Maysilee never had the happiest recollection from her youth, but from falling hopelessly in love with a Danish boy to gathering the pieces of her crushed heart and moving on with the son this love left her, everything was still painfully clear in he...
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It isn't until I get into the routine of dancing again that things start looking closer to home - well not that close.
No Alonzo around to banter with me, no more long-familiar faces, and Rosie... I'm not sure if I miss her, Helen wasn't that bad of an instructor. But my Italian boy was what I miss the most, he might have annoyed me at times - at many times - but mostly I kept him close because even the childish and inappropriate things felt reviving in this extremely competitive environment.
Therefore the mornings were mostly lonely - in the moments Marceline didn't find a way to importunate me, of course. Felt like being in pre-school again, but now the kids have smarter ways of being cruel.
I told myself I was too nice to fight back, but I guess I'm just a coward. Any sympathy a few of the girls showed was always toned down, murky by a layer of suspicion. I'm the girl who wants to become Irene - even if I didn't even fucking know her. And the boys had the bitter aftertaste of the turmoil the kiss Nikolaj gave me caused - apparently he lost the main role in the piece, no regrets - and most of them avoided even brushing shoulders with me, while Nikolak and his friends showered me with death glares.
To be friends with me would be social suicide and this was probably their only social circle - after so many years of dancing I could tell the difference between the people who liked ballet and the people who lived for this, who dreamed of royal companies, leading roles, moving to Russia and joining the Bolshoi!
It was pretty clear to which group I belong.
But perhaps it was only evident to me, cause Marceline insisted on painting me as a threat to everyone. And Helen didn't support my survival, by setting me as Marceline's understudy, a result of my midseason introduction. They were close to starting presenting Don Quixote, and Marceline had the role of Dulcinea, the closest thing to a leading female role in this piece.
So I knew, from the moment Helen announced it, that I would not be on stage this season - she would do everything in her power to stay imperishable on that stage, healthy, rustless.
But it also meant we wouldn't be able to escape each other, the main rehearsals would be with her, mine not coming until the official presentations begin, only then the understudy rehearsals could finally happen. But until then, my eyes had to be on her, memorizing the moves and gestures, the positioning, taking notes from the way she places her hand to Helen's neverending corrections.
She hated to be corrected in front of me, and what I loved was not seeing her fail, but her face of irritation for me being there watching it all.
"No, no. Stop igen! Marci, you're not listening to the music, you're moving too fast, you're not accompanying Johan."
Marceline is rehearsing one of the pas de deux with Johan and even I could see her tempo was off from his.
"Have you considered he might be the one going to fast?" She questions wiping the sweat off her brow.
