Perfection Cracking: THE FALL.

Dorothy

“Ugh!”

My body slammed against the smooth marbled floor as I was about to finish the  Grand Jeté practice session for my upcoming ballet recital.

Everyone let out a loud gasp, their eyes widening in disbelief. For the first time, they were seeing me fail.

I felt my chest sink; they wanted more from me. They wanted their expectations to be reached.

“I can’t believe she missed that last part.”

I heard hushes and whispers from the other dancers.

“Her mother would never.”

“Dorothy Kace!”

My dance instructor, Mrs. Ivanoski’s thickly accented voice, made the entire chatter cease instantly. My heart raced faster as I struggled to my feet, bearing the ache in my ankle.

“Yes, teacher,” I answered quietly, my head lowered as I waited for her usual disappointment.

“I had expected better from you, Dorothy,” she said harshly. “What is the matter with you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t even look at her. In fact, she would probably shun me if I did.

Then the words I had always dreaded hit me.

“Floral won’t be happy if she hears about this. Repeat the last move. Properly.”

I took in a deep breath, the ache in my ankle worsening. I repositioned myself, waiting for the pianist to replay my closing line.

“Ouu!”

I fell again. Harder this time.

My face hit the marble floor, heat rushing to my cheeks instantly.

The gasps came again. This time, they were coated with laughter. “She is so good at performing that; what changed?”

 I began to wonder what was wrong with me. This was such a simple move, so why was I failing?

Was it because my upcoming recital didn’t excite me the way it used to? Or was it because my mother was getting married today?

On a day I was supposed to support her, dressed in a cute floral dress, smiling like I loved the idea of living in some stranger’s home.

My eyes stung with tears, but I forced them back. Mom had always told me crying was a sign of weakness. Whenever I fall, no matter how badly it hurts, I should stand again.

Mrs. Ivanoski shook her head in disapproval and something else I couldn’t quite name.

“Miss Kace,” she said, walking closer and clearing her throat. She always did that whenever she was about to dismiss someone. “Come with me.”

I followed her out of the dance hall, limping on my bruised ankle as we headed toward her office.

She sat behind the mahogany desk, her eyes darting from my swollen ankle to my face.

She didn’t ask me to sit.

And she didn’t wear that fake smile she always wore whenever my mother came to inspect my practice sessions to see whether I had improved.

“Dorothy,” she whispered. “What’s the matter with you? I really want you to answer me.”

Her face didn’t look inviting. Not the type that truly wanted to know what was wrong with me.

Should I tell her the truth? Was it even necessary?

Mrs. Ivanoski loved drawing my mother’s attention to every little detail about me.

I took in a deep breath.

“I’m fine… teacher,” I whispered. “I’m just not feeling well today, that’s all.”

“Good.”

She stood and walked closer to me, placing her hands on my shoulders.

“Your posture needs to be flawless. No slouching.”

I bit my lip in slight irritation and corrected my posture immediately.

She smiled in satisfaction at my obedience.

Her fingers brushed against the white bow choker around my neck.

“Your mother called earlier.”

She walked around me predatorily before stopping behind me to adjust my standing position.

“She told me to allow you to leave early. Her wedding.” She smiled, excitement lighting up her eyes. “She invited me, and she also asked me to give you something.”

My brows furrowed in confusion as my eyes followed her to the desk, where she picked up a large black box wrapped with a pink bow.

Mom hated pink with passion, so why would she send me a black box wrapped in pink?

Was she finally changing? Realizing that maybe she should let me go after the things I truly wanted?

“Take this, Dorothy,” she said, handing me the box. “There’s a card inside. She asked you to read it.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing at her while questions filled my eyes before finally taking the card.

My hands shook slightly.

Every hair on my skin stood erect the moment I tore open the envelope and pulled out the neatly written paper.

“There’s a dress in that box. I want you to wear it and come directly to the wedding. Seeing you means the world to me.”

— Your mother.

“Wh… what?”

I cringed slightly.

This didn’t sound like the woman I had known my whole life.

She had never told me I meant the world to her.

Or was she truly that excited to marry this man?

Who even was this guy?

I reread the letter repeatedly, trying to convince myself I was misunderstanding something.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and stare at that piece of paper?” Mrs. Ivanoski snapped. “Aren’t you going to put the dress on and go where the world will finally see the renowned gymnast’s daughter?”

There was mockery in her voice, but I chose to ignore it.

I opened the box and pulled out the dress.

“Wow… no way.”

I gasped in awe. Was this some kind of fever dream?

This was the exact dress I had always pinned on my P*******t board.

White, with delicate pink lace designs. The kind of dress women would sell an arm and a leg for. The same dress I had begged Mom to buy for me, only for her to scold me for being materialistic.

And again, my mother hated pink. So what exactly had changed?

“Teacher… can I change in the studio changing room?” I asked carefully. I expected another scolding or maybe silence, but instead she smiled.

“No need for that. Your mother wouldn’t want you changing into such a pretty dress around your peers.”

“You can change in there.” She pointed toward her private restroom.

I glanced at it, then back at her. It felt strange changing there, almost like I was unknowingly doing her some kind of favor.

Still, I nodded, leaving no room for further questions. A few minutes later, I stepped out, wincing slightly from the pain in my ankle. I expected to see Mrs. Ivanoski’s usual stern face. Instead, there was a man in a suit.

He stood imposingly tall, his hair slicked back like those wealthy men from the nineties. Dark shades covered his eyes.

Something about him looked familiar. Like I had seen him before. His cold expression alone made Mrs. Ivanoski straighten instantly with her head lowered.

Before I could ask a question, he spoke in a smooth, deep voice.

“Your mother asked me to pick you up. The car is waiting.”