Dance of Shadows by Yelena Black Page A

pounding.
    And then she heard a gasp.
    “I’m sorry,” Elly cried from a few feet over. Her face was as pink as her cardigan, which was covered in club soda.
    In desperation she turned to see who had spilled it on her. Sitting just behind her was Justin. He gave her an apologetic look but didn’t say anything.
    Outraged, Josef threw his stick across the room. Vanessa cringed as it clattered against the wall.
    “You,” he shouted at Elly. “Stand up.”
    Trembling, she stood.
    “What is your name?”
    “Elly Pym,” she whispered.
    Josef began to pace. “What did I tell everyone earlier?” he said. “Tell me, Elly.”
    Elly’s chest heaved.
    “I said that you could observe the afternoon lesson, so long as,” Josef said, not waiting for an answer, “you didn’t speak. Didn’t I tell you that?”
    Elly gave him a quick nod. She looked like she was about to cry.
    “So why did you speak?” he shouted, his face red with rage. “You interrupted the dance; one of your classmates almost fell. Do you know how much damage you could have done?”
    “I didn’t mean to—”
    Josef cut her off. “Silence. A ballerina must learn how to control her body
and
mind.”
    Though by that logic, Vanessa thought, the dancers shouldn’t be affected by someone speaking.
    Elly nodded again, her eyes trained on her feet. Vanessa leaned over and squeezed her shoulder.
    “As punishment, you will not be attending the LincolnCenter performance this Friday, and you are forbidden to leave campus until I deem you ready. I’ll expect you in my office later, where we can discuss your progress.”
    Elly looked horrified.
    “Did you hear me?” Josef asked sharply.
    Elly glanced up. “Yes.”
    Josef turned, his hands clenched in fists. “
En suite
,” he shouted to the dancers. “One more time from the top.”
    Vanessa watched him walk to the left of the stage, where he stood with his arms crossed, his face contorted into a scowl. He looked so different from the charmingly rebellious choreographer who had delivered their orientation speech that Vanessa could hardly believe she had found him even remotely charismatic. All she could see now was a bitter man, standing halfway in the shadows, as if the rumors of his mysterious past were still clinging to his shoulders.
    That’s when Vanessa realized that he still wanted to dance. He was older than the average dancer, though in good shape and not too old to perform. So why couldn’t he? What could he have possibly done that was so bad he could never dance again?

Chapter Five
    Mornings arrived with the snap of a leotard, the smooth slip of a pair of tights, and the
shhh!
of the faucet splashing warm water into the sink. A straw unwrapped, and a can of Diet Coke being opened with a hiss. Bobby pins spilled across the counter. The door creaking open and shut, then footsteps. Breakfast was a rushed affair; most chose to skip it.
    The girls’ dressing room near the dance studio was dusted in talcum powder. Girls flocked around the benches, bending and beating their ballet slippers. Stray ribbons lay curled on the floor like petals.
    The morning sounds were like a familiar song as Vanessa made her way to the mirror. They’d been in school for a week; she was beginning to know everyone’s faces, and most of their names too. A line of girls—Jessica, Isabelle, Tabitha—wearingpink tights and leg warmers stood in front of the sinks, pinching and powdering their faces.
    “Excuse me,” Vanessa said, and they parted, letting her squeeze between them.
    She splashed her face with water, rubbed her cheeks, and stuck five bobby pins between her lips. She twisted her mane of long red hair until it was tight against her head and fastened it in place with pins. She tilted her head left, then right, to make sure it was secure. With damp fingers, she brushed back the wisps.
    Her friends were sitting on one of the long wooden benches that lined the dressing room, breaking in their pointe shoes.