Variation: A Novel

RousseauSisters4: dancers should make their own choices about their bodies, especially their feet.

By the time I walked into the house, the anger that had threatened to burn straight through that glass at Quinn’s studio had lowered to a simmer: still hot enough to burn the shit out of someone but controlled.

I walked up the back steps, then quickly dressed in leggings and a sports bra, throwing on a light wrap sweater before going downstairs and waiting, giving me just enough time to type out a quick email to my contact at NASD—the National Association of Schools of Dance.

“Throw a water bottle near my niece,” I muttered under my breath.

It wasn’t long before Hudson pulled in and walked Juniper up the front steps. She’d put on a zip-up jacket but still appeared to be in her tights and leotard as I opened the door.

“I know you’re mad—” Juniper started.

“Go to the studio.” I gestured to the doors on the right as Anne came in the back door with Sadie.

“Hey, you’re back!” Her tone shifted as her footsteps approached. “What’s going on?” She reached the foyer, then stared into the studio, her eyebrows rising as she saw Juniper. “She’s here?”

“She was taking class with Quinn Hawkins,” I told her, bending to pet Sadie.

“She was taking class?” Anne’s mouth dropped, and she shot an accusing look at Hudson.

“Don’t look at me. I found out this morning.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, and I quickly looked away before I got the slightest bit distracted by staring at him. This was not the time or place.

“What are we going to do?” Anne asked, unhooking Sadie from her leash.

“I’m going to handle it,” I promised.

Anne’s eyes flared for a second, and she opened her mouth, then appeared to think twice about whatever she was going to say. “All right. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

A tiny gust of a sigh blew through my lips. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her to trust my decision, my agency, until she did.

“Feel free to follow,” I said to Hudson as I entered the studio, finding Juniper standing dead center, picking at her jacket nervously. “You lied to me.”

Juniper startled, her gaze flying to Hudson in an obvious plea.

He walked by me and leaned back against the wall across from the third mirror panel, then folded his arms across his chest, staying silent.

“You. Lied,” I repeated.

“I never told you I wasn’t taking class, just that Mom wouldn’t let me.” She wrung her hands.

“A lie by omission is still a lie.” I would know.

“I just thought if I could take class and compete in the Classic, then one of her reasons for not letting me dance would be gone.” She shifted her weight.

“Because the girls who place usually get scholarships,” I guessed.

Juniper nodded. “I wasn’t trying for the elite levels. I’m not delusional. But the beginner and intermediates usually score a tuition discount at Madeline’s.”

Next year, right? She had to mean next year.

She twisted, turning toward Hudson. “I went to Uncle Gavin because I knew you’d say no. Working to change Mom’s opinion was already pushing it, but taking class would never fly.”

“You were right. I would have said no. But this discussion doesn’t involve me.” He pointed my direction.

“How long have you been planning this?”

“Four months.”

She’d thought she was my daughter at the time, not Lina’s, but she’d had more than a DNA test in place for this plan.

“And you went to Quinn because she was out of town?” I guessed.

She nodded. “She had some bad reviews. Fine, a lot of bad reviews, but two of her girls and one boy placed last year in the Classic, and I figured I’d already been learning from YouTube videos—”

“You thought YouTube was a good replacement for a teacher?” I managed to keep my voice calm. There had been more than enough raised voices in this room over the years, and I didn’t need to add to them.

“Don’t get all elitist.” She crossed her arms. “Not everyone has access to professional mothers and private teachers and their own studio. You’re lucky.”

Lucky wasn’t the word that came to mind.

“So instead of heeding your mother’s worries, you went to a poorly rated studio with an emotionally abusive teacher who throws things to get your attention—”

“She only does it when they’re empty, and it’s just—”

“Once or twice a class?” I finished for her. “And always down the line of the mirror during the rehearsal portion, but not when you’re at the barre, right?”

Juniper blinked. “How would you know that?”

“Because she learned it from my mother.” The words escaped, and I immediately wanted to snatch them back and stuff them into the dark places of myself that weren’t up for observation. My fingernails bit into my palms, and I saw Hudson tense from the corner of my eye. “Which is ironic considering my mother wouldn’t approve of the horrific technique she’s teaching.”

“My technique isn’t horrific!” Juniper threw her arms down at her sides.

“Out of the three of us in this room, I’m the only one with the expertise to judge that.” I took carefully measured steps toward her. “And you have no business being en pointe.”

