Read Phantom's Dance Page 14


  “When Albrecht learns of your death,” he paused and lifted my right hand in the air over my head while bringing the left in front to pose in fourth position, “when he discovers you’ve died, he brings flowers to the grave. He doesn’t know the Wilis, the spirits of women who died despondent over lost love, lie in wait. He doesn’t know you’ve been pressed into becoming one of them and the vengeful Wilis plan to force him to dance until he dies of exhaustion.”

  He lowered my right hand so it was even with my left in front of me. Then he released both my wrists but didn’t step away.

  “He doesn’t know his only hope for survival is for you, Giselle, to dance with him until the sun comes up.”

  He paused and his breath stirred beneath the confines of the mask. Then he asked, “Will you dance the grand pas de deux from Act II of Giselle with me?”

  I nodded vigorously. Never had I wanted to dance as keenly as I did right then.

  “Y-yes.”

  My back still to him, the music started. Then we danced as if it wasn’t our first time but our one thousand and first. His grip was powerful, and I never feared he would drop me or lose his hold in the middle of a lift. With every swish of the air around us, the scent of fresh soap wafted about. And only once did I come close to losing concentration and breaking character, when my hand brushed over a patch of gnarled threadlike skin beneath his sleeve, and I remembered I was dancing with Erik.

  We performed the complete grand pas de deux, and when we’d taken the last step, done the last lift, and he’d placed me back on my feet en pointe, I started to worry. His breathing sounded arduous and there was a tight wheezing in his chest. Perhaps the mask had been too much for him. I turned to face him and was about to suggest he take it off when he spoke.

  “I’d like to give you something,” he said. Then he circled his arms around his neck and worried with the cloth hanging from the back of the headpiece. When he lowered them, he held the ends of a necklace in each hand.

  “Will you wear it?” he asked.

  “It’s beautiful, but…”

  “Please,” he interrupted. “It belonged to someone special to me, and tonight you’ve given me something special. After the fire—when I finally danced again—I always danced alone. For the first time in years, tonight, I danced with a partner. It’s a moment I’ll treasure and may never have again. Please take this as a symbol of my gratitude.”

  He extended the necklace, a silver chain with a heart locket, toward me. As it hung suspended in the air, I felt uncomfortable at the idea of taking such a valuable gift from him. Here he was telling me I’d helped him when he was the one who’d donned a mask to come on stage to comfort me.

  “I don’t know, Erik. It looks expensive.”

  “Please,” he said. And without waiting for a response he stepped behind me, raised the necklace over my head, and fastened it around my neck.

  When he moved back before me, I stared at the mask, wishing I could see the face beneath. The Arabian style headgear made the experience surreal, a mystical dream. He seemed otherworldly.

  Without thinking, my hand went to the locket, still warm from where it had been next to his skin.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Bending a knee, he bowed deeply and murmured, “No. Thank you, ballerina.” Then he strolled back into the shadows, leaving me alone on the stage once more.

  Chapter Forty One

  I slept until two o’clock the next day. It seemed impossible, but when my stomach growled, I knew it was true.

  Throwing back the cover, I placed my feet on the floor next to the dance clothes I’d shed the night before, and everything came back to me. Immediately, my hand went to the necklace and I grasped the locket. In the stark light of day, I regretted taking it. It didn’t seem quite right somehow. But I hadn’t had the courage to refuse Erik the night before, and if I tried to give it back now it might hurt him all the more.

  My stomach protested again, so I slipped the necklace under my T-shirt and headed for the kitchen.

  “Hey, sleepy-head,” Mom said from where she sat on the sofa, her feet tucked under her and iPad in her lap. “Yesterday was pretty rough. I didn’t want to wake you. I thought you could use the sleep. Do you want some lunch?”

  Part of me still wanted to be angry with her. She and Dad had lied to me, and even now, by not telling me they planned to divorce, in a way they still were. But I didn’t have it in me anymore.

