High Pointe

High Point - Episode 1

Sophia

"Five, six, seven, eight," I murmured under my breath, beginning the routine once more. The steps were simple, but the tempo was nearly too fast and I kept missing the mark on the fourth bourrée.

I couldn't miss the mark with this. I just couldn't. None of the instructors would select me to join the corps de ballet at the Précis Pointe Dance Company if I was screwing up something as simple as a bourrée.

There were plenty of things in my life that I was screwing up already. At least this was something I could fix. I just had to try.

The music swelled just before the tempo change and I tensed my muscles, preparing to shift my weight the way that Madame Olliphant had demonstrated for us this afternoon.

The music changed and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. The bourrée performed perfectly once, twice, three times, and-

Off beat. Again.

"Damnit!" I shrieked, dropping my pose entirely. I gestured to Emma and she hit the pause button, a single eyebrow arched in my direction. I shook my head, running my hands through my sweat-damp hair, breathing sharply through my nose as I tried to calm down. "Just give me a minute and we'll go again."

"It's two minutes to six," Emma warned me, glancing down at the clock on her phone. "We were supposed to go get dinner half an hour ago."

"And I was supposed to get this perfected two hours ago. I'm not leaving until I get it right," I snapped at her. She raised an eyebrow again, looking unimpressed with my temper. Of course, she wasn't the one struggling to hit her bourrée on the correct tempo. She wasn't the one fighting tooth and nail to get into the corps, either. Not like I was.

"You do this every time," she said, moving to pick up her duffle bag. "I'm hungry, Sophie, and I'm not waiting anymore."

With those words she was out the door and I was alone in the studio, the last dancer left practicing yet again. I grimaced, a part of me knowing that Emma was right. Rest and nutrition were just as important as practice. Still, I knew I could do this if I tried hard enough, and I wasn't ready to let it go.

Picking up my own phone, I set a timer for 8pm.

If I didn't have it figured out by then, I would stop for the night. I had to, considering the studio closed at 8:30. Pushing away the memory of Emma's annoyed expression, I reached down at hit the play button on the CD player and moved back into position.

"Five, six, seven, eight," I whispered again, starting in first position before moving to fifth. The dévelopé, the arabesque, back down to fifth, and one, two, three -

Off tempo yet again, leaving me behind the beat as I moved to the changement. I paused the music, skipped back to the start of the track, and started again.

Over and over, I pushed myself past my limits. My legs ached and I could feel the blisters along the inner edge of my flats. They were new, not broken in enough. That would change soon enough.

Despite my aches and pains, I could not - would not - stop.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Two hours later my alarm cut through the music just as I'd moved to the fourth bourrée. It was impossible to tell if I'd gotten it right that time. I must have, I told myself. That was the only way that I could justify shutting off the music and methodically moving through my cool-down routine before leaving the room without driving myself insane. Four and a half extra hours of practice and I still wasn't certain I'd gotten it right.

My phone in one hand and my duffle bag in the other, I made my way to the changing rooms. There were two other dancers lingering near the lockers. Both of them were dressed in street clothes and looked well put-together. They were leaning in towards each other, whispering between the two of them, and neither of them gave me a second glance as I passed by.