Juniper gasped, drawing her head back at the verbal blow. “I worked really hard, and Miss Quinn said I could if I felt ready. You can’t tell me that I don’t feel ready.”

“I can sure as heck tell you that you have no business in pointe shoes at ten years old.” Heat flushed my cheeks, but I swallowed most of the anger.

She tilted her chin. “There’s no definitive answer within the community about when to start en pointe. And dancers should make their own choices about their bodies, especially their feet.”

“I don’t know who you’re listening to—”

“Eva said it in a Seconds.” She threw her arm out, pointing at the photograph near Hudson.

Of freaking course she did.

“Sure, because she’s the youngest and was always angry Mom made her wait, and she likes to say controversial things for views. Get off Seconds.” I breathed, deep and even, and reminded myself that she was ten, and the indignant anger that puckered her brow and clenched her fists was something I knew all too well. Finger by finger, I uncurled my hands.

A figure moved in the mirror, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Anne hovering silently in the doorway, watching Juniper with a mix of surprise and what looked like awe. This was usually the part of an argument where she’d step in and take charge, but she hung back because I’d told her to. It made all the difference.

“You think you’re ready for pointe? Put your shoes on,” I ordered Juniper, then walked back to Anne. “Am I wrong?” I asked quietly.

“No.” She shook her head, then brushed her curls out of her face. “You’re absolutely right, and I’m loving the assertiveness. She’s a smart one, and I don’t doubt she’s already back there thinking about how to run verbal circles around you.”

“She’s Lina.”

A smile slowly curved Anne’s mouth. “So handle her like you would Lina.”

“Like anyone ever handled Lina.” I scoffed.

She squeezed my arm gently. “Best of luck.”

Lina had constantly argued with my mother. She hadn’t been the stereotypical eldest, somehow that personality type skipped straight to Anne, but she’d definitely been the most outspoken. And she never changed an opinion—even when she was wrong—without cold, hard proof.

Juniper needed data.

She tied the ribbons of her pointe shoes, and I bit my tongue about her particular selection as I made my way back to her. No wonder her feet had looked a little raw at the beach. “You don’t have to stay,” I told Hudson.

“I’m enjoying the show from my favorite seat in the house.” A corner of his mouth lifted.

Naturally, he was standing in the same place where he’d watched me for hours whenever Mom wasn’t around. But the last time he’d stood there I hadn’t known how he tasted, and now I most certainly did. I shut those memories down and focused on Juniper as she rose to stand on flat feet.

“Go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.”

Juniper swallowed, then moved her feet into first position and rolled up onto her toes. “See?” Her ankles wobbled, and she stepped forward to catch her balance. “I’m fine.”

Anne groaned behind me, voicing my exact feelings.

“No teacher worth her salt would ever have allowed you en pointe.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “It’s Quinn’s fault. Not yours.”

“That’s mean!” Her legs started to tremble.

“That’s the truth, and that’s what ballet is, Juniper. A few gorgeous moments built on a foundation of a lot of stinging truths, not just between you and your teachers, but you and your own body. I’m not going to baby you, nor am I going to fill your head with false praises that will ultimately get you hurt.”

She plopped back down to her flat feet with a thud. “Just because you got hurt doesn’t mean I will.”

Ouch. “And here I thought you respected my opinion because I’m one of the best dancers in the world. Or have you found someone with a higher level of expertise from which to get your advice?”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“Arguing with me will not change the fact that you don’t have the strength, the control, or the alignment to be en point. Not to mention you’re wearing the wrong shoes.”

“They’re Blochs, like you wear.” Juniper folded her arms and pursed her mouth.

Okay, that was kind of sweet, but I refused to give into the warmth spreading in my chest. “And here’s your first lesson: just because another dancer likes something doesn’t mean it’s right for you. You’re wearing a narrow box when you have nontapered toes, and that shoe isn’t the right height for the thickness of your foot, which I’ve seen. It could be the right brand, but it’s definitely the wrong model for you. You need to be fitted, Juniper.”

Her eyes lit up. “Will you take me to be fitted?”

“Sure, when I think you’re ready. Take them off.” I moved to the barre and did a few quick stretches since it had been a few hours since my morning workout.

Juniper walked over, and I outright sighed at the condition of her feet.

“Take the position by the first mirror panel,” I instructed when she stood in front of the second.

