I SLIP INTO THE EMPTY orchestra pit below the Ballet’s practice stage. Minali, the rehearsal pianist, glances briefly at me, then turns back to her music.
On the stage, Mistress Duval, in holographic form, watches the dancers twirl and leap to the bright piano notes. Thanks to technology, Papilio was able to secure her as the new Ballet Director even though she lives in Paris.
I spot Milo among the boys, each of whom wears a form-fitting white t-shirt, black leggings, and dance shoes. The girls pirouette in unison, the short black skirts of their leotards rippling above their pale pink tights.
The music speeds up. Milo breaks away from the crowd, kicks up a leg, and spins on one foot. His blond curls whip through the air as he repeats the move at a dizzying speed.
He finishes his turns with a flourish before joining the line of dancers across the back of the stage. I want to clap, but resist. Mistress Duval would banish me in a moment if I disrupted her rehearsal.
Although Milo performs the same movements as the rest of the boys on stage, the strength with which he sweeps his arms and the passion in his expression set him apart from the rest. Mistress Duval gives him an approving beam, and that sends a spark of excitement through me. I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees his talent.
“Wake up!” she shouts. “You are soldiers returning from war, not puppets dangling from strings! I want vigor! Triumph! Like what Milo’s doing!”
A satisfied smirk creeps onto Milo’s mouth. One of the other boys shoots him a look of hatred. Catching his eye, Milo mouths two words that look suspiciously like, “Suck it!” I cover my mouth to suppress a giggle.
“Milo!” Mistress Duval glares.
He widens his eyes innocently as he continues the dance routine. His gaze lands on me, and he gives a slight grin in greeting before firming his expression and returning to his character.
No matter how many times I watch Milo perform, I’m always surprised by the contrast between the serious, single-minded dancer on stage and the mischievous boy I know. To me, he’ll always be the hyperactive eight-year-old who still pulls my hair when things get dull.
Minali concludes the piece with a loud, rolled arpeggio, and the dancers strike their final, proud poses, forming a victorious tableau.
Mistress Duval shakes her head. “Sloppy, sloppy. Tomorrow, I want to see improvement.” She glances at her watch. “Let’s do the ballroom scene once before we go. Sabina! Nikolai!”
A long-legged girl with a gleaming golden bun lopes onto the stage, followed closely by a red-haired boy. They take their places in the center. Their solemnity makes them both seem much older than their seventeen years.
Milo and the other background dancers form a semi-circle around them, and then Mistress Duval signals Minali. A light, joyous melody floats up from the piano.
Nikolai takes Sabina’s hands, holding one at chest level and raising the other. Their arms form an arc above their heads, and they dance together across the stage. Sabina lifts her leg and leaps behind Nikolai, almost seeming to fly around him before landing lightly. She rises onto her toe and curves her figure into sinuous, elegant shapes, keeping her gaze fixed on his. Their bodies entwine and interlock, portraying unyielding ardor with their fervent movements. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Sabina and Nikolai were deeply in love.
Yet, I know that all the emotion I’m seeing is feigned. Sabina’s hatred toward Nikolai is well known, and she’s declared many times that she’ll never marry or even date. According to Milo, she thinks herself superior to all the boys at Papilio, although that doesn’t stop him from pining after her. Nikolai, meanwhile, has no interest in girls at all, preferring the company of a Troupe dancer named Benjamin Cox.
But on stage, they’re no longer Nikolai and Sabina. They’re a prince and princess who love each other so wholly, their bodies move as one. Their characters possess a wondrous connection we all dream of, a fantasy impossible for us earthbound mortals to attain. I’ve seen plenty of couples at Papilio, but none seem to share the kind of transcendent love they bring to life with their Arts.
Or maybe I’m just so used to seeing exaggerated passions on stage, real life seems pale and dull in comparison.
The sight of Nikolai and Sabina’s duet fills me with longing. I want to fall in love someday, but I don’t think I ever will. If my hope of finding a patron comes to pass, I’ll have to sign away my heart. The standard contract stipulates that an Artist must not engage in romantic relationships, as these are considered distractions. Marriage is forbidden. This means our years in school are the only ones we have to forge that kind of connection until after we retire.
Even if I age out, I doubt I’ll find someone. I don’t connect with other people the way everyone else seems to. I wish I knew why. Sometimes, I feel as if life is a giant ballroom, where everyone else’s invitation informed them of what to wear and what the orchestra would be playing, but I was told only to show up and arrived in whatever I happened to be dressed in. So while the rest of the world dances to a familiar beat, I smile and try to keep up, never knowing if I’m right or if I’m just making a fool of myself. Milo’s my only true friend, and sometimes, I wonder if our closeness grew only from the certainty of each other’s company. I guess we’re like siblings that way.
