You're So Sweet (14 page)

After class, Julian sat down on the bench in the boys' change room, too exhausted to move. He wished that he could apparate home. He didn't want to get up and put on his clothes and go outside and wait for the bus in the cold, and get off and then walk another four blocks until he was finally home. He let his head hang down and his eyes close for a minute. He yawned. The cold front of his locker felt good against his back, which was loose and warm from the day's dancing.

“Julian.”

“What?” Julian complained, opening his eyes slightly.

“Wake up.”

“No.”

“Okay, fine then, go to sleep here, I don't care.” Tristan walked off, whistling the music to his
Sleeping Beauty
variation as he went to get changed.

Julian groaned and unhappily got up, pulling his jeans over his shorts because he was too tired to get fully changed. He fell back down to the bench again to put on his shoes.

“How's your contemporary
pas
going?” Tristan called from the sinks.

“Good,” Julian answered.

“Who are you getting to coach it again?”

Julian pretended he didn't hear.

“Julian?”

“What? I'm going home now, see you tomorrow, 'kay?”

“'Kay.”

Julian walked upstairs and down the hall. He could feel something hurt on his inner thigh; he had probably pulled it during class when Mr. Moretti had grabbed his leg and pushed it up toward his head.

“Julian,” Taylor called. She was standing at the entranceway, still in her dance clothes.

“See ya,” Julian called, waving.

“No, come here,” she called. Julian fought the urge to run for the side door, mostly because he was too sore to run, and walked slowly over to her. “What?”

“Want to go upstairs and rehearse? We haven't gotten to do our contemporary
pas
together at all this week.”

“Um —” Julian ran his hand through his hair. He didn't really have a choice, it had to be done. “Okay.” He followed Taylor upstairs, and took off his jeans and socks. At least he didn't have to go downstairs to get his ballet shoes. Taylor put the music into the player and pushed play. Julian massaged his leg, an expression of pain on his face. “Ow, ow, ow …” The music, “Sail,” by Awolnation
,
started to play, and Julian straightened up.

Charlize walked in. “Hey guys. Working hard?”

“We just started, Mom,” Taylor said, annoyed. “Can you please push Play for us?”

“Okay.” Charlize walked over, her heels making a clicking sound on the floor. Taylor walked over to the side of the stage with Julian. “Now?”

“Yes.” The piece was highly energetic and dramatic, which suited them normally, but at the moment they were both so tired that they barely got through it. Charlize watched them with a frown. “Why don't you guys just work on pieces of it, instead?” she asked. “Like that
penche
you have at the end, Taylor, it's not quite reaching 180 degrees. Can you make it straighter?”

“Yes,” Taylor said indignantly. She went into the
penche
and straightened up.

“It's not there yet,” Charlize informed her. “It has to be higher.”

Taylor pushed upward with her chest, held her supporting leg's hamstring until it felt like it was on fire, and pulled her working leg up farther with her back, butt, and leg.

“There, that was it, Taylor,” Charlize said enthusiastically. “Julian, maybe you should work on that
attitude
turn you have? It isn't quite as steady as it probably should be.”

Julian nodded and started to work on it. Funnily enough, his turns got better when he was tired … he went around and around, his mind clearing of everything except for the pleasant feeling of turning into a human top.

After Charlize dropped Julian off at home, he went straight to the kitchen. His dinner was waiting for him on the table, and he sat down, eating it as fast as possible. He squirted some dish soap on the plate, ran some water over it, and sort of cleaned it off with the dish cloth, then stuffed it on the drying rack. He went into his room and collapsed on his bed, summoning just enough energy to take off his clothes, turn off his light, and crawl into bed.
Teeth? Crap. No teeth.
As he lay there under his covers, he felt a strange sort of peace. It was pleasant to be this tired, to know that he had done all that he should for the day.
Oh! Noooo …
he moaned and rolled over, burying his head in the blissful blackness of his pillow. He'd forgotten to do his homework for math class.
I'll do it in the morning
, he told himself, reaching out and setting his alarm for half an hour earlier than normal.