“Why?” She backed up a few steps to comply. “I thought beginners were supposed to take the middle and leave the ends to the better dancers.”

“True.” I nodded. “But you were standing in Anne’s place. Now you have your mother’s.”

Her eyes brightened, and her chest swelled as she glanced around the space, her gaze skimming over the mirror and the hardwood floor, finally landing on the barre. She took the lower of the two options.

“Still warm from class?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Let’s start. Pliés.” I worked through the basics with her, mirroring my moves to demonstrate while I silently evaluated her strengths and weaknesses.

By the time we were done, she’d stopped arguing and now stood silently, waiting with expectation in her eyes and a slightly raised chin. “You’re phenomenal, but I already knew that.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “You can be, too, if you’re ready to listen.”

She glanced over at Hudson, who still stood against the wall as if he’d been built into the support structure of the house, then nodded at me.

“You’re a beautiful dancer. I watched the entire class, not just barre. And for only having five months of instruction, you’re remarkable, Juniper.”

She smiled wide. “I’m a Rousseau.”

I nodded. “But talent has to be paired with fundamentals, and you haven’t yet developed the ones that make pointe possible. I’m not just talking about the fact that the bones in your feet haven’t developed enough. Please trust me when I say if you continue to do so, you will sprain or break your ankle.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue, which I was going to take as progress.

“You need to work on your foot articulation, need to be able to work each part of your foot, move each toe.” I pointed my right foot, then glided it over the floor in an arc as I swept it in front of me. “There’s a difference between that”—I moved back to first position, then pointed again and jutted my foot forward—“and that. We do the basics over and over for this reason.”

“What else?” Her chin rose another half inch.

“Strength and control. You roll up into relevé, which means you need to strengthen your muscles so you rise in one burst of motion, and then you need to slowly roll your foot down with control, all of which takes time and practice to develop. Your alignment needs work too. Any flaws you have while flat will only be exaggerated en pointe, which leads to imbalance.”

“So everything.” Her hand fell away from the barre. “I suck at everything.”

“No.” I moved closer to her. “I’ve already told you that you’re remarkable. You’ve only been doing this for five months. Give yourself grace, but check your ego. I just told you why you aren’t ready for pointe, not that you suck. You don’t. Ballet is a lifetime of development, of never settling for the skills you have now, knowing that you might be phenomenal, but still striving for that unattainable feeling of perfection.”

“And fun,” she added. “It should be fun.”

“Yes.” In theory. “And I’m sure next year you’ll be ready for the Classic, and you’ll be phenomenal because you will have honed your fundamentals. In slippers. Beginners compete all the time in slippers. Both Eva and I did until we were thirteen.”

“But Miss Quinn signed me up for the Classic this year.”

I somehow kept my face blank. “Did she?” After only five months? What the hell had she been thinking? Juniper would be going up against dancers with years of experience and training. “As one of the exhibition dancers?”

“No, in the beginner category.” Juniper rubbed her finger along the barre.

I glanced up at Anne in a plea for guidance, but she put her hands up, looking as stunned as I felt. “Okay, and how do you feel about that?” I asked Juniper.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought that if I was already en pointe, I’d have a better shot at reaching top twenty.”

At getting hurt, maybe.

“I don’t want to pull out of the competition. What do I do?”

I reached for the lone strand of hair that had escaped her bun and tucked it back behind her ear. “I really think you should consider talking to your mom.”

Juniper stiffened. “She won’t understand. You know she hates ballet.”

“I know she loves you. And I bet she gives really good advice.”

She seemed to think it over, then shook her head. “I can’t. If I make the top twenty, it will show her that I’m good, that I could be as great as you are if she just lets me dance. And by then it will be the middle of August, and she’ll love you too. So, by the time you’re ready to go back to New York, maybe she’ll let me visit you and Aunt Anne.”

Anne took a deep breath and pressed her lips between her teeth.

“Eva, too, of course. It will all work out.”

“Juniper . . .” The further we got into this charade, the worse I felt about it.

“I won’t dance en pointe,” she rushed. “I’ll do whatever you say if we can just follow the plan.”

My heart clenched as I floundered and looked to Anne for the right answer, the right words.

“How about we give Aunt Allie a minute to think, and you help me put together some energy bars in the kitchen?” Anne offered. “They’re chocolate.”

Juniper glanced between us for a second, then at Hudson. “Okay.”

“Excellent.” Anne led her out of the studio, then closed the door behind them.

