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Her classical technique class is a few doors down from my contemporary dance, and we’ve fallen into the habit of chatting on our way.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say, slightly self-conscious about how he singled me out once again.
“I don’t know how you do it, but you sure do leave an impression on our Professor Compliment-Scrooge.”
The image of Professor Moriari as a Scrooge makes me laugh. While he’s certainly a drill sergeant in some ways, I don’t actually think of him as miserly in his compliments. He is just careful to stick to constructive criticism most of the time.
“So tell me, what’s your secret,Miss Orlov?” Whitney asks, adopting our professor’s more serious tone.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s clear to me that everyone in our class is really passionate about ballet. Maybe it has to do with my background?” I suggest.
“How do you mean?” Whitney asks, growing more serious.
I frown, trying to find the right words. “Well, I come from a poor family whose best gift they could give me was a dream to someday become a ballerina.”
“You know, I come from a poor family, too,” Whitney says casually, glancing over at me.
That surprises me. “Really?”
She nods.
“But you’re always dressed so nicely,” I say, trying not to sound rude or argumentative. Still, I’m shocked that she would consider herself poor.
Whitney laughs lightly. “Let’s just say I found an option to pay my way through school, and it has some added benefits. But I assure you that my dream is the only thing that’s gotten me to where I am today. So as much as you want to call it the pressure of a hard background combined with a family you want to make proud, I don’t think that’s it.” She grows thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe it’s just in your blood. I mean, coming from Russia and all, the odds of your great-great-great-grandmother twice removed being the first prima ballerina are actually pretty good, right?” she jokes.
I laugh at that. “Maybe you’re right. Wouldn’t that be cool? I’d take it if that were the case.”
“Pfft. I would too.”
“So, how’s your showcase piece coming along? You and Timothy seem to be pairing up pretty nicely,” I say encouragingly.
Whitney chuckles. “Let’s just say I’m glad I have another year to prove I’m someone worth watching. Though I can’t say the same for Timothy.”
“I’m sure you’ll blow people away. What’s the big deal about the autumn showcase anyway?” I ask, confused about how one performance could put the dancers under so much pressure.
“Well, it’s kind of a make-or-break deal for aspiring dancers since scouts generally come to pick their favorite seniors and make a note of up-and-coming sophomores and juniors. If you don’t catch their eye this early in the year, they generally stop watching you so they can focus on the talent they’re sure they want to recruit. Aaand, our professors consider it a way to show appreciation for the family who puts on the showcase since they attend it every year. The professors always seem intent on showing that their money is well spent on its benefactors.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. That’s pretty cool. The family must be performing arts aficionados to fund a whole showcase,” I say, impressed by their generosity.
“Oh, they don’t just fund the autumn showcase. The Marchetti's fund almost the entire Rosehill College arts program,” Whitney says, dropping a bomb on me as casually as if she told me today was Wednesday.
My pulse quickens as my brain tries to process what she just said. “Wait, the Marchetti's are the family who funds the performing arts program?”
“Well, yeah,” Whitney says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
But if that’s the case, that means my scholarship rides on their generosity. Anxiety pools in the pit of my stomach as something else hits me. Whitney says the Marchetti's come to watch the autumn showcase every year. With the history I have with Nicolo and his apparent new enjoyment of torturing me daily, I can’t possibly see how that’s going to work in my favor.If he sees me dance ballet, could he possibly realize who I am finally? And even if my performance doesn’t spark his memory, could I lose my scholarship if I perform poorly in front of his family?In an instant, I’m struck by the reality that I have just as much at stake in making this performance unbeatable as every other dancer–if not more so.
“You alright there, Anya?” Whitney asks as I freeze in my tracks. “You look a bit pale.”
“No, I’m–I’m fine,” I gasp, picking up my pace once more.
“Are you worried about the Marchetti's being there because Nicolo clearly hates your guts?” Whitney asks, her tone teasing.
I bite my lip as I glance nervously her way.
“Oh my gosh, I was kidding!” she says, giving my arm a squeeze. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be so big of an ass as to screw with your performance or anything in front of his family.”
My eyes widen in horror at the thought.I hadn’t even considered that he might sabotage me. Hell, if he messed with my performance, could I end up losing my scholarship entirely?
