Page 1 of Always Earned, Never Given

Before

Ican’t believe I’m here. Center stage at Lincoln Center, taking my final bow of the night, having just danced Giselle for a sneak preview for the ballet company’s most prominent patrons. I’ve worked my entire life to achieve my dream of being a principal dancer, and tonight those dreams are coming true.

The strong grip on my hand by my partner, Mikael, forces me to move, as he leads me to the front of the stage for our final bow. The spotlight blinds me, and the heat of the stage lights keep my exhausted muscles warm. The bouquet of roses is heavy in my hands, their scent overpowering my senses.

I can’t believe this is happening. I did it.

I achieved a dream tonight.

My smile stretches across my face, pride taking over.

As we step back, the heavy red velvet stage curtains close, and Mikael’s arms wrap around me. I’ve known him for years. He’s a good-looking man. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lean dancer’s build all combine to create a beautiful package and a magnetic dancer. “You were incredible tonight, Annabelle.” I’m lifted off my feet and spun around.

“You were wonderful tonight too. I can’t believe tomorrow is opening night,” I squeal as my feet touch the ground. When we turn to walk offstage, our dance master, Mr. Archer, is there waiting.

“Annabelle, I need to speak with you. Please come with me.” The tiny lines around his mouth highlight his frown.

Shit. This isn’t good.He must have caught the mistake in our performance.

“Arch, if you’re going to give her shit for the pas de deux, it’s on me, not Belle. I was a beat off. She tried to compensate.” Mikael can be sweet and caring when he wants to be, but he usually wants to get in my pants as a reward.

“This does not involve you, Mikael. Annabelle, I need to speak with you.” He looks pointedly at Mikael then back to me. “Alone.”

When Mr. Archer walks toward my dressing room, I follow. I started out as part of the corps de ballet with him when I was seventeen. He saw something in me then and pushed me to give more than I knew was possible that year. By the time I turned eighteen, I was a demi-soloist and was promoted to soloist only a few months later. Dancing Giselle is my first time as a principal, and I cannot wait for my parents to see me tomorrow night. I can’t wait to show them that all my work has paid off. That I did it. That it was all worth it.

When we enter my dressing room, my smile grows as I pass by my name posted on the door.

Holy shit.

I have my own dressing room.

I doubt that will ever get old.

Mr. Archer points to the chair in front of the brightly lit vanity. “Please, Annabelle, take a seat.” His voice has taken on a tone I’m unfamiliar with, and suddenly, I’m feeling the fluttering of panic.

When I hesitate to sit, he gives me the look. The one that says, “Do not argue, just do as you’re told.” I gently sit down. “What’s going on, Arch? I know the pas de deux was a beat off, but—”

He interrupts me, “Annabelle, I got a call during the second act. Your parents were in a car accident in Pennsylvania.”

“What? When? How?”A million questions fly through my mind as the room begins to spin.

Arch walks over to me, placing an arm on my shoulder and squeezing. “Annabelle, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.” His voice sounds distant. Fuzzy.

“Then don’t.” I shrug his arm off and stand up. The room seems to tilt on its axis until I lean on the vanity in front of me and lock eyes with Arch through the reflection in the mirror. “When... when did you get the call?”

“Annabelle, you need to sit back down. I wasn’t finished.” He tries to grip my shoulders, but I turn away.

My hands are shaking. I try interlocking my fingers to control it.

Refusing to look at him, I raise my clasped hands in front of my face and ask again, “When did you get the call?”

“Right after the curtain went up on the second act. We didn’t want to bother you with the information until the performance was over. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.”

I’m a dancer. I have a pain threshold three times higher than the average person. I dance seven hours a day on my legs. They are my tools. My strength. And they just gave out beneath me.

Arch is unable to move fast enough to catch me as I fall to my knees.

I can’t breathe as the sobs get caught in my throat.

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