Finding Paris

Rain on my Parade

Finding Paris

Chapter Two: Rain on the Parade

 

I have been sixteen for exactly four days now, four days I've spent avoiding my firends or any other living organism in this planet except my mother and our house cat, Snoopy. I know. Ironic. And on this fourth day, I find myself out on the streets again, racing up the steps to my ballet studio where Madame Devereux was supposed to be waiting for me.

Madame Devereux frantically called my cellphone fifteen minutes ago, rousing me from the comforts of my matress. I knew it was urgent because Madame Devereux never calls our personal phones! She usually called our home numbers. Because of my half-unconscious state and also Madame's extremely panicked voice, I couldn't understand a thing she was saying and I kept on asking her to repeat herself. Apparently, that annoyed her because she flat out shouted at me to come to the studio as fast as I could and promptly hung up on me.

I pushed open the door to the empty studio and stepped inside cautiously.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing on the vast empty room.

"Emmanuelle!" she snapped, her voice coming from her office. Only Madame Devereux ever calls me Emanuelle. I quickly crossed the room to her office, my sneakers squeaking annoyingly across the varnished wooden floor. I politely knocked and turned the knob.

Madame Devereux's office was a small, cozy, air-conditioned, closed room with one glass wall overlooking the dance studio for when she was secretly observing our routines or spying on us while we snacked and chatted on breaks, and a huge mahogany desk swallowing up most of the space. She was sitting behind her desk, looking severely irritated. She grimaced when she saw me.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes, but Emmanuelle, you look terrible!" she exclaimed.

I tugged at string of my hoodie, uncomfortably, shifting from one foot to the other.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get the chance to do much since I literally just came here straight from bed."

I just threw on a gray hoodie over the tank top and jogging pants I wore to bed, and slipped on my white Nikes. I even forgot my socks, let alone the act of taming my wild hair. I can only imagine how I look to this woman, the epitome of polished perfection and disciplined finesse.

"Sit down, and whatever happened to your forehead?" she asked, closely peering at the yellowish, purplish bruise on my forehead from the table at The Basement. I messed up my bangs a little to cover the stupid thing.

"Oh, I just... hit it somewhere," I said taking a seat on the chair by her desk.

"Is it serious? Did you get it checked?" she asked, concerned, a permanent scowl still on her barely rugosed face.

"No, it's really nothing," I replied wincing as my fingers came in contact with it.

"Anyway, I need to talk to you," Madame Devereux said seriously, "Lizette had a little episode yesterday! She wouldn't take directions from me, probably banking on how wonderful of a dancer she thinks she is! I swear, sometimes, the nerve of that girl can be too much for her own good! So, I've sent her off. She wouldn't like to follow my instructions, so she wouldn't be representing me in the Grand Summer Dance Company. Emmanuelle, are you listening?"

I nodded, closing my mouth which had fallen open as soon as I heard that LIzette had a little episode. I tried to swallow. Did this mean...? Could it be? No, Em, no more assumptions!

"So what do I have to do with this?" I asked carefully.

Madame Devereux sighed. "Do I really have to spell it out for you, Emmanuelle? You aren't that dense!" I rolled my eyes at that statement. "You're here because I want you to represent me in the Grand Summer Dance Company."