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Before the kissing, there had been dancing.
And it’d made me the happiest I’d felt in a long time.
I wanted more of that feeling, wanted it in my life all the time.
“So…” I cleared my throat before taking a dainty sip of water, careful not to gulp it. “I’ve been thinking. Once I finish up at Oak Park, maybe I’ll audition for a few ballet companies. There are some great ones that do apprenticeships, and a lot of the time, it can lead to a position within the company if you do well and work your ass—butt—off, which I would.”
Jacqueline rested her fork gingerly on the table, brows drawing together as she frowned at me. “What about college?”
“Well, that would still be in the plans for sure. But maybe after a few years of dancing? Or maybe I could find a program that would let me do both. I could do
classes online or something.”
She blinked slowly. “You want to graduate Oak Park and attend an online college?”
“Well, that’s just one option.” I looked to Philip for help, but his face was carefully blank. “I haven’t looked into all the details yet. But dance is what I love, what I’ve always loved, and now I finally have an opportunity to do it—”
“No.”
I stopped short, my jaw snapping shut. “What?”
“No.” My grandmother shook her head. She hadn’t raised her voice, hardly even sounded angry. But I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that meant she was still giving one ounce of consideration to my words. “We decided to send you to Oak Park Prep to give you the opportunity to achieve a great future. That means a good education, leveraged into an Ivy League college, where you’ll make the connections you need to secure a good position. There is no future in dance.”
“That’s…” Disappointment soured my stomach, and I set my fork down too. “That’s not true. Yeah, someone might not be a prima ballerina forever, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have a great career.”
“Someone. Not you.”
“But—”
“No, Talia.” Jacqueline’s voice sharpened, and she held up one hand. “This discussion is over. We’re paying for your education. We’ll pay for your college. But I will not pay for you to live the life of a hippie.”
My chair scraped against the floor as I stood abruptly, hot anger filling my chest. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’m done.”
“Then you may go to your room,” she said softly, and before the last word fell from her mouth, I was already moving.
I closed the door to my room much more gently than I wanted to—I was sure Jacqueline had a zero tolerance policy for temper tantrums—and rested my forehead against it, tears burning the backs of my eyes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’d forgotten.
I’d let myself forget, just for a little while, that everything in my life right now had strings attached to it.
All the money, all the stuff, all the privilege. None of it was really mine. It was all a “gift” that came with a set of conditions, and if those conditions weren’t met, the gift could vanish into thin air.
I didn’t speak to Jacqueline again the rest of the time I was at the house, and the next morning, she came to the front door to see me off as usual. She smiled and told me to be good, congratulated me on my midterm grades, and staunchly ignored the fact that she’d crushed my heart the previous night.
Maybe she thought if she didn’t mention it, I’d forget about it.
But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
I had never seriously considered a career in dance because I’d been too busy struggling to get by, with no end in sight. But now, I finally had the chance to make a real go of it.
Resolving not to let her stop me from pursuing my dream, I doubled down on my training. My legs were getting stronger and stronger, and in addition to the hour-long practice sessions during gym class, I started practicing after class whenever I could and sneaking into the studio on the weekends. It took time away from studying, but I didn’t care. I wanted this.
Truthfully, I was reaching the point where I needed to be working with a teacher again, with other dancers—people who could push my technique and bring me to the next level.
Once summer rolls around, maybe I’ll see if I can find a studio in Roseland.
