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“In Venice or Europe?” the first girl asks, pausing in her stretches to pull her bleach-blonde hair back into a tight ponytail.
“Both?”
“Well, mostly, we spent the summer in my parents’ summer home in Nice. But we did a week in Venice.”
My attention turns to another set of dancers stretching, as the freckle-faced guy boasts, “Oh yeah, the helicopter was just circling over the volcano. No way we could have touched down. I mean, the lava was spewing!”
“Which island was it?” his friend asks, sounding as awed as I feel at the thought of circling over a volcano.
“The big one. That’s the only active volcano in Hawaii right now.”
From the conversations taking place, I know I’m once again out of my league. Excited descriptions of extravagant vacations and time spent at summer homes in upstate New York make me highly conscious of how I took a summer job teaching ballet to save up enough money to cover Clara’s expenses while in school. It’s somewhat daunting to know I, alone, am here as a benefactor of a generous family donation that funds my scholarship.
“I’m so excited to be in Professor Moriari’s class this semester,” the dark-haired, pixie-cut girl says, drawing my attention once more as she mentions our professor’s name.
“I’m a little scared,” the bleach blonde confesses with a shudder. “From his notoriously strict tutelage, I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up in tears at some point.”
That brings the hint of a smile to my face, though not to laugh at the blonde. I fully understand how a strict professor can be daunting. But I’m with the pixie-cut girl. The more strenuous the challenge, the better. Ballet is what I’m here for, and if Professor Moriari is going to be hard on us, that means it’s an opportunity to grow.
Still, I feel for the blonde. I’ve seen many dancers' dreams crushed under a mentor who pushes them too hard. I hope she can hold up under the pressure, even though I haven’t met her yet. These students may be from a different social class, but they seem just as invested as I am in dance and becoming a performer, and knowing that helps set me at ease.
Settling in as I stretch, I move through the familiar practice of preparing for dance. I find it nice to simply listen as I relax. My classmates don’t particularly take notice of me, so I have the opportunity to better understand them and ease into the situation. In contrast, it’s apparent to me that the majority of these dancers have spent the last few years of college here, getting to know each other. So, where I’m transferring from a more affordable community college, they have already met, grown familiar with one another, and been a continual part of this program.
The room goes silent as the studio doors burst open, and an authoritative man in a sharp outfit strides through the door. He moves with the grace of a dancer, and I can only assume he’s Professor Moriari.
“I expect you all to be fully stretched and prepared at the start of each class,” he states, making his way to the far side of the mirrored room before turning to face his silent audience. “I waste no time with meet-and-greet practices or social interactions. You can manage all of that outside this class. Here, I expect you to be at your best, prepared to perform and learn to your utmost potential. You’re upperclassmen now, and as such, you will be one of the several classes performing in the autumn showcase in a month. I expect each of your performances to properly display your talents as well as prove your potential.”
My pulse quickens at the thought of being asked to dance on stage so shortly after the school year has begun. I know I can. I’ve never faltered in a performance before, but this is my dream to be learning ballet at Rosehill College, and I sense that I’m much more of a little fish in a wide ocean of talent here. I only hope I can live up to the school’s expectations.
“Everyone up. On your feet. I want to see how far you’ve progressed–or backslid–over your summer vacation.”
Professor Moriari puts us through several grueling exercises, demanding more of each student as he assesses us one by one. I’m used to the pressure of pushing myself until I’m at my body’s limit, because I know I’m going to have to fight harder for my position than anyone with a family trust fund at their back. I will only succeed as a dancer if I’m willing to go the extra mile, to stand out despite my economic shortcomings. But it was my parents’ dream to see me become a ballerina, to represent our Russian heritage and show my worth to the world. And it’s my dream now. No matter the blood, sweat, and tears, I want to be the best in the world and stand up on stage as a prima ballerina for the ages.
“Again!” Professor Moriari demands as he paces between our rows, watching our forms and figures as we execute the challenging routine he’s using to assess our skills.
He pauses beside me, and I have to focus intently forward so as not to falter under his sharp gaze. He’s had something critical to say about everyone he’s stopped for so far, and I steel myself to hear whatever critique he has for me.
“You’re the new student. Anya Orlov, is it?” he asks, his tone dry.
“Yes, sir,” I respond, trying not to sound too breathless as I continue in my formations at the same time.
“Very good. You show some promise.” He pauses, as if to assess how I might respond to his praise.
It takes all of my strength not to wobble with the shock of his compliment.
“Keep that curve in your right arm. You’re letting it get flat,” he adds before moving on to his next victim.
I refocus my attention on my arm’s shape, doing my best to apply his observations.
By the time he’s finished assessing each student and allows us a break, I’m sweating profusely from the workout. This is precisely what I need, someone to push me, to analyze my weaknesses, and tell me how I can improve.
“For the autumn showcase, you will each have a partner. I will assign them since you are limited on time to prepare. You will be in charge of choosing a performance piece that will emphasize both of your strengths. Keep in mind, this first showcase will springboard your following assignment, the winter showcase. Where you will be expected to choreograph your own piece based on the tradition of ballet. I will post a list of partners before tomorrow’s class. I expect you to find your partner and choose a performance on your own time. This class time will be used to practice together. I would highly recommend you spend time practicing outside of class as well.” Professor Moriari pauses to level a sharp gaze at several students in turn. I’m thankful his eyes don’t land on me following that statement.
Of course, I already plan to practice outside of class, hopefully with a willing partner. Still, I suspect our professor was picking out the students he believes need the most practice if they were going to meet his standards.
As my first class of the day comes to a close, I’m aware of just how intense this new program is going to be. It’s far more demanding than the general dance classes I could find at my community college, and even more intense than the program I’ve continued outside of school for years. This is the building block I need to boost me into the big leagues.
My second class is just as challenging as my first, though this time, the focus is improv and modern dance. By my third class, my arms and legs are starting to feel the strain of continuous training, and my stomach is growling. I can’t wait to get to lunch, and fortunately, I have a break between my third and fourth classes.
