Chapter Text
On the first day, there’s around fifteen new students. April doesn’t imagine most of them will last until the end of the month, so the year doesn’t look promising. This is the beginning of her fourth year, and even the beginner ballet classes she took aged seven were too much for some of the other children, and she knows that the older you start classes, the harder it can be to really gain the necessary discipline. It’s much like learning a language, she thinks. (April’s covered there, too. She bought herself French and Spanish dictionaries with the money that her grandparents gave her for Christmas, so she’ll be ahead of her classmates.)
Most of the fifteen seem useless, she thinks. There’s a dark haired boy she recognizes from school who might not be entirely awful, if he would maybe learn to straighten his back a little. April actually hopes he can. There aren’t many boys in the class at the moment, probably because the parents take issue with enrolling their sons in ballet, and it would be useful to have more.
The Wesley twins are even more annoying and distracting here than they are everywhere else, so April is frustrated when she notes that they’re both competent dancers. She could even be convinced to say that the brunette one is good. Good enough, anyway. If they have the motivation and willpower that April assumes everyone else here lacks, they might be worthy additions.
Predictably, only ten of the new recruits show the following week, and then seven the week after. She thought it would take longer to weed out the weak, but the sooner the better. The dark haired boy is still there, the only one of the boys remaining, and so are the twins. It’s still clear to April that Blair is a better dancer than her sister, but Sterling is fine enough.
They’re still annoying, and distracting, and so wrapped up in themselves that April wants to hate them, but there’s something… appealing about Sterling outside of school. She thinks maybe they could be friends, if it wasn’t for Blair’s constant presence.
On the fifth week, April forgets the banana she usually eats during their fifteen minute break, and it’s inconvenient but she can make it through one session without it, she’s sure. She drinks some water, and she’s practicing some breathing exercises she saw online to pass the time, when there’s a tap on her shoulder.
“Hi! I saw you didn’t have a snack today, so I broke my orange in half, if you want… um, well, half?” April’s never really spoken to Sterling, and the first thing she notices is that the girl seems nervous. She’s blinking much more than necessary, and not really making any eye contact with April, and it takes a moment for April to respond, but she does cautiously accept the half-orange Sterling is thrusting in her direction.
“Thank… you? Thank you.”
“I’m Sterling, by the way. Just ‘cause… we’ve never actually really spoken. You’re April.”
April nods at her. The other kids don’t really talk to April much, not even the ones she also goes to school with. They interact when they need to, during warm-ups and movement sessions, but she hasn’t made friends during the classes like her mother hoped she would. (Like April herself hoped she might.)
“Did you want to come and sit with us? Me and Blair? I know break is almost over but then if you like us you could sit with us next week, too!”
She does. She doesn’t mind not having friends, but she thinks she’s not really in a position to turn them down. Plus, maybe it would nice? Sterling seems polite, and April thinks her mother would be pleased if she made a new friend.
——————
Four months pass, and the twins, the dark-haired boy (his name is Jennings, Blair tells April. April isn’t sure if that’s his first name or his surname, but she knows by now that interrupting Blair actually makes her talk for longer) and one other girl remain of the initial fifteen. It’s fewer than the last few years, but it still rounds their class out at a good size.
Two months in, they split into three groups, according to their skill level. April knows, of course, that she’ll be in the most advanced group for her age. She’s already done this for three years, and she’s both a perfectionist and a wonderful rule-follower, so she’s able to follow steps and choreography to a tee. She wasn’t necessarily expecting Blair to also be in her group so soon, but she reluctantly accepts it because okay, yes, Blair has a natural talent that she hasn’t seen from anybody else in the group.
April also isn’t expecting the sadness she feels when Sterling is in the middle group, but they’re friends now, so Sterling beams with pride and happiness for not only Blair, but April, when the groups are announced. They still sit together in their breaks, and they’re even starting to spend time together at school now, too.
Maybe this is going to be a good year after all.
