Chapter 8 - A Choice, Not a Challenge
The foundation announced that the archive showcase would go ahead, but
Celeste would not perform until the authorship review was complete.
The announcement brought a wave of speculation. Some donors threatened
to withdraw. Others asked whether the foundation was taking sides.
Margaret refused to let the noise dictate the program.
“The scholarship students are not responsible for the adults’ mistakes,”
she told the board. “Their showcase will happen.”
Amara was scheduled to perform a short group piece. She had been
practicing for weeks, but the pressure made her unusually quiet.
At rehearsal, I found her sitting on the floor with her shoes beside
her.
“What’s wrong?”
She shrugged.
“People keep asking if you’re really the dancer from the video.”
“And what do you tell them?”
“That you are.”
“Then why are you worried?”
“Because they keep saying Celeste is better.”
I sat beside her.
“Better at what?”
“Dancing.”
“That’s a very large word. Better at turns? Better at musicality? Better
at telling a story? Better at being famous?”
Amara looked down.
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t let other people choose the question for you.”
She nodded, but her eyes were still wet.
A few minutes later, Celeste arrived.
She was not scheduled to rehearse. She walked into the studio wearing
sunglasses and a pale coat, accompanied by her publicist.
“I need to speak with Margaret,” she said.
Margaret was not there.
Celeste’s gaze settled on Amara.
“So you’re the scholarship girl.”
Amara stood.
“Yes.”
“Which piece are you doing?”
“A group waltz.”
Celeste looked toward the music stand.
“Not The Glass Waltz, I hope.”
“No.”
“Good. It would be a shame to confuse the audience.”
I stepped between them.
“She’s here to rehearse.”
Celeste removed her sunglasses.
“I’m not speaking to you.”
“Then you can leave.”
Her publicist moved closer, but Celeste raised a hand.
“You’ve always had a talent for making yourself look like the victim,
Elena.”
I felt the students watching.
“I don’t need to look like anything. The records will speak for
themselves.”
Celeste laughed.
“You think a few old papers will make people forget who they know? I
have performed on international stages. I’ve built a career. You served
drinks at a fundraiser.”
Amara lowered her head.
I saw her fingers curl around the strap of her dance bag.
I remembered being eighteen and hearing the same kind of laughter.
I stepped toward Celeste.
“You can say whatever you want about me. You don’t get to use these
students to make your point.”
Celeste’s smile thinned.
“I’m trying to protect the art.”
“Then protect it by giving credit where it belongs.”
She turned and walked out.
Amara remained still.
I crouched in front of her.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“You don’t have to prove anything to her.”
“But what if she is right?”
“Then dance because you love it, not because she says you can’t.”
Amara nodded slowly.
Margaret arrived a little later. She had heard what happened and asked
whether I wanted Celeste barred from the studio.
I considered it.
“Not unless she breaks a rule. I don’t want to turn this into a
punishment.”
Margaret looked proud.
“That’s a wise answer.”
That evening, she asked whether I would consider performing the original
Glass Waltz at the showcase. Noah had already agreed to partner me if I
wanted.
I looked at him.
He didn’t smile or reach for my hand. He simply waited.
“I don’t know if my body can do the whole thing,” I said.
“We can adapt it,” he replied. “The choreography is yours. It doesn’t
have to be frozen in the version you made at eighteen.”
I thought about that.
The original routine had been created for a competition. It had been
built around speed, precision, and the kind of risk that made judges
lean forward.
I was not eighteen anymore.
My ankle had weakened. My stamina had changed. My life had become
something else.
But the music still moved through me.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
Margaret smiled.
“Only if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Alex was standing at the back of the studio. He had arrived to discuss
the showcase budget and had heard the last part.
He approached slowly.
“I won’t ask you to dance for me,” he said.
“Good.”
“But I would like to be there.”
“You’re the foundation’s chairman. You’ll be there.”
He smiled.
“That’s fair.”
Then he looked at Noah.
“Thank you for partnering her.”
Noah nodded. “It’s an honor.”
Alex’s expression flickered, but he kept his voice even.
“I hope the performance goes well.”
I watched him leave.
For once, he had not tried to make himself the center of the room.
I turned toward the mirrors.
Noah offered his hand.
We began with the opening count.
One, two, three.
May you like
My body remembered.
And this time, I was choosing to move.
