It smells like him, too.
Focus, Violet.
I stow it away and get ready, putting my earbud in to replay the audition music. It reminds me a bit of Grey, listening to music to get in the zone. We’re similar in that regard. I stretch, slip on my pointe shoes, and secure the ribbons. My body is ready, and my mind is there, too. Ready to work.
I block everything out until the ballet master arrives. The room is full, my muscles are warm, and I feel… decent, actually. I stow my earbuds and put my bag against the wall, then get back into position. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a group class, but I ignore that twinge of nerves and focus on the ballet master.
She strides around, correcting various positions, technique, and calls out changing positions. She also brings our attention to those who are doing well—and some who could be doing better.
“If I tap your shoulder, you are dismissed,” she calls.
She arrives next to me and watches for a moment, then offers a small smile. “I’m glad to see you back, Ms. Reece. It looks like you’ve even managed to improve.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
She moves on without a backward glance.
When her class ends an hour later, she’s halved the room. We put the barres away and return to the center. Mia enters, followed by the choreographer, Shawn, and her assistant. The ballet master stamps her cane into the floor, catching our attention.
“Mia Germain,” she introduces. “Artistic director for the Crown Point Ballet.”
Mia dips her head. “Thank you. Welcome,” she greets us. “We’re so pleased to be offering spots in our company to talented dancers. As most of you are probably aware, our upcoming season will be focusing onSleeping Beauty. The wonderful Shawn Meridian is our guest choreographer, splitting his time between here and the American Ballet Theatre in New York City. He’s joining us today to offer his input as we not only hope to offer contracts but to also cast our Aurora.”
We applaud until Shawn steps forward and raises his hands.
He’s easily recognizable as one of the most talented choreographers of this decade. I still remember being awestruck by him in high school—although that feels like forever ago now. He definitely doesn’t remember me.
Although, Mia was right. I sure did talk about it a lot when I got to Crown Point Ballet. I was giddy at the prospect of giving him a CD of me dancing. Even though it led nowhere.
He appraises the room, then motions to the doorway. Annabelle, another principal dancer at CPB, comes into the room. She smiles at him, then us.
“Annabelle is going to run through the audition piece,” Shawn says. His voice is deeper and raspier than I remember. “Ready?”
The pianist strikes up the singular melody of the piece I learned. In a way, it’s more haunting with just one instrument. Not as joyful.
Giselle was joyful before she turned to tragedy, too.
Annabelle dances it well. Her turns are perfect, her extensions… she’s a beautiful dancer. But maybe she lacks the passion because she’s never been in love. Or because she thinks she’s not being judged right now.
A mistake. We’re all being judged.
She finishes in a flourish, posing with her arms uplifted, her knee bent, her head thrown back. A wide smile on her face.
“Thank you,” the ballet master says to her.
We don’t immediately proceed into that, though. There’s still more to come. Leaping, turning. We line up and cross the room, showing our lines and movement, our turnout. We pair up and show how we do with partner work.
I get lucky and end up with a dancer who already belongs to the company. He and I have danced together for a few years, and he winks when he steps up beside me.
Finally, we break. We’ll do the audition solo one at a time—those who want it anyway. Mia, Shawn, and the ballet master have already further whittled our numbers down.
Annabelle dances again. Then another principal dancer, and another. I swallow.
“Lydia Parker,” the girl beside me introduces, offering her hand.
I shake it. “Violet Reece.”
“I was a principal dancer in Arizona. The heat was killer.” She leans in. “Are you familiar with Mia?”