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Chapter 6

Christine asked her father if he would be finding her a new governess.

He said no.

Instead, he said, she was old enough to attend school. Ballet school, to be exact, at the Conservatoire de Paris. There was a certain expectation that, since Gustave was in the performing arts, Christine might be as well. And with her lithe physique and pretty face, a good dancer she'd likely make.

However, to Christine, it was absolutely panic-inducing. She'd never been to school - and she'd only just made a friend! What if Erik lost interest in her because she was away so much? And what if she didn't make any friends at the Conservatoire? What if she was a terrible dancer and disappointed her father?

While they sat reading side by side just after supper, still a couple hours until Gustave came home, she expressed just these worries to Erik. Candidly.

He regarded her with extreme warmth mixed with mild confusion. "You're concerned that I won't want to be your friend anymore?"

She nodded, eyes cast down.

"That won't happen, Christine. You could be gone a hundred days straight and I'd still want to be your friend. You've been kinder to me than anyone ever has - excepting your father, of course. You should put any fear of my losing affection for you out of your mind. It will never happen."

She smiled, and again nodded. She did feel better.

"And as for your ability to find more friends, or dance, you shall be absolutely splendid. You will be the most popular girl there, and will be a star ballerina, I am sure of it. In fact, I've never been surer of anything."

And he sounded so confident, his words and gaze on her so sweet, that she barely thought about her actions as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek - the side not covered by the mask.

He froze.

When she pulled away, his eyes were wide and brimming with bright astonishment. He looked dazed, like he'd been hit over the head by an angel. "You kissed me," he breathed.

"I did." She stared at him. "Was it unwelcome? I'm terribly sorry. I won't do it again."

"No. That's not-" He searched for words, but seemed unable to think at all. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Because you were being so lovely."

His lips opened into a small O, like he wanted to speak but couldn't.

"I do apologize Erik, if-"

"Is it..." he said softly, "commonplace to kiss someone if they are kind to you?"

"If that person is a friend or family, I think so. That's what I understand, at least."

"You've been kind to me," he pointed out.

"Yes."

A pause. His throat worked, then he asked, "Then...may I kiss you?"

"Oh," she said, and nodded.

But he only stared at her, eyes widening again.

"What's wrong?"

"I've never kissed anyone before. I'm scared I will do it wrong."

Her mind came up blank at his words. "Never?"

"Never. And before now, I've never been kissed."

"Not even by your mother?"

"Especially not by her." There was no bitterness in his voice, just deep sadness. "I even asked one time, but she refused."

"Oh," she said again. Her stomach dropped and lit aflame at once. She bit against the torrent of emotion, then asked, "Well, then would you like another kiss? To see how it's done?"

He sucked in a breath and nodded.

"Well, you pucker your lips, and when they touch the other person's cheek, you sort of..." Christine kissed the air. "Suck in a bit. It's easy." She leaned in and gave him another slow kiss. His eyes fluttered closed like black butterfly wings. "Like that," she said. "See? Now you try."

She stuck out her cheek and leaned to the side, waiting. After several seconds, she felt a warm kiss on her cheek. He lingered, then gradually pulled away. When she looked at him with a smile, he had an expression of pure affection on his face. At this, she could do nothing but reach for his hand and grip it tight.

"I am glad we are friends, Erik. I am glad my first friend is someone as lovely as you."

"Lovely." He repeated the word in a whisper.

"Yes. You are lovely."

"I'm not." Erik stared down at her hand as it gripped his. "You've not yet seen my face."

"You're lovely regardless."

He shook his head. "Not nearly as lovely as you. No one could ever be lovelier than you."

"See?" She beamed. "That comment alone proves what a sweet soul you have. We will be friends forever. I just know it."

His eyes met hers, and he searched them with desperation. "Do you mean that?"

"I do."

Christine's first day at the Conservatoire was a frightening one. She kept to herself - since she was the newest student there, everyone else had apparently already made friends, and chatted with one another. For all they cared, Christine could have faded into the flowers of the wallpaper.

One girl, however, did take notice. A very petite blonde girl named Meg. Christine knew of her mother - Madame Giry. The ballet instructor at the Paris Opera. Her father had mentioned her more than once, and always with reverence for her expertise and ability to command a room of young women.

"Hello!" said Meg, holding out a hand. "You are Christine Daaé."

It was said as a fact, not a question. Christine took her hand. "Yes. I am."

"Nice to meet you." The other girl smiled widely. "My mother said you would be coming. Come. Let me introduce you to some of my friends. You have very pretty hair, Christine."

Christine relaxed. She allowed Meg to lead her toward another small group of girls. "Thank you. I like your eyes."

"Brown." She made a face. "Thank you, but they're boring."

"No. I quite like brown, actually." A masked face crossed her mind's eye. "I think brown is my favorite eye color."