How It Feels to Fly(83)

“Your body, for classical ballet—maybe it will not work. But does that mean you must stop dancing entirely? No!” She pounds the desk for emphasis. “If you must dance, and you feel that in here”—now she pounds her chest—“you find a way.”

As she talks, I see how she must have been as a performer, back in the day. Her power and her fire fill the small room.

“Ballet is not for everyone. This is the way it is. But dance—she is for everyone.”

I think about the conversation Dr. Lancaster and I had a week ago, when I realized that as much as I love ballet, ballet might not love me back.

“Are you saying I should quit ballet?”

Ms. Levanova looks affronted. “Of course not! Ballet is the root. She is the tree from which so many other forms grow. She is the backbone. You must not stop. But perhaps . . .”

I wait with bated breath. Perhaps what?

“Perhaps you must broaden your horizons. See what else there is.”

“But what if . . . what if I’m not good at anything else?”

“Nonsense. Good ballet training can go with you anywhere. Will you immediately become a contemporary dancer, or a modern dancer, or a jazz dancer? No, but that is why we study. That is why we practice. That is why we explore.” Now she has a mischievous look in her eyes. “Many of my colleagues would not give you this advice. They would say, ‘Ballet is all! To do anything else is to settle! To diminish yourself!’”

I can hear my mom saying those very things, minus the Russian accent. Mom is the main reason I’ve studied ballet and only ballet thus far. Maybe I’m not the only one who needs to broaden her horizons.

“I have been in the world of ballet a long time,” Ms. Levanova says. “Much longer than you. So you must trust what I’m saying.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you certain to have a career in another style of dance? No. You have only a small amount of control over the future. You could become injured. You could lose your passion. You could discover something else that interests you more. But there is no reason not to try everything you can to reach a career, if it is your dream.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“On that note, I would like for you to meet someone.”

She gets up and goes out into the hallway. I hear voices, and then she returns with a younger African American woman.

“Samantha,” Ms. Levanova says, “this is Nicole Paxton. She is a former dancer with us, and she now directs a contemporary dance company in Atlanta. She is here to choreograph a ballet for our students. I asked her to look in on the class.”

I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Samantha.” Nicole perches on the edge of Ms. Levanova’s desk, her long, muscular legs dangling down. “I’m gonna cut to the chase. I love the way you move. And I understand you’re looking for summer training opportunities.”

I nod.

“My company’s pretty new, and this is our first year hosting a summer intensive. I’d like to invite you to take part. Unfortunately, I can’t offer you any sort of scholarship—it starts in two weeks, and we’ve given out all the funds we have. But I think you’d be a good fit for the work I do and could learn a lot. So what do you say?”

“It’s—is it a ballet intensive?” I stammer out.

“Yes and no. It won’t be what you’d get here. Less focus on pure classical technique. We’ll push you to move in a different way. Have you done much contemporary work?”

“Not really. My studio’s pretty classical.”

“Well, you can’t be a bunhead forever.” Nicole glances at Ms. Levanova like this is an inside joke between the two of them, and Ms. Levanova lets out a soft laugh.

“How soon do I have to let you know? I’m totally interested, but—”

But this isn’t what you want, my inner voice whispers.

Contemporary dance, instead of classical ballet.

A new company holding its first-ever intensive, instead of the established, prestigious program I’ve dreamed of attending for years.

But Ms. Levanova said it flat out, and I have to admit that she’s right: classical ballet might not be the place for me anymore. I had plans. Goals. But things changed. I changed. So maybe all that’s left to do now is to let go.

Is that what “take the leap” really means?

“Talk to your folks about it,” Nicole says. “Can you let me know by Wednesday?” She stands, fishing around in her pocket. “Here’s my card. Website, phone number—everything you need’s on there.”

I take the card, running my fingers around its crisp edges. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by coming to the intensive and showing up ready to work.” With a wave of her hand, Nicole’s out the door.

Ms. Levanova inclines her head at me, looking pleased. “I hope is not too much of a consolation prize?”

“It’s—it’s a wonderful opportunity. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now I must make a few phone calls. And you—I understand you have a long drive ahead of you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I stand and drop into a quick curtsy.

“I will see you at auditions for next summer.” It’s not a question.