Arabesque: A Wings Companion

Chapter Twelve

"Make it purposeful!" Miss Sylvia said with a musical lilt. "It's tendu, not ten-don't."

Mitchell groaned beside Rowen. After a week of listening to Miss Sylvia's "motivational" sayings she'd imagined herself inured to the awful humor, but this one was particularly egregious. Her partner clearly felt the same.

Rowen had discovered for certain that Mitchell was human. When someone teased him about Thomas, his cheeks did the color-changing thing, and she'd seen him eating a human food called "hamburger" than would have laid her up for a week. It had taken her a few days to be certain though, and her feelings on the matter were a thorny tangle.

Still, Mitchell was good—really good. It was a joy to dance with him every afternoon. Unlike most of the other dancers, who kept their distance and sneaked shy glances but didn't talk to her, Mitchell was a bubbling spring of conversation. Praise, jokes, and a litany of daily details he couldn't have known she would find so interesting poured forth from his mouth as though he needed to speak the way most humans needed to breathe. And when they danced together, it was as though he could read her mind, anticipate her moves, even her occasional wobbles. He was amazing.

But everyone here was good. Better than Rowen had expected. She had to work just as hard as when she'd been in Avalon but, unlike there, the other students also put extra time in at the studio. She was rarely alone in the open classroom.

These human dancers seemed to be, if possible, even more driven than Rowen. Which didn't make sense. They had infinitely more choices; they could still play some role in their community if they got cut. But there they were, after class, a decent handful of them at all hours, fine-tuning turns, pounding complex combinations into their brains, rarely chatting idly.

Instead of making her feel less alone, the discovery of this commonality somehow made her feel even more isolated.

Miss Sylvia clapped her hands after warm-ups—which was what the humans called "stretch and limbers"—and said, "Nutcracker Grand Pas de Deux."

Rowen looked around as everyone around her groaned, a few voices asking, "Already?" What was so disappointing about this announcement?

"Take some time to refresh your memories and work out your moves with your new partners," Miss Sylvia said. "We'll come back together at the top of the hour." Rowen scrunched her eyebrows, waiting for some kind of further instruction, but no one else seemed confused. They were simply turning to their partners and starting to pick through steps.

She barely felt Mitchell's fingertips take hers until he pulled on her and she stumbled, falling against his chest.

"Oh, sorry, Love. First turn. I thought you'd be ready."

"First turn?"

"Well, not turn, exactly." He put a hand on her waist, nudged her up en pointe, and guided her leg with his hands. "Devant développé." He pushed her quite ungracefully under his arm in a spin. "Pirouette. Attitude derrière. Look, watch Meghan."

Meghan and Thomas were moving slowly, but confidently through the motions Mitchell had just helped Rowen stagger though, and then continuing on, working together seamlessly. "They've danced this before," Rowen said, knowing somehow that she was helplessly behind and still not exactly comprehending why.

"Not together. Obvs Meghan danced it with me last year," he said with a wide grin. "Thomas' old partner graduated. Dances with Boston now. It's not San Francisco, but it's a job."