AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Razors.
Someone has sewn razors into the sides of my pointe shoes.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Not knowing what else to do, I rush to my mother, presenting them to her with wide-eyed horror. The realization that someone has sabotaged my shoes snaps her out of her mood.
“Are you hurt?” she asks, concerned. It’s the sweetest she’s been to me in ages, suddenly snapping from her ballet master persona into that of a caring maternal figure. I don’t know whether or not that should make me cry.
“I’m fine. I noticed them before it was too late.”
“Stop,” she yells at the room. “Everyone, stop what you’re doing and come here.” Dancers gather around, whispering to themselves as Inessa shows everyone the insides of my shoes. “Who did this?” she demands. “Who would do such a terrible thing?”
Understandably, nobody steps forward to claim responsibility. Why would they? It’s nothing but intense silence and scrutiny, a few looks of pity sprinkled in. There’s something else, too. As I look around the room and scan people’s faces, I seedoubt.
“She probably did it herself,” someone in the back grumbles, just loud enough to get a rise out of the crowd.
My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. “Why would I do that?”
“Probably to shift the blame?” someone up front, one of the corps de ballet ballerinas, says without apology. “We all know it was you who sabotaged Vanya.”
My jaw drops open. “No. No, that’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“You had the most to gain,” someone else comments, volleying their accusation at me without remorse. “You were jealous of Vanya’s role, so you put pins in her shoes to take her out of the running.”
My stomach clenches. “I would never do that. That’s awful!”
“We all know you’ve been trying for that promotion for years. You probably just had enough and snapped.”
“Yeah, and you probably put razors in your own shoes to make yourself look innocent.”
“No one’s buying this goody two shoes act of yours.”
“You should apologize to Vanya. You could have ruined her career!”
“Prissy bitch.”
The comments become more heated, more vitriolic. Suddenly the whole room erupts into accusations, name calling, and downright nastiness. When I try to protest, my voice is easily drowned out by the chaos. No one is willing to listen to me. No one is giving me a shadow of a doubt. The other dancers only feel more emboldened the more people speak. It’s a growing hate train, a bandwagon designed to punch down.
“Inessa probably had something to do with it too,” someone comments from the crowd.
Mother’s face turns red. “Who said that? Show yourself.”
“Oh, please. Nikita never would have gotten the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy all by herself without your help.”
“Do you think they planned it together?”
“Could be. They both have access to the change rooms.”
The room spins. My legs have turned to jelly. My stomach cramps and my lungs burn.
For once in my life, I’m thankful Inessa is such a domineering presence. She claps her hands twice, so loud and so sudden it deafens the room. I’ve never seen her so pissed.
“I will take this matter to the director at once,” she says. “Practice is canceled. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop this unwarranted slander.”
“See?” someone in the back grumbles. “She’s trying to silence us. Intimidation won’t work anymore.”
“Enough!” my mother roars.
