“I think if you add one more pillow, I’ll suffocate,” I say, aiming for playful, but landing somewhere near brittle. Her face falls a little, and I instantly feel bad. “Sorry. I’m just… tired.”
“We get it.” Gabby’s pretty features soften, her tone as gentle as she is.
I nod, then reach for my phone.
One voicemail. Two missed calls. Three unread texts.
Terrence. Mom. Terrence, Terrence. Mom, Mom.
Mom
Hey, just checking in. Arrive okay? No car trouble? Call me.
Terrence
Need your updated bio before rehearsals start
Also, reminder: initial rehearsal location changed. Sending address
Mom
Hey honey! Me again! Looking forward to seeing you! Check in when you can. Dad sends his love! Why he won’t just text you himself, I’ll never understand. You know your father…
I click the screen off.
“I need to call Terrence,” I say aloud, more to myself than anyone. “Tell him what happened.”
But even as I say it, dread knots in my stomach. If I tell him, he’ll tell the tour director. And if the tour director knows I’m injured this early in the game? Non-weight bearing for three, maybe four weeks? That’s it. They’ll replace me. No question. And what then? Crawl home with nothing to show for the years I spent chasing a job like this?
Let Dad be right?
This is what I’ve been working for. My first real break… and it’s a good one. Working with Sandro René is a career maker. He’s hot. Popular. He doesn’t change with the trends; he sets them. Having his world tour on my resumé might as well be an Emmy or an Oscar. It’s mychance to prove to my dad he was wrong about all of it. Wrong about me.
I cannot lose this job. Not just because of the money—well, kind of because of the money—but mostly because my whole life has been leading up to this moment.
“Or maybe I don’t call him,” I say slowly, placing the phone on the end table. “I’m sure I’ll be feeling better in a couple days. I mean, I have the internet, right? I can read up on grade three sprains, study the healing protocols. I’ll even find videos and learn how to rehab myself. I might be a little slow out of the gate at the first rehearsal, but I’ll be careful. Mark the choreography for a few days. No one will even know there’s a problem.”
Gabby and Stella exchange a look, like they’re trying to psychically communicate how honest to be with me.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Stella says carefully.
“But you can’t evendrive, Lou.” Gabby looks distraught. “It’s your right foot. How are you going to get back to Los Angeles?”
“I’m here for a whole week. I’m sure I’ll be good to drive by the end of the visit.” I bob my head, my smile growing. I got this. I so, so got this.
I’ve never met a problem I couldn’t solve.
Hard work, determination, and the right attitude will get me through this like they’ve gotten me through everything else.
Gabby, however, looks less confident. “Your papers say you’ll be in the boot for three to four weeks,though.”
Stella elbows her.
Gabby winces, then backtracks. “But hey! You’re a fast healer.”
“And whatever happens, stay as long as you need,” Stella adds. “Seriously. No pressure. The couch is yours until you’re better.”
I nod, even though the idea of crashing here longer makes something anxious crawl under my skin. Stella’s house is cute, but small. One bedroom. One bath. Tiny kitchen. And me on the couch in the middle of it all.
