Still, it might have been smarter to say yes. Zoe obviously has a problem, a pretty serious one, and I have no idea how we’re going to fix it. And we have to, because otherwise I can forget my scholarship. That’s not something I can live with.
The note that I gave her was a start, but I don’t really believe it’sthe solution. Her answer was waiting for me on Friday night when I got back to my room. But her words didn’t actually tell me much.
What happened?
I had a totally horrible year.
—Zoe
I want to ask her why, but that goes against the rules of the game that we silently agreed on over a year ago. I know if I ask that question, I won’t get an answer. If she had wanted to tell me the truth, the whole truth, she would have done it already. The old Zoe always wrote down anything that was bothering her, no matter how small. I was the one whose answers were so short they barely counted.
The Zoe I know now is about as communicative as a rock. She looks like she hasn’t slept properly all weekend. I don’t want to make an issue out of it, but I can’t help it. We’re partners, and I need this damn scholarship.
I have to do something, whether she likes it or not. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I can do something that will help get Zoe out of her shell. I just don’t like it very much.
“You’ve already found your partners. You’re now a pair, a team,” Francesca says, bringing me back to the present. “Use that to your advantage. Get accustomed to one another—build trust. And now: position!” She points to the middle of the floor, and we follow her instructions and take our places. Zoe looks at me in the mirror with a mixture of mistrust and skepticism.
Her hair is up in a tidy bun, as usual, and all at once, my fingers are tempted to pull out every single hairpin just to see how her redlocks tumble over her shoulders. I clench my hands into fists before my body can act on its own and get me into trouble.
Zoe is still staring at me.
“What’s wrong? What are you looking at, Pixie?” The nickname comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. She turns red, and I know that we’re both thinking of the same thing. She signed her last note with her name. Not P, not Pixie. But Zoe. And now I just reminded her that she was always Pixie for me and still is, no matter what else has changed.
Fuck.
“Why don’t you want to trade?” she asks, her chin jutting out defiantly. “With Charlotte, you’ll definitely have it easier than with me. I totally suck.”
“You don’ttotallysuck,” I object. But I save myself the trouble of pointing out that I never said thatshesucked. Only her pirouettes.
“That makes me feel so much better.” Her eyes narrow to slits. “So? Why didn’t you change partners?”
“Because Charlotte is Charlotte,” I reply resolutely, as though that explains everything. And in a way, it does.
Zoe bites her lower lip and nods, and I can’t help but stare at her mouth. My mood darkens as I grasp her waist, turning her back toward the mirror and actively ignoring how small and light she feels between my hands.
What I can’t ignore is the trembling that runs through her body. She goes pale, her eyes widen, and all at once, she’s rigid.
“More dancing and less chat,” Francesca says, popping up behind me, her reproachful gaze going from me to Zoe.
We nod simultaneously, and I repress the question that’s burning on my tongue. Now is not the time for questions or secrets.
Chapter 16
Zoe
I know it sounds totally cheesy and cliché, but someday I want to dance with someone on a dark street at night when it’s raining. I want a moment when everything is the way it should be. Without doubt, without thoughts, without yesterday or tomorrow.
—P
This lesson with Jase is even worse than the last, and it’s no surprise why. Charlotte is here, and every move she makes is absolutely perfect. Flowing and bold. Magical.
She’s looking at me; I can feel it. She watches my body and analyzes every step, every movement of my arms, and every angle of my torso. She’s studying me intensely, and her thoughts are so loud she doesn’t even have to speak for them to reach me.
You are so bad. You don’t deserve to be Jase’s partner. I should be his partner. You’re a liar.
I can’t concentrate; it’s even worse than last week. She has to stop looking at me, and Jase has to stop touching me. They should both just leave me alone.
When Francesca finally ends the lesson, I get the feeling we’vebarely begun, and I’m already on the verge of losing it. I slip out of Jase’s hands before Francesca has even finished what she’s saying and hurry over to my bag. I quickly take off my ballet slippers, stuff them carelessly inside, and pull on my sweatpants and hoodie. I’m freezing cold, but I’m sweating, and the soft fabric sticks to my damp skin. I have to take a shower. I hate that I feel like this, but there’s nothing I can do about it. With touch comes shame. The feeling of being dirty. I have to get rid of it right now because anything else is unbearable.