Nikolai puts his hands around Sabina’s waist and lifts her. She spreads her arms like a swan stretching its wings. Her character’s so in love, she’s flying. What wouldn’t I give to be like that? Not literally, of course—in spirit. But who would be the prince making me soar? Each time I’ve tried to picture him, only an empty shadow greets me.
“Stop!” Mistress Duval’s sharp voice startles me out of my reverie. Nikolai sets Sabina down—none too gently—as Mistress Duval’s glowering hologram strides toward him. “Are you asleep, Nikolai?” She rattles off all the things he did wrong.
I tilt my head, puzzled. The duet looked perfect to me—beautiful enough, anyway, to send me into a wistful trance.
Nikolai protests Mistress Duval’s statements, but she cuts him off.
“Excuses! You’ve been getting complacent, but being ranked in the top ten doesn’t make you irreplaceable.” She lifts her chin. “Milo!”
Milo straightens. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Dance the ballroom duet with Sabina.”
He blinks. “Yes—yes, ma’am!” He scampers center stage.
I cover my grin with my fingers. Milo’s filled my ears countless times with his daydreams about replacing Nikolai at Sabina’s side, and now he finally has his chance.
Mistress Duval points at his empty spot in the line of dancers. “Nikolai, take Milo’s place among the nobles.”
Nikolai storms toward the back, glowering. Milo claps a hand on his shoulder as he passes. “Sorry, man.”
“Don’t touch me.” Nikolai sweeps Milo’s hand off.
Sabina gives Milo a doubtful look. “If you drop me, I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t worry.” He throws her a confident smirk. “After we’re done, you’ll never want to dance with Nikolai again.” When she looks away, he flashes an incredulous look in my direction, as if to ask, “Is this really happening?”
I beam and pump my fist at him.
Mistress Duval’s hologram flickers out, then reappears at the front edge of the stage. “From the top!”
The music begins, and Milo takes Sabina’s hand. His eyes fill with wonder as they begin the dance. His every gesture betrays the true desire that was absent in Nikolai’s performance. I don’t know if it’s because Milo’s a more expressive dancer, or because his real life yearning translates well on stage.
Mistress Duval nods approvingly. “Good, Milo! Good, Sabina! Perhaps there’s hope after all.”
Sabina raises her arms, and Milo lifts her, spinning across the stage with her aloft. She seems weightless, and I marvel at how he can carry another person so effortlessly. The stage lighting highlights his toned arms. Often, I forget that he’s no longer the spindly boy I played with when we both were little.
Milo sets Sabina down, and she lands with weightless grace. She poses with one leg in front of the other, stretching her arms like an angel unfurling her wings. He leaps away from her as the music speeds up, then stands with one hand on his hip as the music enters its final sequence. She spins toward him, a whirling image of joy. Milo catches her around the waist, and Sabina falls back with her arms flung above her head, striking the dance’s final pose.
I jump up and start clapping with abandon, then freeze when I realize I’m the only one.
Mistress Duval raises her eyebrows at me. “I see we’ve impressed the audience.” Her expression warms as she turns to the dancers. “Sabina, Milo, well done.” She glances at her watch. “Everyone except Nikolai is dismissed. Nikolai, meet me in the office.” Her hologram flickers out unceremoniously.
“Sabina!” Milo chases Sabina as she starts to leave.
She turns toward him with a bored expression. “Yeah?”
Milo quickly steps so that he’s beside her and holds up his left arm. “Smile!” He gives his watch two quick taps with his right hand. A second later, a white flash emits from the tiny screen.
Sabina rolls her eyes and continues on her way. Milo walks offstage in the opposite direction. Figuring he’s probably heading to change into regular clothes, I activate the holographic menu on my watch and check my Linx profile to see if my ranking has risen, even by one or two points.
1,043. My chest tightens. Though I tell myself that everything will change after the audition, part of me whispers, No one wants to sponsor a mediocre player. I’ll never make it.
I press a circular icon at the bottom of my profile, and my Linx feed appears. Milo’s already posted the picture of him and Sabina with the caption: “Danced with a princess today.” To my surprise, Sabina looks happy in the holopic, pressing her cheek against his with a wide smile.
“We look good together, don’t you think?”
