My eldest sister had always been my role model. Maybe it was because of our huge age gap of 10 years, or maybe because she was the only adult closest to my age, but she was the person I looked up to the most.
She was a peerless ballet dancer in her youth, the prima ballerina of their ballet company. I remember watching in awe as she pirouetted gracefully across the stage like a beautiful angel. I would often copy her movements at home, telling my mom that I wanted to be a ballerina just like her.
It was when she was 19 that life dealt her a huge blow. I was 9 years old back then. She finally landed the titular role for the dance, Giselle, the very same part she had always dreamed of. She was so happy and excited about it.
I watched her practice diligently for hours everyday. But as time passed, I noticed a trace of hesitation in her steps and the increasing frustration in her temperament. She would become unbalanced, and sometimes even fall. As a child, I didn't think too much about it. She was probably just tired.
One week before they were set to perform, my mom received a call from the ballet master. My sister was taken to the hospital after landing badly from a jeté. The ballet master insisted that she have it checked. Although injuries are commonplace in the world of performing arts, it was important to take even a minor one seriously.
When her X-Ray showed nothing, she was discharged after reducing the swelling, given painkillers, and told to rest the foot for 24 hours.
However, when she returned to rehearse after the prescribed period of rest, her foot continued to hurt whenever she put her weight on it. My mom brought her back to the hospital for another checkup and a different doctor requested an MRI scan. When the results came back, the doctor revealed that they found stress fractures on her foot; small cracks or incomplete hairline fractures. She had been dancing with an injury for a long time that the cracks weren't able to heal on their own anymore. The only solution was to undergo surgery.
My sister was devastated. My heart broke as I listened to her cry in her hospital room. A surgery meant a long recovery time, not to mention the possibility of not being able to dance the same way again. Her career was over.
She spent almost a month in the hospital before she was allowed to go home. But she was no longer the vibrant sister that I knew. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. She locked herself in her room most of the time and would always be angry whenever she interacted with us. I became scared of her. I couldn't accept it. Someone replaced my sister with a doppelganger.
Then one day, I caught her in our dance studio. She had left her wheelchair and was leaning upright on the railing. She tried to stand but her legs wobbled and she fell. I ran towards her on instinct even though I knew my small body won't be able to support her weight.
She was crying. I could see the sorrow and frustration in her face. And I felt helpless. I wanted to take all the pain away. But what could a child do? The only thing I knew. I hugged her, patting her back like how she would whenever I get myself hurt from playing outside. She clung to me, sobbing even harder. I don't know how long we stayed that way. Time is vague for those who are still young. But it took a long time before she finally released me from her grasp.
I looked into her eyes, and when I saw my sister looking back I knew what I needed to do.
"Claire, teach me," I told her. "I'll dance for you."
—-------------------------
"Miss," Erica said as she handed her smartphone to Anya. "You need to see this." There was urgency in the assistant's voice.
Curious, Anya took the phone in her hand. On the screen showed a video of a group of girls dancing and singing on-stage. She recognized the group as 7DS, the company's 2nd generation girl group. It was a video of a previously livestreamed event. But what caught Anya's attention was their performance itself. Their moves were messy and chaotic, and while the blocking changed intermittently, it was clear who was being kept in the center—Venice.
Anya scrolled through the comments. It was clear that a lot of people noticed the same thing and weren't shy about saying it in public. They attacked 7DS with negative comments, some even blaming Queen of Hearts for poor management.
"Look into their schedule," she said as she handed the phone back to Erica. "Every gig, every practice or training. I want to know who their trainers are, who they're meeting with, what endorsements they get. And find out what is going on internally." She paused. "Discreetly, of course."
"I'm on it, Miss," Erica replied as she began scrolling on her tablet. "According to their schedule, the group should be practicing in Studio 3 right now."
"Let's go, then," Anya replied as she got up from her chair.
