The Studio {Chapter Two}

AN: I took all the feedback on Chapter One and tried to apply it to this chapter. Hopefully it is less "tell-y" than Miss Joan's chapter!

Chapter Two

August 2010

Sleeping Beauty, Act II

Hannah

On company decision day, Hannah does not wait for her alarm to ring. Her eyes are already open, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the clock to tick to 5:30 am. My little Hannah, her mother’s voice chants, Most prepared out of all my kids. I never have to worry about her. And it’s true; Hannah is always prepared. Today, of all days, she intends to keep it that way. When she feels the edges of her control start to fray (it feels like a nervous fluttering in her rib cage), she forces herself to the rigid mold of what she calls her “best-self”. In the quiet kitchen, following a run where she pounded her feet into the pavement in a steady, unbroken rhythm, she serves herself a best-self breakfast; precisely building a balanced breakfast: an even layer of granola, a heavy scoop of yogurt, and a perfectly centered dollop of peanut butter. And exactly six raspberries. Her best-self carries her through the school day and into the afternoon, where she finishes her homework in record time, pen flying to keep the anxiety of this evening at bay.

Other ballerinas are superstitious to the point of obsession, with their lucky leg warmers or tapping of the studio doorframe before entering the room. Hannah doesn’t need luck. She has a plan. She repeats it to herself as she follows her friends into their technique class. Discipline, preparation, control, she thinks, her hand gripping the barre too tightly. Even her best-self can’t prevent the small tells of her anxiety from showing through. Joan flutters past, reminding Hannah, soft hands on the barre, no partner wants to be manhandled, Han. Hannah nods, softening her grip. She’s never danced with a partner before, though Joan has hinted that is coming. If she’s admitted to the company, maybe their fall performance will feature partnering opportunities. Hannah reorients herself, doing her best to stay focused on each exercise and the natural building of movement that eventually resolves with a grand, sweeping Grande Allegro combination. 

Out of breath and red faced, Hannah and her classmates gather at the front of the room following their révérence. Hannah notices that she’s not the only one clasping her hands in front of her to keep herself from shaking. There is a collective breath as Joan looks them over, inscrutable as always. “Ladies!” she says, meeting their eyes one at a time. “It is the moment you’ve all been working so hard towards. I am proud of the progress you’ve made since last audition season, and I look forward to working with you all again this fall. If you have any questions about the contents of your letter, do not hesitate to come find me. Also, remember, we have a lot to get done this evening in rehearsal—so no silliness once this is over. We must dive straight into the work. That’s why we’re here.”

Hannah, alongside Eloise, nods seriously. The other girls stare blankly at Joan, shifting their weight and darting their eyes to the stack of envelopes, eager to get it over with. Hannah, on the other hand, would honestly be okay with never knowing. Yes, she wants to join the company, but more than anything she doesn’t want anything to change. Her left hand grips her right tightly, fingernails digging into the skin as she waits for her turn to receive her letter. She is second to last, with Eloise standing on her right being the final daisy to be handed her letter. Hannah waits a heartbeat after Joan places the envelope in her hands, wanting to tear it open at the same moment Eloise does. She feels her friend hesitate, then enthusiastically tear the flap to open up whatever news lies inside. Hannah does the same, suddenly frantic to know. Discipline, preparation, control, she thinks one last time before focusing her eyes and reading the first sentence: Dear Hannah, I am so pleased to welcome you… 

Hannah’s heart skips a beat. Then another. She did it. It’s over. She scans over the rest of the letter, her heart racing. Joan’s first couple of sentences are kind, but she very quickly gets to the point: outlining the ways she expects Hannah to improve over the next year. Hannah knows that Joan takes copious notes and thinks concrete feedback is important for a dancer’s development. Seeing her flaws in a bullet-pointed list feels almost like a gift. Here is the blueprint for the next year, the ways she can develop perfection quantified in black and white. She realizes it’s a little masochistic to want criticism, but she can’t help herself. Seeing the concrete ways Joan thinks she can improve over the next year feels like a welcome challenge. Hannah glances surreptitiously at Eloise’s letter. Also handwritten, Eloise’s letter has a similar structure. A small, short paragraph and then a bullet-pointed list. Hannah notices that Eloise’s list is much more substantial than hers, with underlined words and phrases. 

