POV Akhyra

Our first meeting for rehearsals begins at eight in the morning, but I order Valentino to drop me off at the studio at 6:45 to make sure I'd be the first to arrive. The maintenance crew are the only people present when I make my way up the stairs leading to the dressing rooms. They don't seem surprised to see me, I suppose that dancers showing up here ahead of time isn't a novelty to them.

I'm blissfully alone when I get changed. I put on the required rehearsal garments: ballet pink tights under a black leotard. Once my pointe shoes are well tied up around my ankles, I check my phone for the practice room number, then leave with my duffel bag hanging on my shoulder. I could've left it back there, but after practice, the place will be crawling with sweaty, chatty dancers. An unpleasant gathering I'd rather avoid.

The door of practice room 24B is already opened. There's a janitor inside mopping the floor who signals for me to wait before coming in. I sit on my bag in the hallway and decide to check my messages meanwhile.

My team has left two new texts on our group chat. 

Valentino: Not the main character but still the ONLY STAR.

Hannah:✨️🫶World's greatest dancer. Show them how it's done!

I can't help smiling at their goofiness as I type a quick answer. They really are the best team that I could've hired. It turns out that Valentino never sent that email to Madame Laroche, despite the fact that I had threatened to fire him. He knew that I'd eventually come back on my decision.

 A message from Maëlla pops up in my notifications, and I click on it right away. It's the beginning of a dad joke. She's been sending me these constantly in the hope that I will finally find one of them funny.

Maëlla: Why did the ballet dancer go to school early?

Me: Why?

Maëlla: Because she wanted to get a leg up on the day!😉

Me: Okay... that wasn't half bad.

Maëlla: Go kill it today!!!🩰✨️

I thank her before opening the conversation that I've restrained myself from checking since this morning. There's still no new messages from Lucian. Our last conversation was on Wednesday, when he texted me after landing in New York, and I wished him good luck with training because I knew my dad was going to wear him out. That was five days ago. He's gone radio silent ever since.I debated many times over texting Lucian to let him know that I'm also in the U.S. 

Because Madame Laroche is part of the production of Enchanted Shadows I'd assumed we'd be rehearsing in France, but her friend the co-producer is an American ballet choreographer hence why the show is being produced here. 

I try not to dwell on the tiny sting of disappointment clawing its way into my chest. If Lucian wanted to check on me, he would've reached out. There's no need for me to let him know I'm here since apparently he's way too busy to pick up his phone for two seconds. It's not that big of a deal anyway, it's not like we're best friends or something. 

When the janitor comes out, I look at the nametag on his gray uniform before greeting him as I stand up. He thanks me for being patient and wishes me to have a good practice session. He's a sweet old man who radiates Morgan Freeman energy.

Even strangers are wishing me good luck today, and yet Lucian couldn't even bother sending a quick text? I get that he's training hard for the semi-finals of the Gold Cup, but I'm sure Maëlla told him that today is my first day of rehearsals for Enchanted Shadows. Men... ugh!

I place my bag near the sound equipment and pick a spot in the left corner of the room, at the back to roll down my mat, and begin my stretches.

Just as I feared, there's no window here. But at least the black Marley floor is divided into four rows made of yellow vinyl tapes to create designated areas for the dancers. This will allow for some minimal distance between us. From my days at the academy, barre exercises were the most difficult for me, but I still managed to get through them by placing myself at the far end of the line.

I begin to do some regular stretches to loosen up my muscles, and by the time seven thirty rolls, other dancers begin to arrive. They don't acknowledge my presence when they come in and continue to converse among them. It looks like most of them are already acquainted with one another, which works in my favor. I won't be forced to socialize and try to mingle if they already have their own squad. 

When Brittany Anderson arrives, I hear her long before she walks inside the room, surrounded by a group of girls who are hanging onto every word coming out of her mouth as if it's their oxygen. She hasn't changed much from our years at the academy. Her auburn hair is styled in her signature French braid into bun. Her legs clad in ballet tights seem even longer now than in my memory. This has always been her forte, adding a touch of grace to the fluidity of her movements. It's not a surprise that they ended up calling her the Swedish Swan.

