Leaps & Lies

Chapter Six

K elsey Moore is a bitch.

It’s a bold opinion for Vivian to adopt, given that they’ve only just met, but one meeting is more than enough to tell her everything she needs to know.

At her first company-wide rehearsal with Ellapond, Ms. Renee introduces her as their newest principal dancer. Vivian’s near the cubbies in Studio A—the only rehearsal space large enough to hold the full company—twisting and angling her toe pads until they sit and cushion her toes just right. When she hears Ms. Renee clear her throat to introduce the newest members of Ellapond following the final round of casting for the season, she’s quick to grab her shoes and stand. She doesn’t want to meet a room full of cutthroat dancers sitting down and already in a place of spatial inferiority. Vivian is tying a sheer gray wrap skirt around her waist as she walks away from her cubby when a small brunette steps in front of her.

Well, the girl doesn’t technically step in front of Vivian so much as she drops into a deep lunge and begins to stretch . . . right in Vivian’s path. As if she hoped Vivian wouldn’t see her and would conveniently happen to trip and fall on her way to being announced as Ellapond’s new principal dancer. Her actions are neither subtle nor mature. When Vivian steps around her lunge, carefully avoiding the dangers posed by her outstretched limbs, the girl audibly huffs, as if disappointed that Vivian didn’t fall for her obvious ploy.

But the lead weight in Vivian’s stomach reminds her that while professional dancers face intense pressures and schedules, this girl could be as young as Vivian is pretending to be. As young as she’s pretending to be. How much maturity can you expect from a teenager? This petite brunette with a dainty bun wearing a black leotard and baby pink skirt could be as young as fifteen. While Vivian might only be nine years older than her, watching the girl stretch makes her feel infinitely older. And far, far more jaded.

Ms. Renee claps her ring-studded hands before introducing Vivian, a lanky redheaded man—Alex Timmer, her fellow principal—and a smattering of other dancers littered around Studio A. Vivian sees the brunette visibly rolling her eyes. Then, Ms. Renee mentions that the young brunette—Kelsey Moore—is one of Ellapond’s swings and Vivian watches as the sneer disappears behind a prim smile. What a little faker .

“As our swings, you can expect to see Kelsey, Derek, Marie, and Devonne at every rehearsal. Even the soloist- or principal-only rehearsals. Do your best to support them, as they’re expected to learn the choreography for all roles.”

The dancers each nod or wave in time with their respective introductions. The way Kelsey’s fake smile drops into a glare from across Studio A screams that she’s only interested in taking over one role: Vivian’s. Vivian has no intention of supporting Kelsey in learning her role—or anything else. If Kelsey wants principal, she can pry it out of Vivian’s cold, dead hands.

As Ms. Paige—Ms. Renee’s assistant choreographer, a statuesque, umber-skinned woman with a severe bob and broad grin—leads a formal warm-up, the burden of her lies glues Vivian’s feet to the floor. Each relevé is more difficult than the last.

Ms. Renee and Ms. Paige begin teaching the choreography of the opening number which features the corps, soloists, and principals. Vivian wishes she could revel in the joy of fresh choreography instead of wallowing in the distraction of her guilt.

“Glad to see you made it back,” whispers the dark-haired dancer Vivian met at her company class audition.

Vivian shoots her a small smile as they mark Ms. Renee’s choreography, a step behind her graceful movements.

“Glad to see you’re still here,” she shoots back.

“I’m Scarlett. Not sure if you remember from the company class.” Vivian absolutely did not remember the other girl’s name and is instantly grateful for the reminder. “I’m a soloist, so I’m not sure how much our schedules will overlap, but I’m happy to see a new face.”

Scarlett’s hair cascades down her back in a long braid. Her light blue leotard and complementary navy skirt appear new, but the scuffs and cuts on her pointe shoes mark her as a seasoned dancer. It’s one thing to keep pristine shoes for performances but Vivian’s never trusted a dancer whose rehearsal shoes don’t look like they’d been a victim of assault. A quick glance across the room only heightens Vivian’s building concern. Kelsey’s shoes appear as though they’re fresh out of the box, untouched.

“Thanks, Scarlett.” Vivian commits the other girl’s name to memory. “If you’re looking for fresh blood, I’m happy to be of service.”

