For Aleksei

Chapter 1

Hey guys! I've been thinking about writing this story for a while now, but I only just started the writing process. Review and I shall bake you all cookies!!! :)

          Kira stared through the rain-streaked windows of the bus. An old woman hobbled down the aisle, eyeing the only open seat, which was the seat next to Kira’s. She stumbled into the empty space, causing Kira to shift closer to the window until the bus lurched to a stop again, three blocks from the studio.

            “Excuse me,” Kira mumbled as she squeezed her way into the aisle, nearly treading on the lady’s toes.

            Outside, the rain pelted down relentlessly. Securing the bag on her right shoulder, Kira sprinted to the ballet studio, ignoring the pain in her right ankle. By the time she reached the door, she was thoroughly soaked. Dragging mud onto the freshly-waxed floor, Kira hurried to the locker room and changed into her practice clothes. She sat down and pulled a roll of gauze from the puke-colored medical cabinet as she propped up her slightly swollen, throbbing ankle. As Kira was wrapping it tightly, she heard cacophonous voices entering the locker room. She ignored them and secured the wrapping with a fastener. Kira stood up gingerly ad placed the gauze back in the cabinet. Her bag went in one of the many stained green lockers.

            “Honestly, I need the lead in the show this year!” a girl complained in a voice that could have woken the dead.

            “You’re such a good dancer! Definitely the best in the school,” her friend replied.

            “Are you going to be auditioning?” someone else asked.

            The first girl snorted. “Of course I am.” There was a brief pause. “Honestly, I don’t even know why Christophe gives her parts anymore.”

            Kira knew they were talking about her. Every year, she got the lead in Christophe’s productions. Trying not to pay attention, she started pulling her brown hair into a tight bun and stabbed some pins in to secure it.

            “He probably feels bad for her, especially after her brother—“

            Kira threw her hairbrush back in her bag and slammed the locker door shut with as much force as she could. The noise echoed throughout the locker room as the gossiping girls sat silent, stunned. Their conversation had stopped abruptly. Kira’s hands were shaking and her chest was beginning to constrict. She needed to get out. Focusing only on the door, she stumbled toward it and jerked it open roughly.

            The practice room was empty except for Christophe, who was talking to another man. Kira quietly took her place by the bar and started stretching. She only had five minutes before her class started, and three days had gone since she had last practiced.

            “Kira.” Christophe’s voice startled her and she tightened her bun as he approached. “Chère, you shouldn’t be here today.”

            Kira flexed her injured ankle. “I’m fine, really.”

            There was the slightest hint of an accent when she spoke. Though she had moved from Russia she was three years old, the accent was discernible, though not heavy. 

            Christophe gazed at her with his piercing blue eyes. Kira averted her eyes and stared at her slippers.

            “Kira—” Christophe began. He was interrupted by the sound of ballet shoes on the hardwood flooring. “We’ll discuss this after class.”

            The group of girls took their places at the bar. Christophe turned and walked to the front of the room. Everyone fell silent as the instructor clasped his hands behind his back.

            “Ladies, before you begin your stretches, I would like to introduce to you Mr. Andrew Raines.” Christophe gestured to the man. “He will be the in-house physical therapist.” Christophe waited for Andrew to say something, but Andrew simply shoved his hands in his pockets silently. After talking for a few minutes about injuries, Christophe dismissed Andrew and gave time for the girls to stretch before leaving.

            Half an hour later, Christophe came back to award a ten-minute break and ordered the girls to go to the larger practice room when they were done.

            As soon as he left, all the girls sat down and began gossiping.

            “Kira, come sit,” a girl, Cara, said. Her nasally voice sounded kinder than it had in the locker room. She moved over and made room in the circle for Kira to sit.

            Reluctantly, she complied. There was a silence before she spoke.

            “What did I miss?” the question came as a muffled whisper.

            Cara exchanged a glance with the other girls.

            “Kira,” Cara said, “you should rest.”

            “You didn’t answer my question,” Kira thought. She hugged her knees to her chest and turned her head to look at the mirrored walls. A million Kiras stared right back at her, all connected by the same twisted expression. The conversation had already moved on. 

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