Page 9 of With You

It takes me a few hours to drift off, and my alarm is extremely unwelcome in the morning. I must have been in some kind of delusional haze to think booking a studio at seven am was a good idea. At the time, it made sense to get practice for class out of the way early enough to relax in the evening. And while that’s still my plan, I had no idea my night would be derailed by her.

I get out of bed before I’m plagued by any further thoughts of her, forcing myself to get ready so I can leave early enough to avoid seeing anyone on the way to the studio. I pull on shorts that cling to my thighs, then cover them with sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Those studios get unreasonably warm, so I’ll take the outer layers off as soon as I get there. I pack my bag with a water bottle, my ballet flats, and a small towel before I leave my room.

As I walk through the old halls of the dorm building, early morning sunlight slowly creeps through the windows, creating boxes of light outlined by shadows on the floor. No one else is around, but I can hear shuffling behind doors as people start to rise and get ready for the day. The dance studios are located in the sports facility, about a five-minute walk from the dorms.

The campus of d’Étoiles spans across acres of land. The main building houses the classrooms, along with the grand hall where the dinner will be held this weekend. It’s a historical building, and I’ve heard rumours that it was akin to a castle in a past life, housing an aristocratic family line that lived here for centuries but fled France during the First World War. It was soon taken over and turned into what we know it as today.

The sports facilities are housed in a separate building at the back, the outside still maintaining its traditional facade, while the inside has been completely renovated with state-of-the-art studios, equipment, and everything athletes may need. Playing fields stretch out behind, the turf meticulously cared for by the grounds staff, who are always hard at work.

The curriculum at d’Étoiles is different to most universities. Every student is encouraged to pursue an art or sport, as well as a language, alongside the standard classes that we all take regarding more financial, business, and political matters.

You'd expect that from a university catered specifically to the wealthy, but that doesn’t mean those classes aren’t boring as hell. Most students here don’t actually need the education that d’Étoiles provides, but they enjoy the experience of pretending they live normal young adult lives.

I’ve never been under those pretences. I’ve known since I was old enough to understand my position in the world that I would end up working alongside my father. During my childhood, he let me learn ballet and whatever other sport or hobby I was interested in, on the condition that it would never become a career. Once I graduate from d’Étoiles in three short years, I’ll be working at his company.

When I reach the sports building and pass through the hallway that leads off to the studios, there’s already a light on in one of them. Someone else must hate themselves as much as I do to be here so early. My room is next to theirs, so as I walk past, I take a peek inside.

Of course, it’s her.

Amelie’s eyes are closed as she sits on the floor, her legs stretched out in front with both hands resting on her thighs. She’s wearing a light pink outfit, the same shade as the dress she wore yesterday, and as soon as that image pops into my head, I stop looking at her. I need to visit my doctor and check if I’ve suddenly developed some kind of heart arrhythmia or claustrophobia. That’s the only logical reason for why my heart started beating erratically yesterday in that fitting room. I shake my head and walk away from her door to my own studio. I can never escape her.

I flick on the lights as I enter, pull my things out of my bag, and drop them in front of the mirror. I strip off my sweatpants and hoodie, the sun already heating the room. My phone connects to the speaker in the room as I scroll through to start my workout playlist. The stretches I use to warm up are second nature now, and I don’t have to think as I loosen my limbs and get them ready to dance.

Auditions for the summer showcase are coming up soon, but I’m still undecided about whether I want to try out. I switch the music to what I’ve been practicing, a scene from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. It’s usually performed as a pas de trois with Romeo, Mercutio, and Benvolio, but I’ve changed it to a solo variation instead. I thought it would be the perfect challenge to get me excited about ballet again, but it hasn’t. Going through the motions is boring, and when I manage to pull off the routine pretty much perfectly on the first attempt, I start to think this boredom might run deeper.

My first experience with ballet came when I attended a performance of Swan Lake at nine years old. My parents took me along, and something about the way the dancers moved across the stage fascinated me. They were in control of every part of their body, every step deliberate and poised. At one point, it even felt like all of their breathing was in sync with how well they moved with each other. After that, I asked my mother if it was possible for me to learn how to do that, to have that kind of control over myself, and she enrolled me in class the very same week.

