Page 74 of Healing Eleanor

Russell’s grin is instant. He claps once and lets out a quiet, triumphant, yes. Popping to his feet, he adds, “I’ll get working on it now.” Then he bolts for the door.

As soon as he’s gone, Kasper rotates his chair toward me. “Do you think Irina’s going to kill me? She’s already had the girls working on the costumes.”

I smirk, pushing up from my chair. “Kill might be a stretch. You’ll probably just come back with a few scrapes and bruises.”

“Geez,” he mutters.

I chuckle on my way to the door. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

The hallway is already bustling with voices as I leave his office and brace myself for the next battle of the day.

When I step into Studio B, the freestanding barres are already set out. I thank God for whoever saved me a few precious minutes. The room buzzes with laughter and hushed conversations, the kind of easy energy that fills the space before rehearsals officially begin.

Then my eyes move to the corner of the room near the window. Dillon and Eleanor kneel with their heads close together, laughing. The way he looks at her makes something coil tight in my gut.

She shrugs off an oversized black hoodie, and hands it to him. His grin spreads wide, and her soft smile mirrors it.

I have no idea what’s happening with me, but for some reason, I loathe the sight of them together. I’m not the jealous type. Yet watching those smiles pass between them, I realize a part of me simply can’t bear it.

Dillon is a great guy, an even better friend, and probably a better option for Eleanor—despite what Mama and Evelyn believe. I recognize that look of longing when I see it, and I can’t help feeling a flicker of irrational anger at Dillon for it. Eleanor isn’t mine. I don’t even want her that way. But every time I see her, an invisible string pulls me toward her, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t sever it.

Not able to watch them a second longer, I set my things down and clap loudly, cutting through the murmur of conversation.

“Sorry I’m late,” I start, my voice carrying across the room. Everyone quiets, eyes shifting toward me. “We had quite the mix-up this morning. Next week we’ll be announcing the winter variation and the cast list. I know it’s a bit unconventional, but consider this week your audition. Give this class your all. Show me what you’ve got.”

My gaze drifts across the dancers until it lands on Eleanor. She’s already staring at me, her eyes holding the same fierce determination I’ve seen in her reels. It’s magnetic.

“Let’s pray.”

Everyone bows their heads except for her. She never does. Every time I pray before class, she keeps her head up like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. While the rest of the room bends in quiet reverence, her wide eyes stay locked on mine. A faint blush touches her cheeks.

I offer the smallest smile before bowing my head, praying, and getting to work.

Class passes in a blur of combinations, the sound of pointe shoes and the echo of the piano filling the studio. Everyone’s movement is sharper today, their technique more alive than I’ve seen in weeks.

But my focus kept drifting toward Eleanor.

I watched the way she moved and how for the briefest of moments, she’d let herself go. Her body would melt into the music, free and weightless, and then just as quickly she’d pull herself back in, every line precise, every step locked into control.

I didn’t have the heart to correct her.

The thought of what Evelyn said lingered like a shadow in the back of my mind. Eating disorder. It clung to her image in a way I didn’t want.

So I looked. Not obviously—at least, I hoped not—but for signs. Anything that would give me a clear answer. She was small, yes, but so were plenty of the dancers here. All I had to go on was that I hadn’t seen her eat. Not at lunch. Not during breaks. Nothing.

But then again, I haven’t seen some of the others eat either. And I’m not silently condemning them.

“You all did great today,” I tell the class, clapping my hands together. “See you tomorrow.”

As the dancers begin leaving the studio, I catch Dillon’s eye. “Hey… can you stay back for a bit?”

He wipes a towel across his brow and nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

I stand by the barre as Gabriel, Lily, and Eleanor pass, offering each of them a small goodbye nod.

Eleanor’s gaze lingers for a fraction of a second longer than the others before she follows them out.

When the door shuts behind the last dancer, the room falls silent. I lean back against the barre, crossing my arms over my chest like it might shield me from the absurd question I’m about to ask.