In fact, it was all a littlesurreal—the subtle grip of the smooth floor beneath my soles, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and a row of folding chairs at the front filled with people I’d only ever dreamed of working with.
Marquez stood near the center, black joggers clinging to his carved thighs, sleeveless tee doing nothing to hide the power in his arms. He was giving some feedback to one of the dancers while stretching his own hamstrings.
“Ah, hello Lyla. It’s so good to have you!” a warm voice called out.
A woman in a charcoal blazer and jeans stood from the front row and crossed the room to greet me. “Margaret Gentry. I’m the one who spoke with you on the phone. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you so much for the opportunity,” I said, trying not to sound like I was vibrating with excitement.
She gestured toward a couple of other women, one at a time. “That’s Kelly—music director. Ava’s our stage manager. You’ll get familiar fast.”
Marquez finally turned in my direction, giving me a once-over.
“You do aerial work well,” he said flatly.
“Yes, sir. Pole and silks. And I’ve done some hoop work too.”
“Good,” he said, crossing his arms. “Ruby’s rooftop number is mostly static rigging. Focus on learning the dance routines for now. You’ll observe tonight and step in next week.”
“Understood.”
But I wasn’t great at sitting still. And it didn’t take long before I was echoing the choreography from the sidelines, matching the movements beat for beat.
Marquez caught it.
“You know the sequence?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I’ve been watching,” I said carefully. “I’m a quick study.”
“Show me. How about you join in this time?”
My heart slammed into my ribs, but my body didn’t hesitate. I stepped into the center of the floor, mimicking the trio to my left—keeping my movements fluid and my toes pointed, slicing my arms through the air in sync with the music and all the other dancers. When I hit the turn sequence with perfect timing, I heard a low whistle from someone in the back.
Marquez gave a grunt that could have been a sound of approval. “You’ll fit in just fine.”
The rest of the rehearsal flew by.
We went through a variety of vocal warm-ups and group numbers. During the short breaks, cast members handed around cough drops and shared jokes. I was already learning names and personalities—like who was the type to borrow your eyeliner without asking and who always had extra ibuprofen. It felt like a little family.
By the time the director dismissed everyone, I was floating.
“Lyla?” Margaret called as I was packing my bag.
“Yes?”
“Can you stay a few minutes and go over onboarding paperwork?”
“Of course.” But my smile faltered as I glanced at the time.
Shit.
On foot, it took me twenty minutes to get to The Sacrifice, maybe thirty. Tonight, I would splurge on a cab. There was no way I would be late. No, not tonight.
I scribbled through the paperwork with record speed, barely reading it. Smiled, nodded, signed my name.
Then I bolted.
The wind bit at my cheeks as I rushed out into the street and threw my hand up to hail a cab.
