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March 27, 2005
Chicago had always been one of Jaclyn's favorite cities, always her pick for summer intensives. Returning for the first time since she was a young teenager was overwhelming, but nothing had changed.
The plane ride to Chicago from Sweden had been long and painful. Thomas and she were both cranky when tired, and neither of them could sleep well in those stiff chairs. Alice complained about the food, mumbling that she wouldn't fit into her tutu with all the fat she was digesting.
Even Monsieur Preljocaj had been antsy, insisting Jaclyn stand every few hours to do pliés and tendus to stay loose. It definitely wasn't awkward squatting down in a tiny aisle with strangers watching her. Definitely not.
Being home, or as close as she had gotten within the last year, filled her with ecstasy. Chicago wasn't where she grew up, Villa Grove was an hour and a half south, but she had always admired it more than the suffocating town. Her grandma's had taken her to different shows over the years, her mom had taken her photos in the landscapes for auditions when they couldn't afford studios or photographers. Competitions had been in the city, her father taking her around just to get pictures of different landscape ideas.
It was all so heartwarming, and comforting that the newly found weights on her shoulders were almost manageable. There were rumors that the show would be going to London, and a few days after landing Anjelin broke the joyful news that their tour would be continuing. Turning the rumors to the truth.
At first her excitement had bubbled over texting Zara, Natania and William about the news. How she longed for London, Paris was home now, but even just a dip back in the waters would satisfy her.
She had completely forgotten about the tabloids.
While the dance world celebrated her, to any common person in England she was still "that whore" and she wasn't naive enough to believe it had changed.
In her pursuits to find the Chicago Tribune article she had interviewed for, before warmup, the hate found her first tearing at the armor she had built up for herself. It wasn't anything new, just a reporter's statement that every tabloid was copying, and her rather numb reaction repulsed her. Jaclyn actually welcomed the single tear that slid down her cheek, a sign she was still breathing.
"Jaclyn thirty minutes till barre..." Joseph's voice trailed as he entered her room catching sight of the glistening stream that she hadn't wiped away fast enough.
"Did the press say something about the show?" He asked, voice dangerously quiet as if sound would disrupt her.
She huffed, a mix of anger and amusement, "no, just about me." And seeing his confused worry she cleared her throat reading off The Guardian's website.
