The Darkest Swan

Chapter 3

-𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮-

Lionel and I are among the first people to show up to rehearsals.

I don't feel like I'll ever be able to truly get used to this. Maybe I'll get used to the building and the people, but I'll never get used to the jittery feeling inside my stomach when I come here.

Passing all the framed pictures of alumni in the halls makes me even more nervous and jittery. A lot of them are famous now. I just hope I can measure up.

Mrs. Marie allows us a 5-minute break after warmups.

Lionel and I dash to our bags already oozing with gossip to tell each other. He tells me about his disdain for Mrs. Marie and her constant yelling in his ear. And I tell him about the film that Tomas gave me this morning. Lionel can't suppress his eagerness to watch it and I could say the same for myself.

"First positions!" Mrs. Marie yells through the room making the two of us look at each other like we know a secret that no one else does.

Lionel and I take our positions across from each other waiting for further instruction just as the door slams open causing the class to glance in the direction of Christan as he walks across the floor, duffle bag in hand.

"I trust you've all slept well." He shouts across the room receiving a few mummers and snickers from the students. "Just as I'd hoped." He mumbles dropping his bag onto the floor causing a big thump in the silent classroom.

Mrs. Marie exchanges judgemental glances at Christan, but he simply smiles at her, either oblivious or simply in avoidance of Mrs. Marie's sideways glare.

"Mr. Storm will be taking over." Mrs. Marie says regretfully like he's some sort of trouble maker or class clown in need of reprimanding.

"Thanks, Cindy." He says, causing Mrs. Marie to widen her eyes at Mr. Storm in complete shock that he would call her by her first name in a class full of students.

Lionel and I exchange glances at each other. Cindy Marie? Really?

Mrs. Marie thins her lips, storming out of the room making a big dramatic scene. When is that woman never not angry?

"She must be in a bad mood." He says as the class snickers and laughs at Mr. Storm's nonchalant tone.

"Alright class," He says, digging through his duffle. "We're going to start off with some simple combination dances. This will reflect on your muscle memory as well as your skill. So try your best, I'd like to see what you've got."

He digs a folder out of the bag skimming through it. "Let's start off with an 8 count, just like the ones we did at auditions." He says. "Fourth position please... off the bar."

We all place one foot in front of the other moving one hand above our heads and the other horizontal to our waist. "Fouettés... 5, 6, 7, 8..." He begins the 8 count. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8," He claps his hands at each count. We all complete the turns with grace, pushing off of our feet and balancing on our point shoes.

"Again." He commands. We all say the counts in our heads as he snaps his fingers at every completed turn.

"Again." He says snapping his fingers in relation to the counts.

"Number 5 bend your leg all the way inward." He commands. "27 make sure your arm is in sync with your leg. It looks sloppy." He comments.

"Again." He's annoyed now.

"Again." He repeats. "Number 7 you're skipping the pile devant on the 3rd count."

"Okay, enough." His face is expressionless, I can't exactly tell if he's happy with us or not.

At any other school, a room full of dancers at this level would be exceptional, but now that we're at the Academy, things are not as easy as they always were at our amateur dance schools. The academy only accepts the best, anything less is failure.

"Moving on." He says flipping through his notebook. "Let's try...three triple Fouettés en Tournant."

He barely gives us any time to recover or to get into position. "Fourth position...and begin." He slowly counts as each of us spins on our pointe shoes with one leg tucked.

We end in the fifth position slowly landing on both of our feet and gracefully swaying our hands above our chest. Mr. Storm slowly walks up to the girl next to me. "Number 4..." He calls her number and does a once over. "Please demonstrate for the class how to do a Fouette en Tournant." He says taking one step back.

Number 4 nervously gets into fourth position placing one foot in front of the other. She spins on her pointe, with her foot tucked in behind her knee.

"That is exactly what you shouldn't do." The professor says to the class, making number 4 retreat back to the bar in shame. I wouldn't be surprised if she cried. "Can anyone guess why the spins were uncoordinated?" Christan Storm is a renowned hard-ass. Everyone knows it and some say it's why he's so effective.

I look around the room surveying everyone's faces and without thinking I raise my hand staring Mr. Storm right in the face. He definitely lives up to his name. A storm is all I see when I look into his eyes.

"23." He calls on me crossing his arms.

I nervously look to number 4 before answering his question. "She landed too late on her heel." I say.

He smiles a delicious smile, shaking his head. "Number 23... will you demonstrate the correct way for the class." He says, crossing his arms.

I get into 4th position, spinning on my shoe, keeping my balance proportionate, and landing on my heel at the exact right time, making the landing light and airy like I've landed from heaven on angel wings.

Mr. Storm's face distorts into satisfaction. "Take notes, everyone. That is how you do a Fouettés en tournant." He says turning around on his heel. I hide my grin in my hand.

A compliment from a teacher is nothing to take lightly.
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