His bored expression is focused on the dean. And I can smell the alcohol on his breath from here.
Gin. Always Gin.
“Your father wished to have a meeting,” Isabel tells me. “To discuss your recent performance in the
studio.”
I wring my hands together in my lap and focus on my fingers. The bony, pale flesh grows cold
beneath the weight of the pressure in this room.
“As I’ve discussed with you already, Chloe,” Isabel continues, “we are happy to have you here at
the art institute. It gives me great pleasure to have a student with your talents in my class. But, I also
believe it might be beneficial for you to consider some real auditions.”
“I would have to agree,” my father states with obvious disdain.
As if this teacher could tell him anything he does not already know himself. My whole life has been
a straight shot at the same goal. No deviation allowed. All I’ve ever known were the best teachers.
Ballet academies. Summer camps. When it wasn’t at school, it was at home. With him.
I’ve lived, breathed, and thought of nothing but dance for as long as I can remember.
My father never wanted me to come here. To school. But he promised me one year. And now, after
not even six months, he is trying to take that away from me. They both are.
Isabel meets my gaze, but I can barely look at her. She has spoken to him already. She is a dancer
first and foremost. And one who has hung up her proverbial pointes for good.
“A dancer has such a short shelf life to begin with,” she reminds me. “I don’t want you to waste any
opportunities that are available to you.”
“Except for school,” I murmur. “Except that one.”
“You have received high marks in all of your classes,” Mr. Dacosta notes from behind his desk.
“You can always come back when your dance career is finished. Or even just take one class per
semester if you wish.”
Of course he’s going to say that. After my father’s sizable donation to the college. This entire
meeting is pointless. Because it doesn’t matter what I want. It only matters what they want. What my
father wants. And he will do anything to ensure that he gets it.
He wants to believe that I am a natural born prodigy.
But that’s only his imagination. It’s always been his imagination. That I could be her. The ghost
who haunts him.