Page 33 of On Dancer
“Who needed a hairbrush?”
I was on the move through much of Act One, missing most of the Party Scene, and only catching snippets of the battle as each group of student performers seemed to bring a fresh set of needs. In a bid for more ballet school participation, Irina and Tavio had choreographed numerous innovative ways to involve child dancers. More parts for the kids meant more money from their parents and more tickets from their friends and relatives as well. The tiny dancers playing snowflakes in the Land of the Snow crowded each other, impatient for their turn as the stage crew deftly unveiled the set pieces for the scene. I caught sight of Victoria awaiting her Act Two entrance, but I barely had enough time to offer an encouraging smile before being summoned to find a missing headpiece.
“Whoa.” Alexander’s low warning sounded, saving me a millisecond before I crashed into him. He appeared like some sort of celestial vision, mesmerizing in his Cavalier costume, every blond hair in place, stage makeup accenting his already iconic looks, tunic and tights showing his perfect physique. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “Breathe.”
“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?” I managed a grin.
“I’m ready.” The set of his jaw dared anyone to disagree.
“You are.” I held his gaze, and energy sizzled between us, bright as a piece of glitter in the spotlight and equally elusive. Unlike me and my ever-present blushes, Alexander seldom showed even a hint of color, but his cheeks took on a faint dusky tone. Surely he felt this pull too? But there was no time to ask, as yet another teacher waved in my direction, and I had to leave him and the moment behind.
I made it back to the wings as Victoria harnessed her nerves into a worthy performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy, and her pas de deux with Alexander captivated the audience. Alexander’s solo variation was the real show-stopper in my opinion, and after watching a month of rehearsals, I practically knew his every breath. I held mine as he jumped impossibly high, but my worry was quickly replaced with awe as he landed light as snow upon the stage.
I couldn’t wait to tell him how brilliant he’d looked, but my attention was swept away by my mother trying to locate a stool for Tavio for the director’s talk to the school kids immediately after the final curtain. After everyone took their bows, Tavio and Irina answered questions from the audience about the production, and the kids had so many inquiries that Alexander and Victoria were able to join the discussion toward the end.
Finally, the students lined up to return to the buses waiting out front. My mother was busy in discussion with the principal, leaving me to make sure the teachers had all their students along with the copies of the program we were sending back with them.
“I can’t thank you enough for arranging this.” Mr. Davis, the third-grade teacher who had been my main point of contact at the school, stepped away from his line of kids and parent chaperones.
“It was our pleasure.” I smiled at him, a wave of relief coursing through me that it had been a good experience for himand his students. “I know my mother is hoping to do more with the local schools in the future too.”
“Make sure she sends you again.” Mr. Davis’s blue eyes twinkled. They weren’t quite as blue or as sharp as Alexander’s, but they were nice eyes nonetheless.
“I think my future here is dependent on funding, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Maybe I’m just hoping to see you again.” He winked, and the theater lobby seemed suddenly smaller and warmer.
“Oh.” I made a startled noise that wasn’t exactly encouragement, but Mr. Davis plowed ahead.
“I suppose I could ensure that possibility by asking if you’d be free for a coffee sometime?”
“I…uh…” I’d spent my college years woefully bad at reading others’ interest in me, but Mr. Davis, who wasn’t that many years older than me, was rather clearly asking me out. Three months ago, my answer would have been immediate. But now? I glanced around the lobby, hoping for inspiration as a blonde girl with wispy hair and a missing front tooth came rushing up.
“Mr. Davis, Shiloh won’t stop looking at me.”
“Oops. I need to get going.” Mr. Davis turned toward his group of students before glancing back over his shoulder. “Think about it?”
“What are we thinking about?” My mother had even worse timing than Victoria’s mother, which was really saying something. And to make matters worse, she was followed by Alexander, who still had a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Loading up.” Mr. Davis offered one last smile before heading back to his class as they streamed out the lobby doors. “Thanks again for having us.”
“I’d say the school visits were a success.” Alexander’s tone was cryptic, leaving me even more confused than ever.
Seventeen
Sickle:a poorly positioned foot that turns inward, creating a sickle or half-moon shape rather than a fully pointed foot. Often stems from trying to point the foot too hard, causing the ankle to sickle, and can lead to injury.
Alexander
The hyperfocused zone I usually slipped into on performance weekends eluded me all Saturday. I was restless, vibrating with energy beyond anticipation for the next show. Friday had been much too busy to squeeze in a round of the game with Rudy, and I strangely missed him despite our frequent passing in the corridors of the theater. I had no business pining for him. I had a return ticket to Seattle for January third. Onward with my comeback!
Yet my weird mood persisted even as the object of my ruminating bounced into the alcove I’d claimed for my late lunch between shows.
“We have a crisis.” Rudy waved his clipboard for emphasis. Tavio might be the director and Irina his right hand, but Rudy was the one who’d kept the show running smoothly, saving the day over and over with his quick thinking.
His auburn hair stuck up at odd angles, and his eyes were almost wider than his glasses frames. I, however, had faith in his ability to remedy whatever the crisis was. Further, I had a decent idea as to what the matter might be.
“Cheryl is sick?”