  “Don’t bother,” I told her. “I’ll find something.”

  After I’d gone to the kitchen for a glass of juice and a protein bar, I took it back to the living room to sit beside her on the sofa.

  “I still don’t understand why Dad had to go to the other side of the world to get away from us.”

  Mom sighed. “My guess would be shame, or cowardice.”

  It hurt to hear her call Dad a coward, and the bite of protein bar I’d swallowed lodged in my throat.

  “Did you want to split up?” I asked. “Did you want him to leave?”

  “Oh, yeah, I wanted him gone.”

  My heart dropped. I’d hoped for some sign that she still loved him.

  “But I’d also wanted certain parts of his body to fall off, and oozing boils to develop all over his flesh.” She paused to smirk. “But then there was grief, followed by self-pity, anger, and loneliness.”

  I marveled at how she’d kept all this to herself. Then again, it explained a lot about her mood swings and her growing need for approval.

  “I’d spent almost twenty years of my life with your dad,” she mused. “I didn’t know how to act without him. At the same time, I hated the sight of him. Crazy, right?”

  Though uncomfortable, at least we were talking. We were actually on the same page, surviving Dad’s betrayal together.

  “You still love him?” I asked.

  She looked at me. “It’s not that simple, Chris.”

  “Why can’t it be? He’s sorry. He said so yesterday. He even asked me if you were home. I think he wanted to talk to you.”

  It was strange, me defending him, but I did. I wanted things to go back to the way they were before the move to Houston—back when I was still blissfully naïve.

  “If he came home maybe you could start over—we could start over,” I said.

  She was silent for a while.

  “This is a one-day-at-a-time thing,” she finally said. “I can only take it one day at a time, and today your father is still in Norway.”

  She was shutting down. It was in her eyes and tone of voice. And even though she was raising her defenses again, she still hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility of their reconciling.

  Exhaling, I got to my feet to take my glass back to the kitchen, but she placed a hand on my arm to stop me.

  “I love you, honey.”

  I smiled. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Forty Two

  After I’d eaten something more substantial than a protein bar, I went back to my room and found I’d missed a call from Jenna and two from Raoul. I returned Jenna’s call first because she’d also sent me a text with enough exclamation marks to give my fifth grade grammar teacher heart failure.

  “You’re not going to freaking believe this,” she exploded the instant she picked up on the other end of the line.

  “Believe what?” I said, wondering why the drama.

  “Mom was at the Memorial City Mall and saw Deirdre’s mother. According to her, Mrs. Hahn is talking to Mr. Darby about Deirdre. Atilla is trying to get Deirdre a spot in the second company without her even auditioning.”

  “What! She can’t do that, can she? I mean—I know she can—but she can’t. It’s not right.” Resentment flooded me. I was working my tail off just for the chance to audition, and Deirdre wouldn’t even have to try out? How was that fair?

  “I don’t know,” Jenna said. “Look what they did with Van.”

  “Yeah, but Van is different. He’s a true prodigy. Deirdre’s simply a suck up
.”

  “It’s crap like this that makes me think about quitting,” Jenna grumbled.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. You know?”

  I did know. The same thing crossed my mind a lot lately.

  “Eh, don’t listen to me,” she muttered. “It’s probably the ice cream deprivation talking.”

  “My mother would wig-out if I said anything about quitting. Especially, since the Rousseau Academy was the whole reason we moved to Houston, and Houston is where her marriage fell apart.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for your parents splitting up,” Jenna said. “That’s on them.”

  The image of Dad with some faceless hoochie popped into my head, and I almost told Jenna about it, but it was too embarrassing. I’d already looked like the naïve ninny when she was the one who had to tell me Dad was out of the country because he’d left my mother.

  “Maybe not,” I said, “but when I see stuff like this, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.”

  We’d dissed Deirdre a good five minutes, when I got a text from Raoul. I told Jenna he’d called a couple of times so I needed to return his call.

