Dance of Shadows (6 page)

On the first day of classes, the heat broke in a deluge of biblical proportions. Water sloshed down the streets, and black umbrellas bloomed along the sidewalks, making Manhattan even more anonymous.

Vanessa and Steffie darted down the sidewalk with their bags, rain dotting their T-shirts as they ran to the studios for morning rehearsal.

Wiping the water from her cheeks, Vanessa gave the door a firm push. The entire school was assembled in front of the
mirrors, giving Vanessa the uncanny feeling that orientation was happening all over again.

“Déjà vu,” Steffie whispered to her as they took a spot near the front.

For a moment, Vanessa could believe that orientation had never happened. The blond floors were spotless, and the soaked ballet slippers were gone. The only proof that the night had been real was the faded dark marks streaked across the unvarnished floorboards by the wall.

In the mirror, Vanessa could see the group of upperclassmen lounging in the corner, their sunburns faded, like masks being slowly peeled off. In the back, behind a group of boys, she thought she saw Zep’s dark hair just as a voice said, “Time to get to work!”

A hush fell over the studio.

Josef strode to the front of the room, wearing black jeans and a fitted gray shirt, his footsteps reverberating through the studio like a communal heartbeat.

Josef clapped his hands together. “Take a look around. This is the last time you will be in the same studio together. Today, some of you will be coming with me to work on
The Firebird
.” He lowered his head. “You know who you are.”

A confused chorus of voices rose over the dancers. “What?” TJ said, sounding outraged. “Are the roles already cast?”

Josef raised his hand for silence. “While we have a number of seniors in mind already for
Firebird
roles, the final decision will not be made for another month. The rest of you will be working with Hilda, who will handle your morning classes.”

On cue, Hilda stepped out from somewhere behind him, so commonplace in her frumpy brown skirt and turtleneck that Vanessa hadn’t even noticed her.

“All of the freshmen to the—” she began to say, but Josef cut her off.

“Oh, and if you would like to observe the afternoon rehearsal, you are welcome to come under one condition. That you do not speak
at all
.” He held up a finger. “Dance must be pure to be fully realized.
Bon
, now Hilda.”

He gestured to her, and Hilda pressed her lips together in a smile, watching Josef make his way to the door, followed by a small group of upperclassmen. Arching her neck, Vanessa tried to catch a glimpse of Zep.

Instead, she spotted Anna Franko’s long golden hair. A large hand was resting on the small of her back. Was it the same hand that had closed over her mouth in her dorm room, that had blindfolded her, that had bandaged her foot so gently?

Hilda turned to the rest of the students. “Gather your things and follow me. We’re going upstairs.”

Vanessa stood with everyone else, her eyes traveling up Zep’s arm to his shoulder, his neck, the stubble on his jaw. His face was obscured by the other dancers around him, and she imagined that he was still wearing that white hollow mask as he pressed her to him in her room.

Her hair was still damp from running in the rain, the long red locks matted to her neck. Pushing it away, Vanessa turned to pick up her bag. Suddenly she could smell his aftershave. Its sharp scent tickled her nose. Confused, she looked toward the door, but Zep was already gone.

“Do you smell that?” she asked Steffie.

But when she spun around, Steffie was gone too, and Vanessa found herself inches away from a boy. Startled, she leaped back.

“Smell what?” he asked.

He was almost as tall as Zep, though fairer, with a clear gaze and a mess of sandy hair. Unlike most of the other guys in the room, he was actually wearing normal clothes: a pair of chinos and a loose blue polo. Preppy, Vanessa thought with approval, making a mental note that none of his clothing consisted of: a) tight denim, b) spandex, c) nylon, or d) a white undershirt the same size as her tank top. He would have been cute if not for his eyes, which were a cold blue as he studied her.

And then the faint smell of aftershave floated through the air again. To her surprise, it seemed to be coming from the boy in front of her. “You?”

“Excuse me?” he said.

Vanessa took a step back. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I thought you were—”

“A friend?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Vanessa looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding out a small makeup bag.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the bag and pushing her hair behind one ear. She was about to leave when he spoke.

“Is your name Vanessa?” he said.

She froze. “How did you know?”

“I recognize you.” He seemed to be looking through her, as if when he saw her face, all he saw was someone else.

“Margaret,” Vanessa whispered.

The boy nodded.

“Who are you?” Her eyes darted around her to make sure no one else was listening, but everyone had already left the studio.

“Justin,” he said. “We were the same year. She used to talk about her sister, Vanessa.”

“She did?” Vanessa said. If Margaret were still here, she would have been a senior.

“She was an amazing dancer, and so pretty,” Justin said, eyeing Vanessa as if he were talking about her, not her sister. “But also pretty vacant. Always scared of failure.”

Vanessa flinched. “Vacant?”

