Chapter 2
Faye’s flashback on Romeo and Juliet: Ballet Edition (Chapter 5)
The moment their teacher spoke, Faye's mind flickered back to a memory—one from long ago, before late-night train rides, before stolen glances, before everything had shifted into something she didn’t quite understand.
She was ten years old, sitting in a grand theater, hands folded in her lap, eyes wide as the curtain lifted.
Beside her, Lena sat with the same wide-eyed wonder, their shoulders pressed together in the plush red seats.
Their parents sat just a few rows behind them, murmuring to one another, but Faye and Lena barely noticed. They were too enthralled by what was happening on stage.
It was Romeo and Juliet.
Faye remembered the hush that fell over the theater as the first strains of Prokofiev’s score echoed through the hall, the deep, foreboding notes of the Montagues and Capulets theme making the stage feel larger than life.
She remembered the way the dancers moved, how Juliet—so delicate, so weightless—seemed to float as Romeo lifted her high above his head in the Balcony Pas de Deux.
How the music swelled, the orchestra building as their bodies entwined, as their story unfolded through every tendu, every arabesque, every whispered movement.
Lena had been mesmerized.
Faye had glanced at her more than once, watching the way Lena’s fingers curled over the edge of the armrest, the way her lips parted slightly, as if she were breathing with the dancers.
And then, the moment that stayed with her the most.
The final pas de deux.
Juliet cradled in Romeo’s arms, her body limp, lifeless.
The way he carried her, how his hands trembled as he laid her down, his grief pouring out in every aching renversé, every collapsing porté.
Faye remembered the silence in the theater as the last note rang out, how she had swallowed against the lump in her throat.
How Lena’s hand had found hers in the dark, small and warm, their fingers tangled together without a word.
They had gone to dinner afterward with their parents, excitement still buzzing between them, reenacting the movements in the restaurant, laughing as they mimicked the grand lifts in tiny, exaggerated gestures.
“I want to be Juliet one day,” Lena had declared, her voice full of certainty as she speared a piece of pasta with her fork, her eyes alight with the same passion that would one day carry her across the stage.
"I want to dance that pas de deux—the one where she collapses in Romeo’s arms at the end."
Lena, in the spur of the moment, pretended to faint, throwing herself backward with a playful gasp. "Oh, Romeo!" she called out in exaggerated despair, her arms flopping helplessly toward Faye as if she were already succumbing to the "tragic" weight of their imaginary love.
Faye caught Lena, her hands gripping her waist as if instinctively holding her steady.
They both burst into laughter, their parents watching in amused silence, shaking their heads at the sheer energy of the two girls.
Their parents had looked at them, amused, as they went on to demonstrate the graceful swoops and dips of the ballet in exaggerated, clumsy flourishes at the dinner table. It was their signature mix of fun and dedication—always imagining themselves as the leading dancers, even in the most mundane moments.
The pasta twirled as they both laughed, unaware of how far their shared dream would take them. It was in these moments—sitting around the table with their parents, their hands moving like dancers and their voices full of excitement—that Faye knew this dream of theirs wasn’t just a fleeting thought. It was something they would fight for. Something that would define them.
But now, eleven years later, standing in the studio, their teacher’s words still hanging in the air, Faye realized—
She wasn’t just lifting Lena for fun anymore.
This was real.
This was them.
And as Lena’s fingers twitched beside her, the way they had so many years ago, Faye couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something inevitable.