Football and Ballet - Jason Collins Page 0,50

away. “I need to get back to warm-ups.”

“I’ll see you out there.” Isaac nodded before he walked away from the conversation, completely.

And I took in a deep breath before I cleared my head, soon going back to working on the perfect spin.

“You’ve got this,” Keaton whispered as I passed by him, my audition number being called from the other side of the stage curtain. “If anyone can kill this one, it’s you.”

Keaton Jones.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to find a reason to never speak to him again, to pretend like he never even existed.

And yet, I hadn’t been able to find an excuse to add him to the ignore list of my life. Because Keaton, despite being one of the hottest ballet dancers in the nation right now, didn’t seem to have an ego about it, at all.

In fact, Keaton seemed downright nice, almost like he was just another kid on the street. It was annoying just how personable and kind he was, like a more amiable version of myself at that age. Keaton’s goodness often made me feel even worse, because not only was he an incredible dancer, he was also a sweet person, through and through.

Keaton was absolutely perfect.

And his perfectness shook me to my core.

“You’ve got this, too,” I murmured before walking onto the stage, trying my best to forget about perfect Keaton and his perfect form and his perfect attitude and his perfect everything else.

And as I stepped toward the center of the stage, I noticed the owners of the dance company, sitting in the front row of the theater. Typically, the sight of them would’ve brought me joy, a reminder that I was their favorite dancer and my spot as the lead of any production was guaranteed.

But today, the sight of them only caused more streams of nervousness to flow through my veins, a reminder that they were ready to replace me with Keaton, ready to write me out of their proverbial will and move on with the future of the company.

I then caught sight of Isaac, sitting beside the owners, a look of concern etched into his features.

“You ready, Patrick?” Isaac mouthed, his fingers seeming to motion to a hidden figure behind me.

I came back to myself and remembered that my audition for the company couldn’t start until I signaled that I was ready to begin. I subtly waved my fingers at my side as Isaac nodded in understanding.

A few seconds later, the theater filled with sweet, soft strings, the sounds echoing gently off the walls, floating through the air and seeming to surround every part of me. As the music swam through the theater, I began to swim along with it, my movements matching the rhythm of the music as I gracefully danced through positions, as I landed each turn and extended yet another perfect kick.

But just as I was almost to the shore, just as the music crashed in time with the flow of my motions, I felt something snap.

And then, I was tumbling down, underneath the waves of all my dreams, suddenly drowning under the weight of failed expectations, the lights above my head moving so far away it seemed like they were fading into an unseen oblivion.

“That’ll be all, Patrick,” Isaac said, as my body still lay on the floor of the stage. “Thank you. We’re ready for the next dancer.”

We’re ready for the next dancer.

I let Isaac’s words wash over me like a final wave, its impact dealing a crushing blow right to my lungs.

When I made my way backstage with the rest of the dancers, I realized that the source of my fall from grace had been my knee cramping up while I’d been auditioning on stage. The other dancers of my company were quick to assure me that as long as I kept it iced and properly stretched, I should be able to dance as the lead during the upcoming season, with no problems.

But despite their warm encouragements, I knew that there was no chance I’d be leading the production this season. Because even without seeing Keaton’s audition, I knew that he’d aced it. And I knew that the owners would be fawning all over him right after he finished, promising him the same opportunities they’d once promised me, heaping all their praise they’d once reserved for my performances onto him.

All of my assumptions were soon confirmed by Isaac, who once again came backstage, quietly pulling me aside for a conversation. It was strange, even