“It’s not fine,” Heather interrupted. “This messes up the whole timeline, and you’re freaking out.”
“No I’m not,” Carly said, too hastily. Heather lowered her chin and gave Carly her patented Heather Hayscut the craplook. Carly let out a sound that was half groan and half sigh.
“Fine, I’m freaking out,” she admitted. “But I’ll figure something out. I will.” Some time in the next two-and-three-quarter weeks, she would solve this problem, she told herself, trying to hold another small wave of panic at bay.
“I know you will,” Heather said soothingly. It was her Big Sister voice, which meant a Big Sister offer of help was coming. “But if you don’t, will you let me help? I could put in a good word with Catherine, at the very least. I have a pretty good relationship with her. She was very eager to mend fences as soon as she took over from Mr. K.”
“No, you’ve already done so much,” Carly argued. She didn’t want her best friend to have to swoop in and save her again. It had been hard enough last time to ask Heather to put her own career on the line to save Carly’s job.
“I’m just saying that I would if you wanted me to. But I hear you.” Heather frowned pensively, then pulled out her hair tie and ducked down until the water came up to her chin. Carly did the same, lying back in the cool water and letting it flood her scalp as her hair floated around her shoulders.
“Obviously, asking your parents is out of the question,” Heather said after they’d floated in silence for a few minutes.
“Obviously,” Carly agreed. She knew damn well that a sizeable donation from Edward and Marlene, perhaps enough to bankroll a new three-act ballet or update an entire warehouse worth of costumes, would make the board lean on Catherine to promote her. It would only take one phone call to them, and they’d be so happy to do it. She’d call them, and they’d write a check big enough to have every square foot of carpet in the theater replaced, or something, and just like that she’d be a soloist. And she’d never forgive herself. “It wouldn’t be real. It would be like I bought my place—No, like they bought it for me. I’ve made it this far without asking them for help, and I’m not going to cave now.”
“Mmm,” was all Heather said. She’d heard Carly give some version of this speech many times.
They floated for a few more minutes, and Carly let the sound of the water and the seagulls and the distant buzz of a boat motor wash over her. “You know what you need?” Heather said.
“A beach this clean in Manhattan?”
“You need something to boost your profile. Catherine already knows how you dance. She’s been watching you in class and on stage for years. But you need to show that you’re a box office draw, too. That way, promoting you is good business for them.”
“How would I do that?” Carly frowned up at the cloudless blue sky.
“I don’t know, get famous? Book an endorsement deal with a dancewear company? Rack up a million Instagram followers?”
Carly sighed. It was true that dancers’ Instagram accounts had basically become part of their resumes now. It had been a long time since she’d auditioned for a dance company, but she knew that these days, when you showed up to an audition, companies didn’t just want to see how good your extensions were or how many pirouettes you could do. They also wanted to know what kind of an online following you had. And Carly had basically no following. She only used Instagram to keep up with her friends’ lives and to follow funny ballet meme accounts.
“So, what, I magically amass 999,900 followers in the next three weeks, and Catherine will have no choice but to promote me because some of those hundreds of thousands of internet strangers will buy tickets at Lincoln Center?” Carly asked.
“I think that’s the theory,” Heather agreed.
Carly exhaled an impatient breath. It took years to develop a following of that size, and it wasn’t like she would have any rehearsal or performance footage to post in the next three weeks.
“Okay, but how do I do that?”
“You mean outside of full-frontal nudity?”
“Ha,” Carly said humorlessly. “I’m not doing that.”
“Well, there goes my first and only idea,” Heather shrugged.
Carly stood up and slapped her hand along the water, spraying Heather in the face.
“Hey! Not cool!” Heather cried, but she sent a splash right back.
Carly giggled and dodged the spray, then dived sideways, closing her eyes and letting the cool water envelope her face at last. It felt glorious after the beating sun, and for a moment she let the water hold her, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and silence. It was clear enough that when she opened her eyes, she could see the rippled sand below, and she spotted a few silvery fish darting away from her.
When she broke the surface and wiped the salty water away from her eyes, she found Heather standing right where she’d left her, with a triumphant grin on her face.
“I’ve got it,” Heather said. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Okay,” Carly said warily, hoping Heather wasn’t going to suggest calling Catherine on her behalf again.
“You need new followers, which means you need new photos. Really good photos, right? And we know someone in Sydney who takes really good photos.”
“We do?” Carly asked.
