Page 29 of Healing Eleanor

As I walk past, he glances down at the check-in sheet, then back at me. “You didn’t have to sign up today. This time slot is never full.”

I shrug, sitting down to warm up my spine, even though it’s screaming in protest. “Just wanted to keep my body moving.”

He doesn’t respond, but I catch the quick flash of concern in his eyes. He’s unnervingly perceptive. That’s what makes him good at what he does.

A few minutes pass before I break the silence. “Hey, Adrian?”

“Mm?” He’s stacking a set of weights back onto the rack, towel over one shoulder.

“If you had an audition coming up… one that could change everything… How would you prepare?”

He pauses, brow furrowing slightly as he looks at me. “Is this a hypothetical?”

“No.” I press my palms flat behind me and lean into a backbend, holding the stretch as I add, “I got an email late last night. From Hollingford.”

His brows lift. “As in ‘Hollingford Ballet Company’ Hollingford?”

I dip my head. “They’re inviting me to a private audition. There’s an opening for the principal position.”

He lets out a low whistle and walks over, sitting criss-cross applesauce beside me. “That’s huge.”

“I know.” I sit back up, mimicking my legs to his, nerves twisting again in my stomach. “It feels unreal. Like I’ve been crawling my way through darkness for months and suddenly someone lit a match.”

Adrian gives a small tilt of his head. He’s seen me here for months, moping around the place, just going through the motions.

He rests his elbows on his knees. “And now you’re trying not to blow it out.”

“Exactly.” I sigh.

There’s a long pause. His eyes bore into mine, before he says, “Okay. Here’s my advice. Prepare, but don’t perform for ghosts.”

I blink, confused. “What?”

“You’re not walking into that studio to prove something to the people who left bruises on your career. You’re going to dance, and you’re going to offer them what’s true. That’s all you need to do.”

My throat works as I swallow. “What if what’s true isn’t good enough?”

“It is,” he says without hesitation. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

My gaze drifts to the floor. It’s not just my body that’s sore. My heart is, too. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle another rejection. Especially one in person. I’ve never been to a private audition before. I’m not sure if I’ll get my answer then and there, or if I’ll be getting an email a few days later. The ambiguity slowly erodes my peace of mind.

Adrian stands slowly, adjusting the towel on his shoulder. “Also… eat something decent the night before. Carbs. Salt. Hydrate. You know the drill.” He winks.

That draws a small laugh out of me. “You always say that like you’re not talking to a room full of dancers with weird food habits.”

“Because I am,” he responds dryly. “And I’m gonna keep saying it. You dancers act like food will make or break you.”

I reach for my water bottle, tipping my head in agreement. “Thanks, Adrian.”

“Anytime,” he says, making his way to the stereo where his phone rests. “You’re a good dancer, Eleanor. But more than that, you’re a good soul. Don’t lose sight of that trying to prove your worth to people who already made up their minds.”

He picks up his phone and turns on one of his many playlists, signaling the start of class.

The next few days pass in a blur. Now it’s the night before the audition, and my apartment’s turned into a sanctuary of sorts.

Earlier this morning I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom—sweeping, mopping, and wiping down every counter. Everything is in its place. My diffuser fills the room with lavender-scented steam that curls softly in the air, and the lights are dimmed, warm and low.

In the living room, I push the coffee table aside, roll out my yoga mat near the window, and move through familiar stretches. I let my limbs extend and lengthen, and for once, I try not to think about how many calories I’m burning.