Red Pointe Shoes

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

I stare at her retreating form, my expression that of a goldfish. I replay the scene again in my mind, just to make sure I had heard right. Yes, that was definitely what she had said. What- why would she say that? I know some Trainees look up to him, and Lady Luck could have been another one of his admirers, but would she really take it that far? I shake my head, dispelling her words as nothing but spiteful taunts. Why should I let petty insults bother me? My turn is in around fifteen minutes, I shouldn't let this shake me up.

I clench my fists as I think about it- why am I letting this disturb me so much? I didn't care back when I was in the corps de ballet, rising up to the soloists. The scorn and jealousy of other dancers hadn't affected me then, why should the trainees affect me now? Words are words, no matter who speaks them, or what their intention is. To harm or to heal, to salvage or to wreck, it's all the same if you choose to ignore it. It should run off me like water off a leaf, but instead it is the acid that burns through my armour and kills me slowly from the inside.

"And next up, we have Dante against this year's newest Champion, Sentenial!"

Oh god, is it time already?

My knees feel like melting ice cream beneath me as I step up into the ring, heart pounding like a sledgehammer as I look up to meet his sneering gaze. The crowd chatters and points in excitement, and if I am not mistaken, I see flashes of green here and there, people already placing bets on the outcome of the fight. The bell rings once, signaling the start of the fight.

Saved by the bell? Not quite.

I strike first with an array of upper cuts and knife hand strikes aimed mostly at his head and neck. He skillfully dodges or blocks each one with little effort, before grabbing at my forearms with the intention of flipping me over to the ground. Grunting, I twist my arms as I drop to the ground, placing all my weight in my back and bent leg and sweeping out my other in a wide arc. Loyer's hands are wrenched from my arms as he, already unbalanced by my abrupt drop, attempts to dodge my sweeping kick with a jump. He miscalculates his timing and lands on my left ankle, slipping and falling to the side with a surprised gasp. I bite back a curse, feeling my ankle throb sharply in protest- that hurt much more than I expected it to. At least it isn't sprained- just squashed. Loyer recovers a fraction of a second just before I do and kicks at my ribs with every measure of anger he has bottled up inside. The force itself sends me sliding a foot away, and knocks the breath out of my lungs. My sweaty palms scrabble at the floor in an attempt to push myself up before he can hit me again. Black spots threaten to swarm my vision as I straighten, not having a moment to spare before he unleashes a rain of strikes and kicks which I barely deflect, my arms and kegs feeling more leaden by the minute. Then, there is an opening, so I jab my fingertips into the space between his ribcage, just above his abdomen. Loyer hisses in annoyance and pain as he pauses for a nanosecond to recover his breath.

The bell rings twice.

"I'm afraid the time is up, looks like we have a tie folks!" I hear the boy announce, and almost collapse with relief. Thankfully, I manage to make it back into the locker room before falling onto the bench, resting my head in my palms. Every spot is sore, and I have a feeling I'll be having a lot of trouble concealing the bruises I'll have tomorrow. Suddenly, a white hot pain sears my scalp as a hand roughly grabs at my wig, yanking my head upwards. The pins I used to secure it to my head stay, much to my relief. That smalldog shred of positive feeling evaporates as I stare into Loyer's snakelike eyes, my mouth suddenly dry with apprehension. He smirks, as if knowing my fear.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold Sentenial, I'm not done with you yet." He promises in a deadly whisper to my ear, the smooth venom dripping off his words like honey. Before I can say anything, he's gone.

***

"What on earth happened to you?!" Nat exclaims as I walk into our room, dressed comfortably in my leotard and yoga pants. My red pointe shoes are in my quivering hands, cementing my alibi. I know my arms look terrible, and I am pretty sure my jaw is an altogether different colour. I can't blame Nat for being horrified.

"I was feeling adventurous and attempted to do a quadruple pirouette on pointe." I shrug, carelessly, meeting her eyes. "Many, many times." Then I proceed to keep my pointe shoes in their bag as if everything is normal. I feel something poke my ankle, sending a small wave of pain to emanate from the swollen joint.

"Did you sprain it?" She asks, already moving towards our small minifridge to get an ice pack.

"Nah, stepped on it." I grin, though I feel it is more of a grimace. "Don't ask," Nat's inquisitive face flushes red before she mimes zipping her mouth and throwing away the key.

I swear, that girl is so weird.

"Thanks," I nod as I press the pack to my ankle, mentally imagining the many different ways I can kill Loyer for his mistimed jump. Then I realize with a jolt that all Loyer has to do to find me now is to look for a Dancer with bruised legs. Believe me, tights are transparent enough that bruises are pretty obvious. "Nat, how am I supposed to go to class like this?" I wail in despair, falling back and pulling a pillow over my face. "My limbs are hideously injured."

"Make up, my dear, make up." Nat laughs, looking at me as if I had asked her the stupidest question in the world. "I'll help you with it tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," I grin, thanking God for friends like Nat.