again in a finger turn as Fin keeps me in place. A shiver runs down my spine, and I don’t know why. But I feel as though this performance has moved past the space of any achievement I could have expected.
And when Fin dips me into the final dramatic pose, I elongate my limbs, my face pointing down at the floor a mere foot below me, my feet extended toward the ceiling in a representation of my character’s fall.
The silence that follows in the wake of our music’s final note is deafening. Blood roars in my ears as Fin muscles me back onto my feet, righting me as gently as he can. For an instant, our eyes meet, and I can’t help but smile. My grin stretches wide across my face until my cheeks ache. We did it. We made it through a flawless routine. And I can see in Fin’s eyes that he feels the same.
Determined to maintain our composure, we bow formally, and the cheers that follow chase away any doubt in my mind. The audience loved our performance too. My heart swells with the accomplishment, and I fight back the tears of pride. We give a final bow before striding off stage, our ending touch to a knockout success.
“Brilliant!” Professor Moriari beams as we walk off stage, and his apparent approval means more to me than the exuberant praise of our audience. He’s the one who has seen us working every day. He’s the one who can truly assess what is our best, and he’s proud of the performance we gave.
Whitney’s wide smile and mouthed praise tops the cake, and I squeeze her arm for encouragement as she strides out on stage for her own number.
“Fin Tanaka and Anya Orlov, is it?”
We both spin, startled by the unfamiliar voice. Fin’s jaw almost drops from his face.
“Uh, yes?” I say tentatively to the middle-aged woman who said our names, cutting my eyes at Fin to get him to pull it together.
He snaps his mouth closed, drawing his shoulders back as he stands up straight.
“I’m Melody Amara,” the woman says, holding out her hand in a formal introduction. Her business persona matches the sharp suit she’s wearing, along with her dark-rimmed glasses and hair done up in a strict French roll. “I’m a scout for Dance New York.”
It’s Fin’s turn to elbow me into a more appropriate response as my heart hammers in my chest.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand emphatically.
Once I release her, Fin does the same.
“Excellent performance, both of you.Swan Lakeis always a difficult act to perform, but few master it at your age and with such little time to prepare. Miss Orlov, I know you still have most of junior and senior year ahead of you, but I assure you, I’ll be keeping an eye out for when you graduate. As for you, Mr. Tanaka, I would love the opportunity to sit down and discuss with you what your plans are after you graduate.”
“Y-Yeah, absolutely,” Fin stutters.
“Great.”
Melody whips out a business card so efficiently, I almost wonder if she was keeping it up her sleeve. She holds it between her first two fingers as she offers it to Fin, and he takes it enthusiastically.
“I look forward to seeing your next performance,” she says before departing with a sharp nod.
As soon as she’s out of sight, Fin’s jaw drops once more, and he turns to me enthusiastically. “Did I just get recruited to one of New York’s hottest new dance companies?” he asks in disbelief.
I giggle, hugging him excitedly. “I don’t know about recruited, but it definitely sounds like a good window of opportunity.”
Fin beams, staring down at the business card as he holds it like a golden ticket. “I can’t believe that just happened.”