  I dialed his number and my heart skipped a beat when he answered.

  “Hey, I was beginning to think you were ignoring me.”

  Like with Jenna, it crossed my mind to tell him about what had happened with Dad, explain my distraction. His parents were divorced. He knew what it was like. He even had stepsisters. But snippets of conversations I’d had with him floated forward. He’d said he couldn’t see any weakness in me. And he’d referred to what I do at the football classes as shining. I wanted him to continue to think of me in that way.

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling well,” I said. “I think I ate some bad yogurt.”

  “Oh, I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out, but if you’re sick…”

  My pulse sped up at the idea of seeing him, but then I glanced in the mirror across the room. My eyes were red and swollen, my hair tangled and dirty, and my trig book lay on my desk, staring at me.”

  “I’d love to, but it’s not a good time. Bad yogurt and hanging out—not an appealing combination. Plus, I have a ton of trig to get done.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, “maybe next weekend.”

  He was quiet a moment. Then he said, “Listen, I was kinda thinking of asking my mother if I could stay a few days with Dad. If I do, maybe I could drive you home after our classes together.”

  I smiled. He was too amazing, and this was why I wanted him to keep viewing me as shining.

  “That would be cool,” I said.

  We talked a while longer, making plans for me to catch another of his games, and the possibility of our attending a ballet together. Then we got off the phone for me to get to my homework.

  Seated at my desk, I opened the trig book and the previous night skittered into my thoughts. Erik’s ability to help me take my anger and disappointment in Dad and infuse it into my dancing was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. I’ve had some great ballet teachers, but he had a gift the others didn’t. And as we’d danced, I’d completely forgotten about the mask. It was as if it wasn’t there.

  In my heart, I felt Erik could help me choreograph a routine that would get me into the second company, but I wondered if I should tell him about my panic attacks and the epic-fail of an audition last year. It didn’t seem fitting not to. He deserved to know what he was up against. He also deserved to know how I’d gotten into the Rousseau Academy in the first place.

  Closing the trig book, I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and looked in. Shoving aside recent magazines, old jewelry, and a broken cell phone, I dug out the plastic baggy I’d buried deep in the back. Holding it up, I examined the contents—Xanax—the method for my getting through the Academy entry audition.

  I’d stolen the anti-anxiety medication from the medicine cabinet at Marisol’s house. They’d belonged to her mother, and I’d copped two of them. It was after I’d attended the summer intensive at Rousseau almost two years ago. Mom and Dad had gotten the call that I’d been invited to audition for an opening at the Academy. But I was terrified by the prospect. More than anything, I wanted to join the school, but the panic attacks had increased, and Mom thought I was faking. And to her credit, I had faked it when I was younger and didn’t want to go to class. I’d pretended to be ill, using the phantom pains as an excuse to skip. She caught on to me and unfortunately, I lost credibility in that area.

  But as time went by, and the importance of my training grew, so did the anxiety. I wished that I could go back now and undo those phony episodes because the real deal was so distressful that I’d never play around with something like that again.

  So I’d stolen the pills. I only took half of one the day of the Academy interview, and my conscience almost ate me alive because of it. It seemed the coward’s way out, not to mention the whole stealing drugs thing.

  Then, when it came time for the audition for Rousseau II, the junior company, I’d considered taking the other half, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But I’d kept what remained and stuffed them in the drawer. After my horrendous meltdown in front of Ms. Zaborov and Mrs. Hahn, though, I’d wondered if I shouldn't have used it after all. Even if I had, though, what would happen when I ran out? I couldn’t exactly drive across Texas to Marisol’s and say, “Excuse me while I use your mother’s bathroom,” to get more. No, I had to learn to deal with this myself if I was going to advance. And with Erik’s help, maybe I could try-out without the medication.

  Chapter Forty Three

  The next week was a blur, filled with class every day, lessons with the Diamondbacks, time with Raoul, and then the theater with Erik at night. I was on autopilot. But it was worth it when on Friday Ms. Zaborov asked me to her office.

