Page 1 of Forbidden Dance
Chapter 1
This is my happy place, pretty much my only one.
I check the form of mypliéin the mirror and straighten an arm, then slide out a foot. I’ve been doing ballet for two years, ever since Dreamcatcher Dance Academy opened and accepted students who couldn’t afford classes.
But it’s time to start working toward toe shoes and begin dancingen pointe, and my instructor Betsy says I’m not ready.
I want to be ready.
The next song on the playlist begins and I move todemi-pointefor a free dance. As I turn and whirl, feeling the sheer pink fabric of my dance skirt whispering against my thighs, I am free.
My wretched home life disappears.
No overbearing father.
No forced homeschool that has now extended well past graduation.
No rules about where I go, who I see, what I wear.
It’s just me and the dance and the form I’m trying to get perfect.
I’m surrounded by life-size images of ballerinas I admire, including Juliet, who is performing the famous entrance toLa Bayadère’s Dance of the Shades. Her mother owns this academy, and they have changed my life. After four years of house arrest by my family, I get a small measure of freedom when I’m here.
I practice mypirouette. I’ve chosen parts ofThe Nutcrackerto dance to, since Christmas season is coming and I want to get in the mood.
Besides, the girls in the beginner ballet class I help with are using the song in the holiday recital in six weeks. I want to know it inside and out. It’s how I give back, something in return for my free lessons even though it’s not required.
I started too late for serious study of dance. At nineteen, I would normally have either joined a ballet troupe or given up by now.
But I only began learning at seventeen, and not without a fight. My father took one look at the body-hugging leotards and voiced his strenuous opposition. No matter that I was a heartbeat away from legal adulthood and could leave home anytime I wanted.
He knew I wouldn’t. I have nowhere to go. No skills. No way to earn money, at least not enough to support myself. I don’t know anything about living on my own. I’d never make it.
The music speeds up as the Nutcracker Army marches into the scene. I increase my pace, adding leaps and spins. My glossy black hair is braided into a circular crown, one of the few ways I can distinguish myself with no makeup and the plainest wardrobe imaginable. At least my hair can be beautiful.
The leotard was another victory. When I finally convinced my father to let me try ballet, he attended every single class for six months, forcing me to wear baggy pants and T-shirts. But finally he recognized the beauty and elegance of the dance, far more structured and demanding than anything he could dream up. Plus, no men anywhere. So he allowed it.
In dance attire, I look like everyone else. I fit in. I’m only marginally talented, and this passion of mine can go nowhere, although maybe, if I stick with Dreamcatcher, I can eventually graduate to teaching toddlers, like Aurora does.
That’s one goal I have.
But first, toe shoes.
I spin, arms in, so tight, so fast, then extending up over my head. The world is a blur. I’m both giddy and fierce in my concentration, happy and determined at once. I will get those shoes. My late start in life is a problem, but I will overcome it.
I slow the rotation and circle to the floor, my arms splayed out across the glossy wood planks.
“That’s beautiful,” a low male voice says.
I leap to my feet, my heart racing, as startled as a deer.
The door is open and a man leans against the wall beside it, one foot crossed over the other. He’s clearly a dancer, wearing sleek pants, black jazz shoes, and a loose white tank.
“Who are you?” I ask. I haven’t been alone with a man anywhere close to my age since I was fifteen. My father has made sure of it. The only male instructor here is Jacob, and he is gay. All the boy students are very young.
“The more important question,” he says with an impossibly sexy smile, “is who areyou?”
I resist the urge to find something to cover myself with. I’m a dancer. This leotard is standard issue, and I’ve done recitals in front of an audience wearing them.