But Justin didn’t seem to realize that he was insulting Margaret. “Toward the end she couldn’t be bothered to talk to regular people. She kept warning us that she was writing everything down in her journal, but nobody ever found it.”

Journal? If her sister had ever written one, it would have come home with all of her belongings.

Justin shook his head. “I think the journal was all in her mind. Though she kept saying everything would come out in the end somehow.”

“What would come out?” Vanessa searched his face, as if the answer to what happened to Margaret were hidden beneath his heavy brow.

Justin threw his bag over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“But you must have an idea. It sounds like you were close to her, at least for a short amount of time.”

“Look, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but your sister wasn’t … all there. There was a point when nothing she said made any sense.”

His words stung. “Right,” she said tersely. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

Justin walked outside, falling in step with a girl who was about his height and heavyset—a rare sight for ballet school—with wide hips and bushy chestnut hair. She leaned in to hear Justin’s whisper, nodded slightly, then glanced at Vanessa over her shoulder.

Vanessa glared at her. She had seen the girl before; she was hard to forget in a school where most of the students were half her size. She was always hanging around another boy who looked just like her.

Vanessa looked away. When she looked up again, Justin and the girl were gone.

“Nicola. She’s one of the Fratelli twins,” said Steffie as they filed through bright hallways on their way to a class with Hilda. “Her brother is Nicholas.”

“She can’t be a dancer,” said Vanessa, trying to imagine the large girl in a jeté. “She’s so … big.”

Steffie pressed her books to her chest. “Apparently, they’re supposed to be pretty good, even though the witless call them the ‘Fat-elli’ twins.”

“That’s so not funny,” Vanessa said.

“And yet,” Steffie said, “it sticks.”

Her thoughts returned to her sister. Had she really gone crazy? If something terrible had happened at school, why didn’t she just tell someone? Why hide it away in her diary? Could Justin have been right, and Margaret had run away—not because she
wanted
to be lost, but because she already was?

“Vanessa?” Steffie said, breaking into her reverie. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Vanessa said, and followed her to the studio at the end of the hall. The room was blond and polished, with wall-to-wall mirrors that made it look far larger than it actually was. Most of the freshman and sophomore class was already assembled by the barre, wearing the school uniform for dance class: black leotards and pink tights for the girls, white shirts and black tights for the boys. Vanessa was about to join them when she spotted Justin by himself, warming up.

She must have been staring, because suddenly his eyes met hers. Quickly, she looked away and lined up next to Steffie, TJ, and Blaine.

Hilda paced at the front of the studio, favoring her left leg—she had a slight limp. On her command, the students went through the basics, so familiar to Vanessa that her legs moved almost reflexively.

“Tendu!”

“Dégagé!”

“Grand battement!”

“Plié!”

Hilda observed the students, the arrhythmic sound of her limp punctuating their steps.

Vanessa could see the back of Justin’s head bobbing up and down ahead of her, his sandy hair matted to his neck with sweat. His form was pretty good, she thought. So why was he in the underclassmen rehearsal if he was a senior? Maybe he hadn’t been the same year as Margaret. Maybe he’d made everything up.

By late afternoon the rain had slowed, and the sky was a rolling gray. Steffie caught up with Vanessa as she walked toward the exit. “That was intense,” she said, pulling on an oversized sweatshirt.

“Yeah,” Vanessa replied. “I guess Hilda isn’t as timid as she seems.”

“I meant
you
. You were staring straight ahead the entire time.”

“Oh,” Vanessa said. “I was just … lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

“Must have been a pretty gripping daydream,” Steffie said. “Are you going to observe the class with Josef?”

Vanessa opened her mouth to answer when Justin pushed past them, brushing Vanessa’s arm.

“Pardon.” His eyes met Vanessa’s for a moment before he lowered his head and ran up the stairs, two at a time. She had to admit—he would have been handsome if it weren’t for the arrogant expression that seemed permanently embedded on his face.

Steffie grabbed Vanessa’s elbow. “What was that about? He looked like he wanted to kill you. Or throw you against a wall and make out with you.” She paused. “Or both.”

“Justin. He said he knew my sister. That they were the same year,” Vanessa said.

“So why is he in our morning class?” Steffie asked.

“I don’t know,” Vanessa murmured. “I thought maybe he was lying about being a senior, but now I think Justin might have been the boy in the white mask.”

“No way,” Steffie said. “The boy in the white mask was nice. This guy—
Justin
—seems like a prick.”

“I recognize his aftershave. It’s the same.”

“It’s probably a brand that everyone has,” Steffie said. “Eau de … handsome-yet-questionably-gay-teenage-male-dancer. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

The dance floor was still empty when they slipped into the rehearsal studio. It was so quiet that it took a second look for Vanessa to realize that the rows of chairs in the back of the room were already filled with students.

“Remember,” Steffie whispered. “No speaking. Josef’s rules.”