While I was watching the performance, it never occurred to me that ballet was more of a feminine sport. After realising I was the only boy in my class amongst fourteen girls, I figured that maybe it was more to do with my age, or some other factor I couldn’t think of. It never bothered me, though. I enjoyed learning how to control my body, and as I grew older, I enjoyed the quiet strength and power I gained from it, too.

But somehow, over the last year or so, I’ve grown bored of dancing. The passion I had when I was younger has fizzled out, and I’ve tried so many ways to get it back. I’ve searched through variations, finding ones with more difficult techniques to test myself and maybe get that passion back by learning something new, but it hasn’t worked. At this point, ballet is just something I do because I’ve always done it, a way for me to keep fit and focus on something else for a few hours.

I change the music, cycling through every routine and variation I’m familiar with, increasing the pace or throwing in different moves to push myself to the limit, but it feels like I surpass it every time. I know I’m a good dancer. I wouldn’t keep trying if I wasn’t, but I must be missing something. The only thing that’s changed since I first started learning how to dance is my age. I attended the same dance academy up until last year, only leaving it because d’Étoiles has their own dedicated teachers for it.

Maybe that’s made all the difference, though. Being at d’Étoiles just means I’m one step closer to leaving all of this behind. There won’t be time for dancing when I’m working with my father. He’s allowed my freedom up until now, but soon I’ll be at his beck and call to ensure his business remains successful. My brain wants to cling to the one thing I have control over for as long as I can, but I can’t bring myself to.

As my hour session draws to a close, I pull on my sweatpants and leave the hoodie off for now. It’s too warm in this room, and dancing around for the past hour has not helped. It’s still early enough that not many people will be up, so I should be fine to walk back to my room like this. I take a swig of water and pack my bag, draping the hoodie over my shoulder as I switch off the lights and leave the studio.

I tell myself not to look into Amelie’s studio as I walk past, but the universe seems to have other ideas as I hear the click of the door before something collides with my back. I turn around to face her, but all I see is the top of her head as she drops to the ground to pick up her phone that must have fallen out of her hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t—” She cuts herself off as she lifts her head to look at me. “Ugh, it’s you.”

“Good morning to you, too,” I say, as she scowls at me. I stop myself from making a remark about the wind changing and her face getting stuck like that. “Apology accepted.”

“You should apologise to me,” she sneers, her eyes darting down to my naked torso before back up to my face. “This can be classed as indecent exposure.”

I pull my hoodie from my shoulder and dab at my neck as I lean closer to her.

“Ma chérie, you would know if I was being indecent,” I say, voice low. I might not have been having fun while I was dancing, but I definitely am now.

Her face contorts, her nose wrinkling and eyebrows pinching together as she shoves at my chest.

“Vas t’en,” she huffs, pushing past me to leave.

You would think after living in France for a while, I’d understand a lot more of the language. I have no idea what she just said, but it seemed too short to be something like ‘wow River you’re so handsome’. Either way, it’s impossible to wipe the smirk off my face as I trail behind her, keeping enough distance not to bother her again. No matter how fun it is to rile her up, I’ve been doing it long enough that I know my limits with her.

She humours me every now and then, giving in to this fun game we play where we pretend to want to kill each other. Well, maybe it’s only pretending on my part. As much as I dislike how stuck-up she is, and the general air of arrogance she walks around with, I don’t actually hate her. After a few too many drinks and under great coercion, I may even go so far as to say I respect her. There’s no denying her talent, and as we’ve grown up, she’s constantly excelled at dancing. Her passion for ballet is admirable, and I wish I had even an ounce of it.

I follow her until we reach the dorms, and we go in opposite directions: she heads to her room, and I go to the common room instead. Layth is already there at our usual table, fully dressed for the day even though there’s still plenty of time before classes start. He’s here most mornings, always reading by the fireplace, and I drop into the seat across from him. My chessboard sits on the table between us, along with three cups of tea.