Zoe asks, trying to sound calm even though she’s obviously upset. “Eliza and Olivia got promoted to soloist.” She slams a new pointe shoe in the door to break it in, which is also a good way to take out frustration. “Soloist!” “What, are you serious?” I practically yell, forgetting for a moment that I’m supposed to be happy for my peers. These are girls like me—ones who have been toiling in what we all thought was perpetual frustration. It’s a monumentally huge deal and, for Olivia and Eliza, the accomplishment of a lifetime. “Just out of the blue like that?” I ask. “Olivia hasn’t had a solo in months.” “Actually, she has,” Bea points out, but I ignore her. I’m in shock, as is everyone else. Daisy gathers up a handful of quarters and then vanishes. Zoe brushes her hair furiously for a few moments before going out for a cigarette. “I mean, that’s great for them, it really is,” I say, trying hard to feel it. I close the lid of my theater case and then open it again agitatedly.