Alexandra Dunstan

Caaaaaaallllifornia!!! Mom can't stop playing the Beach Boys <3

There are a few things that some people plunge into with glee, which others view with abject horror. Some might find the idea of performing solo in front of a somewhat large audience undesirable, and avoid it at all costs. Add on to that scenario a situation where afterward you are judged on said performance, and most will have fled. Alexandra was not of their number. Alexandra was of the 1 percent, the percentage that lived for the stage and loved nothing better than squashing the hopes and dreams of others by proving that she was more worthy than they. So it was only natural that Alexandra was practically skipping as she danced through her house making sure that she had left nothing behind. It was nothing to her that it was 6:00 a.m.; she was wide awake and ready.

Justin was not so thrilled. Having been entrusted with the task of taking his mother and sister to the airport and was currently in the awkward position of trying to sleep on the small kitchen island as they gathered their stuff. “Are you ready yet?” he asked. Or, rather, moaned.

“Justin!” Alexandra shouted. “It's time to go!” Her sympathies did not extend far, and quite excluded her brother; therefore, the idea that the decibel level required to express her excitement might make her brother momentarily hate her did not cross her mind. Her mind was happy, in the blissful state that comes when someone is about to illustrate why they deserve a place on this earth. Existential angst was a disease that frequently troubled Alexandra, but YAGP had put this disease in remission. They went to the car and Justin turned the heat up full blast.

“Alexandra.”

“Yes?” Alexandra turned to her mother.

“You are going to do beautifully. I can feel it.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I don't tell you enough, but you really do make me and your father proud.”

Alexandra was not sure what to say. The words coming out of her mother's mouth were the polar opposite to the opinions she had been expressing in the last couple of weeks. At the wheel, Justin appeared to be thinking the same thing; and he snorted. Snorting he could do at this hour.

Julian was barely awake as he followed Tristan up to the gate and set his suitcase on the conveyor belt. U.S. security guards never failed to make him nervous. In fact, the United States in general never failed to make him nervous. He thought of the things that his parents and their friends babbled about, lack of freedoms and overreactions, and he smoothed his hair back with a sweaty palm.

“What are you worried about?” Tristan whispered as they collected their stuff on the other end of the belt, subject to the intimidating glare of the large woman who handed them back their shoes.

“I'm worried that they will think I'm a terrorist,” Julian whispered back. This thought was not entirely what had been worrying him, but it seemed to give a clear shape to the otherwise formless fog of abstract fear that he was feeling.

“I am far more likely to be called a terrorist,” Tristan whispered back, pointing at his face.

Tristan might have a point.

“You on the other hand,” Tristan continued, “are more likely to be accused of trying to audition for One Direction.”

“What is One Direction?”

“You are seriously living under a rock, Julian. Never mind, they're English,” Tristan answered, unwilling to explain the finer details of his love for Louis Tomlinson.

Julian shrugged, confused.

They reached the waiting area, where Keiko and Taylor and her mother sat.

“Are Kaitlyn and Alexandra on this flight?” Julian asked.

“Alexandra should be here,” Taylor answered. “Kaitlyn I think is going on a different flight — her aunt had air miles or something, but not on this plane.”

“Right,” Julian remembered. “She said something like that.”

“Yes,” Taylor nodded. “At the studio. Yesterday.” She sat on the floor and began to stretch; casual conversation, at least of the linear kind, was quite impossible with the level of excitement in the air. Beside her, Keiko did the same.

Behind Julian, an elderly gentleman rapped him on the back with a rolled magazine. “Excuse me,” he asked, “but what is going on?” He pointed to the curiously shaped tutu suitcases.

Julian laughed. “A dance competition,” he explained. “Those are tutus.”

The man raised his eyebrows so far he nearly raised his hat. “I see. I couldn't guess it, was thinking maybe music. Or the circus. Interesting.” He walked off, and Julian got the definite impression that they had been the odd point of his day.

Alexandra arrived, panting and leading her mother by several metres. “Everyone ready?” she asked. “Where's Kaitlyn?

“She's going to be on a different flight,” Taylor repeated, cracking the bones of her left foot through her shoes.