“I think we should tell Caroline,” I said to Hudson.

“I agree.” He walked across the studio in his socks.

My ribs threatened to squeeze the air out of my lungs. “It could mean Juniper wouldn’t see us again for eight more years.”

“This far into lying to her? Probably.” He lifted a hand, then dropped it, as if thinking twice about reaching for me, which was probably for the best considering the fact that I’d nearly screwed him in a shower the last time he’d touched me. And he wants hours. Days. Nights.

“And she’d pull her out of ballet.” The barre dug into my back as I leaned against it.

“Not sure that’s a bad thing after what I saw at that class.” He folded his arms.

“Not everyone teaches that way.” Shit, that was defensive. I looked over at the picture of Lina, and my chest tightened another degree.

“What are you thinking?”

“Lina loved to dance.” I studied her smile, the little lines that crinkled her eyes. “I mean, she really loved it. She’d been born a dancer, not told she was one. She woke up in the morning excited for class every day, and she spent more time in this studio than any of us. It was her oxygen, her food. She loved it in a way I never . . .” I shut my mouth so quickly my teeth clicked.

“You loved it too,” he whispered.

I dragged my gaze from the picture to meet his.

“I was there, Allie. You loved it too.” He cradled the side of my face, and I struggled not to lean into the warmth, not to lean on him. I scrambled for my defenses and came up empty. “You came alive on that stage in a way I’ve never seen. Maybe not the days your mom harped on you, but the day you danced that routine from Giselle instead of whatever she’d picked out for you . . . that was love up there, and passion, and excitement. I saw it in your eyes.”

“Variation,” I muttered, dismissing most of his words. “It’s called a variation.”

“Fine. Variation. Whatever it was, you loved it the same way she did. If you don’t anymore—”

“It’s not about me.” I stepped out of his hand. “Juniper’s just like Lina in so many ways that it’s uncanny, and if you’d cut Lina away from ballet, she wouldn’t have survived it. If Juniper feels that way—and considering all she’s done to get around Caroline, she probably does—then . . .” I sighed. “Lina should be here, but she’s not, and I owe it to her to help Juniper, but there’s no good solution in any of this.”

“I know.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “And I’ve done my best to honor the promise I made to Sean that Caroline’s fears wouldn’t hold Juniper back, but I’m telling you right now that she can’t go back to that studio. I’d rather break her trust than watch someone break her down.”

There were two months left before the Classic, and Juniper was determined to compete. “So it’s either she quits dancing, or goes back to Quinn’s and gets herself hurt, or you tell Caroline, which leads to her quitting by force . . .” I blew out a long sigh. She’d never be able to hide attending at Madeline’s, and I didn’t know any of the other local studios well enough to send Lina’s daughter there, which left the only viable alternative. “She’s done with school for the summer? How does she spend her time?”

“Last week.” He studied my face. “She’s in the local activity program on the days Caroline works, and Gavin and I usually try to grab her when we’re off so she’s not stuck there until seven.”

I nodded. “What’s your schedule like?”

“Suddenly interested in my actual life?” He dared a smile.

Too close. “You wish. What’s your schedule?”

“I do wish. And it’s usually as close to nine-to-five as it gets. I pull four to six twenty-four-hour shifts a month, and I get a couple days off a week—not always Saturday and Sunday. Why?” He tilted his head, and I absolutely did not look at his mouth.

Liar.

“Bring her here.” I pushed out the words before I lost the nerve. “I’ll teach her. We’ll just hope she knows her mom better than we do. Hopefully by August I’ve won Caroline over, and at this point . . . in for a penny and all that.” If we were going down, then we may as well do it with giant flames.

His brow knit. “You mean that? You have time for that?”

“I’ll make time.” I nodded.

“She needs a consequence for going around our backs. I’m not sure rewarding her with the best private tutor in the world is the right move here.” Two lines formed between his brows.

“What do you have in mind that doesn’t involve asking her actual parent?” I challenged.

“Not sure yet, but I’ll have to come up with something. She’s broken the rules, lied, schemed, and manipulated every single person around her to get what she wants.” His jaw ticked.

“Yeah, and she’s only ten.” I started toward the studio door. “Not excusing her actions, but you know there’s a label for that kind of behavior in adults.”

“Criminal?” he guessed. “Don’t even think reckless. This isn’t me.”

“Maybe.” I opened the studio doors. “I was thinking CEO.”