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I take a few steps back so that I’m in the center of the room. I glance down to double-check my old ballet shoes. I give a friendly nod to the waiting pianist to begin.
I’m ready.
On cue, the piano player starts to play.
Familiar notes rise up. It sounds so very different in this massive room, played on a piano. So very different from my little crappy portable speaker in dark, empty, cramped hospital rooms. But I still know what I’m doing.
With the music, I dance.
My first few steps are uneven. Unsure. I panic. I feel lost. I feel like this isn’t my body – that I’m no longer in control.
Oh, shit.
I’m floundering. The music is drifting away...
Focus, Emma. Remember Irina. Remember your moves. Remember how you dance.
And I do. And I start to dance - better this time. I’m moving better. I’m performing better.
I’m getting into the swing of things.
I’m performing. I’m feeling good about myself.
I’m actually freakingenjoyingthis. I remember what it’s like to do this in front of an audience. I remember the excitement I experienced the first time I saw those Swan Lake dancers on the screen. I no longer care about how stony-faced the judging panel is.
The music swells, and it’s like I’m far away from this intimidating studio – all the way back in that movie room or when Irina gave me that compliment.
I feeljoy.
But then I hear a snap.
And all my worst nightmares come suddenly to life.
I crumble – hard – to the wooden floor. I don’t care about the pain that shoots through my body. But I do care about one thing: my shoes.
As I lay, scrawled on the ground, I look down at my feet.
And it isn’t good.
My old ballet shoes – the same ones the teenage August had given me for my birthday – have snapped. Completely. Unrepairable.
I realize the piano has stopped playing.
I face up to the judges, who are all staring at me expectantly.
“I’m so sorry...”
It’s all I can say.
The middle judge simply shakes his head and leans back in his chair. He breaks his eye contact with me.
“Do you have spares?” he asks, visibly annoyed.
“No...”
His response is immediate and robotic.
“We’ve seen enough, Miss Tucker. Thank you very much for your time today.”