“How unique of her.” Alexandra sat down and began to flip through their schedule. “Julian, I think I'm going to be able to watch you and Taylor's contemporary
pas de deux.
”

“Sweet,” Julian said, blushing. He could feel the warmth fill his face. It was so annoying, he seemed to be entering his awkward pubescent age at seventeen, and he objected. He squished his hands against his hot cheeks, trying to restore them to his natural pale colouring.

“Did you —” Alexandra paused. She had been on the point of asking Julian a question that would have revealed that he had choreographed the
pas de deux
, and while she had no real commitment to keeping his secret, it did seem a bit tacky to blurt it out with him right there. He might stop telling her secrets if she did so. There was a moment of awkward silence as everyone looked up, the inevitable result of breaking off a sentence that hastily. They stared at each other, and suddenly Julian collapsed to the floor, giggling. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

“You all know that I choreographed it.”

They started to laugh. “We are so good at keeping secrets, Julian,” Taylor said.

“You might as well have just posted a notice on the bulletin board in that case,” Alexandra said dryly.

“At least the Demidovskis don't know I choreographed it,” Julian shrugged.

Taylor looked up. “Uh, Jules, I heard Theresa telling them about it.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don't worry about it,” Alexandra shrugged. “You have nothing to worry about if you're any good.”

“Thanks, Alexandra, that really makes me feel better.”

The hotel was packed with dancers, and as Taylor and Julian disappeared to rehearse, Alexandra stood in the middle of the lobby, digesting the scene. Tristan stood behind her, the two of them having made the decision to leave Beth and Tristan's mom Kaveri to gossip together. Alexandra needed air, and space, and this brightly lit hotel had neither. It smelled of central air and was filled with people hurrying around. There was an oddly stressed vibe in the hotel, and it was clear that YAGP was to blame.

“Alexandra!” Tristan pulled on her arm.

“What?”

“Look over there!” Tristan pointed, and Alexandra saw before them a very well-dressed pair. It is a wonderful sight when money meets taste, and Alexandra admired their clothing for a second. They were both of average height, with the same unusual combination of very tan skin and auburn hair paired with green eyes. They also had the muscle tone of exceptionally good dancers. Alexandra swallowed. “It's them! You know, I can't remember their names, remember you showed me their
pas de deux
on YouTube?”

Alexandra nodded, slowly. “Lux Amdahl. Lux and Nat Amdahl.”

“Lexi, please introduce me? Please, please, please?”

“All right,” Alexandra shrugged. “If she even remembers me — I only met Lux, and that was a while ago.” They started to walk over, and before they had reached the pair, Lux had spotted Alexandra.

“Lexi! Omigod, you are here?”

“How are you?” Alexandra asked, smiling as she reached out to hug her.

“I'm good,” Lux said, grinning. Alexandra watched her, a bit confused. The last time she had seen Lux, she'd been a spoiled but extremely talented eleven-year-old who had looked up to Alexandra. That had been two years ago, and Alexandra had a feeling things had changed. The spoiled brat had turned into a very determined-looking thirteen-year-old.

“This is Tristan, he goes to my school,” Alexandra said, awkwardly pointing at him. Lux smiled at him. “Tristan, Lux. Well … I'm going for a walk. Do you want to come with?”

“Yeah,” Lux agreed. “Omigod, so exciting, right? I can't wait to get on stage, and I love how so many people I know are here!” She pulled out her phone and began to text. The four of them began to walk toward the doors. Alexandra felt extraordinarily happy. She felt like she was home in this foreign hotel; she respected Nat and Lux, and that was an unbelievably freeing feeling. She hated the academy because she never knew what was going on, why they chose some people over others, why they loved Grace more than her. Here, she knew where she stood. Tomorrow she would be able to see if Lux was as good as she looked. She hung behind her, walking arm-in-arm with Tristan as he talked to Nat, and Lux strolled down the street ahead of them, too full of energy to wait. The skinny kid was still extremely skinny, but there was hard-core muscle on that body, and the hyperextension in her legs was something new. She listened absent-mindedly as Tristan and Nat argued about the point of competitions.