Brittany and her groupies position themselves at the barre on the right side of the room to begin their own stretching exercises, while she continues to regale them with an anecdote about how she was invited last December to perform at the wedding of the richest family of Germany.

"How do you even get invited to such an exclusive wedding?" One of the girls asks with obvious envy in her tone.

"I've mastered the basics," Brittany answers pompously. "Jaw dropping talents, powerful connections, and most importantly, I don't have any anger issues that cause me to push little kids on the ground."

Her last remark, clearly directed at me, makes her groupies laugh.

"Who let this raging lunatic in here?" One of the girls mock-whispers.

Another harpie snickers before asking, "Do we even have security in here in case she goes bat shit crazy again?"

They all cackle like a group of hysterical hyenas. The other dancers scattered around the room look between Brittany and me as if waiting for a confrontation to happen. 

When the Regina George wannabe realizes that I'm not going to give her the satisfaction of engaging in a verbal battle with her group of Mean Girls, she steps away from the barre and head over my direction. The entire room falls silent. You could hear a hair pin drop.

I have to fight the urge to instinctively recoil when Brittany stops barely four feet away from me, with her arms crossed.

"What's a so-called prima ballerina like you doing in a minor production? Are you starting charity work now that your career is over?"

"At least I can afford to actually do charity work," I answer without bothering to look at her. I focus on bending my upper body to reach my toes. "Even if my career is over, I'm set for life. Wouldn't say the same for you, though. And by the way, the Von Habsburg family hosted the wedding of their daughter on a private island. It was the engagement ceremony that was held in their German residence. If you're going to lie, at least fact-check yourself first because now you just look pathetic."

Audible gasps resonate throughout the room, followed by a chorus of whispers. When I rise up from the ground, it is the most satisfying thing to watch Brittany go through the five stages of grief right in front of me while she's glitching to try to come up with a clapback. Before she's able to recover her ability to speak, Madame Laroche walks in, and the tension in the room diffuses immediately.

***

After rehearsals, I go to the women's bathroom to get changed inside a stall. Once I'm done, I take a moment to freshen up at the sink. A dancer from the Enchanted Shadows cast comes out of one of the stalls and stops by a sink to wash up her hands. She's one of the few girls who didn't side with Brittany earlier.

When our eyes meet in the mirror, she offers a timid smile. "It was really badass the way you shut up Brittany. I don't understand why she would choose to attack you like that."

"We have a bit of history together from the years we spent at the same dance academy."

"She's obviously jealous of you because you're the best."

"Thank you..." I trail off, realizing that I don't know her name. 

"I'm Simone, a fellow Haitian ballerina."

"You're Haitian?" I ask pleasantly surprised.

"Haitian American, to be exact. My parents immigrated in their youth. I was born here."

We get out of the bathroom together, and Simone tells me about how she got into ballet. It takes a moment for me to realize that I'm walking by her side instead of letting her take the lead. I don't even get the urge to slow down my steps to let her walk ahead of me instead.

"You're going to find this weird, but my mother is obsessed with you," Simone says with a giggle. "Last year, she got us tickets for two of your U.S. shows in the hope that we could meet you, but at the time, you didn't organize any meet and greet."

"I'm sorry about that."

"You don't have to apologize. I get to perform with you, which is even better. My mother literally screamed when I showed her that your name featured in the casting list for Enchanted Shadows."

Simone continues to chat with animation, and I let her carry the conversation. She tells me jokingly that she believes her mother got her into ballet to have her own Akhyra Morel at home. 

As we exit the building, she gets interrupted by a phone call that seems to be urgent. 

"Everything alright?" I ask when she hangs up.

"I'm running late for a singing gig with my band. They are going to chew me out."

