Step1. Setting the stage.
Stretch – flex. Repeat the same moves. Always.
Sitting on the hardwood floor of the rehearsal room, the dancer had started repeating the familiar moves, warming her muscles and joints. First, the ankles, rotating them with her hand, slowly turning the right one, twelve rounds clockwise, followed by twelve rounds counterclockwise, before paying the same attention to the left one.
Stretch – flex. Flexing the joint until it hurt, again and again.
She finally rose, straightening her over-sized grey sweatpants before adjusting the ribbons of her pointe shoes, making sure they are double-knotted. She had learned her lesson years ago, and didn't want them to get away in the middle of the show, thank you very much. She continued her routine, stretching her arms over her head, and banding at the waist to warm the muscles of her back.
She felt at ease in this secluded place, far away from the noise of the locker rooms where the other dancers of the corps de ballet are preparing for the day's long hours of repetition.
Here, in the silence, with only half the lamps turned on, she could really focus on what was to come.
Methodically, she started her routine again, plié, position of the arms, warming her muscles, bending to graciously touch the tip of her satin shoe, focusing on the moves. She rose slowly, stretching the upper part of her body, slightly gripping the barre in front of her, and concentrated before letting her legs do their battements.
The wooden doors opened as she was throwing her leg back, the sound of the squeaky hinge surprising her enough to cause her to nearly lose her balance. She gripped the barre in front of her tighter, slowly turning to look at the intruder.
"Well, look who's there! Sweetheart! Warming up, are we? Mind if we come in, it's not like we have to rehearse, you know." The man with the dirty blond hairsaid as he walked towards the piano located on his right.
"I already told you not to call me Sweetheart, Haymitch."
In a swift movement that was not to be expected, the man turned to face the young woman at the barre. "It is Mr. Abernathy to you. And I'll call you Sweetheart as long as I'm your teacher. Deal with it or feel free to leave the room. Sweetheart."
"What are you doing here?" she asked, before adding with a smirk."Sir".
"Looking for you, obviously. Effie's asking for everybody to gather up in the theater. Guess you should go."
Nodding absently, Katniss put her large sweatshirt on, before grabbing her bottle of water and heading out of the room, zipping her bag and throwing it up upon her shoulder.
The Theater. She always felt the same rush of emotions whenever she came inside the place. She could remember the first time she came here, when her parents had brought her to a viewing of some of the most famous ballets, in a show made for the kids. The little girl had worn her brand new red dress, her mom had plaid her hair in two braids, and wearing her brightest shoes, she had entered the Opera House. The ornamented front of the old building, complete with statutes of the Muses along the top, and the high colonna supporting the roof had given her the impression of entering some princess' castle. Inside, in the quiet hush of a place usually reserved to the adults, Katniss had admired the paintings all around the large lobby, of dancers and ballerinas in various sparkling costumes. Her mother had pointed her towards the imposing marble staircase, with the statue of a woman dancing just where the steps forked in two. She could remember even now, that she stared at the statue for a long time, lost in the smile on her face as she twirled her long robe around her. The little girl learned several years later that it was Terpsichore, the muse of Ballet, and always found it funny that her desire for dance came straight from an inspirational sort of deity.
And now, as she entered the large theater to take a place on the red-velvet seat to listen to Effie, she felt just like her old five-year old self walking inside for the first time. Swivels of gold and red were everywhere, catching the light of the only spot on the scene, the magic of the place was still making the little girl hidden so deep inside Katniss Everdeen looking at them with awe.
"Hello, Hello so glad to see so many of you lovely people here today." Effie was looking at the small crowd of people gathered in the ranks of the theater, randomly seated on the velvet seats. "As you all know very well, we had the pleasure of welcoming our new Director of Dance a few months ago, and he has finalized the program for the next season. Please give a warm welcome to Plutarch Heavensbee!"
I still wonder how he could have once been an etoile, thought Katniss looking at the plump new Director of Dance coming onto stage. But as always, she noticed a thing, the small movement the tips of his feet made before hitting the floor, the oh-so recognizable outstretched feet dancers had, or the way his arm would move, with a grace perfected by years of practice.
