l a p s e

the leap

I hated and loved the stage. Hated it because there was too much space to fill, and loved it because I knew exactly how to fill it.

There was something absolutely magical about the start of a performance. The hushed whispering backstage. The muted rustle of costumes as they were donned. The low warm-white lighting casting overlapping pools of shadow all over the slick floor.

I lived for that ephemeral moment of rush that came before the curtains lifted. Then there was a blur, a flurry of skirts and whispers, and then there was the more drawn-out happiness of the ending. The finality of the curtains closing as the final pose was held, and the transition from movement to stillness to movement again. But I'd never really liked the in-between, save for the memory of it.

In the Nutcracker, I'd been chosen as the lead over another girl, Mathilde. She'd tried out three times for the part, but I got it in one audition, much to her chagrin. She refused to speak even a word to me after that.

My Nutcracker Prince was a boy named Mikael. Miss Hampshire said that we had a lovely dynamic. I had to agree – we matched our steps with ease. He had no trouble lifting my petite frame for the leaps. Our twirls were perfectly synchronized.

Near the end of the first act, there were a series of leaps where Mikael had to hold my waist and tilt us nearly sideways. I'd been terrified of those. They were done dizzyingly fast, with no space to think in between. I'd dithered before the last one – the hardest one of them all – where Mikael had to hold me by one leg.

He wasn't the problem. I had complete faith in his ability to do it perfectly. No, the problem was me – I was terrified of falling, of Mathilde laughing at me, of Miss Hampshire making me understudy. Every time I was almost there I'd back out and stand there awkwardly, grimacing.

Miss Hampshire had almost had enough. One day she'd made me sit out of practice and watch while Mikael did our parts by himself, his hands in the exact place my arms and waist would have been.

I'd thought he was done with me too. But after practice was over, he lingered behind. It was getting dark, and it was getting cold, and the studio lights were warm and fuzzy, turning our bodies amber in the mirror. He'd turned on the music, grasped my hands. "We're going to go over this together," he said softly, beginning to lead me through the movements, and the whole time I stared into his eyes.

The first couple of times, I'd stopped him right before that last leap. But he turned off the music, and we went through the sequence in slow motion. There was a little twirl before the leap, and he held my back to his chest and whispered, with rich conviction, "I won't let you fall."

And the leap went perfectly.

At the next practice, when I performed the sequence unflinchingly, a wide smile on my face, Miss Hampshire showed nothing on her face but a hint of pride hidden in the impassive stone set of her lips.

I'd let that tiny inkling of triumph buoy me into the next couple of poses. And Mikael was right – in the practices to come, he never once let me fall. His grip was sure and steady and patient and I let us become one moving body, just for that segment of the dance.

That's when I started liking the in-between. The perpetual motion became more freeing than confining. I could melt and I'd still stand straight.

The opening night was supposed to be yesterday. Mathilde would have danced my part. It would have been her hourglass waist that Mikael held, her swan-arms that he guided into the right curves. And it wouldn't have made a difference to him. He still would never have let her fall.

Or maybe they'd cancelled opening night altogether. Maybe they were searching for me frantically, because Miss Hampshire would have no other Sugarplum Princess, because our dynamic was too perfect to sacrifice. Maybe Mathilde was sulking in a corner because she'd never get to dance the lead.

I ran the dance in my head a thousand times. When walking in the forest, I pretended my steps were the leaps, put my weight on my tippy-toes and imagined that I wore my pointe shoes and stiff costume. That the pine around me was the snowflake forest on the way to my Nutcracker Prince's kingdom.

That role would be mine again someday.

A/N: hell yeah classic ballet class drama