The Nutcracker, Part 1 ~ A DNA ORIGINAL EXCLUSIVE ~

COPYRIGHT 2017 BY DOLLS N' ALL

ALL PHOTOS TAKEN AND OWNED BY DOLLS N' ALL UNLESS OTHERWISE NOTED

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My best friend and I shared an anxious glance across our desk as we listened to our English teacher drone on and on and on about our weekly reading assignment.

 

 What if the bell didn’t ring on time? What if we missed the bus? What if we missed the audition?

 

But, like it did every weekday except for April Fool’s Day, a shrill bell sounded precisely at a quarter past three.

 

Like mirror images, Esther and I flew out of our seats, swung our backpacks on and ran to the locker hall to grab our duffel bags.

 

Our feet pounded against the wooden floor as we ran down the crowded corridor dodging other students. “We are going to be in so much trouble for running,” my BFF giggled as she yelled over the hubbub.

 

We dashed out the big doors and headed down the sidewalk.

The studio was only about an eight minute walk away, so the two of us began running as fast as possible, our backpacks jostling on our backs. I checked my watch for the thousandth time today and panted to Esther, “The bus leaves at three-thirty and auditions are at four-thirty.”

“If the bus takes forty-five minutes to get there, the bus drives at approximately sixty miles per hour, and we have one hour…. Oh, never mind. I already did well enough on my math test today. No more math today!” Esther’s braids with their mismatched hairthings bounced over her shoulders as we ran.

When we arrived at the paneled doors of the prestigious dance studio, the bus had just pulled up. We slipped into the empty dressing rooms.

 

Esther and I both had on our leotards and tights under our school clothes, but we still had to get our wraps.  I finished first and met Esther in the hall. Esther took a turn carrying our duffle bag, having slung her backpack over it.

  

“Come on,” Esther hurried us down the hall to get good seats in the bus.

Esther and I scoured the bus for two seats together. We finally found two empty seats beside each other and plopped down. I brought out my homework to work on during the long ride.

Esther played with her braids thoughtlessly.

“I’m so nervous…” she murmured. I elbowed her.

“You’ll be fine, Esther,” I assured her. “You’ve learned your steps perfectly and we’ve practiced together a ton.”

“Yes, but yesterday I messed up on my solo – twice!” she sighed despondently. I picked up her backpack and dropped it in her lap.

“Get your mind off it,” I unzipped the pocket for her. But inside, I was nervous too. For the top three students of each dance academy, they were given the opportunity to impress the directors for forty-five more seconds than everyone else. So, Esther and I were going to dance a forty-five second solo each.

My feet involuntarily tapped out the rhythm of my music, an excerpt of the Firebird. In addition to the solos, sets of ten dancers would perform the the same routine together in front of the director and several other principal dancers that would help choose the cast.

I had just finished the last of my homework when the bus jerked to a stop in front of a huge, beautiful building.

disclaimer - this was actually taken in TX close to the Alamo

“This is….” I couldn’t finish my sentence as I stared up at the lovely architectural work. “Wow.”

As we walked inside, we all had the urge to tiptoe because of the echoes that resounded off the walls covered in paintings of famous dancers.  Esther grabbed my hand, and I could tell she was extremely nervous.

“You’re not going to do any better if you stress yourself out about it,” I whispered into her ear. She nodded, but closed her eyes and breathed deeply over and over anyways. The solos would be danced first, starting with the professional pointe dancers. I was thankful I didn’t know pointe yet, or else I’d be practicing another routine to dance with nine other pointe dancers. Esther and I stretched for a while and did a bit of makeup.

 

“I just wish I could get it over with already,” she breathed.

“I have an idea,” I whispered, looking around mischievously. “Let’s go watch the principle dancers.”

“I don’t know where they’re practicing,” Esther replied.

“No, not practice… let’s go watch the auditions.” I urged her. Her bright blue eyes widened.

“Are you crazy?” she gaped.

“Yes, come on!” I pulled her out of sight of everyone else and we crept out. On our way out, we overheard a heated conversation.

"Look Chuck, I don't call the shots!"
"Yeah, but your sister pulls strings for you." the voice dripped with jealousy.
"No! It's not my fault or hers that I got the part. I was in this production last year and..."
"Whatever." the second said.
I shared a glance with Esther and shrugged.
"Let's go," I whispered.
The auditions were being held just down the hall, in one of the smaller theatres of the enormous arts center. The real performance of the holiday special would be done at a different, more elaborate and suitable theater. I had been there once to see the Firebird with my grandmother and was now auditioning to dance there with the same company I had watched just a few years before. I was nervous with excitement.

We snuck in the back and leaned up against the wall to watch.

 

Bridgette Sylviana was dancing to a selection from Swan Lake, and I remembered her from one of Esther’s posters in her bedroom.

Esther was ecstatic, watching her favorite dancer. I cocked my head when she went into an arabesque, surprised by how stiff she was.

“Is she normally so rigid?” I asked Esther softly.

“No,” she whispered back, her eyes never leaving Bridgette. “She sprained her ankle last month and is just now getting back into dancing.”

“Ooh…” I understood. I stayed as quiet as possible when the music ended; knowing that any noise would reverberate through the empty theater.

“Eleyna Mervare,” the director called. I inhaled sharply – what if I ended up in the same production as one of my favorite dancers around? Eleyna, poised gracefully, nodded to begin her soundtrack.

Every move was precise and perfect, combined with utmost grace and beauty. I couldn’t help but move my own feet as her music filled the air.

I traced my steps on the lush red carpet, hoping I couldn’t be heard. We watched several other extremely good dancers, including Gwyndolyn Jasset, from the host dance company; Margaret Harris, a returning star; and Lydia Markev, who trained in Russia. I suddenly realized they were calling out the other soloists, the ones that weren’t dancing on pointe. I gasped and jerked Esther away.

“We’re supposed to be the second studio in the lineup!” I hissed as we ran down the hall.

We were just in time, too, because right as we slipped back into our corner to stretch, we heard a stagehand call our names.

“Esther Marie Powell,” she looked down at her list and I hugged Esther quickly, wishing her good luck. I waited with bated breath, anxiously yet eagerly listening for my name.

“Mia Elise St.Clair.”