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Lunch is an hour long of expected stares and whispers, with the fingers of gossip reaching at my shadow. I walk alone while collecting my meal, feeling the brushes of shoulders staggering away from me. I was able to collect my painkillers, and I drank them dry. With annoyed angst, I wait for the effects to take ahold of me like a mother's warm embrace.
"Question?"
I turn to face Esther, who waves away the offer of a creamy bagel from the hall last behind the food bar. I accept another's offer of a small cup of dried mangos and vanilla yoghurt.
"Why are you here if you can't dance?", Esther prompts while picking at a lettuce leaf on her plate. I grab a bottle of flavoured water, and drop it into my bag so that my other hand can clutch my aid. Of course, I ought to have known the question would find its way into our conversation, like how people express grief whilst complimenting the summer breeze. Esther does it so confidently, and I appreciate the honesty. I am tired of hooded eyes of sympathy.
"Why, of course, it is my dazzling personality", I pester her curiosity, but I know it will only encourage her prompts more. With an unmotivated sigh, I turn to search for an empty table. Esther follows me suite, the click of her heels echoing across the hall. I meet eyes that avert mine, cheeks coloured with embarrassment from being caught staring at me. Esther and I find a seat, isolated from greedy ears that will allow for bedrooms to be filled with gossip.
My companion notices the stares and she sneers at a passing boy - no older than fourteen - whose jaw seems to have come unhinged.
"Move along, you vile creature", she tosses an insult as easily as the scent from a rose drips down a valley. The boy scrambles to leave our sights, tripping over his own feet and catching himself on a nearby table. My eyes turn to Esther, remembering her earlier question.
"Those who can, do - those who can't, teach", I merely say before cracking open the neck of my water bottle. Esther tilts her head to the side, analysing my words.
"You're an instructor? Really? You? ", her eyes struggle not to divert down to my cane. This annoys me, for some reason, and a beat travels to my cheeks.
"Just because my body isn't capable anymore, doesn't mean my mind is. I can instruct, Esther."
Her cheeks turn white with realization washes over her like a concrete wave.
"Wait no, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just concerned in your ability to perform the movements to your students", she tries to explain herself, peering at my aid as if it was a snake that she can't let loose. For a moment, I consider her words, and I realize she might be right. But a solution soon comes to mind, and I have just the resources for it.
"Don't worry, friend", I ease her while dipping my mango pieces into the yoghurt. Of course, her words don't surprise me. I know that it should make me insecure of my ability to teach, but it is like searching in a hollow room and not expecting an echo - redundant. It means nothing. It isn't anything I haven't told myself. I wanted to hear it from someone else, today, because my own voice is tedious to me.
I knew in doing this - by accepting Petrov's offer - I am only drawing attention to myself - especially with regards to my situation. I know the students know about it, my name was the headlines of tabloids and articles for weeks, and within the dance world, what happened to me, is now a story dancers whisper among one another, quiet words cupped by curved fingers while downcasted eyes wonder what it must be like. Murky daydreams of falling from grace - something I have to face every day, and I fall harder. One day, I will strike the earth and no one will remember what pushed me over the edge, except in school corridors and Sunday dinners. Daughters will retell the story to their mothers, who will only tsk in disappointment and hope that the same fate doesn't find her darling. How else will she fill her photo albums and display cases?
"It is not strange that they've hired a student to teach", Esther continues whilst stabbing at a cucumber piece. My eyebrows raise in question, urging her to continue. She leans forward in her seat, her fork holding the fruit before she bites into it, eager to tell me the story.
"There is this boy who teaches music to the younger students - Edward Cullen. I've heard him play and his fingers look like birds on the piano - flying", she informs me while her eyes look around the dining hall. Once her eyes lock on someone, she nudges her head towards that direction. My eyes trail behind her, following her instructions. At the far east side of the hall, a group of students sit, who I've never seen before, are chatting amongst themselves. For a moment, I cannot believe I haven't heard of them sooner. Staring at them, my eyes unashamedly analysing, I realize it - this is what Petrov wants in our academy. These flawless specimens of talent and beauty - a level of perfection even I could never reach.
Esther speaks up, reluctantly calling for my attention, and in her voice I can hear it - the same admiration that echoes throughout my mind.
"The one with reddish hair, sitting next to the brunette - that is Edward Cullen. He is a student teacher, like yourself. The brunette - she is Bella Swan, an artist. An amazing one at that. They are together, obviously", her voice sounds sour at the end, and my cheeks colour pink at the jealousy in her voice. The Bella girl reminds me of soft springtime, when birds flock back home to rest between the birds. Her hair is a sleek brown, that falls endlessly to her waist, moving like silk. The Edward lad has an arm across the back of her chair, watching another girl speak excitedly, balling her hands together and rest her chin on her fists.
"Alice is Edward's sister, she is an artist as well - not as good as Bella though", Esther adds the last part as-matter-of-factly. The Bella girl's face lightens up for a second before relaxing back into a kind and attentive smile.
"With them", her fork points to the talking girl with stark white cheeks and starry eyes, "is Alice Cullen, like I said. She's a bit weird", she explains before finally biting into her cucumber slice. My mind takes in the short-haired girl, whose makeup glitters every time she blinks. She speaks animatedly, her company taking in her words eagerly, as she retells a story. Her clothes resemble names in my closet - Gucci; her bag - Versace. She reminds me of a fairy, the kind that are good and soft and taunting. Within me, an urge calls for me to call this Alice girl over, to befriend her, to ask her advice. It is such a strange feeling that I write it off as loneliness, despite having Esther for company.
Whilst speaking, the girl's starry eyes turn to mist, and the girl named Bella reaches over to her, grabbing at her hands. Her partner, Edward, shakes his head slightly, before his mouth turns into an odd smirk, one that seems both amused and satisfied. For a split second, his eyes meet mine, and I do not allow my gaze to fall. Let him see that I am watching his perfect entourage, these fine specimen that make me want to look in the mirror and search for any scab to peel over, to search for flaws. Instead, he is the one to first look away, his attention back on his sister. I watch him speak fast, raising an eyebrow slightly, and I know they speak of me.
It is a thrill to know I am now, in some sliver of imagination, a word that falls from flawless creation.
Esther chews quite loudly on a piece of lettuce, pointing it to nowhere in particular.