——————
In fact, maybe it’s going to be the best year yet. Soon enough, April feels incredible about practically every element of her life. She’s already got a good part in their end of year production, and the tutors have suggested she’ll be ready for pointe when they come back next semester. Plus, she has Sterling (and Blair, kind of) now, and it’s great. Sterling is so supportive, and she’s the best friend April has ever had.
April struggles with friends, sometimes. She has trouble making them and then she definitely has trouble keeping them. The incident with her friend Adele in second grade was the first time April realised that she could be… intense. That was three years ago, and even though April has tried to keep that part of her under control since then, she still worries that she’s going to scare friends away. That she’s going to be a little bit too much for some people.
Something about her friendship with Sterling has made that melt away, though, and it’s freeing. April is still, without fail, the tensest ten year old in the world, but she’s slightly more at ease when she’s with Sterl. They spend so much time together now, between school and dance classes, and with sleepovers basically every weekend. It’s still a lot for April to comprehend, but Sterling seems to want to spend as much time together as April does, and it’s fun and exciting and sometimes April’s face hurts from smiling so much, which is something she’s never known before.
Sterling has seen April when she’s focused, seen her when she’s trying her hardest not to correct an idiot in their class, she’s listened to April talk about the things she’s most passionate about, no matter how obscure or trivial, and it hasn’t phased her. They even teamed up and delivered a truly inspiring speech to Mrs Willis about Taylor Swift a few weeks ago. Sterling has stayed up with her until the early hours of the morning, when Blair has long since fallen asleep, and talked about how lucky she feels to have April as her friend.
She’s intense, but Sterling doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe Sterling even likes it, is as intense as April is.
——————
The next semester starts, but April and Sterling are no longer friends. Jennings isn’t in the class anymore, and now that April isn’t spending time with Blair outside of ballet, she can’t even ask what happened to him. She’s not friends with Jennings himself, although he was an excellent partner, so she knows it would be odd if she was the one to ask him.
He doesn’t ever acknowledge April at school, acts like he doesn’t even know her, and she’s not sure why it hurts, but it does.
April’s mother seems disappointed when April says she won’t be spending time with the Wesleys anymore, but her daddy simply mumbles something about Sterling and Blair’s dad that April thinks was possibly unkind, even though she didn’t fully understand it. He’s never seemed to like Mr Wesley, although April had always thought he seemed nice.
It’s for the best, if April is honest with herself. Sterling was a distraction she couldn’t afford. Her performance in their last recital of the year, a few weeks after Sterling had ended their friendship, had been sloppy. Sterling was too relaxed, had made April relax, and April needs friends as serious as her.
Blair has pointe shoes now, like April. Sterling doesn’t. Frankly, she hasn’t even improved much since last year and April thinks she’d be better off finding a new extra-curricular. Blair’s joined the school’s lacrosse team, and April’s reluctant to admit it, but she’s impressed by that. April herself has at least one activity most days, but she didn’t expect Blair to have the discipline for two.
It’s a little tricky with Blair, at first. They’re constantly told that they’re the best dancers in their group, and they’re paired together more often than not. April is angry at Blair, which perhaps isn’t entirely fair, seeing as Sterling was the one who broke her heart, but Blair also seems to be angry with April? Which, truly, is equal parts hilarious and enraging. It takes a few weeks before they remember that so much of what they do here is based on trust and teamwork, so they reach a silent truce inside the confines of the studio. Who they are in here has no bearing on who they are out there, and vice versa. April will not risk an injury because Blair Wesley is inexplicably angry with her.
It’s still a few weeks after that, when April finally loses the urge to ask Blair why Sterling had done what she did. What exactly had April done wrong? But one day, Luke is already sitting in the Wesley’s car when they pick the twins up, and something in her shifts. Sterling started dating Luke Creswell a month or so before the end of her friendship with April, but it was based entirely on some asinine ‘most popular’ title they’d both won, and April wasn’t sure Sterling even liked Luke, not really. He’s sweet, maybe, but he’s not very smart and maybe if that’s the kind of person Sterling would rather be around, April was never the problem in their friendship.
