The Cursed Ballet by Megan Atwood

Prologue
    â€œBetsy, the answer is no. No, I say.”
    John Johnson III straightened out his perfectly fitted suit and brushed off imaginary lint. “My word is final.”
    He stared out the window, past Madame Puant’s head. Someone who didn’t know him well would have thought he was being cold. A person who looked more closely would see the sheen of sweat over his upper lip, the nervous tic in his eye.
    And no wonder.
    â€œExcuse. Me. Sir,” Madame Puant said. Johnson flinched with each syllable. “If I remember correctly,” Madame continued, “I am the ballet mistress at this school. And as such, I will decide which ballet we put on, thank you very much.”
    Her nose flared, the sharp intake of breath like the sound of a bull snorting. Johnson turned, sitting forward in his chair.
    â€œBetsy, be reasonable. This ballet hasn’t been performed in—”
    â€œThirty years. Yes, I know, John. Which is exactly why it’s time to do it again.”
    Madame Puant began shuffling papers on her desk. A clear dismissal.
    â€œAs the owner of this school and this building, I have to insist you not go forward with this production. Now, I don’t believe, ahem … I don’t hold to the idea that this place is cursed, but neither you nor I can deny that when the company at this school performs Giselle , someone gets hurt. Do you want that on your head, Betsy?”
    Madame Puant stood up slowly and imperiously. “You brought me here for a reason, John. I do not subscribe to curses, or to the supernatural, and I know in my heart of hearts that it’s time we put such nonsense to bed. We will do Giselle . And with the ballet gods as my witness, not one of my girls is going to get hurt.”
    The fire in her eyes burned through Johnson’s silk vest and scorched his stomach. He stood up to leave but turned around before he reached the door, the tailored suit moving around him like a second skin.
    â€œBetsy, I hope to God you’re right.”
    Madame Puant sat back down in her chair and watched through the window as John Johnson III stepped into his Bentley and drove off.
    A person who didn’t know her well would think she was calm and composed. But a person who looked more closely would see Madame Puant’s fire begin to slowly flicker out.
    Â 

Chapter 1
    â€œGet off my ribbon.”
    Ophelia shoved Kayley, and Kayley tumbled into Madeleine, who bumped into Sophie and Emma. All five girls began to giggle.
    Kayley rolled her eyes. “Good lord, Ophelia. This is ballet class, not rugby practice!”
    Kayley sat down, tucking one leg under her and keeping one knee pointed up in one fluid motion, then finished tying her pointe shoe. When she was finished, she put her foot over Ophelia’s ribbon again.
    Ophelia stared at her with daggers in her eyes, and Kayley burst out laughing. Ophelia reluctantly smiled.
    Sophie, who was doing a splits stretch, said, “What’s going on with you, Ophelia? Long night? Did you go out with a boooyyyy?” She shared a smile with Emma.
    Among all the girls, Ophelia was definitely the most daring. She managed to meet boys from in town more often than the others, and she would often sneak out for dates. They never lasted long, though. Ophelia breathed, ate, and slept dance. No townie boy ever understood that.
    Ophelia breathed out in exasperation, “No. It’s not all about boys, you know!”
    Madeleine grinned slowly. “Just most of the time, right?”
    The rest of the girls cracked up. Ophelia ignored them. She was nervous, but she didn’t want them to know. She could feel Kayley looking at her.
    â€œNo, it’s not a boy. Ophelia knows something,” Kayley said. “OK, Ophelia, spill.”
    Ophelia had been dying all morning to share her information. She’d tried hard to keep it in—having a secret was delicious—but she couldn’t anymore, especially