"So lovely to be here. Let me tell you, with Effie here, we will put an amazing program for the next season. Effie, would you, please?"
The woman turned towards the giant screen that had appeared from the top of the red curtains, and started fiddling unsuccessfully with the remote control she held as nothing appeared. She quickly made her way backstage – certainly to check with a technician – leaving Plutarch alone on the scene.
"Well, one thing we can be sure of about technology, it's that it never works! So, let me rather tell you what we will be performing this season. Some of the classics – Coppelia, Giselle, Romeo and Juliet among others- and a bit of novelty. We'll add The Song of Earth, and The Firebird, in its new version to our repertoire. And at the end of the season, for our last show, we will be performing one of the public's favorite, The Nutcracker, with the full ballet. And the orchestra. You will be emailed the full list by Effie." A round of polite applause saluted Plutarch's announcement. But he wasn't finished yet. "And this year, we'll do auditions for each and every ballet."
The wave of applause covered that covered Plutarch's last words, was nothing like the former. The previous director of Dance was known to only giving the best roles to his favorite dancers, never taking their talent into account, but rather their family's bank account. His behavior lead to a decrease of the ballet's reputation, with the nomination of principal dancers who in a lot of people's opinion, didn't deserve it. At all.
"Thank you, everybody. I also want to add, as you can see, some of the principal dancers are not here anymore. They decided to, ahem, give their careers a new turn, meaning we'll have some seats to fill." Another round of applause, complete with whistles carried out the approbation of the crowd of dancers gathered in the theater. "The new principals will be announced at the end of the Nutcracker. With Glimmer, Clove, Cato and Marvel gone, there will be four new principals at the end of the season. And this time, the title will go to the ones who deserve it."
The applauses, whistles and shouts echoed in the theater for a long time.
A piercing sound came out of the speakers, followed by Effie's return on the scene, wearing a microphone headset carefully installed in her too golden hair.
"Here I am! So sorry for the delay, but Tim told me where to plug in the thing, and to ease it in slowly. It should work now!"
All smiles, she clicked on her remote and the white screen took life, dispatching a beautiful landscape. The sunset was a rich orange, complete with touches of red and pink, offering the dark waves of the sea a stark contrast with the white boat sails floating near the coast. But it was the main part of the pictures that had people cat call and applauding. The whole room was full of noise and cackling, with "Go Effie!" being shouted.
"Who knew there was such a body underneath her strict dresses?" Katniss started at the sound of Haymitch's words in her ears, as she, with all the people in the theater could see the display the Excutive assistant's body in a white bikini, soaking in the evening sun on the screen.
Finally realizing that something was off, or rather that the crowd showed way too much enthusiasm for a rather simple PowerPoint, Effie turned towards the screen. Nobody would have believed such a small body as hers could produce such a squeal.
Blushing by the second, she started pressing buttons on the remote, to show the delighted theater more shots of her holidays, presumably on a Greek island, until she decided to simply unplug the computer from the cable linking it to the screen.
"Well, that was … unexpected, to say the least." Plutarch spoke in his mike, trying to take the attention off of Effie, who was retreating in shame backstage, holding the computer to her heart.
"We'll start the auditions for the first piece – Manon – in a week. Effie" he motioned with his hand to the place the woman had disappeared "will send you an email with the schedules for the auditions. Please answer in the delays if you're interested in one of the parts. Men will try out on the Lescaut Drunken Dance and women on the Act2 party variation. Grab your shoes, children. And may the odds be ever in your favor, always."
Katniss could feel her heart beating a little faster than usual. Open auditions. Nominations as principal dancers. The Nutcracker. All this in a season. Maybe it was finally the year she'd been waiting for, the year she would see her deepest dream come true. The year she would reach the highest rank in the ballet. The year …
"Hold your horses, sweetheart. It's not going to happen."
Haymitch's voice once again cut her off of her thoughts, startling her out of her reverie.
"How would you know what I'm thinking of?" she snapped, quickly adding, "Sir?"