She tries not to think about it after that, determined that Sterling will not become another Adele.
The next week, just when they’re all packing their things away ready for their parents to pick them up, Blair walks right up to April. And they don’t do this any more, they don’t talk before or after class, or even in the break, so April feels herself freeze when Blair approaches.
“You were really good today, Stevens. Even better than usual. Like, different? I don’t know why but yeah, just wanted to say.”
“Thank you?”
“Yeah. See you next week?”
It’s ridiculous, because they’ll see each other tomorrow at school. Still.
“Sure. Next week.”
——————
She can feel Sterling’s eyes on them, whenever they’re talking or sometimes even when they’re rehearsing together. (Maybe if Sterling focused more on her own performance, she’d be doing better by now.) She knows Sterling is watching them, but what she doesn’t know is why. It’s infuriating. The way Sterling watches them, with sadness or envy or anger or whatever it is on her face, like she doesn’t spend every other waking moment with Blair glued to her side.
She’s not friends with Blair, if that’s what Sterling is mad about. Their relationship is nothing more than necessity. Maybe they occasionally joke around, or they laugh at something, but would Sterling rather they just danced in total misery? Truthfully, they only really tolerated each other before because they both loved Sterling, and now it’s because they both love ballet. If Sterling has a problem with that, she’s an even worse person than April thought.
Yes, Sterling needs to focus more on her own performance if she wants to improve. But if Sterling is going to insist on spending her energy paying attention to April and Blair instead, April is going to make sure she puts on a great show.
The Bible tells her to put away all malice, but at thirteen, April thinks that she can make a tiny exception. Sterling started it, after all.
——————
The auditions for recitals are more intense now than they used to be, more involved. They’re, well, they’re actual auditions and not just observations during class. April is putting more time now into rehearsals. Next year, she and Blair will both be eligible for parts in a show, rather than simply being in the mixed showcase. They need to really shine this time around.
April’s not sure exactly when it happened, but she and Blair are April-and-Blair now, as far as dance is concerned. April knows she needs to look out for number one, and ultimately, when it comes down to auditioning, they’re separate entities and she’s much more interested in her own success than she is Blair’s, but April can’t help but think that Blair is necessary to achieve that success.
It’s the same as it ever was, stays the same throughout the years of classes. Blair dances like she does everything else in life: with reckless abandon. She’s passionate, and free-flowing, and uses dance as an outlet. Her performances move people. April doesn’t have that, but she’s more technical and precise than Blair could be with forty years of training, never mind four, so she has an edge. It’s the reason they continue to choose each other as partners, even after their tutors have stopped forcing it on them. It’s cheesy, probably, but Blair dances with her heart, and April with her brain. They need each other, whether they like it or not. Blair forces April to loosen up a little, helps her become ‘less robotic’ (“no offence, Stevens, but also some offence, y’know?”) while April teaches Blair a few breathing exercises, helps her with her posture. They’ve come to rely on the benefits of their being polar opposites.
They’re at the barre one day, a little after class has actually finished, while Sterling sits over in the corner playing on her phone. April is helping Blair straighten out her leg, hand hovering over Blair’s hip, when Sterling finally gets up and storms out of the room. She yells something over her shoulder about waiting out in the front, and Blair just shoots April an apologetic smile and mumbles something about needing to leave now. Resisting the eye roll that bubbles inside her, April simply nods.
“Good class today. We’re both doing well, I think.”
“We really are. I don’t tell you this enough but you’re really, really good at this Stevens.”
“Thanks. So are you.”
They’re silent while they pack up their things and get ready to leave, and they’re almost out of the door when Blair turns back at April and says it, with something that sounds like sadness in her voice.
“Happy birthday, April.”
It’s been a long time since she shed a tear over the Wesley twins, but she lets it happen that day, and vows it’ll be the last time either of them gets under her skin.
