The Standout (23 page)

“You’ll regret this,” she tells me.

And then, there’s nothing more to say.

In her version she is always the white swan. That doesn’t mean I’m the black swan. No. I’m just a feathered member of the corps de ballet.

Swan Lake is a tragedy. There’s this prince who is bored at his own birthday party, so he ditches and goes hunting. He’s about to shoot a swan when she transforms into a beautiful woman, right before his eyes. They fall in love faster than you can say “Put down your crossbow.”

The swan lady is Odette, and an evil sorcerer has cast a spell on her, so she’s a swan by day and a human by night. Until, that is, someone falls in love with her and breaks the spell.

Problem solved, right? Wrong.

The next night there’s another party. The prince invited Odette, but she’s running late because she has to wait until nightfall to become human again. The evil sorcerer shows up with this Odette-look-alike named Odile, who is wearing a black tutu instead of white. The prince is easily duped, dances and falls in love with Odile. Meanwhile, Odette finally arrives at the party, but when she sees her prince dancing with Odile, her heart breaks. Once the prince realizes his mistake, his heart breaks too.

Of course, they both die, because people always die after their hearts are broken. I’m sure the same rule applies to swans because they notoriously mate for life.

I am meant to play Odette
, she tells me.
It’s my role
.

I don’t question her sense of entitlement.

“Robin, tell us about your look.”

We’re standing on the runway. Robin’s outfit has either gotten one of the highest or the lowest scores, but she doesn’t know which. I wish I could reach out, grab and steady her shaking hands, but my job is to stand here like a mindless mannequin. Robin’s job is to explain her design, and she does so in a trembling voice.

“Well, Robin,” Hilaire breaks into a cover girl smile, “I loved your look. You are on the top.”

I feel like Robin’s win is my own. I’m not taking credit for the success, but I still feel proud, so much so that I forget, for a moment, about all my problems. I am bone tired, and once we’re done filming, all I want is home and a hot bath.

But it’s not to be.

The moment I open the apartment door I encounter Mom, standing in the entryway like she’s been there for hours, letting time inch away until I get home.

“Holy Crap!” I yell. “You startled me, Mom!”

But if I was scared a moment ago, now I’m really freaked out. In the fading evening light Mom looks so pale that her freckles, which usually come out only after a day at the beach, are this colony of pink smudges up and down her cheeks and chin. Her forehead has double, no triple, the amount of creases, and her eyelids and mouth look so heavy that they might just fall off her face.

“I got a call today, Zelda.” She is speaking from somewhere deep and hidden, like maybe her kidneys. “A lawyer from one of those places that advertise on television wants to know if you need representation.”

My head starts to pound. “Mom, I can explain. Let’s go into the living room and sit, okay?” I tap her shoulder and I swear that cold blood is running through her veins. “Mom, are you okay? Are you still not feeling well?”

“Your father finally returned my call.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “He wants a divorce so he can marry Janice.”

I let her statement settle over me and now I feel cold too. Dad is never coming home.

“Oh, Mom. I don’t even know what to say.”

She points down. There is a suitcase at her feet. “You’re his problem now.”

“What?”

“I gave up everything: my career, my dreams, my identity, to have you and marry him. And he’s never taken responsibility. It’s always been me. But I am done.” She picks up my suitcase, extends it toward me, and my hand just automatically reaches out to take it.

But when she opens the door I stay rooted, paralyzed in my spot. “Dad’s in London. I can’t go live with him.”

“I guess you should have thought of that earlier.”

“Mom! Please! I’m sorry, okay? Can’t we talk about this?”

For a moment she’s statue-like, and I wonder if she’s even heard me. I’m about to repeat the question, when she speaks in a soft voice. “I could have been great, you know. But I blew it. I made all the wrong choices after I met you father. So forgive me if I can’t just sit by and watch you make all the wrong choices too. Think of this as tough love, Zelda.”

“No, Mom! Please! I really am sorry.”

“Oh, Zelda.” She scolds me and I’m just a toddler who spilt her milk, but this mess is not so easy to wipe up. “You’re only sorry that I’m kicking you out. But you’ll be fine; you’re eighteen and you have a job.”

“I don’t get paid for another two weeks!”