As they got on the elevator to the 27th floor, a young girl got into the elevator with them. She wore plain baggy pants and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was disheveled and she wore large rimmed glasses that hid most of her face. When she noticed Anya, she politely bowed. Anya acknowledged her with a small nod, wondering where she had seen her before.
When the elevator doors opened, the girl bowed again slightly before leaving in a hurry.
Arriving at Studio 3, Anya and Erica heard loud voices coming from inside. Anya paused outside its doors, standing aside to keep herself hidden, listening to the commotion.
"You call this water?" Venice yelled as she threw the bottle of water at the girl who was with them in the elevator.
"Th-they ran out of Evian—" the girl stammered.
"And so you got me the second best?"
There was a sharp cracking sound as Venice's palm hit the girl's face.
"You dare think that I, Venice Reinhart, would accept something that's second best? You think I only deserve second best? You worthless bitch!"
Another slap and the girl fell to the floor.
"That's enough, Venice!" Sasta, one of the senior members of 7DS, said in a firm voice. "Do you have to be so cruel to the kid?"
"You're just jealous 'coz you're nothing but second rates," Venice retorted. "What are you going to do about it? I am a Reinhart. I can do anything I want!"
"What's going on here?" Anya asked, entering the room.
All seven girls stopped what they were doing and formed a line. "Hello, Miss Anya."
Anya ignored them and went to see the girl who was still on the floor. Tears silently rolled down her eyes and there was a big red mark on her cheek.
"Are you okay?" Anya asked as she helped the girl stand.
"I—I'm fine, Ma'am," she replied meekly, taking off her glasses to wipe her tears.
Anya was shocked when she took a closer look at the girl's face. Her heart trembled.
"What's your name?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"Lizzie. Lizzie Fuentes."
Her blood boiled upon hearing her name. She clenched her fist, her fingernails digging into her palms. She tried to regulate her breathing. She needed to keep emotions in check unless she blew her cover.
"Take her to the infirmary," she ordered Erica, who quickly took Lizzie away.
Then Anya turned to the girls who were standing side by side. "I could hear you from the hallway screaming like a street vendor. Is this the kind of discipline you've been taught?"
"How dare—-"
"Shut up!" Anya quickly cut Venice off.
Venice glared at her but kept her mouth shut.
"Your recent performance was below average. Everyone is punished to practice the new routine for the rest of the day. I expect you all to memorize your routine properly by tomorrow morning."
With that, Anya left the studio, her hands trembling in anger. She hurried to the nearest restroom and locked herself in a cubicle. There, she leaned against the door, bit down hard on her fist, and wept bitterly.
That evening, Anya was about to go home when she suddenly decided to check on Studio 3 to see if the girls were still practicing. When she got there, the floor was already deserted. She checked her watch. It was 9 P.M.
She had already turned to go back to the elevator when she heard faint music coming from inside the studio. Quietly, she peeked inside.
The lights were off save for a single light near the wall mirrors. Under the light was a girl, dancing to the music. She was so engrossed in her dance that she didn't notice Anya enter the room.
Anya watched in silence, as Lizzie perfectly performed the routine 7DS was practicing. She was graceful, her movements were fluid and precise.
When the music ended, Anya applauded, making Lizzie jump in surprise.
"I—I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were here," she said, keeping her eyes on the floor.
"What are you apologizing for? That was an excellent performance. I couldn't help but give an applause," Anya said with a smile.
"Y—you're too kind. I'm not that good."
"Are you kidding me? You were really good!"
Anya noticed a shy smile forming in the young girl's mouth.
"Have you thought about becoming a trainee?"
Lizzie quickly shook her head, almost in a panic. "I—I could never! I'm not talented enough."
"Little girl, you seem to forget who I am. If I say you have talent, then it's true. I have no reason to lie to you." Anya held the young girl's shoulders. "You're a very talented girl, Lizzie Fuentes. Or should I say, Charlize Reinhart?"
For the first time since that afternoon, Lizzie looked up at Anya and made eye contact. Anya gave her a bright smile.