Wild Thing

First Position.
Second Position.
Changé.
Plié.
Hold.

It didn’t matter what was going on. If it was beautiful or a monsoon outside. The studio was the place that made it go away. I liked getting extra help, but the empty days were my favorites, the afternoons I had it all to myself. I didn’t have to think, my body took over in a way years of the same twists and pulls allowed. I wondered if it was slightly masochistic, enjoyed that first painful pinch as I rose to the points of my toes, pathetic that for a moment in those leaps I imagined really flying.

First Position.
Second Position.
Changé.
Plié.
Hold.

The day it’d happened, I’d come here. Mom had wanted me to stay with her, talk about it and eat chocolate ‘til it didn’t hurt anymore. I’d come straight here.

I finished warm ups and laid on the floor in front of me, toes pointed out and reaching forward to grab each foot. My bracelet jingled down my wrist as I did and I stopped. For three years, all looking at it had done was make me think about the day it’d happened. Now to my horror, a picture of the rapper permeated it, ruined the picture in my head like graffiti over the Mona Lisa.

I got up, danced harder. Danced until I was sure I’d cracked my toenails again, ‘til my head began to spin because I stopped spotting the same place on the wall. Until I knew I’d regret it tomorrow but it was alright. Because at that moment, I’d have rather been sore than feel anything else.

I knew I was going to see her Thursday, lessons were always Thursdays, but I was careful to avoid Natalie as much through lessons as possible. The last thing I wanted anyone else in our group to know—as we talked about the finesse of our upcoming Swan Lake recital—was about our two recent…excursions on the other side of Cleveland. I could tell she wanted to talk to me but very systematically, I placed myself between two other girls throughout the lesson.

I made it to the end before she caught me.

I knew it was her standing over me as I unlaced my practice flats, but took my time looking up at her.
“What’s up?”

She shifted her weight in a way that made me wary. “You want the good news…or the bad news?”'

My wariness increased as my head instantly snapped up.

“Both.”

She sat next to me, and that didn’t do a thing to settle my nerves. She scooted in close to me and lowered her voice.

“Mama spoke with Yvette, Jacques’ girlfriend a few days ago.”

“I thought she was his fiancé?!”

She shrugged. “Mama says ‘it’s complicated.’ Anyway, apparently he isn’t coming into town ‘til August—”

“WHAT?!” I yelled. “That’s practically right before I leave for OU!”

“Anna-Claire,” she put up her hand, uncharacteristically stern, as she motioned for me to stop talking. “Think about it. Yeah you leave in late August, but what’s right before…?”

I stopped. “Swan Lake.”

“And what’s better than meeting probably one of the greatest ballet critics in the world?”

She didn’t have to say it, and I didn’t have to answer. Because the only thing better than that was having probably one of the greatest ballet critics in the world see you dance.

I looked at her slowly. “You can make that happen?”

She paused. “I might. At least, I can get Mama to. But, there’s a condition.”

“What? What is it?” I was leaning forward, practically inches from her, someone looking would’ve thought I was about to kiss her.

She turned from me without saying a word to reach in her bag and pulled out two small stubs of paper.

“Mama says I can’t go alone…”

My heart dropped. “Aw no, Natalie, seriously? Seriously?!”

She shrugged. “Do we have another deal?”

I looked at the black and red ticket stubs with the graffitied letters “MGK” and tomorrow night’s date on them. I stared at them a long time actually before looking up again.

“For Astineau, we have a fucking deal.”