“Well if Julie’s the good friend you insist she is, she’ll let you stay with her again.” She leans in, keeping her voice low and secretive. “Otherwise, you’ll learn to be on your own, and then maybe you’ll stop taking me for granted.”

Mom is so calm that she could be reading off a grocery list. Meanwhile, panic rises in my stomach like sushi gone wrong.

“But you don’t understand! Please, can’t I just explain?”

Her lips stay pressed shut and her eyes hold no sympathy. She gives my arm a tug and I’m out in the hallway. “Good luck, Sweetie,” she says, right before she closes the door, slowly and methodically, and I hear the deadbolt click into place.

I head to the place that is as familiar as home. Rehearsal is just getting out at Ballet Institute East when I arrive at the doors. The company dancers give me a strange look for going inside, but I just say, “I’m meeting Yuri. He wanted to rehearse the new piece he’s choreographing.”

This is a total lie. But Yuri is always choreographing something new and since he’ the current golden-boy at
BIE
, I get away with it. Whatever Yuri wants, Yuri gets.

I go upstairs, to one of the smaller dance studios. I flick on the lights, stretch and dance around, because that’s what I’d do if I was actually waiting to rehearse with Yuri. When I glimpse at my reflection in the wall of mirrors, I remember that I’m in my street clothes.

I crouch down and unzip the industrial sized zipper of the canvas bag that Mom packed for me. There’s a slim toiletries bag with a travel toothbrush and toothpaste, face scrub, and a mini deodorant. There are also a couple pairs of underwear, some jeans, my Ballet Institute East sweatshirt, pajama pants, and three pairs of tights, three leotards, and my pointe shoes.

And on the very top, like it was an afterthought, is my favorite Rubik’s Cube, its stickers peeling at the corners. One hand reaches for it and the other hand pulls my phone from my backpack. I try to solve the puzzle while I call Dad.

He actually answers, but when I tell him that Mom kicked me out, he just groans. “That is so like your mother,” he mumbles, like I’m not supposed to hear.

“Dad, she’s taking her anger at you out on me. Why can’t you come home and patch things up?”

“Because it’s always something with her. She’s not happy unless she’s miserable.”

Harsh words pool on my tongue.
That must be why she’s stayed with you for so long
, or
you’re incapable of making anyone happy
. But silence is my only answer and he senses the pressure change. “Look, Zelda, I need you to handle things this time. I can’t get away.”

“You’re never coming back, are you Dad?”

His breath hums through the phone. “I’ll always be here for you, Sweetie.”

I should just ask him for his credit card number, but my lungs labor in my chest as if I stepped into sub-zero temperatures. I want to reach through the phone and kick him where it hurts, because life is unfair and he can have a trophy wife while mom just gets a nervous breakdown. “Dad, the only thing worse than a cheat, is a liar.”

It takes a moment for my statement to register, but it does. “Excuse me,” he coughs. “Where do you get off—”

“Goodbye, Dad.”

After I hang up, the silence of the empty dance studio is deafening in its creepiness. I go downstairs to make sure the outside door is locked, and then I trudge back up, all the while feeling like someone might jump out at me.

I’d almost welcome the company.

I keep my phone by my side, and at around midnight it vibrates with a text.
Forgot to tell you. Your hearing is tomorrow morning at 9:00.

I text her back.
Thanks, Mom. I really do need you.

She never responds and the rest of the night is filled only with my own tossing and turning.

I wake early because the last thing I need is to get caught squatting at a dance studio. I dress, wash up, and manage to shove my suitcase into my locker. Then I scuttle out and go to a coffee shop, where I inhale caffeine and kill time before I need to be in court.

My hearing goes okay. It’s almost an out-of-body experience, walking into the courtroom and standing before the judge. Am I simply observing a good girl who has lost her way, watching as her assigned attorney manages to swing a three-hundred dollar fine? That will be the bail money that Julie already coughed up.

But this girl, this unrecognizable version of me, will still have a smudge on her permanent record. Plus, I have to pay Julie back as soon as possible. When I get to Clarkson School of Design she’s the first person I see. She’s standing in a tight circle of girls, laughing while cigarette smoke settles above their heads in a toxic, protective cloud.

