Chapter 1
"Will you be going back to spend the weekend with your mother?" Bianca asked, her voice lilting as they settled into their seats in the sunlit cafeteria of the Royal Academy of Ballet. The faint sound of classical music drifted through the air, blending seamlessly with the chatter of students recovering from their intense morning training. The tables were filled with dancers refueling after the demanding Pointe and Ballet Technique classes.
Bianca's accent still carried a hint of her homeland, a charming remnant of her years away from home. She was perfect at 5'5", her long limbs and elegant posture embodying everything the directors adored.
"I already had to deal with my parents for most of the summer," Jonathan replied with a playful grin, his fork tapping against his plate. "There's only so much of them I can handle." He flicked a piece of his chicken breast toward Isabella, a teasing glint in his eye.
Isabella, glancing at her plate—a carefully arranged salad that seemed almost too pristine—tried to maintain her composure. "Mom has a shoot that she wants me to help with," she said, focusing on the greens rather than her rising anxiety about the carbs.
"Ooh, please tell me you're going to let me tag along! I might meet my soulmate there!" Jonathan exclaimed, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Wanna come, Bia?" Isabella turned to her friend, excitement bubbling in her voice.
Bianca, still chewing thoughtfully, considered the question before responding. "I'd love to, but I can't. I have to compete for the role of Sylphide against this girl in my class. You must know her, Jonathan—the 5'9" radiant girl who is all elegance and beauty, the epitome of the role. She's delicate and ethereal!"
Isabella smiled, "Don't forget the effortlessness the role requires. You're much more technically brilliant than I am, Bia."
"True," Bianca replied confidently, a glimmer of ambition in her eyes. "But you are way more graceful than me. Couldn't it be Nikiya this year?" She groaned, rolling her eyes. "I do the best adagios in this place!"
Jonathan chuckled, trying to console her. Like she hadn't been cast in the main role for the last two years.
"One day, Bia, I'll introduce you to my cousin, Rachel. You two are so much alike—I swear you could be sisters."
Bianca's dark eyes narrowed. "Is she also a ballerina?"
"Easy there, tiger… No, she's not a ballerina, but she sings as beautifully as you dance," Isabella said, raising his hands defensively.
Bianca blinked, a playful smile creeping across her face. "Is she Christina Aguilera?"
Isabella shook her head, laughter bubbling up. "No, not quite! But one day you will know her name!"
As the conversation shifted to the latest trends in fashion, Isabella felt a pang of unease as she glanced at her salad again. It looked healthy, but the thoughts of calories and appearances nagged at her. She had spent the morning pouring her heart into the classes, every leap and plié demanding precision and grace. It felt like a battle—against herself and the pressure to maintain a certain image.
Her own mother had commented how they had get a size up for her shooting. Her old clothes were getting tighter too.
"Isabella? Earth to Isabella!" Jonathan's voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the vibrant discussion around her.
She blinked, forcing a smile. "Sorry! Just daydreaming about… dancing, I guess."
Bianca nudged her playfully. "Daydreaming about Sylphide, I bet. You'll get there, Izzy. Just believe in yourself!"
Isabella felt warmth spread through her at their encouragement, yet her mind lingered on her salad. "Thanks, guys. I really needed that," she said, but inside, a part of her questioned if she should have gone for something more substantial.
As they wrapped up their lunch, the bell rang, signaling the end of their break. Isabella took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease and refocus. She was ready to face the challenges ahead. The role of Sylphide—a playful, flirtatious fairy—called to her, but she knew she needed to show her best, to be perfect.
"I can't fail," she whispered to herself, a fierce determination igniting in her heart.
"Let's go, Sylphide," Bianca said, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. "We've got this!"
With her friends beside her, Isabella felt the flicker of hope grow stronger. She was determined to embrace the dance, to embrace herself. She could already see herself in the stage, the claps, mother's knowing smile, and her father's proud own.
Even Rachel was there, ready to hug her once her performance was over
.
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The atmosphere in the studio was electric as sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a golden glow on the polished wooden floor. Isabella's heart raced with anticipation as she watched the directors take their seats, their sharp eyes scanning the room filled with hopeful dancers. Today was the day she had been waiting for—the audition for the role of Sylphide.
Bianca moved gracefully to the center of the studio, exuding a quiet confidence that captivated everyone in the room. Each movement she made was fluid and precise, as if she were floating rather than dancing. Isabella felt a surge of admiration mixed with anxiety; she wanted to match Bianca's brilliance. She wanted to be better.
"Isabella Berry," the director called, and her heart began to pound as she stepped onto the stage, positioning herself.
"You've practiced day and night. You can do this," she whispered to herself as the music filled the room like a gentle breeze.
It wasn't a lie. Isabella had spent countless hours rehearsing in front of her full-length mirror until her body pleaded for rest. For the past week, she had been eating, sleeping, and breathing ballet. Meals were delivered to her room, but she often forgot to eat, only stopping to sip water or nibble on the fruit her mother would bring.
