18 February 2013
I was supposed to write this for Paris’s birthday but ahahaha I got way behind on my solos. QQ


Word Count: 1481

Paris walked into Lisa Sanders’s office with only a mild sense of trepidation.

It wasn’t often that he was called into any of his professor’s offices, at least not now that he was in college and taking his education more seriously than he had in high school. For the most part, he had no reason to see them outside of his classes. His grades might not be the perfect set of straight-A’s his fiancé had to his name, but they were commendable nonetheless, particularly for someone with Paris’s history of slacking off and skipping class. He met with his academic advisor before registering for classes each semester, and dropped by some of his other professors’ offices when he had a question about a paper or other assignment; otherwise, he was content to go about his own business and let them go about theirs.

It was then rather odd for him to be called here now, but he hid whatever unease he was feeling with a smile for his dance instructor when he saw her seated behind her desk. Paris was fairly confident he wasn’t in trouble. He received enough positive remarks in class to feel good about his progress, and enough critique to know that she was actually interested in his development. If he had perhaps overlooked something, he wasn’t yet aware of it, and he refused to let her know that he might actually be a little worried.

“Paris,” she greeted him with a smile in turn, looking up from the papers she had scattered about her desk. “Have a seat.”

Paris lowered himself into the chair in front of her desk, setting his bag down beside him.

He spared a quick glance for the room itself. It wasn’t overlarge, with just enough space for her desk, a couple of chairs, a filing cabinet, and a small table for a coffee maker, blender, and a bowl of assorted candy. In some ways it reminded him of his old instructor’s office, with posters and pictures scattered about on the walls and desk—those on the desk being off her family, those on the walls being of herself in her heyday with the San Francisco Ballet.

“I don’t mean to keep you for long,” she said. “You won’t be late for your other classes?”

“I’m done with class for the day,” Paris said. “I just have to be at work in half an hour.”

“Where do you work?”

“The DCU ticket office.”

“You have a pretty full schedule then, don’t you?” his instructor observed.

Paris shrugged. “I like to keep busy.”

She considered him for a moment, her expression friendly but also somewhat curious. Paris retained eye contact, though it might have made him less nervous to focus on one of the posters instead.

Lisa Sanders had been his ballet instructor since he began taking courses at DCU the previous semester. He could have easily switched to another instructor had he had the desire to do so; she was clearly not the only one who taught ballet in the department of dance, but he’d spent a semester under her tutelage already, and after taking the time to familiarize himself with her methods after years of instruction beneath the stern gaze of Madame Volkova, he wasn’t yet ready to move on to another teacher so soon. He liked Lisa’s mix of technical dedication and personable nature, and until he felt she no longer had anything left to teach him, he saw no reason not to continue with her 11:00-12:15 classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

At forty she was still very fit. Her time off of the professional stage had not seen her grow lax in that department. Paris saw plenty to admire in her, from her down-to-earth nature to such superficial things as her height, her form, and her arches, though as they sat across from one another in their leotards he noted that without the benefit of stage make-up she actually looked a bit plain and ordinary, with mousy brown hair, small brown eyes, a long nose, and lackluster skin. Perhaps she’d stood out on the stage, but in a crowd of non-dancers she’d likely look a bit unobtrusive.

“I’ll get straight to the point then,” she began, announcing, “I want to start working with you on Juliet for our spring performance.”

Paris felt a thrill of excitement which he swiftly worked hard to quell. As much as he would have liked to immediately accept the offer and gush over the opportunity, Paris took his time to let the comment register, mulling it over until he was completely sure he’d heard her right and wasn’t coming to any false conclusions.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” Lisa said, hardly missing a beat.

“There are other excellent dancers. Shouldn’t one of your seniors get the role?”

“Typically,” she admitted with a shallow nod, “though not all the time. None of my seniors stand out the way you do.”

Again, Paris took a moment to consider what she was saying, turning her comments around in his head and trying to pick them apart and determine her reasoning. He didn’t doubt his skill at all, nor was he in any way afraid that he wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but it seemed odd to him that he should be handed this opportunity now, when he only had a single completed semester under his belt and hadn’t yet immersed himself as heavily into the department as he would during later semesters.

Lisa must have been able to read some of the suspicion on his face, because her smile grew sympathetic and she consented to explain. “I would have considered you regardless, but ultimately it was a departmental decision,” she said, “and the department is looking to bring more attention to the program.”

“And I’m a novelty,” Paris concluded. “Me dancing a lead role would bring attention.”

“I’d hoped you’d look at it less as something that might benefit the department and more as something that would benefit you as a dancer.”

“What if it brought more negative attention than positive? Or is any attention good attention right now?”

“They want to promote interest in the department,” Lisa said, “so, yes, many of them think any attention is good attention, but they’re confident it’ll be more positive than negative. You got wonderful reviews when you were with the Destiny City Ballet.”

Paris accepted this with a careless shrug and settled himself more comfortably in the chair.

For a moment there was silence between them. Paris continued taking his time to let it all sink in, and Lisa seemed content to let him. She watched him carefully, but with a confidence in her gaze that let him know she already suspected what his answer was likely going to be.

If he were honest with himself, Paris had known from the moment she’d made the offer that he would take it. He’d be a damned fool not to. After leaving the professional stage only a year after setting foot on it, and for something as unnecessary to his career as going to college might ultimately be, he couldn’t afford to decline an opportunity for a lead when it was so readily handed to him, even if there might be reasons for the decision other than his talent. When he had the chance to prove himself, he knew he had to take it, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

He wanted to be successful. He wanted to be a principle at an acclaimed company one day, and to do that he needed talent, experience, drive, and the necessary opportunities to show exactly what he could do.

But he at least wanted to make it seem like he had some principles, that he might have a few reservations against being used for the novelty of it rather than strictly for his talent. He couldn’t make it seem like it was as easy as handing him the role on a silver platter. He still had some pride in there.

Somewhere.

The truth of the matter was that, when it came down to it, he really didn’t give a damn. If it got him roles, then it got him roles. He didn’t think he could afford to be picky.

Lisa sat quietly and patiently waited for his decision. When he thought a sufficient amount of time had passed for him to have accurately weighed the pros and cons of it, Paris heaved a sigh and tried to make himself look resigned, but if his eyes were bright with excitement and if his mouth had curved up into a wide smile without him knowing it, well… no matter what the department’s reasons were, it was still an exciting prospect, wasn’t it?

Sure, it wasn’t Aurora or Odette, but it was Juliet.

“So… who’s going to be my Romeo?” he asked.