Page 136 of Rome: The Ballerina

Run.

Saint.

Rehearsal.

Saint.

Lunch.

Home.

Saint.

Dinner.

Saint.

Sleep.

More Saint.

My schedule was simple and mundane, but it was the most rewarding schedule I’d had in some time, now. I missed my sisters and I missed our hour-long talks, but I was so close to opening night that all I lived, breathed, and thought about was positions and steps and ballet as a whole.

Saint was hardly even on my mind. It was his presence that kept him relevant at the moment. Not because he didn’t matter to me. He mattered to me a great deal. It was because I was preparing for the greatest performance of my life and I had someone counting on me.

Tiana, I sure miss you, babe.

Saint knew it, and he respected it. He gave me the space I needed to mentally, physically, and emotionally commit myself to the production while still being present.

“Again!” Cecilia yelled.

My stomach knotted, flaring my nostrils. The internal clock in my head revealed the hour of the day. We were approaching seven and I was hoping there was an ending in sight. We’d gone over the show in full a hundred times, it seemed. While this would’ve been ideal any other day, it was far from it today.

First.

Second.

Third.

Fourth.

Fifth.

Croisé devant.

Effacé.

Écarté.

First through fifth arabesque.

“Rome– you’re free to go. Romeo– free to go. Haleigh– free to go.”

My feet dropped with a thud. The weight of my body felt like far too much to maintain at once. With my nose in the air andmy chest caved, I exited the stage. As more names were called, I pushed forward, determined to get to the water station.

Thank God. I cheered silently, pressing a palm against the wooden cubbies.

Leaning over, I searched the cubby for the brown Huffington bottle I’d stored. Naturally, my eyes glanced at the third cubby where I remembered placing it. To my surprise, it was in the fourth.

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