——————
When her daddy asks her how she feels about the auditions, April plasters on her best fake smile and tells him she’s going to get the best part there is. She doesn’t feel it, really.
She’s been taking classes for seven years, and Blair has only been there for four, but April really thinks that maybe Blair deserves this more than she does.
Daddy tells her to go in and do her best, and knock ‘em dead.
She doesn’t get the best part. But neither does Blair. She has another year before she has to worry about it.
——————
It was inevitable, probably, that April and Blair’s falling out would be more explosive than April and Sterling’s. They’re fundamentally different people, when it comes down to it, and maybe she always knew that a friendship that existed only for a few hours, once or twice a week, wasn’t really sustainable.
Not to mention that they’re never even really arguing about what they claim to be arguing about anymore. April thought it was just her, at first, holding on to their weird, tumultuous past when they are, in theory, arguing about choreography. But then one day, after April had beaten Sterling in an essay writing competition, Blair was snappy with her for the whole session, and April remembered that the twins could never really be considered separate entities.
So when their already delicate relationship is smashed to pieces, it’s about so much more than auditions and skills and who gets what part. It’s about the way Sterling seems to be determined to paint April as the bad guy, and it’s about the way April’s heart is still a little bit broken, even now. Maybe it’s about the way Blair finds herself caught between the two of them, although that doesn’t really occur to April until after the fact.
All she knows is that when April and Blair finally have the fight that has probably been brewing for years, she’s unexpectedly devastated, actually. She still might not go so far as to say she likes Blair, but she respects her. Blair Wesley is one of the most annoying people April Stevens has ever met, and every other dancer she pairs up with pales in comparison.
——————
Now that they’re older, they’ve moved from Thursday classes to Tuesdays, and it means that April has to drop two of her other activities. She’s fine with it, actually, it helps quell some of her anxieties about burning out at fourteen, but she pretends to be disappointed about quitting horseback riding and krav maga, and decides to just spend a few extra hours at the gym per week instead.
Blair keeps playing lacrosse, and some days April is mad at how good she is. April has won trophies in every extra-curricular she’s ever participated in. She’s been first place so many times, in so many things, but there’s something about the way Blair (and Sterling actually, although April is decidedly not thinking about Sterling right now, thank you) just seems to be so naturally great at things. April works so damn hard, every day, to be number one, and she loses her balance whenever one of the Wesleys comes along and manages to be such a close second without even a modicum of effort.
Sterling doesn’t come back to class. April is honestly, genuinely, for the first ever Not Lying To Herself About Sterling Wesley, absolutely overjoyed. Sterling is frustrating at best, enraging at worst.
Blair isn’t much easier to deal with, really, but in the few weeks before the fallout, April actually really enjoys their time together in class.
There’s something lighter about the way Blair interacts with her once Sterling is out of the picture, something that makes April think that maybe they’ve both missed out on a potentially great friendship. Sterling is maybe more April’s intellectual equal, and they have more in common and definitely when they were eleven, it made much more sense for the two of them to be friends. But Blair? Well, maybe Blair started off as more of a sparring partner than a friend, but there are weeks when the most fun April has are those few hours in rehearsal with Blair.
They’re doing Cinderella this year, and April doesn’t like fairy tales (maybe years of assuming you’ll never get to have true love will do that to you), but she’s excited to be part of one of the bigger productions instead of just the end-of-year recitals the younger classes put on each year.
She and Blair expect to be part of the company, because they’re new and they’re young and the other dancers in the Tuesday sessions are older and more experienced. April remembers some of them from years ago, still beautiful, somehow even more dignified. They always seemed so untouchable, but April realizes that they were younger then than she is now, and maybe that should be comforting but instead she’s just worried that they were better at twelve than she is at fourteen, and it unnerves her. (She’s also still bothered by the fact that even now, she’s not sure if she’s staring in awe because they’re so good or because… well, if it’s because of the other reasons April might be staring.)
