The Devil of DiRisio by Leslie DuBois

hated me and was on the verge of kicking me out of the Academy.
    My only hope was to wow everyone at this next performance, but my partner was a complete moron and no help whatsoever.  I prayed that he would get struck by lightning or hit by a bus or anything so that I wouldn’t have to dance with him.  I would rather dance alone than with that klutz.
    I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the room to go to the studio for some last minute rehearsing.  I thought maybe if I practiced alone I could find the magic again.  That magic that made me love dance. That magic that made dance the air of my soul instead of the thorn in my side.
    I went through the routine five times and I still didn’t feel it.  I could do the steps, but not with any passion.  I didn’t feel transformed and uplifted.  I gave up and began to pack my dance bag, resigned to the fact that I would have to give up my dream.  Or at least fulfill it somewhere else.  Rome just wasn’t for me. 
    I couldn’t find my street shoes in my bag so I dumped everything out on the floor.  Out tumbled my first pair of ballet slippers.  My mother bought them secondhand when I was eight-years-old after I begged her for two weeks to let me take dance lessons.  She couldn’t afford it, so I cleaned Ms. Alexander’s dance studio every day in order to be able to take lessons. And now, nine years later, I was dancing in Rome and frequently shared the stage with world class dancers.  Dancers that I had read about in magazines.   I had come so far.  Too far to let Alejandro suck the joy out of dance for me.  
    I looked in my CD case and found my favorite Shostakovich CD.  I knew it would make me feel better to dance Natalia Karleskaya’s solo.  That was the solo I had performed to get into the summer festival in Barcelona four years ago.  She actually wrote to me to tell me how well I’d done.  It was my proudest moment.  She was my all-time favorite dancer.  My fascination with her bordered on obsession.   If she had ever performed in front of a camera, chances were that I had tracked down the recording and watched it.
    Dancing that solo, I could feel her presence.  Her spirit infused mine. I’d found the magic again.  Now I remembered why I loved dance.  As I made my final leap and struck the closing position, I heard someone clapping.  In walked Damian Karl.
    “You’re a big Natalia Karleskaya fan,” he stated.
    “What?”
    “That’s her solo.  I’ve never seen anyone besides her perform it so well.”
    “You know ballet?”
    “I know a lot of things. I know you are too good for him.”
    “Pierre? Yeah, I know.  Why couldn’t Alejandro see that?”
    “I meant Will,” he said.
     My heart fluttered. 
    “You knew he would be at that video shoot, didn’t you?  That’s why you wanted me in the video so badly.”
    He shrugged. “So what if I did?  I just thought you should know where your boyfriend spends his time.”
    “Will loves me.  He’s not cheating on me,” I said more for my benefit than for his.
    “And what about you? What do you call your feelings for me?”
    “Who says I have feelings for you?” I tried to sound as confident and detached as possible. For a moment, he looked vulnerable and not the usual suave arrogant Damian Karl at all.  Then as if a switch went off, the egotism came back.  He shrugged off my confidence in my boyfriend and swaggered further into the room.
    “Here’s a little inside info,” he said as he checked the door to make sure no one was near.  “Alejandro and Pierre are lovers.  Alejandro just wants to advance the career of his little boy toy.”
    “What?  So, he’s willing to sacrifice my career for his.  That’s not fair!”
    “Life’s not fair,” he said simply as he took a step closer to me.  “Look, I know Alejandro well.  I’ll be willing to talk to him for you if …”   He took the back of his hand and caressed my face.
    “If what?”  I said, slapping away