Chapter Eight: At the Ballet
NOW
Santana didn't even realize she was gripping her phone so tightly until Rachel places a hand on her arm. They are backstage at the NYADA main auditorium, and it's ten minutes until the show. Santana has been all-glammed up: her hair has been braided neatly, her face dotted with make-up, her body covered in a stunning light purple ballet outfit. On her feet are a pair of pink ballet shoes. Santana looks in the mirror and finds herself staring at a foreign princess, a stranger from a beautiful dream. This isn't me, she tells herself frantically. This isn't me…
"Santana, relax," the brunette says. "You're going to be amazing, trust me. I know how good you are, and you look beautiful, and –"
"It's not that, Berry," Santana snaps at the shorter girl. "I'm not nervous about the show. I know I'm going to be amazing."
"Well… then what are you so nervous about?" Rachel inquires curiously. It's not usual for her to see her Latina friend like this; she's not one to get the jitters about anything. She's practically the most fearless person Rachel has ever known.
Santana looks down at her blank phone with a hollow expression. "It's my abuelita," she says softly. "I don't know if she's coming or not. Her plane should have landed two hours ago, but I haven't heard anything from her…"
Suddenly, at Santana's surprise, Rachel wraps her arms around her and gives the dark-haired girl a tight hug.
"I'm sorry about your abuelita," Rachel says in her ear. "I'm sure that she will come. She loves you, and she's proud of you. She won't miss your debut for the world. But," the girl pulls back so she can stare at Santana in the eye. "If she doesn't come, you're still going to be amazing." She clasps Santana's hands in hers. "You're the most talented performer I've ever known, Santana. Well, second most talented, after me, obviously, but… you're going to be all right."
Santana takes in the brown-haired girl's features with curiosity. Her dark brown eyes, her chestnut-colored hair, her nose that, Santana thinks, is still too big for her face, her petite body… Rachel and she are two worlds apart, and even though she hates the Barbra Streisand-wannabe with all her guts, she has to admit that Rachel has made into her list of people she doesn't want to live without.
A thin, grateful smile appears on Santana's lips. "Thank you, Rachel," she says quietly. She pulls her hands away then, and walks off towards the exit of the stage. "Now piss off, I don't want to catch your ugly 101 disease."
Rachel lets out a chuckle. "Kurt, Adam and I will be watching on the fifth row." She informs her. "Break a leg! Theoretically, not literally. Keep that in mind."
The first thing she notices are the lights: they are too bright. She narrows her eyes, blinking away spots. The piercing heat from the blaring lights comes next, which is quickly overthrown by the cool whisper of the air conditioners in the auditorium on her skin. The floor smells faintly of pine, and she can see a blurred reflection of herself on the dark linoleum floor.
The air is buzzing with ecstasy; she can feel the anticipation suspended in midair all around her. She can barely make out faces in the sea of crowd: a couple of her friends from NYADA, a blond-haired Miss Cassandra July, a tan-skinned Brody Weston, serious-faced Madam Tibido… and the hippie twins, of course. Rachel and Kurt, accompanied by a grinning Adam, sitting next to and holding hands with Kurt. Kurt, Santana notices, looks like a rabbit about to be shot to death. Why does he have to look so scared? Santana frowns to herself. He's not the one being put to the test here.
The music booms out of the speakers then, and out of practice, Santana switches her sulky expression to a happy one. She puts on a fake smile, and keeps it there as she begins her routine.
Two of her NYADA extension classmates are on the stage with her; Lulu, a twenty-something Filipino girl with a green outfit, and Brenda, a Chinese girl a year younger than Santana, in a blue outfit. Together the three of them twirl and turn and spin around the stage in perfect harmony, their moves as graceful as a swan's. Pirouettes, batterie, chassé… the three girls complete every move perfectly. The crowd cheers and claps as the spectacle continues.
All throughout her performance, Santana keeps looking for a particular face in the crowd. That beautiful face she can't see enough of. But they are almost at the middle of the routine, and she hasn't seen her. She doesn't even know if she ever came to New York in the first place.
By the time the dance ascends onto the climax, Santana has lost hope. She's not coming, she tells herself bitterly. She's not coming, get a grip on yourself and stop making silly wishes, Santana. Your grandmother hates you. Period. There's nothing left to discuss. Why would she fly all the way to New York to watch a granddaughter she hates?
Santana tries with all her might to hold back the stinging tears at the back of her eyes. She can't cry now, not in front of these eager audiences. The dance will be over in a few more minutes; she can cry all she wants then.
She closes her eyes as the three of them ready themselves for a 360 degree spin. Santana spreads her arms wide into the air and wills her body to spin around, the wind brushing her skin, her braids whipping her face and neck. At the ballet, she is free, she is whoever she wants to be, she is beautiful, and she is happy…
She opens her eyes and catches her breath.
She isn't sure at first; she might have just imagined it. But after a second, third, fourth look, Santana is sure that she is not simply seeing things.
In the crowd, in the sea of strangers shadowed by the darkness of the auditorium, lies the face of her beloved Abuelita Alma.
Santana is so shocked to see her grandmother in the audience that she nearly forgets her routine for a split second. Seeing her in danger of drifting out of focus, Brenda calls out her name in warning, and Santana catches herself before she embarrasses herself in her debut performance.
Throughout the rest of the show, Santana's eyes are trained only at her abuelita. Abuelita Alma notices Santana looking at her and gives her a tiny smile.
