The Infirmary
Madeleine rose from where she’d been sitting against the wall, brushing at the tulle skirt that extended from the short dress bodice she wore and fell, bell-shaped, over her hips and down to the tops of her calves. She wore immaculate white tights beneath it, and pale pink slippers laced up over her ankles beneath. She took a deep breath, reaching to pat the tight bun that scraped her hair off her face, and smiled at Evangeline, her partner for the dance.
Evangeline nodded back, but she didn’t return Madeleine’s smile.
Madeleine’s smile faltered, and she turned to face the mirrors. She had thought maybe Evangeline just hadn’t heard her when she had said hello at the beginning of their lesson, but – what if that wasn’t it?
“Positions, ladies!” Professor Sauveterre lifted her chin, hands parting slightly.
Madeleine’s arms lifted over her head, and her feet slid apart, slightly, angled out. She didn’t have to look to know that Evangeline was holding the same exact pose, the two girls as similar as if a mirror were being held between them, reflections of one another rather than separate entities.
“And… begin!” Professor Sauveterre began to clap her hands together in an even, steady rhythm, counting the beat out loud for them.
Madeleine took a deep breath and let it out. She didn’t have room to worry about how oddly Evangeline was acting; the dance demanded her full attention. She matched herself to the rhythm, dancing three steps to the side, twirling, then back to the center. She and Evangeline leaned in, both of them, kicking their legs off the ground and bending sideways until their fingertips just touched – then pulling and back, gracefully separating once more and continuing the intricate steps of the dance.
The dance built like that, together and apart, together and apart; with each successive pass the two spent more time joined together, and broke apart more forcefully, always in perfect unison. It was a challenging piece, and Madeleine had danced nothing else for the last weeks, practicing every step that she could do alone, and trying to practice with Evangeline as much as possible. Was that it? Was that what she had done wrong? Had she nagged Evangeline to practice too much? Madeleine pushed the thoughts away.
Finally it was time for the final combination; Madeleine darted in, her hands clasping Evangeline’s, and both girls threw their heads back, bodies arching up, dancing in a delicate circle, spinning the other around once, two, three times – then breaking apart with a sharp pull, leaping with one leg leading and the other tucked into the air, to land neatly as far from one another as possible.
Madeleine landed, nimbly, spinning again once in the final move of the dance. Her arms lifted over her head and she held the last pose, looking up to Professor Sauveterre. Professor Sauveterre looked between them, then nodded, once, a short, sharp nod.
“Miss Gosselin, you need more height on that last jump,” she pronounced. “After an entire dance of being together, the gap is rather jarring. Let’s see it again.” She clapped her hands.
Madeleine glanced over at Evangeline. They had been through this; Evangeline’s jumps were a little higher and longer than hers. She thought they had agreed that Evangeline would try to match Madeleine’s jump, but – Evangeline didn’t look at her, gaze fixed on the distant mirrors, chin still lifted. Madeleine swallowed, and the two both moved back to their starting positions. Madeleine’s arms rose again.
Professor Sauveterre began to clap once more, counting the beats of the dance for them. Step step step, then together, lean and spring back apart, then twirl, step, kick, in and clasp and lift, and apart again. Madeleine tried to find the rhythm of the dance; her body felt like it was moving the same as it had earlier, but her mind was separate from it, worrying the question of the jump like a loose tooth. She tried to push it away, tried to focus, but the worries just kept coming back.
What if Evangeline just didn’t like her anymore? What if she didn’t want to partner Madeleine again?
“And clasp-and-spin,” Professor Sauveterre called the steps as the end of the dance approached, still clapping evenly, “and jump!”
Madeleine leapt, legs pulsing and pushing, flinging herself up off the ground as hard as she could, her body clenched in too-rigid lines. She came down and she could feel it was wrong but there was nothing she could do, not anymore, and the edge of her foot rolled against the ground and her ankle twisted beneath her weight. Something pulsed in her ankle, pain snapping through it, and Madeleine’s entire leg crumpled beneath her.
Madeleine cried out, dropping to the ground in a heap of tulle, landing with a painful and inelegant thud. There was an audible gasp from the watching students, and a burst of movement from the wall, three or four girls rushing over to Madeleine.
“Ladies!” Professor Sauveterre clapped her hands together, dashing lightly across the wooden floor to look down at the young galdor. “Give her some space, please. Miss Gosselin, are you all right?”
Madeleine sat up, slowly and carefully, even though she would have infinitely rather stayed curled up on the ground or been swallowed whole by the tutu. Evangeline was not among those around her; the other dancer was still where she’d stopped, feet away, arms crossed over her chest. Her ankle throbbed, excruciatingly, and she shook her head, looking down at it, then back up at Professor Sauveterre, all to aware of the crimson burning on her cheeks and the tears winking in the corners of her eyes. “No, Professor,” she said aloud after a moment. “I'm very sorry. I think something is wrong with my ankle.”
Perhaps half an hour later, Madeleine sat, still in her tutu and bodice, on one of the not-very-comfortable cots in the Brunnhold infirmary. It had been a long and exceptionally unpleasant walk, leaning on two of the other girls, her right knee bent so her ankle was kept off the ground, no weight at all put on it. Now both legs were extended on the cot before her. Her right leg was massively swollen already, the ankle knot practically swallowed by the new puffiness of her leg. A bruise was spreading beneath where the knot had once been two, dark enough to be visible through the pale tights.
Madeleine swallowed hard. She had twisted her ankle before; what confisalto dancer hadn’t? But it hurt, fiercely, and worse she didn’t understand. She hadn’t done anything to Evangeline – she hadn’t! Why was the other girl being so awful? If Evangeline had just done the smaller leap like they had planned, none of this would have happened. Madeleine sniffled a little and sank back against the pillows at the head of the cot. Probably Evangeline didn’t even want to dance with her anymore, if she could even still dance in the showcase. Madeleine clung to the sour misery, nursing it in the pit of her stomach with each throb of her ankle. It wasn’t, she thought miserably, fair at all.