Page 44 of Give Me Strength

“Before we begin,” Wynter says, her tone gentle but firm, “I want to remind everyone that ballet is not just about physical prowess. It’s about dedication, respect, and supporting one another. We rise by lifting each other up.”

The students around me exchange glances, their expressions reflecting the impact of Wynter’s words. Even Frances and Sharon, who were previously whispering, now look ashamed. The air feels lighter, the tension easing slightly.

Miss Phyllis claps her hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone. Let’s get into position. Wynter will be taking the lead on today’s class, so let’s show her what we can do.”

The class begins, and I lose myself in the familiar routines, feeling the exhilaration of movement, the joy of dancing, and the discipline and grace that ballet demands. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded, the only thing that makes sense in the never-ending chaos of my life.

Wynter moves around the room, offering suggestions and corrections, her presence a source of inspiration for us all. A true role model, one who embodies the true spirit of ballet in every way.

At one point, she stops near me, her hand gently correcting my posture.

“You could’ve given me a heads-up,” I hiss-whisper.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she says, then leans in and mutters, “Should I throw in some extra pirouettes for those two?”

I shake my head, a small smile playing on my lips. It’d be fun to see, though. And it’s hard to spin and gossip at the same time.

The class continues, each movement flowing into the next with a grace and fluidity that comes from years of practice. Wynter’s presence elevates our performance, her corrections and encouragements pushing us to be better and reach deeper. I can feel the energy in the room, the shared determination to impress her and show her our best.

I notice Frances and Sharon stealing glances at Wynter, their earlier animosity replaced by admiration. The transformation is subtle, but it’s there. Even better, the atmosphere in the room has completely shifted. There’s a sense of camaraderie, a shared respect that wasn’t there when I first walked in today.

I wish every lesson would be like this, that we could skip the unnecessary gossip and focus on what’s important. Everyone in this room is serious about pursuing ballet as a career. The ones who aren’t typically screen themselves out at fifteen or sixteen, as it is not for the faint of heart.

That, and not every ballerina likes pain, but they all learn to tolerate it — myself included.

As the session draws to a close, Miss Phyllis claps her hands, signaling the end of class.

“Well done, everyone,” she says, her voice warm with approval. “And thank you, Wynter, for your time and insights today. It’s been an honor to have you with us today.”

Wynter’s smile is radiant. “Thank you all for having me today. Remember, the beauty of ballet lies not just in the steps, but in the heart and soul you bring to it. Keep pushing, keep dancing, and keep believing in yourselves.”

The students applaud, their faces a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. Slowly, they begin to file out of the studio. Some stop to speak with Wynter, to ask for advice, or simply to thank her. I hang back, waiting for the crowd to thin. Wynter catches my eye and gives me a knowing smile. I wait for the room to empty out before approaching her, my heart racing with excitement.

“You are a natural at this, Wyn.”

“And you did wonderfully today.” She reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Not that you need praise from me, but I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling the warmth of her praise. “So, about that tea?”

Her eyes twinkle with mischief, the innuendo not lost on us. “I didn’t forget. Shall we?”

21

ASHLYNN

As we leave McCracken Hall, we pass by a few more teachers and students who greet us with smiles and polite nods, their curious glances lingering a little longer on Wynter. It’s clear that she’s left an impression on everyone today.

We exit the building and almost run into Mrs. Janice, who is talking with another student.

“Well, I’ll be,” Mrs Janice calls out to us, her expression genuinely pleased. “Have fun, ladies!”

“We will,” Wynter and I reply in unison, exchanging amused glances.

We’ve both gotten the ‘you need to get a life’ talk from her. She gives that speech to all her overachieving students, knowing it’s futile.

But we understand where she’s coming from. She’s not just a teacher; she’s a mentor who wants us to have a balanced life and not just focus on our studies and dance. I’m only walking out the doors well before 6:00 P.M because I don’t have a private lesson with her today. Even so, because I’m one of Bayard’s honorary fixtures, I have no issues booking any classroom that’s not in use and running through routines. Since I moved in with Gilbert, the studio at home has been getting a lot of use.

It’s a short walk from the academy to my favorite café, a cozy little place with the best lattes in town. Wynter and I fall into step beside each other, the conversation flowing easily.

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