Zoe
What would you do if you couldn’t dance?
That’s a mean question. I have no idea. I really don’t. I’ve always danced, my whole life. I can’t even imagine life without ballet. I know that I should have a plan B just in case, but I don’t.
—P
I can’t stop thinking about Jase. This is crazy. I didn’t think about him for an entire year. But now I think of almost nothing else.
Since his hands were on my shoulders in the attic studio a couple of days ago, I can’t stop thinking about how it felt to be touched by him. It was different than in class. It felt natural. We didn’t dance, we just stood there, and his hands touched my arms. Inch by inch.
The memory makes me warm. Why did it feel so good? The answer is quite simple. Because it was Jase who was standing behind me, and those were his hands moving up my arms.
How does that feel?
It feels like you.
The fact is that I can always tell him the truth, and at the sametime, I’m hiding far too much from him. Maybe I should tell him everything, just let it out. Somehow I want to, but somehow I don’t. Why is everything always so complicated?
Why can’t I just tell him?
I sigh quietly. Too much has happened, and Jase has changed too, just like me. We aren’t the same as we were before.
I reach for the little box on my nightstand. It’s been there for a few days, since Jase gave me the first note. In the meantime, he’s received two secrets from me, and I’ve gotten one from him. I try not to think about the notes that I’ve written to him over the last year that are still lying in the treehouse in my parents’ yard, waiting for him to read them.
My heart clenches as I take out the crumpled ball of paper. I smooth it out and read his secret for the thousandth time in the last thirty-six hours.
Why do you need a scholarship?
My parents cut off my funds.
—Jase
I trace his untidy writing with my finger. I hate his parents. What they’re doing is totally unfair. I want to help him, but I know he would never accept my help. I want to ask more. I want to ask him everything. I want to know who Sam is and why his parents refuse to support his dream. I want to know how he feels, and above all, I want to know if he hates me or if he just doesn’t care about me. I want to know if I was the only one who felt something when we were standing there in front of the mirror.
I’m startled by a soft knock on my door. I quickly fold the note and put it back in the box. On the way to the door, I kick aside the new pointe shoes lying on the floor of my room. I bought them today during the lunch break, and I still need to sew the satin ribbons on and break them in. My last pair was used up, and it’s time for me to prepare the new ones.
Normally, preparing my pointe shoes is almost meditative, a routine I’ve had for years that helps me stop overthinking for a while. But today, my mind didn’t calm down at all until I finally read Jase’s note again. And even that didn’t fully work either.
“Just a minute,” I say when the knock repeats. Mae is standing by the door and is regarding me with a worried look.
“Hey,” she says. “Can I come in?”
I silently take a step aside, and she walks into my room.
“You can just throw me out again if I’m too pushy, but the curiosity is killing me. That’s why I had to come. Besides, I’m worried about you.” In the middle of the room, she turns halfway back to the door and waits in case I really do want to throw her out.
I collapse onto the bed and tell her to sit down.
“Thank God,” she says with relief as she sits down on the mattress with me and pulls up her knees.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say.
“I know. But I do anyway. You’ve been acting totally strange for days. Sure, we haven’t known each other very long, and basically, I don’t know if you’re acting strange, but I have the feeling that something’s bothering you.”
If you only knew.
I start to braid my hair, giving my hands something to do while I decide what to say to her.
