Page 17 of You're the Reason

“Shh.” Grace took her place next in line and did a series of chaînés across the floor.

As soon as they both reached the other side, Mallory pulled her behind the edge of the curtain.

“How will you have time to see your magic doctor if you’re Myrtha?”

“Stop calling him that.”

“Answer the question.”

“He said he could set me up to do therapy here in Chicago with a friend.”

“Madame Laurent agreed to let you take that much time off for therapy?”

“I—”

“Grace.” Alec appeared at her side, clipboard in hand, causing Grace to jump. He wasn’t scary—after all, he couldn’t be much older than she was—but the sharp angles of his face, the haughty way he talked to them, and the overuse of product in his black hair made him feel more like a villain than Madame Laurent’s assistant. Like he secretly wanted them all to fail. He tapped his clipboard with his pencil. “Madame Laurent is waiting for you in her office.”

She looked at her friend. “Here goes nothing.” Grace hurried off, pausing only to swap out her pointe shoes for slides.

Grace hurried down the long white corridor of black doors to the one at the end. She knocked twice and waited until she could hear the faint voice on the other side. “Enter.”

Grace opened the door but was greeted by several racks overflowing with costumes. “Hello?”

“Over here.” The thick French accent came from the other side of the clothes. Must be choosing time for the next show, but this office was barely big enough for the woman’s desk and chair. Why she chose to do this here instead of one of the other spaces always baffled Grace.

She wedged herself between them and found the hard-back chair she was looking for. She dropped into the seat, but across from her was just her instructor’s empty desk.

“Madame Laurent?” Grace leaned forward but that didn’t really help. There were just too many tulle skirts.

The woman stepped between two of the racks with an ornate white costume in hand. The iridescent sparkles on the skirt were a stark contrast to Madame Laurent’s ever-present black long-sleeved fitted top and black pants. She’d never seen the woman wear anything else. Her black clothes were a staple just like her severe bun and scowl. Madame Laurent passed the costume to someone Grace couldn’t see on the other side of the rack. “Dis one. Now leave us.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Madame Laurent settled into her chair and steepled her fingers under her chin. “What did your doctor say?”

“He’s optimistic that with therapy, I could get back to where I was.” Cautiously optimistic but still optimistic.

Madame Laurent’s eyes gave nothing away. “So you want to do this therapy?”

“I do.”

Madame Laurent nodded and lifted her pen.

“But I want to do therapy and dance at the same time. This way, if all goes well, I may be able to dance Odette?—”

“No.” It came out more like nu. She dropped her pen. “Myrtha is a full-time part. You must be here or there. Not both.”

“But I can?—”

“No, you must choose.”

When Grace didn’t answer, Madame Laurent removed her glasses and set them on the desk. “Do you know the difference between a good dancer and a great dancer?”

She thought back to her lessons with Susie earlier. “Technique?”

Madame Laurent gave a slight shake of her head. “A great dancer is a good dancer who faced a difficult road and overcame, emerging stronger on the other side. Like a beautiful butterfly.”

“So you think I should do therapy and get stronger.” When Madame Laurent just stared at her, she tried again. “I should take the part of Myrtha and be stronger for it? I am not actually sure what you’re saying.”

“I am saying that part of your difficult road is that very decision. You must decide what you really want. Taking Myrtha is less risky, and you get to dance every night on that stage. Therapy is a risk. But a risk that could lead to great reward. Or not. But you cannot have both. So choose.”

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