First Position by Melody Grace

no time to recover; I can feel
the trellis already creaking again under my weight. I clench my jaw
and slowly lever my foot free, every movement sending fresh pain
splintering through my ankle.
    Oh God. My ankle!
    Fear whirls in my mind as I grip tighter to the balcony, using all my
strength to lift myself up again and pull myself over the railing. I
land heavily on the other side, collapsing to the ground with another
sharp burst of pain.
    “Annalise?” Raphael calls again, but I barely register
his voice through the panic flooding my system. I carefully ease my
sandal off, sending up a silent prayer.
    Don’t let it be serious. Please, don’t let it be
serious.
    I slowly take off the shoe and stop, my heart falling. My ankle is
already swelling up, red and bruised. It still hurts like hell, but I
force myself to stand, trying to put weight on it again.
    It’s too much. I whimper from the pain, leaning heavily on the
railing to take the pressure off. Disappointment and fear crash
through me. If I can’t even stand, how am I supposed to dance
tomorrow? To leap through the air, and land with ease, to go up on
the tips of my toes and turn a dozen perfect arabesques?
    Everything I’ve worked for, ripped away in an instant.
    How could you have been so stupid?! And for what—some man?
    “Annalise!” Raphael’s voice comes again. “Talk
to me. Are you OK?”
    I finally turn to look down at him, waiting in the alleyway below. He
looks gorgeous down there—gorgeous, and tempting, and deadly.
Now I know why my mom warned me to stay away from guys, why she said
they’d only spell disaster for my career. I let myself be
seduced, I thought I could have it all, and now look where that’s
gotten me: twisting my ankle before the biggest audition of my life.
    I’ve ruined everything—and it’s all my fault.
    “No, I’m not OK!” I cry, sobs coming, hot and
fierce in the back of my throat. “I twisted my ankle. It could
even be broken!”
    “Oh God.” He looks stricken. As a dancer too, he must
realize exactly what a tragedy this is. “I’m so sorry.
Does it hurt? Are you in much pain?”
    “It doesn’t matter about the pain!” I sob,
clutching onto the balcony railing for support. “What matters
is I can’t dance on it. The audition for solos is tomorrow. I
may as well pack up and go home right now.”
    “Wait there.” Raphael moves forward, testing the trellis
for his weight. “I’m coming up.”
    “No!” I cry, reeling back. “You’ve done
enough!”
    He stops, looking hurt. “Annalise—”
    “Just go!” I cry, trying to hold back the tears, but I
can’t. The pain in my ankle sends shards of agony up through me
with every slight pressure, and the terrible realization of what I’ve
done is even worse. “Please, Raphael, go.”
    He pauses. “It could be all right,” he urges me. “I’ve
had sprains before. If you bandage it, keep it on ice for a few days
...”
    “I don’t have a few days,” I swallow. Now that the
panic is over, I just feel the crushing weight of disappointment.
“The auditions are tomorrow,” I tell him in a dull voice.
“This is it for me, it’s over.”
    “Don’t say that.” Raphael’s face is full of
sympathy, and it’s too much for me to take. If it wasn’t
for him, I wouldn’t be in this position; if he hadn’t
been so damn sexy, so utterly seductive.
    “Go!” I order him again, my voice harsh.
    “I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he promises, but I
shake my head.
    “No. I can’t see you again. Please, don’t come
back.” And with a final look at him—at the wounded look
in his dark eyes—I turn away, and limp inside the room.
    It’s dark and empty here, no sound but my own ragged sobs. I
fall onto the bed and weep.

Raphael
     
    I walk away, but I know, I won’t stay gone.
    She’s scared. She’s hurt. Even a small injury would wreck
her career. I hate myself for risking so much. She’s the most
precious thing in the world to me already, and