Page 3 of Surprisingly Us

He nods. “It is.” His thumb and index finger slide over the meticulously groomed salt and pepper hair at his jaw. “The dancer I’m looking for will need to strip away perfection. This performance will be messy and raw. It focuses on the desire and passion that one experiences with a new love. Vulnerability and uncertainty, joy and contentment. All the emotions that come with a person finding love for the first time. It’s an awakening that will require every raw emotion to be at the surface.”

At his words, my stomach sinks. I’m a confident dancer. I didn’t get this far in the company by being timid, yet there are things that I haven’t experienced and they happen to be everything Alexei just mentioned.

“As dancers, we get caught up in this world,” he motions to the practice room, “but it’s out there,” he points to the door, “where we find what brings our performances to life. Real connections. Real emotions. Love, heartbreak, betrayal, loss. All of life’s messiness is what molds a technical dancer into a breathtaking performer. To bring your performance to the next level, you must be able to deliver that. It’s what sets a principal dancer apart from the rest.”

I swallow thickly and nod. “I understand.”

He pauses, then sighs. “You have all the potential in the world, Colette, but if you want the lead role inRubies, you need to find a way to bring more passion into your performance,” his fingers rap against the left side of his chest, in emphasis, while his gaze bores into mine, “or this role is not meant for you.”

I swallow thickly, Alexei’s reference is to my evaluation this past spring session. And the fall session before that. They were my best technical performances, yet they weren’t enough to land me the lead and promote me to principal dancer in the company. There was something missing.

According to Alexei, that something is passion.

“Evaluations forRubiesare in eight weeks. You’ll need to make every effort to give a passionate performance, or you won’t be considered for the lead role. And I’m afraid a promotion to principal will be off the table.”

Over the years, it’s been hard watching other dancers advance to principal while I stay at soloist.

Soloist is an amazing accomplishment. I know this. But if I were satisfied with soloist then his words wouldn’t have such a soul-crushing effect.

“I understand,” I tell him, my voice even despite my thundering pulse and tightening chest.

He nods. “Enjoy your weekend, Colette.”

All I can do is nod and watch him leave, the metal practice room door banging shut with a heavy thud at his exit.

Somehow, I find the strength to push up and out of the chair, gather my things and walk out of the room. I sit on the bench outside, trading my ballet slippers for trainers Mr. Rogers style, while trying to collect my thoughts.

My life outside the studio isn’t non-existent. I do have friends. I socialize with the other company dancers, our rigorous lifestyle bonding us together. Though I could make more of an effort to see them outside of the studio.

There’s my best friend since childhood, Hannah. And most of her friends have become mine by association. My philanthropic work, making tutus for visits at the children’s hospital, and my recent collaboration with Leg-Up, a non-profit dance school. And I’ve got Maxine, my sometimes sweet, but mostly grumpy Maltese cat.

My life is busy and full.

Yet, even as the thought forms in my brain, I know it’s not completely true. I know what’s missing.

What Alexei has found lacking in my dancing.

Passion.

I do a quick dictionary search on my phone just to make sure there’s no confusion.

An object of desire or deep interest. Ardent affection. Sexual desire.

A group of dancers from the ballet school walking by pull my attention from my phone. They’re huddled together, looking at one of the girls’ phones and giggling. The middle girl suddenly drops her phone in her bag, then splits from the pack to run up to a guy. She leaps into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist. Their lips crash together and soon I’m blushing watching this young couple make out in the middle of the building.

Young love. Or lust. I’m not sure what it is for them, but they’ve clearly got chemistry. My heart kicks up a notch at the thought of what that would feel like. The excitement of leaping into a man’s arms and having him kiss you passionately. It’s such a foreign idea, my skin starts to tingle. Because you can’t get to the leaping into someone’s arms part without the dreaded D word.

I will my brain not to think it. It knows my body has a mind of its own and will retaliate with a very visible skin reaction.

I’m staring intently at the couple when my phone buzzes in my hand.

The text isn’t from a guy. It’s from my best friend, Hannah, reminding me to bring my overnight bag to her rehearsal dinner tonight because we’ll be going straight to the hotel after.

Hannah’s a few years older than me, but it’s still a reminder that I’ve got friends who are getting married while I’ve yet todateanyone.

Oh, no. Now I’ve done it.

Date. Dating. Dated.

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