“Hey,” I call, more out of habit than friendship. Julie gives me an uninspired wave back. And as I walk past them and through the door, their laughter rings out. There’s a hitch in my chest and I’m sure that the joke is on me.

A long time ago I decided to be one of the few, uncool ballerinas who doesn’t subsist on diet coke, cigarettes, and the occasional sniff of cocaine. I guess it’s just one more way that Julie and I are different. I trudge up the dimly lit stairwells, and enter the bustle and noise of the workroom, with its purple walls, long dark tables, and harried designers.

Robin looks hung-over, like there ought to be a cold compress on her head and a hot mug of coffee in her hand. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m having a rough couple of days.” She holds up the dress. It’s dark blue but the fabric is so sheer and delicate, it’s nearly see-through. It’s printed with large white flowers and randomly placed red circles, and the design is simple: long and straight, with a conservative scoop neck and large, flowing, bell sleeves.

“This is lovely,” I say.

“They’re going to say it’s too simple.” She bites her chapped lip and shakes her head. “I wanted to drape the back so that it hung really low, but there wasn’t time.”

“Should I try it on?” I start to undress, having long gotten over my modesty at changing clothes in the workroom.

“Wait!” Robin notices something on one of the sleeves, but I don’t see the problem. “I need to fix this. I’ll be right back.” She rushes off to the sewing machines, and I’m left, holding my shirt over my bare chest. Then Julie comes up.

“How are you?” She asks.

“My mom found out I got arrested and she kicked me out.”

“And are you going to jail?”

“Nope.”

I shift my weight, wishing for Robin to hurry back. Julie places her cold fingers on my bare shoulder and I shiver. “Look, Zelda. You should know, Yuri and I got back together last night. And you can’t be mad because I had dibs.”

“I don’t care about Yuri.” But I’m reminded of what I said to my dad just hours ago, about cheats and liars. I suppose I’m both. I lift my chin and look her in the eye. “You two deserve each other.”

She flinches like I hit her. “When did you become such a bitch?”

Thankfully, Robin reappears with my dress, and she’s oblivious to our conflict.

“Here.” She hands me the dress and I put it on.

Julie stands back, leering. “Did you want it to be so baggy?”

Robin focuses her scalding eyes on Julie. “Who are you?”

“I’m Julie – Nadia’s model.”

“Then go find Nadia!” Robin turns back to examine the dress. Julie takes her sweet time sauntering away. Once she’s gone, Robin whispers under breath. “. . . has a lot of nerve. . ..
saved
her design. . . and now I’m being sabotaged. . .her model criticizes me?”

It’s true that the dress doesn’t fit quite right, but if I mention it Robin’s head might explode. “Robin, is there anything I can do to help?”

“You are helping. Just stand still.”

She works her magic quickly, so the dress looks pretty decent by the time the runway show starts. I actually really like it, but I can never predict what the judges are going to think. So I’m not sure if Nadia, Julie’s designer, is on the bottom or the top. The dress is cute, if not a little short, but maybe they like that.

When the runway show is over, Robin stalks away, angry about Hilaire’s criticism of her design. I decide to get going, but on my way out I realize I’ve forgotten my phone. Cursing to myself, I head back. I bound up the stairs, taking two at a time, rushing because I know they’ll need to use the workroom soon, so the kicked out designer can be filmed cleaning out his or her space.

The lights are all off but there’s somebody in here. I see the closing of a tablet, some scurrying, and then the figure ends up at the workstation I was headed towards.

“Robin?” Isn’t she supposed to be downstairs, getting filmed with the other designers while they speculate on who will be eliminated?

She’s nervous and out of breath. “Hey. What are you doing up here?”

I turn on the lights. “I think I left my phone on your table.” When I pick it up and swipe, I see that only Yuri has been trying to get a hold of me. “My head hurts,” I say, more to myself than to Robin.

“Tell me about it,” Robin utters.

I can’t look at Yuri’s texts right now. They’re probably just condescending apologies for his picking Julie over me. Maybe I’ll just delete them all. I don’t need one more destructive force in my life. I have enough of that with my parents.

“Zelda,” Robin uses her lower register and I’m diverted from my thoughts. “Can you keep a secret?”