“What?” I blinked. My foreign ears unsure if I was hearing the man properly.

“I said you’re a soloist now.” He smiled.

“No no sir, you do not undersand I am only corps de ballet.” I shook my head, my accent unable to pick up certain words while I was under stress.

“I know. You’ve been promoted.” He chuckled, playing with the glass apple sitting on his desk.

Our company director, he was a child at heart. And one of the most inspirational people i’d ever met. Gracious, kind, a genius. I envied him.

“I cannot be.” I shook my head.

“And why is that?” He tilted his head.

“Because I am only here 2 month and I only practice with corps 2 months and you say I’m soloist now… that sounds like a cruel joke.” I grimaced.

“There’s no cruel joke here. You, are a soloist now Helena. You are officially the youngest soloist in America right now. The night flew and they picked you.”

“Maître-“ I began.

He stood up and slapped a news article down in front of me.

A square photo on me dancing was plastered on the article with a block of text underneath

“A truly marvelous dancer, Russian beauty Helena Pavlova of last night’s performance. ABT fails to see they have a hidden gem frolicking around in the corps de ballet. The high, scissoring jumps that seem to arrive without preparation. We saw it all Helena, we saw it all. Helena turned this lovely vignette of a relationship with the crowd into a thing of engrossing wonder, moving in perfect symmetry, exactly catching its subtle intonations. Fluid and so light she seems barely to touch the ground, she wove gentle magic. She is definitely a force to be reckoned with, look out ballet world, here comes Helena.”

“I-“ I was speechless. I felt as though my whole life was making sense, all the hard work in the studio. The blood sweat and tears, the broken toes and bones. The childhood I never had. The Mother I never saw.

It was all for this very moment. It all led up to this.

“I am demi-soloist?” I could barely breathe.

“No, you aren’t listening to me. You’re a soloist now. Not demi, not corps. You’ve gone up. You’re a first soloist.” He reached forward and cupped my face in his hands.

“You’ve done it, Krasavchik moy, they love you. We love you. I was right to bring you here, you are going to blossom, and I hope I get to see it.” He smiled.

I hopped out of my seat and gave the cheeky boy the strongest hug I could muster.
“Maître, thank you so much. Thank you.”

“Thank me not myshka, it was all done by you. Your hard work brought you here.” He smiled warmly.

Tears spilled over in my eyes, and I ran to hug him once more. He patted my head, an undeniable grin on his face.

“Now myshka you must understand, the work only gets harder from this point on. You’ve got more to prove. You need to be on your toes in this place, quite literally.” He gave me a concerned look.

“They will be after me…” I looked to the floor, my happiness slowly fading.

“Yes, they will all try to bring you down. Especially the older dancers. You’re their worst fear, the next generation. The replacement coming in to take their jobs. But you can’t let it affect you Helena. You mustn’t, you must shine brighter than you ever have before, spread your wings. This is your time. Go. You practice with the other soloists now.” He gestured for me to join the senior company in rehearsals.

“A-Are you sure?” I trembled.

“Yes. Go. Do not be scared myshka you go in there and hold your head higher than you’ve ever held it before.” He gave a comforting smile.

I gathered my things off the floor and walking into the studio, there were many strange looks thrown at me from across the room. I eventually got confronted.

“What do you think you’re doing here? The principal dancers come soon, they need their time to rehearse.” She looked me up and down with disgust.

I wasn’t sure how to respond, even to other women in my own country that would get angry. I could never respond to hatred the way I feel I should. I was simply calm.

“I’m soloist now, ma’am.” I said, bowing to her.

“Really?” She scoffed, a mixture of disbelief and laughter hanging from her mouth.

“Yes.” I shuffled uncomfortably.

“We’ll just see about that!” She spat, marching out of the room.

I found a place at an empty barre and began to stretch. My leg warmers were rolled up all the way over my pointe shoes, little holes cut out for the tip. It was freezing here, and that is saying something because I come from Russia.

It brought me back to those days…

“Lenochka! Ahueyet, Ya tibyi dam po yibalu!” My ballet mistress hit the back of my knees with a very long ruler.

“Do it again!” She screamed.

“Da, madam.” I dit the 8 pirouettes once more, now landing it gracefully on the right note.

“Bravo Lenochka, I knew you could do this! Now again, ten more times!” She said strictly.

And so I turned, and I turned. Over and over again, My body aching from a long day of brutal training.

Tomorrow was special, tomorrow the man of ABT would come to scout for a new protégée.

“Well done Lenochka, come here.” I walked over slowly, not knowing what to expect.

To my surprise she pulled me into a hug. A strong one. When she pulled away she looked me deep in the eyes.

“You are the most capable student at this academy, you are our pride and joy. Now, we’ve put too much time and energy into training you for you to fall now. Tomorrow, you shine. If anyone here will be taken to america, it’s you darling.” She smiled

This was the first time madam had been even remotely kind to me, I was shocked. But it didn’t last for long.

“Here, you will skip dinner and take this tonight. It will higher your chances for tommorow.” She dropped a little white pill in my hand and I cringed.

