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Someone screams. It's a cry of a woman, the sound so chilling it causes the hairs on my arms to stand on end. Panic sweeps through the entire room, whispers and concerned glances passing between the dancers.
“What's going on?” Inessa snaps, rushing toward the door.
I hurry after her, my heart racing in my throat. My hand flies to my mouth, horrified at what I see. Vanya, dressed and prepped for rehearsal, sits on the floor, reaching down to hold her foot. Her face is twisted in agony, tears streaming down her eyes, her mascara a running river of black. When I look down at her shoes, I realize something is terribly wrong.
Her pointe shoes are bloody.
“S-someone put pins inside!” she wails. “Oh my God, who would do this?”
I want to vomit, a wave of disbelief and terror shredding through me. This is too cruel, too vicious. I don't understand who among us would be depraved enough to hurt Vanya—or any fellow dancer, for that matter—in such an awful, potentially career-ending way.
“Someone call the doctor!” I shout, rushing to her side. “Quickly!”
Vanya clutches my hand, trembling hard as she sobs. “It hurts!”
“We need to get her shoes off,” I tell my mother.
The damage to Vanya's feet doesn’t look too bad, but with our first show only a couple weeks away, there's no way she'll be able to recover in time. This whole thing is incredibly disturbing. No way this was an accident. It was sabotage.
Inessa glares at me. “What are you still doing here? Get back inside and get ready.”
I furrow my brows. “What?”
“I'll make sure the doctor takes a look at her.Youneed to start practicing for opening night.”
The weight of Inessa's words doesn't truly hit me until I've made my way back into the practice room, dazed and numb. This isn't right. This isn't what I wanted. It's a huge honor to be able to play such an important role in the upcoming ballet, but did I truly earn it?
I stare at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, studying my form. There's no time to waste. I have a lot to prove and everything to lose. Now isn't the time to let my inner doubts win. It's time to introduce this understudy to the limelight.
* * *
By the time I get home, I'm bone-tired and ready for bed. I can still hear Inessa's shrill voice shouting corrections at me.
Point your feet.
Why aren't you smiling?
Don't flap your arms like that, have a little grace!
All things considered, I thought I managed rather well. Not that my mother had anything encouraging to say.
“Has there been any news about Vanya?” I ask her as we approach our apartment door. We used to live here with Dad until Mother sent him away on account of his gambling issues. She didn’t care that he did it for us, for me—in particular. The shame he brought upon us was too much to bear, so he’s been living away for a few months now.
Normally, he’d be home from the dealership by now. He works Mondays to Fridays selling cars, though he's always had dreams of becoming a writer—something he's only ever confided in me and not my mother.
“Nothing yet,” Inessa grumbles. “But we'll get to the bottom of this one way or another.”
“I think I'll buy her some flowers.”
“You're probably the last person she wants to see right now.”
I frown as Mother jams the keys into the lock. “What do you mean?”
“Really think about it, Nikita. Use that brain of yours. If your understudy got to take over weeks before your performance after a blatant sabotage attempt, would you want to see her?”
My mouth drops open. “You can't possibly think I had anything to do with this. I could never—”
“I know,” Mother interrupts. She roughly smooths her hand over my hair—the closest thing to affection she can muster. “You're too sweet to do such a terrible thing. Just be careful, that's all.”
