Her movements are fluid and graceful. It looks so easy. But Iknow how incredibly exhausting what she’s doing is. I know how much her feet must hurt in those pointe shoes. I know how tense every muscle in her body is.
But you can’t see the effort, and I guess that’s what happens when you combine true talent and a dream you’re willing to cross every boundary for. Her short tutu flutters as she spins. She’s perfect. A half step, then she gathers momentum and spins again. And again. And again.
I count along, mesmerized. Fouetté en tournant, one of the most spectacular spins in ballet, especially when repeated as many times as Lia is doing now. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. She keeps going. InSwan Lake, this spin is repeated thirty-two times. There are only a few dancers who can perform it perfectly so many times in a row without a break.
Lia is perfect. More than perfect; she’s breathtaking. I stare at her and can’t move, even though I shouldn’t be here at all, let alone watching her.
But when someone like Lia is dancing, you can’t just look away.
The expression on her face is soft, and a smile plays around her full lips, even though I know she must be concentrating intensely. But smiling is drilled into dancers just like any other exercise.
She manages twenty-five turns before losing her balance. Cursing, she catches herself and leans on her thighs with both hands. Her chest rises and falls as she breathes quickly. Only now can you see the effort she’s making. A deep crease forms between her eyebrows. She looks dissatisfied.
With a frustrated sigh, she straightens up and stretches her legs. I try to sneak away as inconspicuously as possible, because there’snothing worse than being caught secretly watching someone, but I’m a little too slow.
Lia turns toward the corridor, her gaze darting from her bag, which is lying next to the door, to me. When she spots me, the disappointment on her face disappears instantly. She puts on a friendly smile like a mask. A very pretty mask that I almost would have believed was real if I hadn’t just seen her without it. Something tells me she doesn’t take it off very often.
“Hey,” she says, and I raise my hand awkwardly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t.” She waves it off, but something in her eyes makes me think she’s not telling the truth. Even though I don’t know her and we haven’t spoken before, it’s absolutely clear.
“I just wanted to...” I start, gesturing vaguely toward one of the other studios. “You’re so good,” I say instead, in a stupid attempt to save the situation with small talk. It’s instantly clear I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Thanks.” Her smile slips almost imperceptibly, her eyes flicker, and suddenly I see something of myself in her. It’s absurd, because Lia is more graceful and talented than anyone else I’ve seen at this school. She’s even better than Zoe, and Zoe is damn good. But the insecurity in Lia’s green eyes is familiar. She doesn’t think she’s good enough.
An awkward silence takes over. I shift uneasily from one foot to the other and force a smile. “I’m going to leave now. I actually wanted to work on the choreography for contemporary...”
Lia nods. “Good luck.” Then she turns back to the mirror, and I hurry away.
The studios on the third floor are all deserted. I choose the lastone on the right, throw my bag in the corner, and pull my hoodie over my head. Wearing only a T-shirt, leggings, and socks, I start my warm-up exercises, but my thoughts are still with Lia and the look in her eyes. I wonder if it should make me feel better that she’s just as insecure as I am, even though she’s obviously so much better than most of the other dancers at this school. Maybe it should reassure me that I’m not alone in feeling that way, but it doesn’t. It just makes me sad that Lia seems to feel the same way despite her talent.
“Hey, Birdy.” Easton’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I can’t help but smile when I see him in the doorway, both hands buried in the pockets of his sweatpants, wearing the hat I’ve worn every day for the past few weeks.
I get up happily and walk over to him. “Hey.”
He pulls me toward him as if he’s done it a thousand times before and kisses me in a way that takes my breath away.
When we pull apart, my face is already glowing with heat again. Smiling, he brushes a strand of hair from my forehead.
“Hey,” he whispers again, an octave lower than before, and my brain shuts down. There’s nothing but fog in my head, and the heat moves down from my cheeks, settling in my chest, my stomach, my lower abdomen, until it starts throbbing urgently between my legs.
He caresses my chin, playing with my hair, and I can’t think anymore when he’s doing that. But I have to be able to think, because there’s a reason he’s here now. And even though I can think of one pretty good reason that has a lot to do with his mouth, his hands, and the rest of his body, that’s not what we’re here to do.
I force myself to take a step back so my mind can start working again. Easton’s blue eyes light up knowingly, shining with amusement.
“How was your day?” I ask, clearing my throat because my voice sounds so hoarse.
“Unspectacular.” He shrugs. “The record store was busy.”
“Sounds like a good thing.”
“Good for the store, bad for me and the songs I was hoping to have time to work on if there hadn’t been so many people.” He smiles. “How was your day?”
“Good, I think. I was working on choreography for our song. I started, at least. I don’t have much yet. But that’s why I wanted you to come. I thought you could play the song, and I’ll show you what I have so far. I had everything in my head at lunchtime, but it’s different when I actually hear the music.”
“That’s the only reason you wanted me to come?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He smiles, and I feel way too hot again.
