Breaking Pointe

Part 3

Oliver yawned. A few nights had passed since his encounter with Ryan. Unfortunately, he was going to have to face him tomorrow in school. "Oliver!" his mum hollered "get your ballet stuff on now."

He glanced at the pretty bag in the corner of his room, a pit forming in his stomach as his thoughts moved to his first ballet class. After showering, he re-emerged, gloomily staring at the bag. Fuck it. I know who I actually am. Wanting to get it over with quickly, he pulled the tights up, quivering in excitement as he felt that soft, warm hug wrapping his leg. Finishing up, he pulled some warm joggers over his tights, grateful for the added coverage.

"Alright sweetie, are you ready to head off?" He nodded, coming down the stairs with a water bottle in hand.

"Normally you'll just get changed with all of the other girls but we're running a bit late."  He shivered at the reference to 'the other girls'.

The studio was rather bland on the exterior, a hidden little door tucked to the side of another shop.

"Oliver will you be fine to go in by yourself? Or would you like me to come with you and make sure you get there safely?"

He slammed the door behind him, ignoring his mums question. Did she really think I need help walking up some fucking stairs? I'm not 5. He glanced back, noting her watchful eyes, ensuring that he didn't bail at the last second. Where exactly would I go? I'm wearing pink tights and a leotard.

An idea struck him. I can just hide in the toilets for an hour and tell my mum that I went.

As he carefully stepped through the corridor, he glanced at the walls. Small paintings of dainty ballerinas hung, even he had to admit that they looked quite pretty.

"Oliver is it?"

He turned like a scared cat. "Please don't make me do it. Please. I'm not a faggot."

"Now now, just look a bit further down the hallway. Look at how strong and ... handsome these gentlemen are." Gesturing toward a series of pictures displaying male dancers, many very skimpily clothed.

"Why cant I be wearing the men's clothes? I'm not a girl." He cried.

"Well, Le Belle Étoile, is a girls only dance school. You will get the chance to dance with the boys later this year at your performance though!"

Excitement rose through him. "So I'll get to train with the other boys soon?"

"...sure" she said "I'm your teacher for this term and we'd better hurry up, the other girls are waiting."

She paused right before entering the room. "I forgot to ask, do you prefer to go by Oliver or Olivia?"

"I'm not a girl." he huffed, and stormed into the room. It was just a typical dance studio. A large mirror stretched across the front wall with windows gracing the left and right walls. More pictures of elegant ballerinas were hung on these walls, many being supported by sturdy, strong male dancers in complicated poses.

A dozen girls in the class stared at him, whispering quietly to one another.

Oliver shuffled nervously, staring at the floor beneath him.

"Cmon Oliver, get your joggers off and shoes on. Join the other girls at the barre."

He put his things in the corner of the room where all the water bottles had been collected. Reluctantly pulling his joggers down, the gentle breeze feeling nice against his thin tights. He stared at himself in the mirror. I look like a right puff. He thought miserably.

Oliver took his place at the end of the barre, behind all of the others. Conscious of the eyes and giggles that followed him across the room.

"Alrighty girls,  let's begin with some gentle pliés and tendus. Follow after me."

She began to demonstrate, her feet in a weird pizza slice like position which she seemed to call 1st position. She went into a gentle squat, before rising and extending her leg out in front of her.

She turned the music on, a gentle classical piece.

Oliver fought to keep up with the pace of the girl ahead of him but each of her movements was so quick yet elegant, so powerful yet controlled. And he felt as though he looked like a clumsy fool.

"Nice plié Oliver." He felt her eyes staring at him as she walked over. He extended his foot like she had demonstrated. "Try and think of leading with your heels and not your toes. And keep your foot pointed."

He tried to follow her advice, feeling the bottom of his foot and his legs burning from all the exercise.

They continued on with a number of exercises before they took a break for some water. All of the girls crowded around in the corner. Set on interrogating Oliver.

"Are you Oliver or Olivia?" Tessa laughed. "My brothers would never be caught dead looking like that." A couple of the girls joined her in laughing, notably Brielle. "A boy - ahem, girl - wearing tights and a leotard. I may even have a couple of old dresses lying around if you want to borrow one."

Oliver stared at the ground, salty tears welling around his red eyes.

One of the girls wrapped her arm around Oliver. "I think it's really cool that you do ballet. Even if this is a girls academy. It's fine either way by me." She shrugged, taking a long sip of her water.

Oliver muttered his thanks.

"By the way you seem really naturally talented. I couldn't do half the stuff you could when I started. I hated rond de jombe but you seem to have it all down."

"Thank you." he said, a quiet smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.

"Alrighty girls, let's get to the centre."

They continued through several more exercises, some basic arms positioning, a short variation and then finishing with some turns from both fourth and fifth.

Oliver felt like a beached whale, stumbling through the steps. He could barely make it half way around a single pirouette before he fell out of position. Regardless, he was determined to be able to complete it one day.

Class finally came to an end and Oliver was exhausted. Muscles he didn't even know he had were sore. He was ready to never do this again. It had been a complete failure. He couldn't even brag to his sister that he was better at it than she was. As he turned to leave, he saw his mum standing at the door watching with a smile on her face. She came in and began speaking to the teacher.

Oliver hastily pulled on his joggers over his tights, conscious that his leotard was still on display. His mother walked over to him once he was ready and ushered him out.

"What were you speaking to her about?"

"Well she said that it was rather unsightly sometimes because of your hair, underwear and ... well, your biology."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that we have some shopping to do!"