“Spokoynoy nochi, Lenochka.” She greeted me goodnight as she left the room.

I gathered my stuff and headed back to the dorms, the ice cold wind stinging my face.

I looked down to the little white pill in my hand.

She wanted me to skip a meal? I’d been in private rehearsals for 8 hours and she wanted me to skip a meal?

This was the second pill. The one that cleansed your colon, made you shit everything in your stomach.

The first pill was a pill that made you not hungry for a whole day.

I didn’t like either of them. The first pill made me have no energy and that second pill was painful.

Had madam had any mercy, she would have given me the first pill though. So I wouldn’t be starving all night.

I tossed the pill in the bin. I would not take it. I needed a full nights rest of sleep, and that would not happen if I was running to the bathroom all night.

When I reached my dorm room, I quietly snuck in. My roommate was already fast asleep, she had an audition tomorrow as well. She would be trying out for the new ballet the company was doing. With luck, I’d be out of here before they even started.

I was usually given principal roles, and the pressure to be perfect was immense. Too much for a girl my age to handle.

I dropped my things on the floor and stepped into the bathroom locking the door behind me.
I untied my shoes, wincing as a toe throbbed with pain. I knew what it meant, I’d broken it. Again.

But this was nothing by now. From a very young age we were taught to disregard these injuries. Keep dancing no matter what. You had to be dead or dying to be let off easy.

At some point it just clicks in your body that you don’t feel the small injuries while you’re dancing, you feel them later. But not while you’re dancing, you’ve trained your body to not feel the pain.

I wrapped the toe, and took off my tights and leotard, tossing it in a basket of dirty clothes.

I took a deep breath and waltzed into the shower, turning the water on high.

I’d gotten used to the muscle spasms by now, the ice cold water. The school could not afford a central heating system so every shower we took was as cold as the wind outside.

After a long day of training I think most students long for a warm bath to relax their muscles. Some people were so desperate that they’d boil kettles of water one by one and fill a tub. Took ages.

-

Today was the day. I was warming up in the rehearsal studio as the pianist was warming up his fingers. I grabbed my leg from behind my head, stretching it out as far as I possibly could, my back feeling the familiar burn of an early morning stretch. I did some floor work as well, practicing my fouettés with concentration.

I hadn’t even noticed when he walked into the room. I barely saw it from the corner of my eye, and when I did, I almost stumbled over. Madam gave me a strong disapproving look and I ran back to the barre.

“Good evening students,” The man smiled.

“Good evening monsieur.” We all said back, a mixture of terrible accents distorting the words. Some of us could speak French, some of us could speak English, some of us could speak neither.

“My name is Gerard Way, I’m the artistic and company director of American Ballet Theater, and I’ve come to scout one very special dancer.” He smiled.

“So, if you’d like to begin with some barre work. Fifth position.” He gestured to the pianist.

I took a deep breath in and out, closing my eyes and waiting for the first note to start.

-

So that was how it happened, one of the world’s greatest chose me. And it was all starting to fall together, when I had felt like quitting the most, I would think to this moment. When it would all be worth it.

I looked up to the ceiling, that determination filling me once again. I can’t give up now.

The pissed off girl waltzed back into the room, an annoyed look on her face.

“Okay, just because you’re a soloist now don’t think you’ll get to slack off.” She spat, turning away and finding her own place by the barre.

The choreographer walked in, Frank Iero. The company clown. He often assisted Gerard in directing and choreographing all the ballets the company did. But by day. he taught all the classes for the soloists and principal dancers, did all the rehearsals.

“Line up everyone,” He clapped impatiently.

He glanced over to me, a look of curiosity in his eyes. I looked away, focusing on the wall nervously.

Before I knew it he was walking over here, propping himself right next to me.

“You’re new here, tell me your name doll.” He smiled.

“Helena Pavlova.” I said quietly.

“Ah… you’re that girl. The one that stole the show, so the big boss promoted you huh?” He chuckled.

“Yes.” I looked around the room nervously.

“Feels good doesn’t it, to be his new favorite, his new ‘protégée’.” He questioned me in front of the class.

“Are you mocking me sir?” I said softly, my eyebrows furrowed.

I felt the familiar whack of a long ruler against the back of my knees, only this time much harder.

“You will address me as Maître!” He scolded.

Silent laughter resounded throughout the classroom.

“Yes, Maître.” My voice almost cracked but I kept a strong expression.

“Oh you’re a strong one aren’t you?” He chuckled.

I remained quiet, praying this would end soon.

“Well, let’s get something straight, Helena Pavlova.”

“When you come into my studio, everyone starts out as fresh bait. You will work your way up, earn your spot in the company. Do not get any misconceptions because you are Gerard Way’s new play thing.” He scoffed.

“Yes, Maître.” I said quietly.

“Good.” He nodded.

“Alright, everyone, Get to work, enough chit chat!” He shouted, clapping his hands in sync to the piano.

Notes

ELLLOOO
I bring to you my latest work ;D , I hope this and my other story "The Ghost of You" can even remotely live up to the expectations of Don't Stand So Close To Me.

that story was my heart and soul crai
hopefully I can write up something good enough to follow it