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A C T O N E
"How was it possible to miss something you no longer wanted?"
- Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche, Americanah
"AND UP." THE ENTIRE RIVERSIDE DANCE ACADEMY ROSE. Pointe shoes strained, backs aligned, and tight arms gripped metal the barre. All movements in the studio were now hushed to solely that of Mr Carson's quick, bare-foot pacing. His eyes, sharp as glass, inspected each of his dancers like fine china as he glided across the wooden floor.
The Riverside Dance Academy wasn't actually a building on its own, it was in fact, a small class that took residence in the basement of the Fox Performing Arts Centre. The structure was in obvious need of refurbishing if the chipped walls and pale paint were any indications, but that didn't stop any of the thirty-something dancers from paying the slightly outrageous fee to take classes there; because in ballet you pay for the art, not the facilities. And here, in the run-down building sitting awkwardly in Downtown Riverside, the art was taught by Mr Carson who in turn was taught by George Balanchine, the Jesus of ballet. That type of art was priceless.
Mr Carson snapped at his latest intern and the music began to lull. Naomi inhaled and brought to life all the corrections she'd been rehearsing in her bedroom. Her head smoothly travelled with her arm, her stance was firm, but not stiff, and she maintained her pointe perfectly all throughout.
Mr Carson examined her for a little longer than he did the other girls. His head cocked and his lips tightened, but eventually, he shifted his gaze, adjusting other dancers as he went across the room. "Bethany, lower your chin. You look like a newly born baby giraffe."
"Keep that up Samantha, and you'll be dancing a villager your entire career."
"Lucas, I can hear your back from here. Please, stretch properly." A few of the boys smiled at that one.
That evening, the Riverside Dance Academy moved until the sun came at eye level just to watch, striking the mirrored wall as softly as their ballet shoes struck the wooden floors. But as Naomi took her breath and glanced at her reflection, the music stopped.
"If this is how you intend to dance at Prix de Ballet this summer, save me the humiliation and don't bother to sign up. The best dancers that the country has to offer will eat you alive out there without hesitation. There seems to be only one dancer in this room who looks like she knows that. The rest of you need to get it together." The entire Academy glanced at Naomi Morgan as Mr Carson went to pick up his shoes; even Jessica, except she was the only one whose eyes were proud. But a part of Naomi still could not meet any of their gazes. She was too afraid of what they would tell. Pride. Envy. Disgust. To simply avoid it all, she trained her eyes on Mr Carson instead, watching him take the lightest of steps as he spoke. It looked like he was hardly even touching the ground.