  Gracefully, she extracted herself from behind her desk when I entered the room and glided over to stand before me. “I am seeing some encouraging things in your work, Christine. If you keep this up, I will be bringing it before Director Darby for consideration. Perhaps we can reassess.”

  Casting aside restraint, I squealed and threw my arms around the woman’s neck. Then I released her and backed up. “I’m sorry. Ms. Zaborov that was a—oops.”

  She laughed and shook it off. “Well, it is good news, is it not?”

  “It’s excellent news!” I replied.

  Leaving her office, I rushed to the cafeteria where Jenna and Van hunched at a table in a heated discussion.

  “Hush, you two,” I commanded, not caring what they argued about. “I just came from Ms. Zaborov, and she thinks I’m improving enough that she’s considering intervening with Mr. Darby.”

  “Great!” Jenna said.

  “So what are you doing different?” Van asked.

  “She has a secret tutor,” Jenna replied.

  “Jenna!” I kicked her under the table.

  “Ouch.” She recoiled and rubbed her shin.

  “A secret tutor,” Van said. “Princess, if you wanted tutoring, you know you could have come to me.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes and Van said to her, “What? I could teach you a few moves, too.”

  “You couldn’t teach a pig to oink,” Jenna teased.

  “Where’d you get that?” Van asked me, shifting the topic of conversation.

  “Get what?” I followed the trail of his pointing finger to the locket that had worked its way out from under my leotard.

  “That’s nice,” Jenna said, leaning in to lift it for closer inspection. “Looks expensive.”

  It had been my intention to show it to her and ask her opinion on whether or not I should risk hurting Erik’s feelings to give it back. But after she’d spilled her guts about my tutor I thought better of it now.

  “I’ve had it,” I replied, retrieving it from Jenna’s grasp to tuck it back under my leotard. “I forgot to take it off before class.”

  Jenna eyed me with what I thought was s
kepticism, but it may have been my imagination. Van went back to his favorite topic then, himself, and bragged about how he planned to wow the crowd at Sunday’s recital.

  Shortly before the end of lunch, Liam joined us, his face flushed and obviously distressed.

  Motioning for us to draw closer, he leaned in and whispered, “It happened again.”

  “What happened again?” Jenna asked.

  “Someone broke into the Wakefield last week and took a bunch of stuff from the offices.”

  “You’re kidding,” Jenna said and we both turned our gazes to Van.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said. “My phantom doesn’t take stuff, he leaves it.”

  “What was taken?” I asked.

  “Computer equipment, money, even some junk from the Lost and Found.”

  “The Lost and Found? Why would anyone want to steal from the Lost and Found?” Van asked.

  “Beats me,” Liam replied. “But there’s definitely something freaky going on around here.”

  It was time to return to class then, so we dropped the matter and went on to our respective studios.

  That night I shot a text to Erik to meet for lessons. When I arrived at the theater, Erik wasn’t there yet, so I warmed up. While I stretched, I thought about how compartmentalized my life had become, and how each segment had its own little set of lies, or half-truths.

  Marisol knew little about Erik and nothing about my stealing her mother’s meds, Jenna knew more about Erik than Marisol did, but only what I’d been comfortable doling out. Raoul, well, I kept him in the dark about everything. And my parents were entirely clueless when it came to my life anymore. Erik seemed to be the only person I felt free to tell everything to. There was no agenda—for him or me—so I had no reason to hold back.

  When time had passed and there was no sign of Erik, I readied to leave, thinking something must have held him up. Then the entrance door at the far end of the theater opened and surprised me. I froze because I knew Erik would not be coming through there. He always arrived from backstage, never from the guest entrance.

  Someone began making his way down the side aisle, and I squinted into the dark. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the man in the Wakefield janitor’s uniform. It was Mr. Sims.

  Chapter Forty Four

  How was I going to explain my presence to Mr. Sims?