Knowing she didn't possess the brilliance that Bianca did—her rigorous technique was almost unparalleled for someone so young—Isabella still had something working in her favor: while she strived for the cold grace every worthy ballerina aimed for, she infused her movements with a fluidity, a wildness that fit the role of La Sylphide perfectly.
Pulling away from her small suffering, Isabella transformed into the ballerina. She let the music consume her, ignoring the cramps and minor aches, allowing her movements to flow with passion and precision. As the music played on, her breathing matched the rhythm, an extension of the melody itself.
"Excellent, Isabella!" the director called out, and she almost cried out of joy. "Jonathan, why don't you step in to partner with her?"
Isabella's heart soared as her friend stepped forward, offering a warm, reassuring smile. Jonathan would, unsurprisingly, be the lead. Out of the thirteen girls auditioning, only Bianca had been invited to dance with him—until now.
"Let's shine on," Jonathan said, taking his place beside her. His presence renewed her energy, dispelling the weight of expectations pressing down on her. She knew they were destined for perfection. Isabella had watched countless recordings of their performances together; they were an electric and graceful pairing. Yet lingering doubt clouded her mind, the memory of Bianca's cold perfection beside Jonathan still etched in her thoughts.
As the music picked up its tempo, Isabella straightened her pose, her body buzzing with anticipation. They began with a series of grand jetés, their bodies soaring through the air like birds in flight. The rhythm swelled, propelling them into a series of intricate turns, their feet barely grazing the ground as they transitioned effortlessly from one movement to the next.
Isabella executed a complex sequence—a series of fouetté turns followed by an impressive développé that showcased her strength and flexibility. She felt invincible, a whirlwind of passion and artistry.
But as the tempo quickened, she attempted a daring leap, a combination of a grand jeté into a series of rapid fouettés. For a brief moment, she was suspended in the air, feeling the thrill of flight. However, just as she landed, the ground seemed to shift beneath her, her foot twisting awkwardly.
In an instant, panic surged through her. She struggled to regain her balance, but her body betrayed her, and she felt herself falling. The world around her blurred into a dizzying swirl of colors and sounds, the music seemed to faded away. Time seemed to slow. A sickening thud echoed – into her brain - in the silence of the studio, and the world around her blurred into darkness.
.
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Rachel had just finished her music lesson when she spotted her father, Leroy, at the reception area. The sight surprised her; she had thought he was at work.
"Dad!" Rachel exclaimed, running to hug him. She noticed he felt tense, his body rigid in her embrace.
"Hello, my little star," he replied, his voice heavy and unlike his usual cheerful tone. "There's something I need to tell you."
"What?" she asked, looking up into his sad eyes, her heart beginning to race. "What's wrong?"
"I got a call from your Uncle Bruce," he said, swallowing hard, as if the words were difficult to release.
Rachel nodded. Calls from Uncle Bruce were rare, and they usually left her father more annoyed and angry than sad or anxious.
"Your cousin," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "had a very bad fall during an audition."
"How bad?" Rachel's stomach twisted at the thought. She hadn't seen Isabella for a year, but they wrote to each other so often that it felt as if Isabella spoke to her daily.
A wave of jealousy washed over her; Isabella was a year older, more beautiful, and living her dream at the Royal Academy in London. Meanwhile, Rachel felt stuck in Lima, Ohio. Yet, Isabella was also her biggest supporter, which made it hard not to admire her. Besides, Rachel often reminded herself, Isabella could barely hold a note when they sang together. Her talent was ballet.
"They took her to the ER—whatever the London version of it is," her father continued, his gaze distant. "Bruce doesn't know much yet, only that it's bad. Very bad, Rachel. She broke at least her right leg."
"They took her to the ER—whatever the London version of it is," her father continued, his gaze distant. "Bruce doesn't know much yet, only that it's bad. Very bad, Rachel. She broke at least her right leg."
"Broke?" The word hung in the air, heavy and ominous. A broken leg could heal, surely… but not for a professional dancer. "Can Isabella get better? Will she be able to dance again?"
Her father's face told her everything she feared. "It's still too soon to assess all her injuries. But no, Rach. Bruce thinks it was bad enough that her dance career might be over."
Rachel felt her heart sink. The thought of her cousin, so full of life and ambition, possibly unable to dance again was a bitter pill to swallow. Memories of Isabella's infectious laughter and passionate performances flooded her mind. Isabella shone to bright in ballet lessons, and Rachel couldn't shake the deep sense of loss.
"Dad, we have to be there for her," Rachel said, her voice trembling. "She needs us."
Leroy nodded, but the worry etched on his face spoke volumes. "We will, honey. Your uncle is getting us the plane tickets."
Rachel felt her lips quiver. "Isabella promised she would try to get me a ticket to London before school started."
Her father squeezed her shoulder, the tension in his body easing slightly. "I know, Rachel."
"And we were going to see a show in the West End," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.
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Author's Note:
Hello everyone. Thank you so much for reading this story that marks my 8 years return to Fanfiction and Glee. I hope you have liked it. This will one of the three (for now) Glee stories.
As for reviews, they are always welcome, as are PM. I will reply to both.