*The video attatched shows the choreography of the sugar plum fairy scene. Cerise looks absolutely nothing like the ballerina in the video, she just is doing the exact same dance.*
Enjoy! xoxo
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It was inconceivably strange to Harry to sit in this car again. It was the same black car with the tinted, bullet-proof windows and leather seats that he had came to Cerise’s house in only three months ago. It was really only three months, wasn’t it? How could an eternity of such bliss be only one-fourth of a year long? How could two people develop such a bond as they had in only ninety-something days?
To sit so close to Cerise, their fingers interlaced as Lee drove, brought him inexplicable joy. The incessant mix of emotions he had felt for a week now had become overwhelming. How could Harry describe such contradictory emotions without sounding ridiculous? The burn of rejection from someone so dear and the unmitigated relief of forgiveness from said person were too confusing to handle.
At the same time, Cerise’s typically equable nerves were as haywire as Harry’s emotions. Can I really go through with this? Cerise wondered doubtingly. Am I brave enough? What if I mess up on stage? What if he never ends up figuring out what it means? Do I even want him to figure it out?
Harry mistook her anxiety for mere stage fright. “Whenever I get scared to perform, I like to have a laugh. It always loosens me up,” He went on to tell her a terrible joke in his amusingly trite and occasionally schoolboy-like lilt. She laughed heartily at the concluding punch line, when his voice picked up the youthful latter. As much as she loved his brooding tones, his immaturity was incredibly charming to her.
“Thank you, Harry,” she said to him, a sweet smile forming. “I do feel better,” It was not a lie; a small part of her felt relieved. But the heavy burden of possible embarrassment or rejection sat laden in her bones, and she found herself hesitant when they finally arrived at the studio.
They arrived obscenely early to ensure Harry’s safety in the alcove. It was located in the upper right hand corner of the audience; an abandoned janitor’s closet, no less. Harry would have a perfect view of the stage from here, whilst being hidden away from the audience. Cerise knew exactly where to look to find him (which she knew she would need to do later) and she began to feel a little more at ease.
“You can’t watch us rehearse, though,” she forbade him solemnly. “You’ll have to find somewhere else to hide for about three hours.”
“Why?” Harry whined, adjusting the hair under his beanie.
Cerise laughed softly at his childishness. “Because it’s like seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding, that’s why. It would be doomed immediately, and this is very important to me.”
“When will I know to come?” he asked, hesitant to leave her lest she vanish into thin air.
“I’ll come find you, Harry—just, please?” Her eyes were pleading and her tone importuned.
He showed his comprehension with an understanding nod and a quick hug before he went on his way; ignorant of the depth of this request and its fathomless importance.
Cerise rehearsed the dance with great effort and catlike agility; basking under the calico glow of the spotlight. She hated to be the center of attention, but when she danced it was only her and her partner in the room. It was a classical ballet piece: a pas de deux to the Nutcracker. The music flowed like a demure deluge, the soft strings of the piece cradling the feathery moves of the dance. Cerise’s pirouettes and fouettes were executed meticulously, but she was guilty of performing without passion. She trusted her partner wholeheartedly (as was necessary for a dance of this caliber), but she was simultaneously unsure of herself. Her teacher, the strict Miss Hale, reprimanded her incessantly.
