Our Thing
Book One
As
Sweat beadson my forehead as my ballet partner pulls me into our final sequence. The other performers are in a semi-circle formation around us. The music has peaked, and the audience is in a state of silenced awe.
I'm en pointe, floating across the stage in an ethereal motion, when the spotlight bounces around the audience. As it momentarily illuminates the faces of the people seated, I catch a glimpse of a boy I haven't seen in many years. So many, in fact, that I'm surprised I've recognised him at all. Joshua, I think his name is.
One summer on my front lawn, he and my brother started fighting. Fists and bats were swung. He nearly knocked my brother unconscious.
But that's not why I remember him.
Warmth spreads through me.
I remember him because that was the first time I saw the notorious bad boy of the District. Oh, he was only young then, so his reputation hadn't yet formed roots, but there was no mistaking his strength. His single mindedness.Dominance. That boy with the grey eyes was a complete stranger to my brother and me and yet, he jumped into the rumble. After dragging Joshua away, he effortlessly laid him out across the grass. Then he wandered up the street as if nothing had even happened. Well, something had happened... He'd made an impression.
A lasting one!
My attention is drawn back to my dance partner as he pulls me into our closing position. We still, smiling and breathing heavily. The crowd stands and coos. As the curtains slowly draw shut to the sound of applause, his name lingers in my mind.
Max Butcher.
He is the boy I dream about at night. Until recently, I never saw much of him, but my sister Flick has started to date someone in his circle and now he'severywhere.
Much to my delight and discomfort.
Lost in thoughts, I'm taken off guard as my ballerina squad ambushes me in our private sanctuary behind the fabric that separates us from the audience. They jump and squeal with excitement, congratulating me on my successful final show as Nikiya. I hug a few girls, two or three. The exact number of embraces is unknown because I'm so drained from my performance.
I hope no one can notice.
Rushing down the hall toward my dressing room, I pass by dancers who are being embraced and gifted flowers under waves of excitement. It's not until I'm pushing the door open and the silence and stillness of my dressing room surround me, that I'm able to focus on myself. Not on Max Butcher or the day he'd rescued my brother from a bully.
No. Not on that!
Sitting down in front of the mirror, I stare at myself and sigh. "You're eighteen today."
Right now, Flick is probably blowing up balloons and ordering caterers around in preparation for my arrival.
Today was the final day of my tour as Nikiya, the main female role inLa Bayadere. It was a beautiful production about how love conquers all despite the three big As—Angst, Action, and Anguish. And I showed the audience that emotion in motion. I expressed it through movement and lived with it in my body for the past six months while really absorbing her character, and yet I havenoreal-life experience with any of theAs.
I am, for lack of a better phrase, A-less.
Leaning closer to my reflection, I focus on myself. "Why are you thinking about Max Butcher and Angst and Anguish and Action? Cassidy? Are you listening to me? He doesn't even know your name..."
A knock at the door snatches my attention. Clearing my throat, I swivel in my chair to face it. "Come in."
The sound of the girls celebrating another successful show suddenly radiates into the room. On a flood of energy and good vibes, my bestie enters, holding a bunch of white tulips. "Darlin’, you were amazing!"
He struts over to me and places the bouquet on my dresser. "Oh, my." His mouth drops open as he cups his cheeks in mock horror. "Are you talking to yourself in the mirror again?"
The truth plays with my mouth. My lips twist into a grin. "It's a very one-sided conversation."
Despite his overly broad shoulders, and thick waistline, Toni is still one of the prettiest guys I know. He is half-Chinese, half-Italian, and rocks the best of both worlds, with his delicate features and long ink-black lashes under thickchocolate-brown hair. His skin is the perfect tone of caramel. He is pretty and butch—it's a beautiful combination.
Grabbing a stool from the corner of the room, he pulls it up beside me and makes himself comfortable. He faces the mirror, giving himself a once over before rubbing his jaw to check for stubble. "You were incredible out there, my queen."
"Thank you." I turn back to my reflection and now another name plays on my mind. A big sigh escapes me. "Konnor didn't come tonight. He's not coming at all."