They’re five weeks in, which is almost twenty hours of April and Blair being something close to friends, when Miss Emily (who is probably no older than twenty-five and is technically their teacher’s assistant, although it feels like maybe she’s putting in all the work, as far as April’s concerned) approaches the two of them at the barre.
April realises what’s happening a little sooner than Blair does, when Miss Emily tells them that Beth, one of the older girls in the class, has broken her ankle, and when you pair this with the fact that the class size is now smaller than ever, they’re opening up auditions for all parts to all ages this year.
The shift between them isn’t automatic, surprisingly. They still help each other, still know they need each other to succeed. But April knows they’ve both done the math, and they both know that there’s really only one role available for a younger dancer. They’re sharing the skills they need to beat each other, and they both know it. But it’s comfortable and it’s nice and in those sessions, when they rehearse and they give each other notes, April thinks that maybe her relationship with Blair is the closest thing she’s ever had to honesty. Maybe their reluctant mutual respect, and their push and pull actually always has been.
Three weeks later, they’re both writing their names on the audition sign-up sheet that is nothing more than a formality, and she knows they mean it when they wish each other luck. Blair goes to high-five April and she’s not sure why, but April shakes her head and pulls her in for a quick hug, instead. It’s horribly out of character, but Blair accepts it and even smiles as they pull apart.
——————
When April sits down to assess each dancer in the class, as well as the extended list of available parts in Cinderella, she comes to the conclusion that the part she and Blair will both be considered for is a stepsister. And April knows Blair, knows that even if she’s also figured this out, she’d never do the research. That’s why she sits down and watches every YouTube video she can find of her potential future part being performed. In fact, she spends every evening that week watching videos and rehearsing in the makeshift studio area her father had installed in their home gym. When Tuesday afternoon comes, April feels ready.
Her friendships at school are different now. Maybe people still don’t like her, but she knows they respect her. Some of them even fear her, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it sometimes. She doesn’t really remember attaching herself to Ezequiel and Hannah B, but she enjoys a part of their little trio. It’s easier, most of the time, to let people make assumptions about the dynamics of the so-called Holy Trinity (a name April still isn’t really sure she’s okay with), because she thinks if people knew how heavily she relies on their friendship, they’d see just how vulnerable April really is. Better to be seen as a despot than as desperate.
Ezequiel and Hannah B don’t really understand ballet, don’t see the appeal, but they know how much April loves it (they don’t know, not really, about the April-Blair dynamic in the studio, it would just be too hard to explain), so they wish her well and they tell her to text them after the auditions and she’s truly thankful to have them around.
Blair doesn’t talk to her when they walk in. Not when they’re waiting outside the studio, or when they’re warming up, or even when they stand right next to each other nervously sipping from their water bottles. It’s unnerving, April decides, and she’s about to maybe open her mouth to say something when her name is called from the doorway. Blair just gives her a thumbs up and a small smile, but April barely has time to register it.
She’s better than ever before in her audition, and she knows it. She’s never been more precise, and yes, humility comes before honour, but April wonders if it can really be considered prideful if you know it to be fact.
Miss Emily is beaming at her when she’s done, and gives April a thumbs up before she’s dismissed. It’s that moment, that gesture that makes her fully realize that either she or Blair is going to get this part, and no matter what the outcome, things are about to change. And maybe that’s why she’s close to crying when she walks out of the room, or maybe it’s the relief of the audition being over, either way, Blair notices and puts a hand on April’s arm.
“Oh, no. I’m totally fine. But uh, thank you.”
Blair’s name is called from the room, and April smiles at her in the hope that Blair will take it as the good luck gesture she intends.
Blair is also crying when it’s her turn to leave the room, but neither of them talks about it this time. April watches as Sterling hugs her in the back of the car, as Mrs Wesley drives away from the studio.
April’s daddy asks how the auditions were, later that evening (with some not so very subtle prompting from her mother), and all April can remember is the tears streaming down Blair’s face.