Santana's heart bursts with pride and happiness. She's here! Abuelita Alma is here! And she is here to see her dance! What more could she ask for? What more could she want right now? She is here, and that is all that matters to her.
Without her realizing it, the routine has come to an end. The music finishes with a dramatic note, and the three dancers stand still onstage. The room explodes with applause, cheers, and camera flashes.
"We did it," Lulu gasps, her entire body soaking with sweat. "We did it!"
"It was great!" Brenda agrees, grinning at Lulu and Santana. "We rocked the house!"
"Look at all those people clapping for us," Lulu breathes in awe. "Santana, look, your friends are cheering for you. You were unbelievable – they must be so proud of you."
But Santana isn't looking at Rachel, Kurt, and Adam; she isn't looking at Miss July, or even Madam Tibido, who were both giving her looks of approval; she isn't even looking at the hundreds of audiences clapping for her. All she sees is a lone figure in the distance, who is now on her feet, a tearful smile on her face, clapping her hands, and waving at her from her seat. All Santana sees is that wrinkled face, that short-cropped auburn hair, and those gentle, warm eyes. All she sees is her heart. Her love.
Her eyes are trained on Abuelita Alma's alone.
THEN
Santana's first public performance was a disaster.
She was only nine, and she was so nervous she nearly vomited on her teacher's shoes. When the curtain was lifted up and she saw how many people were in the audience, her stomach did a somersault.
She could make out familiar faces in the bustling crowd – her parents, sitting just a few rows away from the front of the stage, her Dad holding a camera and her Mom snapping pictures from her phone; her Auntie, Mari-Anna, who was visiting for the weekend with her five-year-old son, Leo.
But Santana's eyes zeroed on the one person who mattered most – Abuelita Alma, sitting right next to Leo, waving her hand at Santana as she held the younger boy's hand. Santana gave her grandmother a terrified look. Abuelita Alma just nodded her head and stared straight at her, eyes filled with emotions.
Santana understood immediately what her grandmother's look meant – she was scolding her for being afraid. She could almost hear Abuelita Alma's voice in her head – what are you afraid of, silly girl? People are here to watch you, don't make a fool of yourself! Head up, stand straight, and just dance, for bloody sake!
Santana whimpered; her grandmother's stare didn't help. She was still scared.
She was still trembling when the music started. Her heart was still hammering inside her chest as she and her fellow ballerinas started moving to the beat. They spun around the stage, arms raised high in the air. They coordinated one another's movements, all the while never failing to presume an air of grace and dignity.
It was in the middle of the routine – Santana's foot slipped over the stage's edge and, before she knew what was happening, she found herself sprawled on the cold, hard floor.
A few collective gasps were heard from the audience. Juan and Maribel Lopez were on their feet. Santana's face was so red she could have passed for a tomato. She was at a loss for what to do, and she was on the verge of tears. She would have done nothing but stay on the floor if her ballet teacher hadn't snuck her head out of the backstage curtain and ordered for her to get back up.
The rest of the performance went by without any other trouble, thankfully. But when the show finally ended and the ballerinas had disappeared behind the red curtain, Santana broke down and started crying.
Her friends tried to console her, trying to tell her that it wasn't her fault. Her ballet teacher, though still a little furious at her, also told her that no one was blaming her.
But Santana could not stop crying. She was still in tears when her parents, Auntie, cousin, and, finally, abuelita, came to find her backstage.
"Mija, don't you worry," Juan Lopez said, taking her daughter into her muscular arms. "You did great. It was just a tiny slip. You'll be all right."
"A tiny slip?" Abuelita Alma's stiff voice startled everyone. Santana looked up to find her abuelita frowning at her. "She fell and humiliated herself in front of everybody! Where was your head, girl? Didn't you learn the steps right?"
"Mama, she was probably just nervous," Mr. Lopez said with a sigh.
"What did I tell you about being nervous, Santana?"
"Mama, she's only nine."
"That's no excuse! She did a mistake!" Abuelita Alma snapped. "You know what that means, don't you?"
Santana lowered her head, ashamed. "That I should practice more," she whispered.
"Exactly," Abuelita Alma nodded in satisfaction. "You've learned your lesson. Next time, make sure you don't make a fool out of yourself, you silly girl."
That night, as they were going home from dinner, Santana tugged at her abuela's arm. "Abuela," she had said, "are you mad at me?"
Abuelita Alma smiled. "I'm not mad at you, child," she had answered.
"I'm sorry I let you down, abuela," Santana said sadly. "I made a mistake and I made you and Mama and Daddy embarrassed. I'm sorry I couldn't make you proud."
Abuelita Alma lifted her granddaughter's chin up to meet her eyes. "Now, who ever said anything about you not making me proud?" she asked. At Santana's confused expression, Abuelita Alma continued. "You are a very talented dancer, Santana. Just seeing you up there onstage made me proud. Pequeño, you don't have to do anything and I would still have been proud of you. I was just reminding you that you should never make excuses for whatever mistakes you make, and that every time you fall, you have to remember to always get back up. Understand?"
Santana nodded as she absorbed abuelita's words carefully. She promised herself, right then, that she would practice harder, and that the next time she had to perform in front of an audience again, she would not make a mistake. She would be perfect.
Abuelita Alma took Santana's small hand in hers, and together, along with the rest of the Lopez family, they crossed the road.
I promise, Santana told herself that night, I will always make abuelita proud of me. I'll be perfect. Just for abuelita.
I've decided to make this story a ten chapter. So two more chapters until the end of the story, guys. Thanks for the reviews, I'm glad you like this story. :)
