“Have you been watching their faces?” I ask, leaning close to Silvia so as not to get any angry looks from the other audience members.
Silvia shakes her head.
“Watch. You can see it when they fuck up.”
Silvia glances toward me before turning her eyes back to the dancers.
“Like right there, did you see it? The guy looked like he just bit into a lemon or something. Think he fucked up? Or his partner.” I chuckle, thinking I’ve found a new way to stay awake for the showcase.
“You’re such a jerk,” Silvia scolds me. “I’m sure they’ve trained hard for this performance, and you’re just laughing at their mistakes.”
Her tone is playfully angry, but when I glance over to look at her face a moment later, she almost looks sad, a marked difference from the excitement she’s had all day. My heart constricts as I realize my mean humor might have done that. I kick myself mentally. Silvia’s too kind and sweet. I need to remember that and put my best foot forward while I’m with her. I don’t get to see her often enough to act like an ass when I’m around her.
I can’t help but notice the dancers’ expressions now that I’ve pointed them out. Still, I keep the commentary to myself, trying to leave Silvia to enjoy the showcase in peace. On my other side, Lucca and Cassio start to reengage, and I let them be. They don’t seem to be bothering anybody aside from me. When my eyes begin to wander around to study the shadowed faces of the other audience members, I realize we must be surrounded by people who actually care about this kind of thing. They all look fascinated by the performances on stage, each pair of eyes focused forward like they’re watching a masterpiece.
The next musical number draws to a close, another classical piece I don’t recognize but don’t dislike by any means. And as my eyes wander back toward the stage once more, my heart skips a beat. Anya glides onto the stage wearing a black outfit that emphasizes the cream color of her skin and honey-blonde hair. Her makeup is dramatic enough that I almost don’t recognize her right away. But I’ve spent weeks watching her, planning my next form of torture for her. So though her hair is pulled into a slick bun and crowned with black feathers that remind me of a swan’s wings, I know it’s her without a doubt.
I scoot forward in my chair, sudden excitement filling me as I think about how God-awful this performance is going to be. If her display of clumsiness on the first day of school is any mark of her agility, I give her ten seconds before she ends up on her ass. In my periphery, I catch Silvia’s gaze shifting toward me, taking note of my new posture, but I don’t care. I’m not about to tell her that I’m preparing for a good laugh, and I honestly don’t care who hears me.
Anya and her partner strike their poses, and I have to admit, I’m slightly impressed by Anya’s easy flexibility. When the first haunting notes of her song begin, the music tickles at the back of my brain. I’ve heard it before, but I don’t know where or when. And with the first few notes, Anya comes to life. I don’t know if it’s the music, but something stirs inside me. The ebb and flow of the rich symphony raise goosebumps on my arms. And my eyes remain riveted on Anya as she gracefully dances across the stage.
I feel my breath catch in my lungs as Anya lifts lightly onto the points of her toes and, in the same motion, spins, her body tipping forward as one leg stretches out behind her. The poise of her motion captivates me, and my pulse quickens as I realize Anya is actually quite good. No, more than that. She’s an extremely talented dancer.
I can’t think. I can’t speak as my eyes follow her across the dance floor. And she spins and leaps so gracefully she almost looks like a bird herself, her body weightless in her performance. The brilliant spotlight shines down on her body, making her skin almost glow, and the dark tutu glare forebodingly as it matches the ominous sound of the music building around me.
I can’t help myself as I scoot forward further in my seat. I’m spellbound. Cassio accidentally bumps into my elbow, and anger ripples through me as I tear my eyes from the performance to shove him violently.
“Shut the fuck up and sit still,” I hiss before turning my attention back to the stage.
Anya steps and spins, steps and spins, her arms held in perfect arcs as she races across the stage. I think she just might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can hardly believe this is the same girl who spilled her lunch all over me the day I met her, and the only way I can make sense of this contradiction is that she must have been born dancing. She probably had to learn to walk long after she started dancing.
I know it’s ridiculous as soon as the thought crosses my mind, but I wonder what it would be like to date her. I consider whether it might be worth my time, even though she’s clearly beneath me. But despite her economic inferiority, I can’t help thinking about what it would be like to hold that lithe, graceful,flexiblebody. My body throbs with sudden need. Fuck, I want to feel her, to know what it’s like to have her pressed against me.
And then Anya and her partner meet. His hands close around her hips as he brings her to a halt, and a fresh level of fury washes over me. He put his hands on her. Not only that, but he’s interfering with her dancing. An inexplicable violent rage consumes me as I watch them move together. Anya gracefully leaps into the air, her body spinning until her partner’s hands grip her hips from behind, lifting her high over his head as she appears to be floating, gliding, flying practically. She’s intoxicating, and when she slowly descends back to the floor once more, I wonder if her partner did anything at all or if he’s simply there to grope her as he mocks me.
I could break every bone in his body for touching her. I’m sorely tempted to, though if anyone had asked me twenty-four hours ago, I would have laughed at the idea that someone touching Anya would do anything but disgust me.
Anya leaps away from him, her body moving more rapidly now as the music spurs my emotion forward. I’m consumed with my conflict, torn between my newfound fascination with Anya and my intense jealousy every time her partner touches her. I can’t stand how violently I want Anya right now. My desire fills me with tension that raises my shoulders and my hands fist as I fight to contain myself. That’s it. I have to have her. And when I do, no one else will dare lay a hand on her. Especially not this tights-wearing partner of hers.
It’s all I can do to stay in my chair, and when the performance comes to an intensely dramatic end, my heart stops. The final note of the devastating music concludes with Anya’s body entirely suspended in her partner’s arms. Her back arches dangerously as her face hovers just above the floor. Her one foot points toward the ceiling, fully extended, while the other leg bends at a sharp angle that mimics a nocked bow. A shiver runs down my spine at the precarious and far-too-intimate hold.
After several excruciating seconds, Anya’s partner rights her, setting her back on her feet as if she weighs little more than a feather. I have to remind myself that she probably does, considering her slim, athletic figure.
Silvia whistles beside me, cutting the tension as my eyes follow Anya off stage. I turn to her and realize she’s not whistling at the performance. Her warm brown eyes are locked on me. A knowing smile curls her lips.
“Is it just me, or did my big brother just become a ballet lover?” she teases quietly. “Or was it the ballerina that caught your eye?”
“Oh, please,” I sneer, rising from my chair.
“Wait, where are you going?” Silvia asks, sitting back to stare up at me. “The showcase isn’t over.”
“Stay here,” I say flatly. “I’ll be back before the last performance.” Maybe. “Just wait for me,” I add in case.
“I want to go,” Lucca whines.
“Yeah, can’t we come?” Cassio adds.
I turn to scowl at them threateningly, and they ease back slowly into their seats.