Disclaimer-- I don't own anything and don't care to.
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The warning signs were all there, but Jonathan's candid inventory of her shortcomings had been the clincher. When the director calls you into his office and asks you to reconsider attending his school, it's generally not indicative of your expertise.
She had persisted anyway, plaintively moaning, "I don't want to go to college, I want to dance," when Maureen, with her usual sensible bluntness, had suggested applying.
No one else ever said anything, but she caught the upturned noses, the sympathetic eyes, and that was enough. The message radiated loud and clear, sinking through Jody's pretty sheaf of wheat-colored hair and into her brain.
You aren't good enough.
Not good enough, maybe. But attractive enough? Oh, yes. Cooper was proof of that and, though she didn't know it, it was the only reason she had been accepted to the Academy in the first place.
Whoever said looks don't matter was probably ugly. Dancing is an art, above all, and being naturally beautiful has its advantages. If you can't pirouette your way to the top, you can always sleep your way there instead, whoring for success. If you play your cards right you might even end up a prima ballerina, twirling across the stage and praying the audience doesn't notice the corps is better than you. This is what comes of being a conglomeration of wholesome blond hair and naïve blue eyes and sweet Midwestern smiles, all settled together atop an awkward body and undeniably bad feet.
Jody reminisces sometimes, recalling the people she once trained with. There's Eva, a star in spite of herself. Popping her gum and mouthing off indiscriminately, she could dance circles around Jody without even trying. She doesn't need to hide her technique behind elaborate modern-dance sequences or artistic poses. Always upfront, she. Jody misses her the most.
Then there's Maureen, the prima bitch herself. Exquisite technique, unfailing devotion, and then she threw away a future most dancers only dream about. She's in college now, Eva says, Columbia. Jody doesn't find it quite fair that Maureen is academically brilliant as well. She herself was never much of a student—all the more reason to struggle with ballet instead of college, never mind that she wonders more and more often if she's any better as a dancer.
And there's Charlie, who visits her whenever he can. She greets him with giggles and kisses and he calls her an angel, making some boyfriendish comment about how she gets more gorgeous every times he sees her. When they trade stories of what's been going on in their respective companies, he doesn't understand when she tells him what hard work it is. Dancing is anything but work to him, but then, he's gifted, while Jody has to strain for ages to make even the tiniest scintilla of progress.
Her thoughts end when Jody scolds herself for the jealousy and regret she knows she shouldn't be feeling. She has what she's always wanted; there's no cause for such things. She's a principal now, and that has to mean something.
"I want people to see the real me, past my looks." The plea echoes worldwide in every profession there is. But Jody knows she can't mind too much. Past her looks, there isn't much there.