They continue to whisper on the left edge of Studio A while Ms. Renee and Ms. Paige consult choreography notes in a spiral notebook that looks uncharacteristically worn for Ms. Renee’s otherwise elegant persona.

“Have you met Alex or any of the other soloists yet?” Scarlett asks.

“I’ve met Ms. Renee, Mr. Julian, Ms. Paige, and now you. Oh, and Maureen!”

Scarlett flinches visibly. “Watch out for Maureen.”

“Maureen in administration? That Maureen?”

Vivian has trouble imagining the woman who handles payroll and wears too many necklaces as a secret villain.

Scarlett nods somberly. “Yeah. How do you think they got Mr. Julian here? Ellapond is so new. They had to have some kind of pull or connections to get a dancer right off the circuit to teach. Or whatever they say he’s doing.” Scarlett wiggles her eyebrows while waving a dainty pale hand as though Vivian will understand the vague implication. She doesn’t.

“He’s right off the circuit? I assumed by artist-in-residence, they just meant that he was tired and taking time off from performing. Is he sticking around?”

She sneaks a glance around the room, only to find that he’s noticeably absent from this company-wide rehearsal. How convenient.

Scarlett’s dark braid whips over her shoulder as she eyes the surrounding dancers carefully. Whatever she knows must not be public knowledge.

“I don’t really know much,” she starts. “But there’s just something off . Weird vibes. It seems like Maureen must have some kind of pull or something is happening behind the scenes. I think she’s one of Ellapond’s founders.”

It’s a well-known fact that dancers love to gossip. It’s as much a part of ballet culture as pointe shoes and baby pink. But Scarlett’s hushed words barely contain enough information to constitute gossip.

Vivian shrugs, unimpressed. “It’s dance—someone always has connections.”

Scarlett shakes her head, long braid swishing through the air. “It’s extra connections then. Getting Mr. Julian right off the circuit to ‘assist with duets?’ And then there’s you? No offense, but walking in off the street and getting principal? I’m glad you’re here, but that doesn’t mean it’s normal.”

Vivian’s stomach churns with unease.

Before she moved to Brighton Harbor—which is neither bright nor anywhere near a body of water—with her parents in eighth grade, she’d never stepped foot in a dance studio. And using the word studio to describe the cramped, two-room dance school setup in the basement of a dental practice was generous.

All of Vivian’s knowledge of the ballet world and its standard customs and conventions were doled out by Ms. Lorraine, the elderly Italian proprietor of Brighton Harbor Dance. While Ms. Lorraine was meticulous about pulling her bright red hair into neat buns and scolding Vivian every time she wore dead shoes during class, she had never imparted much wisdom about the internal structures or politics of dance studios. Vivian isn’t naive enough to assume that casting and hiring don’t involve a certain level of nepotism, but she’s never had to contend with the idea as more than a hypothetical. Plus, she didn’t know anyone before her audition and they cast her anyway. The weight of Scarlett’s comments mixes with Vivian’s guilt over her lies until nausea bubbles in her throat.

Scarlett nudges her with a sharp, graceful elbow. “You alright? I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Vivian shakes off the younger woman’s apology quickly. “It’s fine, I’m not upset. Just plotting to stay on Maureen’s good side.”

Scarlett nods at her sagely, as though Vivian’s intent to avoid drama is the wisest choice she’s ever made. The unease in her stomach still fizzes unpleasantly. What kind of issues would she even have with admin? It’s admin .

“Alex was a soloist with me last season. I can introduce you during our lunch break. We usually head to the café around the corner if you want to join,” Scarlett offers.

Vivian’s stomach sinks notably lower at the reminder of her bank balance—not nearly as cushioned as she’d prefer for going out to lunch—but she slaps a smile on her face for Scarlett’s benefit anyway.

“I’d love that.”

Dancers are too ruthless for Vivian to turn down a genuine offer of friendship.

As they go across the floor to the echoing sounds of Ms. Renee’s staccato claps, Vivian breathes through the guilt and anxiety in her stomach.

A new friend and the principal role with Ellapond Ballet Company are worth celebrating. Even if they came at the price of lies.