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“Are those happy tears, Val? You know very well that I jump right out of the window when a girl cries,” he joked lightly.
I pulled away, smiling, laughing while crying. “This is my dream, Mr. Easton! I…I don’t…oh my…God…” I broke off again, not being able to finish a sentence, let alone hold a conversation.
“I…am…going to dance for The. Royal. Opera. House!” I exclaimed.
Mr. Easton stepped away and looked over my shoulder. “That’s not all. There is another surprise. Turn the next page.” He pushed me back toward the bench.
Swiping my tears away, I opened the portfolio again and turned to the page he indicated.
My stomach flipped again, butterflies dancing merrily, and my heart burst for the second time.
“Congratulations,” he said from behind me.
“This is impossible,” I whispered, staring into the paper.
“Nothing is impossible when you believe in it.”
I closed the portfolio and shook my head. “I don’t think I deserve this, Mathew.”
He grasped my shoulders and turned me around to face him. His eyes hardened as he spoke, his tone filled with seriousness. “You deserve this and so much more, Val. Full scholarship to the Royal Ballet School of Dance, in London. An almost three-year program. Plus, a job as the female lead dancer at The Royal Opera House. This is the perfect opportunity. Both in the same place. You’re getting everything that you deserve. You worked your ass off for this, Val.”
My body pulled away from his hold as I slid to the ground. Sitting on my butt, I stared into space. Holy. Shit. Wake me up from this dream right now!
Wait, no—never wake me up. This was too beautiful to wake up from.
“I don’t think I can move. My body feels a little weak,” I muttered to Mr. Easton.
He laughed and then sat down beside me. “So what are you going to do?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “If I say yes, then that means I leave you behind. This theater is a part of my life, Mathew. Everyone here, my friends, my family—I can’t imagine leaving you all behind.”
Mr. Easton smiled. “You are like a daughter to me, Val. You know that, right?”
When I nodded in response, he continued. “I am proud of you. Every day, when you complained why I would push you so hard…make you work harder than everyone else—this is the reason. I saw a potential in you, Valerie. My theater is small, and you deserve bigger than this. I knew one day you would leave all of us behind to chase this dream, and I purposely pushed you for it. You may not be my biological daughter, but I am a proud father today.”
I sniffled away my tears, but it was so hard when Mr. Easton was saying such things. It was true, out of all the dancers, I was the closest to him. For him to say he was proud of me, it was everything.
Today, I made my mentor proud.
Tomorrow, I would make him fly—for believing in me. The next time I danced on the stage of The Royal Opera House, I wanted him to be able to puff his chest out and proudly say, “This girl was one of my dancers.”
“Thank you, Mathew,” I whispered, returning his smile with one of my own.
“So?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
I stared down at the portfolio before bringing it to my chest, hugging it tightly. “I will do it. My answer is yes. To all of it.”
“Good girl,” Mr. Easton said, standing on his feet again. “Time to give your parents the good news.”
I stood up, and my smile widened. “I can’t wait to tell them!”
“Hurry on home then, Val.”
We hugged again. He patted me on the head and nodded proudly before leaving. I quickly changed out of my dress and packed everything in my bag.
As I was leaving, I saw Mr. Easton waiting for me in front of the entrance. He was holding a box in his hand.
“This is for you. New ballet shoes. This is my gift to you,” he said, his voice a little rough with emotion.
Taking it from his hand, I held it to my chest. “Thank you, Mr. Easton. For everything.”
I waved at him as I walked out. “Goodbye!”
“Make me proud, Val!”
“I will!”
Promise, I thought to myself.
My mind was reeling as I walked to the bus stop. A mixture of nervousness, anticipation, and giddiness. I couldn’t wait until I could give my parents the news.
They knew how much ballet meant to me. I remembered how at first, they didn’t approve, but this—this would make them proud of me.
Looking down at my watch, I saw that it would be another thirty minutes until the next bus. I had missed my usual one while speaking to Mr. Easton.
My feet kicked under me as I started running. No point in waiting for the bus. Running would take me home faster. My legs burned, but I didn’t care.
