Page 22 of With You

I don’t regret what I said. For years she’s had this misconception of me, hated me for reasons that seem completely unfounded, so I’m glad I put her straight. But I woke up this morning with a sinking feeling in my stomach, wondering if I made her perception of me even worse. I know she doesn’t expect a lot from me, that I was her last resort, and if she had any other choice, it would never be me. But there’s a strange part of me that wants her to choose me. I want her to admire me in the same way I’ve admired her for years. She came to me for a reason, and I don’t want to disappoint her.

“You’re going to wear a path in the floor,” I say, my back pressed to the wall as I watch Amelie.

It’s the first thing I’ve said to her, something to try and break this horrible silence we’re in. A glare is the only response I get as she hums the music to our piece under her breath. Her head bobs up and down slightly, her hands moving in front of her as she runs through the routine in her head. I tip my head back, leaning it against the wall as I stare at the ceiling, and go over each step of the routine in my mind.

“I shouldn’t have said that to you yesterday.”

I glance down at Amelie, now standing completely still a few feet away from me.

“I never knew you went through all of that,” she admits quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, my shoulders dropping as some sort of relief sets in. “You couldn’t have known. I never told anyone, not even Damien.”

“Why not?” Amelie moves to stand next to me, leaning against the wall so neither of us can see each other properly, and maybe that’s what makes it easier to talk about this.

“Didn’t seem worth it. There’s much worse things going on in the world, people that have it harder than me. Who cares about a few comments on being too girly or who I might like?”

“Still, it must have gotten to you,” Amelie says, her shoulder brushing against my arm for the slightest moment. “I think I keep every comment people have said about me stored in some locked up part of my brain, too.”

“All nice things, I’m sure.”

“Not really,” she says almost too quickly. “Back when we did classes together, a lot of the girls didn’t like me because I was always chosen to demonstrate moves first, or picked for performances over them. They used to say I worked too hard, that I took ballet too seriously when it was just meant to be dancing.”

“And that’s why none of those girls hold a candle to you,” I tell her.

It’s strange to think of people saying anything to Amelie about her dancing that isn’t a compliment. Every time I’ve watched her dance, those are the only thoughts that run through my mind.

“Thanks,” she says. “Some of the teachers didn’t like me either. I tried out a few times for different dance companies, but somehow there was always something that stopped them from accepting me. At the time, I’m not sure if I fully understood what was happening, but looking back now, there was a common denominator in all those companies.”

I turn my head to look at her, and she’s already staring at me.

“What was it?”

She doesn’t say anything, just brings a finger up to press against my arm, and it embarrassingly takes me a few seconds to realise what she’s saying, that she’s pointing out the difference in our skin colours. My eyes widen, and I open my mouth to try and say something, but there’s no comfort I can give her for that. No way for me to actually understand how that must have made her feel.

“It’s okay.” Amelie shrugs. “Well, it’s not, but there’s nothing I can do to change other people. I can only focus on myself and my talent, and try not to let that noise get to me.”

“That’s why we’re here now though isn’t it?” I ask her.

Amelie deserved that solo above every other dancer here, but especially over Charlotte. I thought it was just nepotism that allowed her to get the solo, but maybe there’s something worse behind it, too.

“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t change what’s happened in the past. All I can do is look forward, and try to make that better, more worthwhile.”

There’s something in her eyes as she speaks, a spark of something soft, but I don’t have a chance to figure it out as our names are called to enter the studio.

Amelie offers me a quick smile before she takes a deep breath and plasters a neutral expression on her face as she enters the room. I follow after her, trying to put our conversation behind me so I can focus on dancing. I’ll have time later to overthink everything she just said.

I find my place in the centre of the studio in front of the faculty members who are judging us, as Amelie hands her phone over to the student assisting by the speaker. She comes to stand in front of me so we can get into our starting position. My hands find her waist, like they have thousands of times in the past few days, and my mind clears of everything but this routine.

The music starts, and we get straight into the performance. Every lift and dip goes flawlessly, Amelie putting her complete trust in me even when I have to angle her body down, and her face is close to the floor. One wrong move from either of us could injure her. There’s a slight risk for me too, but it’s lower since both my feet are flat on the floor for most of the routine. There are instances where Amelie has to lay across my back, and I brace my legs to keep as steady as possible so she’s able to execute her parts perfectly.

Romeo and Juliet’s routine is usually full of excitement and passion, and while we may have the moves down, we didn’t put much effort into the chemistry needed. When I glance at Madame, her expression gives away nothing. From a year of attending her classes, I know that’s not a good thing.

Only fifteen seconds remain, and I can sense Amelie’s panic without even looking at her face. She’s starting to rush through the moves, her body tensing when it should be fluid, and although it’s barely imperceptible to everyone else in the room, judging by their satisfied expressions, I can tell.

“Doucement, Amelie,” I whisper into her ear when we’re close enough.

She glances up at me, eyebrows furrowing for the slightest moment before she closes her eyes and opens them again, a fire reignited in them. We transition into the next move: a small lift as we travel together, then I slide my hands around her waist to help her spin. She turns delicately within my hold, leaning back into me before she moves away, and I follow. This routine is a game of cat and mouse between Romeo and Juliet, with that playful energy coming into our performance as we find our stride again and finish the routine perfectly.