Page 21 of Healing Eleanor

Kasper raises a brow at me. “I need your eye. Help me find someone who’s ready.”

I pull up a chair and nod. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

He clicks open the first email, and I lean in. We begin sorting through them: maybes, not-yets, and almosts.

After an hour of filtering through messages, we’re still deep in it. Thankfully Anton’s able to lead my morning class, because I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a few more hours.

Kasper clicks through the submissions in silence. Standard head-shots, pristine résumés, technically solid but emotionally flat reels. I half-listen as he mutters under his breath:

“This one’s clean… for the most part. Her grand jeté looks like it’s filing for early retirement.”

“This one makes me feel… green. I can’t explain it. I just don’t trust her energy.”

“Beautiful feet, but no personality. I’ve met livelier mannequins at Macy’s.”

Most of the dancers are trained well enough, but very few make you feel something. I guess that’s the curse of running a ballet company just outside New York City. We always have to settle for ‘good enough.’

I take a sip of water, and lean in again as he opens the next email.

Subject: Audition Submission - Eleanor Montgomery

Kasper clicks on the email, and when her picture fills the screen, something strange washes over me. A tug low in my chest. Like someone leaning in close and whispering directly into my ear: her.

He hits play on the video while I skim through the text.

Recent company experience. Strong training. Left the Metropolitan Theatre of Ballet in the spring.

Her reel is simple, filmed in a studio, the footage slightly grainy, like someone’s phone trying its best. But the moment she moves, the air shifts. My breath hitches, and my fingers tighten around the edge of the desk before I even realize I reached for it.

Every gesture she makes strikes something deep in me. A tilt of her head. The way she reaches through her lines.

She reminds me so much of Daria. Not in a literal sense, but in the way she feels her dancing. Like every step matters, and it’s her last chance.

Precise, controlled, but never cold.

When the music stops, I suck in a breath I don’t know I’m missing.

Kasper exhales through his nose. “She’s got something.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She’s got something.”

Kasper glances at me, then the screen again. “She’s not local, but not far. Says she’s in the city.”

I dip my chin briefly. “Maybe you should call her in.”

“I thought you didn’t want another project this year,” he teases. “She’s from MTB. You know how they train them there. It could take weeks to undo.”

“I know,” I say, “but I think she could be worth it.”

That strange feeling washes over me again. I try to chalk it up to the way she reminds me of Daria, but deep down it feels like something more, something I can’t quite name.

Kasper raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question me. He flags the email. “I’ll send her an invitation today.”

I stand, ready to relieve Anton of my duties, but my gaze remains on the screen.

Eleanor Montgomery.

Her name lingers there, and for reasons I can’t explain, it feels like it settles into my life with the weight of permanence.