Dance Till I Die (gxg) ✓

"The Shortcomings of American Ballet"

MAVIS

        As a child, ballet had been like a story to Mavis. Words and fluent movement, twining into an elegant song―music and misery, bound by blood and sweat and her swelling breath. A story, trapped between the lines of her arched toes and her pointed fingertips, contained in the flex of her muscles, the rhythm of her heartbeat.

       It had been worth it. The bruises on her toes, the wounds that never healed. The permanent bloodstains on the inside of her shoes. 

       It had always been worth it.

       She remembered, once, the time before a recital. Her parents had come all the way from Chicago to the Academy. This had been before they pulled her out, took her back home. We can't afford this anymore, they had told her.

      But this―this was the last show of the season.

      The Nutcracker.

      Behind the stage curtains, it had just been her and Marcy. Her friend.

      Marcy's high ponytail had swung excitedly behind her. Her hands had clasped together. She was kneading out the muscles in her thighs, preparing herself for the show.

      "This is going to be so much fun!" Marcy had said.

      Mavis shrugged, but secretly, her chest had felt like it was glowing. This was her chance to shine. She was playing the Sugarplum Fairy.

       She was finally one of the main characters, and now Mama and Papa could see how good she was.

       Stupid, really. That she had thought this performance would change their decision in the end.

       That she had thought, if she was only good enough, they would let her stay at the Academy.

       But they had never seen her dance, not like she had been dancing here, and so she hoped. 

       Against all reason.

      Stupid.

      "Did your parents bring you flowers?" Marcy asked. "My parents brought my flowers. I asked them for orchids and they brought me roses. I was kind of upset, but then Archie―that's my brother―he gave me white chocolate. He knows that's my favourite."

       "That's nice," Mavis said.

       The hum of violin music was seeping into her core, her fingertips. The ache, the yearning, to dance―it hugged every nerve, coiled around every vein.

        It was her time.

        "Oh, look!" Marcy said. "It's your turn, Mavis. Oh, isn't Xander so cute? I can't believe he gets to do the lift with you. I'm jealous."

        Mavis was twelve, and she hadn't known how quickly this world of hers could dissolve.

       Marcy blew a kiss good luck, and Mavis rose onto her toes. When she danced onto the stage, the crowd burst into applause.

       "We love you, hija!"  her father had shouted above the noise.

        Then the music swayed around her, and she became nothing. Nothing and everything. 

       Xander had been waiting. The Mouse King.

       His arms were ready. Braced for her.