——————
She never does find out what happened in Blair’s audition, but when the cast sheet is pinned up on the wall, it marks the official end of their near-friendship. Nobody congratulates April besides Miss Emily. The older girls seem to find her presence more annoying than anything else, and she doesn’t speak to anybody in her own age group except for… well, she doesn’t speak to anybody in her own age group anymore. Her parents expect this of her, so success no longer warrants pride, and her school friends don’t really understand, although they at least seem excited to finally see her perform.
She remembers the way Sterling was so happy for her when she moved up a group all those years ago. How Sterling, still not as good a dancer as April (or Blair), was so happy for her friend that she squealed and hugged April so tight it hurt. For a moment, in a way she hasn’t allowed herself for years, she longs for Sterling’s friendship again. She breathes in, deeply, and thinks about Sterling telling her she was the best friend she’d ever had, and she thinks about laughing so hard her stomach ached.
If they were still friends, if none of this had ever happened, Sterling would’ve hugged her and told her how proud she was and convinced Mrs Wesley they should be allowed to order pizza at their sleepover.
She knows if she had Sterling, she would have at least one person who would congratulate her. Truthfully, she would probably have two. Four, even, when she stops to consider the kind way the whole family had always embraced her.
But, April doesn’t have Sterling anymore. She allows herself one night of sadness, listens to 1989 start to finish, and moves on.
She has a show to prepare for, after all.
——————
It doesn’t take Blair long to befriend the rest of the group, and it makes April immediately uncomfortable. Not simply because she’s on the outside, but because this time it just feels different. They haven’t spoken even once in the two weeks since the cast list went up. In fact, they haven’t spoken to each other since the ten minute space between their auditions. And that would be fine, really, if April didn’t get the feeling that Blair had somehow switched from a reluctant sometimes-friend to someone who truly hated her guts, and she couldn’t be certain exactly why.
Yes, she’d prevailed over Blair, and she’d always known that would mean the end of something, but she hadn’t expected this. She can feel Blair’s eyes burning into the back of her head, can tell that Blair is constantly angry at her. She sees every eye roll and oddly, she sees every time Sterling steers Blair away from her at school.
She has a feeling that she’s somehow responsible for this herself, in a way that goes beyond Blair just being jealous. She flashes back to years ago, to her urge to ask Sterling what she’d done wrong, and she thinks maybe this is just how the Wesleys operate. Perhaps they never tell you when they want things to be over, they simply walk away. Except, she doesn’t want to accept that a second time. She can’t.
She tries, with an attempt to look like there was no effort whatsoever, to catch Blair after class one Tuesday. It’s unsurprising yet disappointing when Sterling is outside waiting, making it impossible to get near her. She thinks maybe she should try anyway, but stops short when she hears them talking.
“I know, Blair. She sucks. But you’re so good, and at least we both know you deserved it.”
“Whatever. She’s a more fitting ugly stepsister.”
April isn’t ugly. She knows that. But it still stings to hear such vitriol from Blair.
Sterling doesn’t say anything in response but she still stares Blair down for that comment.
“Maybe not on the outside, but there’s more than one way to be ugly, Sterl. Like, April is so ugly on the inside. I can’t believe we were ever friends with her.”
Sterling just kind of hums, but it’s enough to make it clear that she agrees.
Just like that, any guilt she may have felt about beating Blair for the part dissipates. Any mild affection she had for either Wesley, even if it was only nostalgic, is gone.
It’s not the first time that April vows that she’s done with the twins (and truthfully it won’t be the last), but it’s the most she’s ever hated them. It’s maybe the most she’s ever hated anyone.
——————
There’s only been a month of rehearsals when Ezequiel sits her down and tells her she looks tired. Her instinct is to snap back at him, and she only concedes because honestly, she’s too tired to even do that. He makes her promise that she’ll take more breaks over the next six weeks, and reminds her that exhaustion is more likely to hinder her performance than help it.
