Just last night I was skipping through my Parisian summer with hearts in my eyes. I thought my life was falling into place, but it was just the opposite. I knew I’d missed that step, and I tried to pretend that it didn’t happen. That’s the worst part of it. Did I really think that Monsieur Dabrowski wouldn’t notice? Did I honestly believe it wouldn’t matter? If I did, then the joke’s on me. I challenge myself to another ten takes of my solo, promising myself that if I can dance it twice flawlessly from the firstarabesqueandtendu derrièreto the last, I could go home. But I don’t dance it twice flawlessly. Instead, I manage it five times in a row.
By the time I walk out of school, I almost think I’m okay. I even trick myself into believing that I’ve put Louis out of my mind. Except that when I find him waiting outside on the steps, in the exact spot where we first met, I realize once more how foolish I am.
My heart knocks against my chest. I want to ignore him, to pretend that I don’t see him. I could walk away and never speak to him again. But then I’d never get to express how much he hurt me. And right now, all I want is to hurt him back.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here…,” he says, “but you haven’t responded to any of my texts, and I was starting to worry about you.” He gets up and brushes off his pants, then leans over to kiss me. I pull away sharply.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
I take a deep breath, flared nostrils and all. “Everything is verynotokay.”
He reaches for my waist. I push him away. “Don’t,” I say. “This is over.” And even though I mean them, the words rip another hole through my heart.
Louis’s frown grows deeper. “What’s going on? I thought we had an amazing time last night.”
“Let me ask you something, Louis. How many amazing nights have you had with other students? How many times have you sat on these steps, checking out ballerinas, and just picked one you liked?”
“What are you talking about?” One more time, Louis tries to grab my hand, but I cross my arms. “Let’s go get something to eat. We’ll talk, okay?”
“Did you want to keep us a secret because you have another girlfriend here?”
“What? No, that’s ridiculous.”
I shake my head with rage. “So you’ve never dated another girl from this school?”
A small part of me still hopes that this has all been a terrible misunderstanding, and that Monsieur Dabrowski was just annoyed with me about the performance. He could have made up that story to bring me back to reason.
But Louis doesn’t deny it. Instead, he just sighs. “Who told you that?”
I want to crumble to the ground and scream. Someone please wake me up from this nightmare. “That’s all you care about?”
“I care aboutyou,Mia. You have to know that. It’s different than the others….”
The others.Plural. “I never want to see you again.” I bark this so loudly that a couple of passersby turn to look at us, but I don’t care. Two older students—probably from the yearlong program—come out the front door, and I catch Louis glance at the petite blond one.
“Her?” I ask way too loudly.
“Stop it,” Louis says without raising his voice.
But I’m shaking with disgust. I take a few steps toward the girls who are walking down the stairs. “Excuse me,” I say. “Do you know this guy?”
They both look a little scared as they glance over to Louis. “Hmm,” the blond one says, one eyebrow raised.
Louis comes closer and positions himself in between us.
“Louis Dabrowski? He dates every girl in this school, apparently.”
“Mia!” Louis says. “My dad is going to kill me.”
Then he turns to the girls.“Désolé,”he mumbles, his chest heaving.
“Not as much as he destroyed me!” I say.
The girls open their eyes wide and freeze.
Louis says something else to them in French, but I’m too upset to even try to understand. Before they turn the corner of the street, they look back at me, giggling to themselves.
I turn to Louis. “You don’t know what it’s like to have a dream. Something to live or die by. Do you think it’s funny to distract girls? To get in their way?”
