Page 4 of Colliding with Ten

“Dance-related things?” I asked as we walked through the main entrance.

AJ gave me a visitor badge. “That’s what they said to me.”

“You have the descriptive ability of a damp sock.”

He grunted, giving me a sideways glance with the tiniest crack of amusement.

Inside the football building, framed jerseys lined the walls, along with blown-up photos of past games. Staff members moved with tablets in their hands.

AJ showed me the areas I was permitted to see, including the lobby, cafeteria, game room, and gym. I had glimpses of the weight room through glass doors. Players walked around in slides, hoodies, and compression shorts. A few nodded at AJ and looked at me with curiosity.

“Don’t go past the restricted signs. And don’t bother the staff,” AJ said, pointing to the signs.

“I make no promises.”

“Ayla, don’t joke about this.”

I put my hands up, surrendering.

He stopped near a hallway intersection and checked his phone, his face shifting into work mode. “I have to go.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He looked unconvinced.

“I know how hallways work,” I said, smiling.

“Text me if you need anything.”

“Yes, Dad.”

His face went flat.

I winced. “Sorry.”

AJ’s expression softened again, but not enough to make it okay. “Don’t call me that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, then reached out and squeezed the back of my neck. Then he disappeared down the hall toward a set of double doors.

I went back to the weight room, which was impressive, and watched through the glass. A few athletes worked through lifts with trainers nearby. Football players’ bodies were different from dancers’. Dancers were artistry in motion, disguised to look easy. Football players were made for impact and force. Both were disciplined sports. I might have stayed another hour watching bodies being rebuilt for the game. I didn’t know why it was so interesting, but after the fifth curious look, I had to move on. I wasn’t comfortable enough to go inside.

I went farther down the hall, past offices and meeting rooms. Near a side entrance, a bulletin board hung beside a water fountain. It was cluttered with flyers, sign-up sheets, staff announcements, youth clinic dates, and a white poster with purple-and-gold lettering. I stopped.

NEW YORK HAWKS FLIGHT CREW AUDITIONS

My eyes moved down the page. They were looking for professional dancers with experience in modern movement, hip-hop, jazz, and ballet. My heart thudded. They were having auditions today at the performance building on the Hawks campus.

I checked the time. It was in forty minutes. I laughed, disbelief in my eyes, and reread the flyer. The Flight Crew was the cheer squad for the New York Hawks. But beyond that, they were dancers with polished technique who looked good under stadium lights.

I tightened the grip on my phone. I had audition music on it. I didn’t expect to audition for anything anymore, but it was a habit I had never broken. I hadn’t danced in months, but my body ached with missing it. I was not going to make the team. My life wasn’t screaming sports entertainment candidate. But I could dance for a few hours. That was all I needed—a pick-me-up. And if I embarrassed myself, well, fantastic.

The performance building was a short walk across the campus. It was smaller but still had high ceilings, modern fixtures, and purple-and-gold banners hanging in the lobby. The air smelled like hairspray, and the women looked like pageant princesses. They filled the space in clusters, stretching and pinning numbers to their tops. Some were laughing because everyone was nervous but pretending they weren’t bothered. Except me. I was here for funsies.

I almost turned around because I was afraid of wanting it. Wanting this was dangerous when you had proven you could fail at holding onto a life.

A woman at the registration table looked up as I approached.