"Emboite!"
I used to find this particularly difficult - co-ordinating my entire body, balanced on one leg, resting on the tip of my toes. It alluded me at first, my muscles giving out in a fit of tremors. Our ballet master's increasing derision made me hot with shame, and it almost became my breaking point.
I mastered it by watching Natasha.
It wasn't difficult to study her from this vantage point, head turned to the side, desperate for any distraction from my trembling limbs and burning embarrassment.
She captivates all when she dances, with a grace that the rest of the class can only dream of. Her skill, combined with her lack of interest in engaging with her fellow dancers, meant I was less than pleased when I was placed next to her. But the more I watched her the more I perfected my own craft, and my resentment turned to respect, then admiration.... then something just short of adoration.
My observations were purely clinical at first, analysing every inch of her to understand how she was able to defy gravity. It didn't take long to master my emboite, but once she really caught my eye, it was impossible to look away from her. Her lithe athleticism. Her high cheekbones. The flash of red hair. The way her lips pressed together. The curve of her breasts pressed tightly beneath Lycra. Her piercing, blue gaze.
But that wasn't what captivated me. She was stoic, but the more I watched her, the more I felt the intensity that rolled off of her in waves. An energy that just kept drawing me in. I was hooked on her, but my fantasies only came once I was away from the class, her sharp focus rubbing off on me.
Our ballet master was soon full of praise, and I couldn't help but bask and revel in it.
'
Very good! Good girl!'
It left me glowing. Of course it was nothing compared to the amount of praise Natasha received, and another thing I wished I could mimic was her curt acknowledgement. Unaffected. Dancing only for herself. Even when she'd catch me staring I felt like she was looking through me. I could hide nothing, and I envied how nothing affected her.
- - - - -
One day, out of nowhere, something shifts.
We're changing after class, and one of my classmates invites me to dinner with the rest of the group.
"What about Natasha? Did you ask her?"
My question is barely more than a whisper. She's only a few feet away, and while I want her to join us, I don't want her to know.
"As if
she
would consider mixing with us mere mortals. I don't even think she's capable of conversation."
This is spoken none-too-quietly, and yet Natasha gives no indication that she's heard. I'd have usually joined them but I'm aching all over after a gruelling rehearsal, and have little interest in making small talk without Natasha's presence to distract me.
As I step out into the crisp night air I realise I've lingered too long, and I'll have to call for a taxi if I want a ride home.
"I don't think your friends like me."
I'd know that voice anywhere. Assured. Smooth. Perfect english, with an eastern european accent. I try keeping my cool, but misjudge how close she's stood behind me. I stumble as I realise our faces are just inches apart, and my phone slips from my hand as I steady myself against her, hitting the concrete screen-first.
Thrown off by her proximity, and hearing her speak more than two syllables, I can't contain the flash of irritation that seeps through me as I bend down to retrieve my phone.
"And what makes you think I do?"
My sudden bravery seeps away when we're face to face again as her eyes burn into mine, but this time she's really looking at me, not through me, and now I'm warm all over, the chill of the night forgotten. She's only a few inches taller but I feel tiny in her her presence, and powerless to resist the pull I feel towards her.
Her lips twist with amusement as she glances down at my phone.
"Were you planning on calling anyone with that?"
The screen is smashed to bits, and it won't switch on. I can't help but feel irritated by her obvious amusement.
"I was, until you practically knocked it out my hands."
"I did nothing - you're just clumsy."
Humiliated, I turn away from her, and prepare myself for a long walk home, but a gentle tug on my arm pulls me back to her.
"Hey, don't be stubborn. I'd offer you mine but I don't bring it to class as I only live a few minutes away. You're welcome to use it if you don't mind the walk."
Excitement and nerves bubble up in the pit of my stomach. I've imagined something along the lines of this so many times before, but she is a stranger to me. Eventually my aching feet make the decision for me.
"If that's not too much trouble?"
"Only a little, but not too much."
She laughs as I roll my eyes, and hooks her arm around mine, setting off at a brisk pace. We walk in silence for a few minutes, her purposeful and focused as always. I don't know where to look so admire the quirky shop displays as we pass them - it's well past closing time but the colourful lights help break through the darkness.
We stop as we reach a shuttered shop front - through the gaps I can see antique jewellery glittering in the window. I admire the displays as Natasha fumbles with several locks on a heavy, non-descript wooden door. When it opens, we're bathed in soft light and warm air, and met by a a polished wooden staircase.
