She recognizes my jittery nerves.“Want me to sit with you?”
“I need you out there to make sure everything goes okay.”I shake my arms and legs, wiggling the jitters out of me.
“I got you.”She closes the door, blocking out the noise.
I press Play on my phone and close my eyes, letting the music transport me.I focus on breathing slowly.The last thing I need are hiccups.
When the knock notifies me it’s time, I’m ready.And also hope the lights are so bright, I can’t see.
I’ll still know where he is.I always do.
Danika gives me a powerful squeeze.“I trust you.”That’s as close to an approval as I’m going to get from her.She backs away, and I wait on the side of the stage.
“Next up, performing a contemporary ballet number, is senior Sadie Prescott.”
As soon as the music begins, I glide onto the stage.The rest of it is fluid movement.I don’t allow my mind to wander or worry.I stay within the beats and melody.My body doesn’t need me to know what to do.I’m transported to a place where I’m floating above it all.I can only feel the expression of the music.Only experience the bliss of movement.The strength of my legs.Flow of my arms.Posture of my spine.
The flames of light flicker around me, transforming the stage into an inferno.I snap the cape over the fire, leap and twirl it above my head—an extension of me in perfect synchronization.The red and orange floodlights gleam off the dark blue satin.
When I reach the finale, I return to myself.My heart is a bouquet of hummingbirds within my chest.My breath pants between my lips.I flip the cape, revealing the lion in its folds with PSU glittering in silver beneath.I bow deep, allowing the cloak to shield me.The crowd erupts in a crescendo of applause and hollers.They’re not as civilized as my usual audience.It’s a high school talent show.My expectations for applause after a ballet piece were low.This reaction is over the top.
When I stand to curtsy, Jonathan leaps onto the stage and sweeps me off my feet, spinning me around.“I love you,” he says into my neck.“I love you so much.”
I laugh, unable to view the crowd’s response.But I can hear them.The catcalls, “Get a room!”and whistles.The applause and cheers.“Reeeeves!”
I hug him back, my feet hovering above the stage.“Did I burn it down?”I ask, my smile stretching across my entire face.
“To the ground.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Were you planning to tell us?” my mother asks as soon as I enter the house.Jonathan shoots me a questioning look, unsure he should be here for this.“Oh, you stay.You’re the entire reason she made a public spectacle tonight.”
I swear I can hear him swallow.Priscilla Prescott is in full mama mode tonight, and as much as I wish he didn’t have to witness this, it might be better if he does—if he’s serious about sticking around for… a long time.
“Where’s Dad?”I ask, slipping my shoes off and hanging my jacket.Jonathan tentatively does the same.
“He’s finishing up a phone call.Don’t worry; he’ll be joining us.”
“Where should we sit?”I’m oddly calm.Maybe because I’ve been stressing about college all year, and now that I’ve made my decision, I feel lighter.I always knew my parents would have some sort of reaction.I was prepared for that.I was more concerned about making the right decision forme.
Collin helped without even knowing.
“The sitting room,” she says.
I grasp Jonathan’s hand and squeeze.His palm is hot and sweaty.I realize this is probably foreign to him.Standing up for himself without fear of being hurt for voicing his opinion.He’s opened up more to me recently about what it’s been like, growing up in that house.And expressing any sort of viewpoint that contradicts his father’s tends to lead to bruises.
I smile to try to reassure him.“We’re good.Don’t worry.”He doesn’t smile back.
We sit on the loveseat.My parents enter together and slide two floral-print Victorian chairs closer together before sitting.This feels very formal.We’re like two opposing fronts.But I’m ready.I think.
“First, your performance tonight was stunning.I know you choreographed it yourself.You should be very proud.I am.”The emotion of her words reflects in her eyes.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Dad says, “but I’m looking forward to watching the recording later.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him.
