Page 73 of Healing Eleanor

“I am.”

Rêverie is a company in the next-town-over. Hollingford’s unofficial rival. Kasper swears their artistic director has it out for him personally. Honestly, with the stunts she’s pulled over the years, I can’t blame him.

He claims our low audience numbers were thanks to Rêverie ‘poaching’ our viewers. They have a habit of releasing variations suspiciously similar to ours and plastering our town with their flyers, practically begging people to skip Hollingford’s shows for theirs. Kasper hasn’t mentioned them in a while, which means whatever’s coming next isn’t going to be good.

“Those Fisförnäm’s had the audacity to showcase Coppélia!” Kasper slams his fist on the desk so hard the coffee mug teeters then topples over.

Before I can grab it, it hits the floor and splatters across the rug.

“Well, isn’t that just perfect,” he mutters.

I stand, heading to the supply closet in the hall and grab a handful of towels. Dropping to my knees, I start blotting the dark stain. “So, why exactly are you upset about them doing Coppélia?”

Kasper kneels beside me with another towel, dabbing at the mess as if the rug personally offends him. “Because that’s the variation I chose for our winter showcase. Somehow that Skitstövel—no-good Eliza Renegald—found out and blasted it all over social media before I could announce it.” His hands jabs sharply at the carpet, irritation radiating from every movement. “Now I have to scrap everything and pick a new variation. Russell should be here any minute. I want both of you here to see if you have any ideas.”

“Wow, what did I miss?” Russell’s voice chimes from the doorway.

Kasper huffs without looking up from the ruined rug. “Just our downfall.”

Russell gawks at us. “What?”

“The coffee spilled on the rug,” I clarify, tossing a soiled towel onto the growing pile. “We’re not going out of business.” I shoot Kasper a look. “Get a grip. We can pick another variation.”

“I know, I know.” Kasper groans and pushes himself to his feet. “Don’t worry about the rest, Nik. I’ll have the cleaning crew deal with it before they scold me for grinding in the stain any worse.” He waves Russell in. “Come on, Russ. We’ve got work to do.”

Russell steps over the dark spot on the rug and drops into the chair across from us. “So we’re scrapping Coppélia? Because I finally got the choreography locked in.”

Kasper looks like he might cry. “We have to. You can thank Eliza for that.”

Russell’s brow shoots up as he glances at me.

I shake my head, silently warning him not to ask.

He holds up his hands in surrender and leans back in the chair.

After thirty minutes of tossing ideas back and forth, the room goes quiet. We hit a wall. Hollingford prides itself on preserving the historical, the artistic, and the forgotten gems of ballet. Variations that deserve more than dust in an archive. We want audiences to see more than The Nutcracker and Giselle. Those are fine, but they aren’t us.

But now we’re out of time and out of options. Starting an entirely new piece from scratch is impossible to teach every dancer in just a few short months. We need something familiar enough to save rehearsal time, yet rare enough to still feel like us. And that perfect middle ground is nowhere in sight.

Russell drums his fingers against the arm of his chair, the sound filling the stale air of Kasper’s office. Kasper’s face is buried in his hands like the world is ending. In ballet terms, maybe it is. We have fifteen minutes until rehearsals start, and if we don’t lock this down, we may not even have a winter showcase.

“Casting has to go out next week,” Kasper mutters into his palms, voice muffled but heavy with panic.

“Well aware,” I state, rubbing the back of my neck. My brain is mush. At this point, I don’t care if we perform The Hokey Pokey in pointe shoes, as long as we do something.

Beside me, Russell grows quiet. His eyes are distant, the kind of look he gets when he’s running choreography in his head. If anyone is going to pull a miracle out of thin air, it’s him.

He sits up straighter, his whole expression lighting. “Swan Lake,” he exclaims, the words sharp and decisive. A spark of excitement shimmers across his face. “We do Swan Lake.”

Kasper lifts his head from his hands, eyes narrowing. “What? That’s… that’s a typical winter showcase.”

“It is,” Russell admits without missing a beat. “But most companies run it in January or February. We hit it early. I’m sure most of the group already knows the base choreography. With our time crunch, I can set the steps, Nik can start creating a cast list, and…” He leans forward, voice sharp with conviction. “What better way to stick it to Eliza than stealing her thunder first?” He looks between us, daring either of us to shoot him down. “It’s the best option we’ve got.”

Kasper sits back in his chair, studying Russell like he’s seeing him for the first time. “You know… you might actually have a point.”

“Uh huh.” Russell crosses his arms, already looking smug. “So? What do you say?”

Kasper exhales a long, defeated sigh. “Fine. We’ll run it.”