“I don't think that it should be like that,” Tristan was saying, sounding a bit unsure. “You shouldn't have to do competitions to get a job, because in a company you will have to dance completely differently. Competitions are kind of stupid, it's like they turn ballet into gymnastics or something. I'm just doing it because I'm Canadian, so I should do anything that I can put on my resume that will help me get a visa for the U.S. or wherever. If I just wanted to work in Canada, I wouldn't compete.”

Nat snorted. It was a very obvious and kind of grown-up snort, and Alexandra could feel Tristan's arm tense. She squeezed his arm, reminding him not to be too rude; she wanted to hang out with Nat and Lux; they were definitely the most important and interesting people at competition this year.

“That is because you are a total competition virgin,” Nat declared, “and you have been brainwashed into believing all the pretentious crap about competitions taking away the artistry. It's such total idiocy.” They continued to argue for the rest of the walk, Tristan losing more ground with every step. He seemed to have had his feelings hurt by Nat suggesting that it was his lack of experience that made him think like he did, and as a consequence he was too emotional to formulate a logical argument. Alexandra didn't bother to help him; the truth was that she agreed with both sides.

Kaitlyn was currently sitting on a chair in her living room, worrying about what people must be thinking of her disappearance. The truth, that after the morning she had crossed nobody's mind, probably would not have reassured her, but was nothing compared to the conversations that were playing out in her mind. She bent her head down into her hands, massaging her forehead as if that could make her brain stop worrying.

“It's for the best, Kaitlyn,” Cecelia said with a shrug, as she came out of the kitchen with a pile of her grade three students' math work to mark. “This way you won't be placed in a position where you will fail.”

“Mom, nobody's going to believe that I got pneumonia.”

“Yes, they are, Kaitlyn.”

Kaitlyn sighed and turned on the TV. She might as well catch up with the latest episode of
Once Upon a Time
, since there was clearly nothing else to do. She felt so wrong; all that rehearsal, just to not dance. Logically, she knew that did not make sense, improving as a dancer was valuable all the time, not just for competitions and exams, but it felt horrible to put in that amount of work and then not get to go. She glared at her mother's back as Cecelia marked her students' work.

The rehearsal studio that Charlize had found for Taylor and Julian was painted pink and had posters with inspirational sayings and small girls in floppy tutus putting on
pointe
shoes covering the walls. In the corner was an ancient CD player, and next to it was a plastic bucket full of stuffed animals. Taylor giggled. “I miss dancing in places like this,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” said Charlize, her heels making a clicking noise as she walked across the floor to the cheap chair in the corner, sitting down and crossing her legs. “I don't miss you dancing in places like this. I don't want to be rude, but the mothers were a bunch of crazies.” She found her lipstick in her purse and began reapplying it as Taylor and Julian warmed up and Theresa tried to figure out how the CD player worked.

In the end it was Charlize who managed to get the CD playing, and Taylor and Julian began to rehearse. Charlize couldn't help laughing as they finished even though she had seen them do it a million times. “Looks good,” she said. “You guys look adorable.”

Alexandra laid out her outfits in front of Lux, as the other girl sat on the bed, admiring them. “I like that tutu. Did you get it made in Vancouver?”

Alexandra nodded and changed the topic; Cromwell Gilly made tutus for
her
, she didn't want him to make tutus for Lux. “Your brother seemed a bit … passionate about competitions earlier. I think he kind of hurt Tristan's feelings.”

Lux shrugged. “That's just Nat. He doesn't mean to be rude. It just happens. Tristan should be less sensitive, Nat was only having fun.”

“Oh.” Alexandra began to fold her contemporary leotard, keeping her opinions to herself. As far as she was concerned, Nat's comment to Tristan about him being a competition virgin, had been entirely meant and calculated to hurt. It had made her slightly angry as she believed that she was the only one allowed to be rude to Tristan. Tristan was partly right, anyway, international competitions were pointless most of the time when you were younger, except as practice; you weren't going to be looking for a job then. “So, what are you going to be doing when he goes to the Royal Ballet School in the fall?”