I hear Milo’s voice and look up, at the same time swiping my watch to set it back on its clock setting. “I thought you went to change.”
“Wanted to say hi first.” He collapses into the chair next to mine; even that movement is effortlessly graceful. “Can you believe what just happened? Mistress Duval’s been talking about making Nikolai sit out the next Spectacle all week. If she actually lets me replace him… I’ll lose my mind. In a good way.” His gray eyes glaze over in a dreamy expression.
Unable to resist the chance to tease him, I say, “So, now that you’ve danced with Sabina, I’m guessing a proposal’s around the corner?” Milo shoots me an irritated glare, and I giggle. “It’s not like your crush is a secret.”
He sighs. “What’s wrong with us, Iris? Me and Sabina, you and Brent—we’re like Echo, doomed to waste away while pining for people in love with themselves.”
“I do not pine for Brent!”
“Sure, you don’t.” He flops back in his chair and stares at the ceiling, blowing at a wisp of hair that settled over his eye. “Maybe we should just marry each other and hope that solves our problems.”
I turn away, heat creeping into my cheeks. Though I know Milo’s being sarcastic, I can’t say I haven’t considered the possibility of marrying him. The actual possibility—not a faraway daydream like with Brent. But Milo told me that he’s holding out for Sabina, hoping she’ll decide she wants to know love after all. I’d like to know, too. True love, like the kind depicted in the duet, even though I’m not sure such a thing’s possible.
I want to believe in fate and destiny and a whole constellation of other grand ideas, but the fact is, there aren’t very many of us at Papilio. I’ve met everyone at least once, so if there were a Prince Charming for me, logic dictates that I would have run into him already. Milo’s probably the closest thing I’ll find to someone I love. In a way, I do love him. I’m just not in love. So I shove the thought of marrying for convenience out of my head, but the emptiness it leaves behind is almost worse.
Silence ripples around us as we both stare into space, together in our misery.
Milo sits up. “By the way, I got a message from my family today.”
I brighten. Though Milo’s family lives in Dogwood, he barely sees them. His parents always have work during the school’s visiting hours, and his baby sister’s too young to travel alone. Sometimes, he leaves campus to see them, but finding time is always a challenge. They can only afford to send him a few messages a month. At Papilio, it’s easy to take technology for granted, but for most, it’s not so accessible. Still, I envy him. I’d love to receive even one message from my parents.
“What did they say?” I ask.
“Nothing good.” Milo’s jaw clenches. “Alice didn’t qualify for a third year of free beginner ed, and my parents are still paying off what they borrowed to get me here. They can’t afford to keep her in the program so… she’s done.”
My heart aches for him. I know how much he was hoping that Alice would get into Papilio too, both so she could escape a hard life as a laborer and so that someday, they could both support their parents. He was under enough pressure before and now, it’s doubled. “So sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all on me now. If I don’t find a patron, my whole family’s screwed.”
I give his arm a squeeze. “You’re brilliant, Milo. Mistress Duval will make you a principal for sure, and after the next Spectacle, the richest patrons on Adrye will be clamoring to have you.”
His lips quirk. “Thanks. Anyway, I should get changed. Meet you by the Ballet’s cafeteria?”
“Sure.”
He leaves, disappearing through a narrow door. Now that it’s just me, the rehearsal hall is chillingly quiet. Everyone else has already left. I pick up my viola case and stand.
Something lands on the ground with a thunk. I look down and see the Adryil device glowing green below me—it must’ve fallen out of my pocket.
I scoop it up, and my pulse hammers. Was there a minder watching? I shove it in my pocket, keeping my fist closed around it, and try to calm myself. Surely the school wouldn’t expel me just for hiding something. I’m not hurting anyone.
A white light catches my eye. I whirl. It flickers a few feet in front of me, giving off a wraithlike glow. Is it Mistress Duval’s hologram glitching? But why would she appear in the orchestra pit when everyone’s gone?
“Iris…” A distant voice floats through my head. It’s the same one I heard back at the Circus, the one that sounded like the Adryil boy’s.
The light stops flickering. I gasp. The Adryil’s translucent image stands before me, barely visible.
He vanishes. I keep staring at the place where he stood, his tall, broad-shouldered form dressed all in white, his black hair swept across his forehead, and his piercing gaze fixed on me. He couldn’t have been a hologram—his voice came from inside my head. And he couldn’t have been contacting me telepathically. Earth’s satellites block his abilities.
Did I imagine him? Am I crazy?
I can’t help wondering: was he a ghost?