"You're a ballerina, and you find the time to sing in a band? That's impressive."

"Don't tell my mother," Simone jokes. "She'd disown me."

My car is already parked nearby waiting for me, so I offer Simone a ride who gladly accepts the offer.

When we both get in the backseat, I catch Valentino's shocked expression in the rearview mirror. He's worked for me almost two years, and no one has ever sat in the backseat of a car with me. There's a first time for everything I guess.

It turns out that the place where Simone and her band are supposed to perform is a Haitian owned pub named Caonabo, after a Taíno chief who resisted the Spanish colonization when Christopher Columbus arrived in our land with his float.

"Do you want to come in?" Simone asks when Valentino slows down to drop her off. I try to come up with an excuse when she adds in a pleading voice, "Just for a little moment, please?"

Valentino meets my stare. He knows what I'm thinking and asks, "Can we get a table that's a bit far from the crowd?"

"I can arrange that with the manager," Simone answers.

"Only five minutes then," I concede.

Two songs later, Simone and her band have shaken the house down with their fiery performance. As they get off stage, they receive a standing ovation, and a few minutes later, Simone brings her friends over to say hello to Valentino and I. She introduces her bandmates as Judith and Caleb then proceeds to tell them that I'm one of the most famous ballerinas in the world. 

"Your locs are on fire," Judith compliments.

"Thank you, your tattoos are dope as well," I reply as my eyes fall on the red ink covering her neck. It appears to be the head of a dragon wrapped around her throat.

Caleb flashes me a flirtatious grin while asking, "Are you single? I probably don't stand a chance either way, but you know what they say about faith and moving mountains."

Thankfully, Simone intervenes, so I don't have to respond to this lame pick-up line.

"Okay, Casanova, take a chill pill."

I was supposed to stay for only five minutes, but I've never spent much time in the company of other Haitians before. I take this opportunity to grab a drink with Simone and her friends.

Time flies by as we exchange stories, and what was supposed to be just a drink turns into us ordering more alcohol and food. At some point, the lead singer of the current band who's playing on stage announces that it's time for a Diving Duet, which makes the pub erupt in cheers of approval. 

"What's that?" I ask.

"It's a little tradition where they randomly choose someone from the crowd to perform a song with them," Simone explains.

The singer gets off the stage with another mic and walks between the tables, scanning the audience. He jokes with the customers as he walks past, which creates a light-hearted ambiance.

"I see we have some new faces tonight," he says when he comes near our table. "Hello, Beauté Créole," he drawls in a suave tone. "Do you want to do us the honor?"

He hands me the second microphone with an expectant smile. I can sense the gaze of the crowd on me as I hesitate to take it from him. Out of nowhere, I can hear Lucian whisper in my mind, "One kick at a time". Before I talk myself out of it, I grab the microphone under the applause and whistles of the customers.

"Can you please tell us your name and who invited you here?"

"Hi everybody, my name is Akhyra. My friend Simone brought me here tonight and I'm spending a great time in your company."

"We're also happy to have you in the house! Isn't that right fam?" The crowd yells its approval before he continues speaking. "What are you going to sing for us? There's only one rule: Haitian artists only. Our band will accompany you."

"Do y'all know, Two Wrongs by Wyclef Jean featuring Claudette Ortiz?"

The whole place cracks up, including the lead singer. "Please, do not insult us, dear Akhyra." He turns around to walk back to the stage. "Boys, you've heard the lady, hit those notes."

The lead singer starts to sing Wyclef's part, and I wait patiently for my turn. I begin quite timidly at first, but when I see the encouraging nod of Simone, and the thumbs up from Judith and Caleb I get more empowered. After all, this is about enjoying the moment, not about giving a performance worthy of the Grammy awards.

When the crowd begins to cheer, I become bold enough to stand up and walk in between the tables to make my way toward the stage. With every step that I take something that has been sleeping inside of me awakens. The shadows of the past crawl back into the darkness as I finally dare to step into the spotlight.