Broadshaire School of Arts; the dream of every artist, dancer and musician. When Mary-Kate Thompson gets accepted for a transfer after struggling all year with a loss of a family member, she gladly leaves her life in Australia behind and travels acr...
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** all technical ballet terms are explained at the author's note at the end of the chapter**
"You people bore me!"
Mr. Perez's voice boomed across the studio, louder than the music, and into his students' ears. He seemed to be in a worse mood than what he usually presented, and his students suffered for it as he pushed them even harder. Nothing seemed good enough, and nothing was the way he wanted it to be; perfect.
"Luis, I said en face, not staring at your own ass!"
He walked around the class, steps heavy, snapping his fingers to the rhythm as he yelled corrections at anyone that dared to make a mistake. Those eyes of his scanned every single student like an x-ray machine, as if his vision ran so deep he could see the bones themselves moving, carrying the dancers through each move and transition.
"Pas de bourrée and into tombé..." He musically voiced, his steps getting him closer to Mary-Kate, where he stayed, watching her perform the variation he showed them half an hour ago. "I can see every bone in your ribcage, close it up. Keep that elbow up!"
Mary-Kate closed her fist around the bar in her right hand a little tighter, trying not to let her irritation ooze out of every pore of her body as another correction rolled off his sharp tongue, reminding her of yet another thing she was executing wrong. But she stayed silent, obeying every word until the class was finally over and she was picking up her bag to go like she did every time.
Just as Charlie and Mary-Kaye were passing by Mr. Perez his voice halted Mary-Kate right in her spot, asking of her to stay behind for a quick exchange of words. That sentence alone made her blood run cold and her heart beat faster, knowing what was about to come. Belittlement was something every ballerina had gotten used to whether they liked it or not, times of congratulations a rare diamond. But even if she had gotten used to it, that didn't mean she didn't hate every time it happened. The goosebumps, the rapid beating of her heart, the numb fingertips.
Charlie gave her a reluctant smile and a squeeze of the hand before turning away and leaving the studio, Mary-Kate now alone to face the wrath of her instructor.
"What was that? Your transitions were sloppy, your spotting was slow, and let's not talk about the faults in your technique. Your head wasn't in the classroom today, and a blind man could see it." Mr. Perez folded his arms in front of his chest and stared at Mary-Kate as he waited for an excuse to leave her mouth, ready to shoot it down. He almost wanted her to try to come up with a tedious and unimportant string of words that formed a sentence, just so he could have something to amuse himself with.
But Mary-Kate knew better than to make excuses, aware that none of them would be ever good enough to excuse her. The second she put on pointe shoes, Mary-Kate was not a person, with thoughts or worries. All that mattered was the dance, and the people she had to work with to pull it off. This was the first thing Mary-Kate was told on her first ever ballet lesson, and it stuck with her all through the years, making her the dancer that she was at that moment.
