“But you haven’t eaten anything, Asher,” Sharon said in her sugary tone.
“Not hungry.” He closed the dishwasher and walked out.
Was he mad? Hard to tell with him. I checked my watch. Damn it. I hadn’t realized it was this late. “Sharon.” I set my half-eaten toast on the plate. “I’m sorry, but rehearsal’s in thirty minutes.”
It sucked relying on her, but without a car there was no other way to get to the studio. Buses didn’t run in the suburbs.
“Oh, of course.” She turned to Dad and kissed his cheek. “Sorry, honey. I need to take Kaia to her dance lesson.”
“Yes, wouldn’t want to miss that,” Dad muttered into his cup. I pretended I hadn’t heard and bolted from the kitchen. Ten minutes later, we climbed into Sharon’s car.
“What time should I pick you up?” she asked as we merged into traffic.
“Twelve, as usual. Then I’ve got the lunch shift at Grill&Go.”
She hummed, nodding, and focused on the road. Twenty awkward minutes later, she parked downtown. I said goodbye, jumped out, and sprinted toward the studio.
The foyer was empty. Shit. I was late—or almost. Pulling my phone from my sweatpants pocket, I checked the time as I jogged down the hall to the locker room. Class had already started, but I still needed to change.
My legs froze. Clothes. Shoes. Crap. My bag was still in Sharon’s car.
I sagged against the wall, smacking my forehead with my palm. Imani was kind, but rules were rules. Nausea twisted my stomach as I dialed Sharon. Asking her for anything was uncomfortable, but she couldn’t be far—it’d only take a few minutes to bring my stuff back. Ring after ring, no answer. My second call went straight to voicemail. So did the third.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. Either I went in unprepared or let my team down by not participating in one of the last two rehearsals before the year’s second-biggest showcase.
Our performance mattered more than my shame. Heart pounding, I rushed to the dance hall and paused outside, listening to Imani’s clear voice count over the music.
One deep breath, then I knocked. She opened the door, smiling as she stepped aside.
Joining Tessa and Niki would’ve been easier if I’d had my dance gear. Without it, my lateness and lack of preparation blared louder. My eyes watered.
“Let’s take a short break,” Imani called, her gaze sliding to me. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I blinked fast, holding back tears. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I left my stuff in the car. I tried calling my father’s girlfriend, but she won’t pick up.”
She rubbed my arm with a smile. “It’s okay. I’ll lend you my spare shoes. Seven and a half?”
Relief relaxed my shoulders. I slicked back my hair, nodding. “Yeah. Thank you.”
At least I wore sweats and a top—close enough to our practice clothes. Imani dug out her sneakers, and in minutes I joined the girls.
Sometimes I thought hip-hop did more for me than my weekly chats with Dr. White. During those stress-free hours, I could forget Mom was gone, another woman had taken her place, and Dad hadn’t asked about my day—or wished me good night—in years.
By the end of class, sweat clung to my top, but my frustration with Sharon had eased. Maybe she had somewhere to be and hadn’t checked her phone. She never told me her schedule anyway, so I didn’t keep track.
One by one, the girls left. Sharon was supposed to pick me up in ten, so I lingered at the mirror, trying to tame my hair with only my hands. Everything else was in my bag. At least I still had my phone, even if the battery hovered low.
“Kaia.” Tessa appeared at my side. “Bobby and I are grabbing lunch. Want to come?”
Sweet of her to offer, but I didn’t feel like being a third wheel. I grabbed my phone from the bench and shoved it into my pocket. “Thanks, but I’ve got work. My father’s girlfriend should be here any minute.”
Tessa smiled, backpedaling. “Okay. I’d wait, but Bobby’s already outside.”
“It’s cool. See you Monday.”
She waved and left. The studio emptied, leaving me and Hugh, the security guard, who’d lock up soon.
On my way to reception, a sharp pang knifed my stomach. No way in hell.