Before Hannah can get a good look, Eloise refolds her paper and stuffs it back into the envelope. Even though she received good news - she got admitted just like Hannah, she looks angry. She is biting her lip and blinking rapidly, refusing to meet Hannah’s eyes. Hannah impulsively reaches out and catches Eloise’s hand, squeezing gently. Her friend looks at the ground instead of at her, already moving away from Hannah’s touch. Hannah tries not to feel hurt, and instead trains her attention on the other girls. There are only eight of them in this class, and they’ve been together a long time. Without trying too hard, Hannah can read the room. Relief and ecstasy radiate from most of her classmates, with the exception of the steaming Eloise. But Hannah’s attention is pulled to the end of the line, where Margot stands ramrod straight. Oh no, she thinks. That can’t be good. 

Margot

The first time Margot hears her heart break, she is sure everyone else hears it too. The ache spreads from deep in her stomach to her ribcage, flaming across her collarbone and rising into her face. It tingles down her nerves all the way to her feet, eking out into the floor and growing roots. Instead of the emptiness she expected, she feels too full. Like something is swelling into her throat and threatening to burst out. In the moment, Margot is not sure if it will be vomit or flames. Her entire being is focused on frantically processing the information she just received. 

Dear Margot, It is with regret that I write you are not being invited to join…. Tears cloud her sight but she keeps her eyes fixed on the heavy cardstock, frozen as she hears the rustle of opening envelopes echo all around her. Margot feels herself standing on the edge of a great abyss, the paper in her hand morphing into a black hole she is afraid to fall into. Margot’s envelope slices into the side of her finger as she stuffs the decision letter back into its folds. Slowly, the room comes back into focus. Her tears burn away, replaced by hot, prickly anger. She locks her jaw until her teeth ache, fighting the sudden urge to either rip the letter to shreds or melt down into the floorboards before anyone can read the failure she is sure is written across her face. What feels like hours is really only seconds, because Margot realizes that not everyone is done opening their letters. She watches the expressions on her classmates’ faces change from neutrality to excitement. She knows, before anyone says anything, that she is the only one in her class unhappy with her results. 

Joan is stationed, hands on hips, next to the piano she uses as her desk, impatience hovering over her in a cloud. She is ready to skip this part and head straight into rehearsal, though Margot knows Joan spends a lot of time considering what to put into those letters. She’s repeated over and over the last few weeks that she takes particular care when it comes to shaping the girls’ training, and that sometimes joining the company too early can be harmful for a dancer’s development. Margot now realizes it’s possible all those speeches may have been solely for her benefit. All the girls know that Joan wouldn’t approve of emotional outbursts - whether they be happy or unhappy. She expects her daisies to be stoic and calm, and speaks with them often about how important it is to keep what she calls “inside thoughts” unspoken. They also know that she gave them all their letters, all together, before a long rehearsal for a reason. It is a test. Can they respond to exciting news without gloating? Can they focus on the task in front of them instead of their new status as company members? 

Margot also knows, though she’s not sure the other girls do, that being the only one to not get into company this year is also a test. She refuses to let the tears and fury escape her as she follows the crowd towards the dressing room. The ten minute break is a ticking clock; and Margot can feel the anticipation of the other girls waiting to escape to somewhere they can let their ecstatic reactions loose, if only for a few minutes. She, meanwhile, remains rooted in the same spot, unable to pull her gaze away from the black abyss at her feet. What if she really is the only one? She is more and more convinced by the moment that she would be able to feel if another girl is also standing on the precipice of their worst fears, but all she feels rolling off her classmates’ shoulders is relief and excitement. 

At the last second, Margot turns to look back at Joan. Joan’s opaque eyes meet hers and Margot can’t read what they say. For just a moment, Margot considers confronting Joan, but she knows Joan will tell her to read her letter and work hard - to try again next year. She will tell Margot it’s for her own good and there’s always a reason. To trust. Nevertheless, Margot’s brain is scrambling for ways she can change Joan’s decision, and quickly. She refuses to be satisfied with “next year”. She feels sick, and her paper cut finger stings. Is this really worth it? Do I want this that bad? The jagged parts of Margot’s heart are caught on her wrecked hopes and dreams and she feels overwhelmed by the beast rising up in her throat. The beast that always wants more, her desperate need to be full standing in the way of being okay with watching the year go by, and her classmates with it. 

She trails the other girls, their heads leaning towards each other as they whisper. Nobody seems to notice, or at least Margot hopes nobody does, that she is subdued. She knows the quiet in-between, before her sisters in satin find out her shame, is short so she takes a deep breath and tries to rally her spirits enough. She’s got to brush this off, make it seem like it’s all part of a plan she knew before today. That she hasn’t been blindsided.