"Because you're an open book, sweetheart. You're thinking about adding your name to the list of principals, which is not going to happen."
"Why wouldn't it happen? My technique has always been better than Glimmer's and she became one."
"Plutarch actually knows that it takes more than a bank account to make a dancer. And yes, your technique is better than Miller's Every first dancer's technique is better than hers! But you lack something to become a principal. You lack the most important thing, actually." With a last look, the teacher got up from his seat, ready to leave to join the other dancers gathering on the scene, when Katniss' hand on his arm stopped him.
"And what would that be? Sir?" Her trademark scowl, only accentuated the snarky comment.
Haymitch looked around him, taking in the dancers that were now in groups, excitingly chatting about the announcements that had just been made, before turning back and leaning into Katniss, whispering.
"You lack feeling. You're like one of these impregnable towers. You show nothing but technique. That's not what a dancer is. That's what a technician is. If you want to become a principal, you'll have to let your emotions out, sweetheart. If you have any."
Hurt. That's how Katniss felt at Haymitch's words. She had feelings, she had just buried them very deep inside. Because feelings hurt. So damned much. And anyway, dance was all about technique, all about precision, the movement of an arm, of a head, the extension of a leg, the flexibility of the body. Not about joy. Or sadness.
While performing, she always wore the expression her character needed, a sad face, a smile, or whatever the choreographer had decided. She could do this. She would become a principal before the last show of the season.
"Katniss? Where were you?" She was taken from her thoughts by the hand a young woman with long blond hair had put on her arm.
"Sorry Madge, I was distracted." Now that she was out of her reverie, she started looking around for the dirty blond hair of her professor. He couldn't have disappeared so easily…
"The program is so good this year! Can't wait to know who they pick for Manon. We already have tons of ideas, you know!"
"I'm sure, Madge, I'm sure…" Katniss answered distantly, not paying much attention to her friend's babbling. She knew she would hear about it time and time again.
"I wanted to ask you something, Kat?" God did she hate that nickname, but Madge couldn't seem to get rid of it. And Where was Abernathy? That looks like him, above there? But no, it wasn't not him.
"Whatever, Madge, unless it involves an LBD and heels."
"Har, har, you're hilarious. You see, I have tickets for this show and as Derek isn't that thrilled to come…." The rest of Madge's words got lost behind Katniss as she finally spotted her teacher. She turned to her friend, and nodded before walking towards Haymitch as fast as she could on her pointe shoes, in the middle of a crowd.
She caught up with him on the platform of the marble stairs, just under the statue she had admired so much with her mother, so many years ago.
"Haymitch!"
She heard the sigh as he turned his head, his dirty blond hair falling against his back.
"Of course. She wants explanations."
"The hell I want explanations! Who do you think I am? A selfish bitch ? You know nothing about me, Haymitch! Not a single thing!"
The last sounds of her shout echoed in the empty lobby of the Opera, lingering away until the silence fell on both of them.
Sighing heavily, Haymitch closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts.
"I know more about you than you think. You worked your ass off to enter the most elite ballet of all the country, and you'll only stop when you reach your goal to become principal. Because there is something that makes you go forward. What it is? Boyfriend? Doubtful, you spend your days here. Parents? No, you're too sad for that. Brother? Sister? Yeah, that's it. What's the deal with your sister, Everdeen?"
"Not your business," she answered, grabbing the banister so hard her knuckles were white.
"Dang! Wrong answer!" Haymitch started to climb the stairs bringing him much closer to where Katniss was standing still holding onto the railing for dear life. "That's where you're entirely wrong, Katniss. If you want to be the best dancer on this damn stage, if you want to keep your promise, you have to open up. Dancing is not only technique, or where to put your pointe. Or how well you pivot. Dancing is sharing a part of yourself with the people sitting in the theater – and with your partners. You have to be willing to give yourself over." Haymitch was now mere inches from Katniss. He took her chin in his hand. "Pina Bausch once said: "Everything must come from the heart, must be lived." Are you ready to start living, Katniss?" And without another word, he turned and left.
