My whole life I wanted to be a ballerina.
It wasn't some childhood fascination like the ones my peers had. They wanted to be doctors and engineers because their parents had gushed about how important these occupations were to human?kind. I wanted to be a ballerina because I was born to be one. At least that was what my Dad told me.
"You have a ballerina's feet," he said to me, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. That was ten years ago when I was just shy of nine. My Dad was a good judge of a ballerina's feet after being married to a prima ballerina.
He got me enrolled in a ballet school where I spent my afternoons and my weekends. The Apex Ballet School became my home and my Dad became my biggest cheerleader.
I was enrolled late compared to other dancers whom were enrolled before their fifth birthday but Dad knew that I would outshine them all. And I did. Everyone loved me—the mistress of the school, the teachers, the senior ballerinas and especially the audience.
My mates were not too fond of me; I could smell the putrid odour of hatred that clung to their skin. But I paid them no attention; I kept my head up and let the music possess me.
Now, ten years later, I am standing next to my best friend—Cleo—and waiting for my name to be called out for the role of my dreams—The Sugarplum Fairy. The tradition has changed from pasting the names on the noticeboard to calling them out. I know the role is mine; I was born to dance The Sugarplum Fairy on a magnificent stage to the awe of the adoring audience. I can envision myself, elegant and full of poise on the stage and in the strong arms of The Nutcracker Prince who will be danced by the most brilliant, charming and sought-after male dancer in ABS—Adam Adie.
Adam has been my crush since I was a petite rat, aweing our teachers with my precise pointe while my mates were still on demi?pointe. I am not the only ballerina under the spell of Adam Adie, every red?blooded female in our school swoon at the mere sight of him
including our teachers
.
Adam and the other male ballet dancers are standing opposite us, the females. Their eyes hover above our heads, too tense and nervous to make flirty eye contact but Adam's deep brown eyes dart to mine. I turn my eyes away, embarrassed that I was caught staring at his defined arms and taut torso.
Heat creeps up my neck and flows into my cheeks. My palms become sweaty and I am attacked by the sudden and urgent urge to pee. My heart is beating stealthily against my ribcage, it threatens to break free. Am I shy because Adam caught me staring or is it the sudden thought that I might not be casted as the Sugarplum Fairy? I push the ugly thought aside: the role belongs to me. Ms. Azizen, our ballet mistress, knows that I was destined for the role. She watched me spend painful hours dancing the routine over and over again. My pointes were graceful and my arabesques were a dream. I was light and luminous.
Cleo's hand slips into mine as she leans in to whisper, "Are you okay? You are hyperventilating."
I nod, unable to open my dry mouth and push words out of it. She gives my hand a strong squeeze and flashes me one of her gorgeous pearly white grins. Cleo is one of the most beautiful girls in our form. She has the ideal ballerina body: long and slender limbs, svelte torso, swan?like neck and graceful posture. When she is in leotards and ballet shoes, you appreciate the careful work of art that she is. Ms. Azizen comments again and again on how Cleo becomes the dance.
In my humble opinion, Cleo is most beautiful when she is out of leotards or tutus. She looks better when she is wearing and oversized T-shirt and bum shorts. When her heart shaped face is free of the mask of makeup and her dark, curly, shoulder?length hair is framing her face.
Cleo and I became inseparable after my first casting when we were still petite rats. I was backstage, cuddling a big bouquet of roses with confetti in my hair and my shoulders after receiving my first standing ovation. My Dad was clicking photos of me in his camera, beaming as he said, "Say cheese!" when Cleo ran to my side and held my hand like we were best friends. Dad did not see it as unusual; he thought that Cleo and I were friends.
"Will you teach me to dance like you?" she asked, her lower lip jutted out and her big eyes blinking. And I did. Soon, her leaps became as high as mine and we became the powerful duo; Gigi and Cleo, Cleo and Gigi.
Ms. Azizen walks in between the walls of female and male ballet dancers. Her back is straight and her lips are a hard, thin line as she gives the usual speech before announcing the castings. ". . . all of you have worked hard these past weeks, making the decisions were even tougher than usual. There was unsuspecting competition but only the best will be chosen."
I might be imagining things but I think her eyes flickered to me and rested on my face for a bit longer than necessary. My heart does a leap for joy in the cavity of my chest and I let myself smile for the first time in weeks.
I feel someone's intense stare on my face and this time, it was Adam's turn to look away. Was he staring at me? I wonder. Is he blushing? I watch him for a few seconds and he seems to be avoiding my eyes. So he was staring at me! And he seems shy that I caught him.
Our ballet mistress begins calling out the dancers for each role, I'm not really listening, anxiety makes everything sound fuzzy. "And the Sugarplum Fairy will be danced by Cleo Beshel!"
My heart stops beating.