She’s not sure who she’s trying to prove herself to. The Wesleys, yes, because she can’t stop hearing Sterling’s voice saying “we both know you deserved it” to Blair, and she absolutely will not allow that to be true. The older dancers, perhaps, who seem to think April is a nuisance, and whose presence they barely tolerate. Herself, maybe? Because what if Sterling was right? What if Blair really did deserve to be cast over her?
No. April worked for this. She spent weeks getting herself ready for auditions, feet bloodied and body bruised. She earned this. She repeats it, over and over in her head until it almost loses meaning. She earned this. Blood, sweat and tears. She knows she did. She believes it, and that’s what matters.
She still works for it, and she rehearses and she spends Tuesday evenings and all day Saturday in the studio. She spends at least an hour each day rehearsing at home. But she does take Ezequiel’s words to heart, and she spends her evenings flicking through Netflix instead of the Royal Ballet’s YouTube channel. Her earphones play Kacey Musgraves instead of Prokofiev. She lets herself breathe. She still doesn’t let herself slouch, but that’s more about the importance of good posture than it is about maintaining first position.
By the time they’re in the final stretch, the two weeks leading up to the show, April feels confident in a way she never has before.
She remembers that first performance after her friendship with Sterling ended, how she’d been upset and it had had a negative impact on her performance. She’d been heartbroken, completely devastated not just by losing Sterling, but by the way Sterling had turned out to be nothing like the person April had thought she was. This time, she’s older, more in control of her emotions. She’s going to take all the pain from the last few months, maybe even longer, and channel it into giving the best performance of her life. She remembers everything Blair has told her in the last few years, about loosening up and taking the time to feel the music rather than just hear it. She dedicates those evening rehearsals, the ones at home, to (as much as the phrase makes her cringe) dancing from her heart rather than from her head. She doesn’t simply move through the motions, though she knows them inside out.
She’s totally, completely ready.
——————
April’s parents are there to support her, of course, as are Ezequiel and Hannah B. Her friends have both sent her excited good luck texts, and her daddy told her as she left the house that he “knew she’d be fantastic.” She appreciates it, but she doesn’t need it.
Blair is texting incessantly while they’re all getting ready, and April doesn’t even feel jealous knowing that Sterling is sending hundreds of well wishes her way.
It’s like flying, as corny as it sounds even in her own mind, and when she’s stretching in the dressing room in the interval, she thinks that maybe this is how dancers are supposed to feel. She’s always known that people were impressed more by her precision than anything else, but tonight is different. She’s tired, but exhilarated, with adrenaline coursing through her in a way it never really has before.
Miss Emily comes in, to offer a short pep talk before giving their two minute warning, and she hugs April before she leaves.
April can feel Blair’s eyes on her as they’re waiting to get back on stage. She doesn’t acknowledge it.
April is incredible. That’s not even just her own opinion, she knows it. Miss Emily congratulates her, even a few of the older dancers reluctantly mumble a few words of praise in her direction.
She walks back out into the foyer of the small theatre that’s been booked out for their production, and Hannah B immediately throws her arms around her, and Ezequiel joins in when he sees April gladly accept. It’s a warm, loving kind of affection that April hasn’t known since she was ten.
She sees the Wesleys across the room, hugging and celebrating Blair. Her own parents are still hovering behind her friends, neither of them having even really looked in April’s direction yet.
She knows it’ll come later. Her daddy will probably give her a gift, either when they get home tonight or after their final show in a week. Her mother will brag about April at the club, but never say a word to her daughter. It’s enough for April, now. She’s stopped relying on other people for her self-worth.
She can’t stop her eyes from drifting back over to the Wesleys though, as she sees them getting ready to leave. Luke is with them, she notes, and for some reason it bothers her that Luke was there to see her personal proudest moment.
Sterling catches her eye just as April is about to look away, and she smiles.
She’s angry at herself for it, but that single smile means more to April than any word of praise ever could.