Page 95 of Healing Eleanor

“Good. Keep them for the extra hours. We can’t afford to lose time. Especially since the girl in question is still struggling to dance Odette and Odile. Don’t think Russell doesn’t keep me informed.” The pen taps against the desk in an uneven rhythm, one of his nervous tells. “I think you should have Paloma practicing more—you know… in case Eleanor can’t perform.”

The words lodge like glass in my throat. For a heartbeat, I almost open my mouth, almost beg him to give Eleanor the chance she deserves. But I force down the urge, the crack in my chest spreading wider. “Sure thing,” I say instead, even though it feels like betrayal.

“I mean it, Nik.” Kasper’s voice is iron, stripped of the warmth I’m used to. “You either get Eleanor ready or Paloma will be taking her place as Odette and Odile.” He reaches for the stack of papers on his desk, flipping through until he finds the one he wants. Eleanor’s contract. He holds it out like proof. “She’s only contracted as principal for a year. After spring—if she doesn’t perform—she’ll either be demoted to soloist, or she won’t be here at all. I took a chance on her… for you, Nik. Because I trust you.”

A wave of dizziness passes over me as I hand the paper back. His trust feels heavier than chains.

“I don’t want to hear of anything like this happening again,” he says, his eyes pinning me in place. “Or there will be consequences.”

The subtle threat in his tone makes my pulse stutter. Easygoing Kasper, the one who’s been in my corner since my teenage years, guiding me through mistake after mistake is gone. For the first time, he isn’t shielding me. He’s warning me. And it feels like following Eleanor into that bathroom has cost me the last of his patience.

“Now that we got that out of the way,” Kasper says, setting the papers aside. “Russell should be here soon to run through notes of rehearsals.”

I nod, keeping my mouth shut. I don’t like the heaviness in Kasper’s tone; I don’t like that I’ve let him down. I feel like a pearl—made from grit and sand, pressed and polished by years of pressure, only to realize I’m still sealed tight inside the clam. Shiny, maybe. But stuck.

I can barely focus for the rest of the meeting. Russell and Kasper fill the silence with their notes, while I mostly remain quiet, only chiming in a few times. My mind keeps wandering back to Eleanor. How I can help her, how to reach her. While the men talk, I silently pray. How can I get through to her? How can I show her the same love my Savior showed me? How can I help her see it… believe it?

I pray God will open her heart and guide me, show me the right path with her. Because right now, it feels like I’m trapped in the labyrinth of my own mind. And I’m ready to get out of that room. I need to be at rehearsals. I need to get back in Kasper’s good graces. But most of all, I need to see Eleanor. I need to see with my own eyes that she’s okay.

When Russell and I are dismissed, I practically jump out of my seat and speed-walk to Studio B. It’s still early, so I don’t expect to see anyone—but I know Eleanor and Lily like to arrive ahead of time, so there’s a chance she’ll be there.

Relief washes over me as I open the door. Eleanor and Lily sit on the floor by the window, gazing out at the garden below. Eleanor’s hair is pulled into a neat bun, a few clips restraining stray strands. Her eyes are brighter, and her cheeks are tinged with pink.

But I see through it from a mile away. I know that look well—the art of appearing fine while everything underneath unravels.

I clear my throat. “Good morning, ladies,” I greet, walking to the podium and setting my bag down like every morning.

Both girls look up, but it’s Lily who speaks first. “Good morning, Nik-a-roo,” she says, standing. “Is Russell here? I want to try to convince him to let me do some more fun moves when I’m on stage.” She dramatically sighs. “The Queen is so boring, Nik. I really needed more flair.” She waves her arms around and spins once.

I let out a small chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Then I motion toward the door. “He’s in Studio A.”

“Perfect.” Lily claps and dashes away.

“Good luck,” I call after her. She probably doesn’t hear me, but she’ll need it anyway—especially since I doubt Russell will change his choreography for anything.

The room falls into a tense quiet. Eleanor stays by the window, staring at me. I try to keep my focus elsewhere, but it feels impossible with her so close. I’m glad to see her, but that doesn’t make me any less upset.

She slowly rises and walks toward me. She draws in a deep breath. “I’m sorry for yesterday,” she starts quietly, fidgeting with the sleeves of her leotard. “I’m sorry if I upset you, and I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

I meet her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, Eleanor.”

She shakes her head. “No, I do. I feel terrible. I’m so, so sorry.” She shrugs. “I’m just… sorry.”

I set my things down and give her my full attention. “Stop apologizing,” I say a little more firmly than I intend, grimacing at how harsh it sounds. “You really don’t need to keep apologizing. I mean… the situation wasn’t okay, but I just—” I stop, unable to find the right words.

She stands there like a dancer balancing on bruised toes.

“Let’s talk after rehearsals. Is that okay?” I ask. I can’t have the conversation I want with class starting in fifteen minutes.

She nods, her teeth grazing her lower lip.

I offer a faint smile. “Good. We’ll go to Pot & Kettle.”

Her cheeks flush, and her eyes widen. “I—okay. Sure.”

At least she doesn’t say no. That’s a start.

Rehearsals fly by, even with the extra time tacked on—much to no one’s delight. Everyone dances with precision and rhythm, more than I hoped. By some miracle, even Eleanor moves more smoothly today, managing the pas de deux with Gabriel. It isn’t flawless—far from it, actually—but she’s clearly put in the effort.