Page 34 of With You

Amelie places her hands on my wrists, her thumbs running across them as she calms herself down. It makes my entire body shiver, every nerve within me coming alight.

“We’ll be fine,” she repeats, and I nod along.

“Sit down,” I say, guiding her toward the sofa.

We let go of each other and I go to grab some water, passing the glass to her before I sit on the edge of the coffee table and face her. She takes a few sips before passing it back to me, and I place it on the table before looking back at her.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she says, trying to explain herself, but I don’t need to hear it.

Her emotions are completely valid considering this is something that’s so important to her. But I am curious about it. She can have anything she wants in the world. I don’t understand why this particular showcase is so important to her.

“Can I ask something?”

She nods in response.

“Why does this matter so much to you? I didn’t think you were the kind of person who needed validation from someone like Madame to know how good you are.”

“It’s not that,” she says, letting out a heavy sigh. “The scouts at the showcase will be in charge of deciding who gets into this summer intensive program. There’s no amount of money that can buy you into it; it’s based purely on skill. The showcase is my only chance to show them I deserve to be there.”

It’s surprising to hear something like that from her. With our wealth, getting what we want has never been a problem for any of us. I’m still not entirely sure what this summer intensive entails but if it means a lot to Amelie, that’s all I need to know.

“Of course you deserve to be there,” I say in the hopes of comforting her. “I won’t let you down, Amelie.”

It’s a promise made from deep inside my heart. As much as we’ve had our ups and downs—mainly downs—I can’t be the reason she doesn’t get this when it’s something she cares about so much.

“Thanks,” she says, a small smile on her face, as she leans over to place her hand on top of mine. She gives it a gentle squeeze before she lets go and for some strange reason it feels like a vice around my heart.

I stand, heading toward the door because the room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me. We’ve been spending too much time together, being nice to each other; that’s why this all feels so strange. There can’t be another reason.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her as I open the door and leave before I get a response.

I make my way back to my room, and it’s only when I’m right outside that I realise I left my key card behind. I knock on the door a few times, but Grayson must be fast asleep already, as I get no response. I think about texting Damien, but it feels strange to be the third wheel for him and Evie any more than I already do. Tipping my head back to face the ceiling, I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I realise I only have one option.

Amelie opens the door straightaway, and once I explain what’s happened, she lets me in.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” I tell her.

“You can have the bed if you want,” she says. “I wasn’t planning on sleeping much.”

I look at the table and see she’s got a notebook on it; her phone paused on the performance of Romeo and Juliet we learned for the audition.

“Can I watch, too?” I ask, following Amelie further into the room.

She sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the table and pats the space next to her as an invitation. I drop down beside her, stretching my legs out in front of me as she presses play on the video. Amelie writes something down in her notebook, her handwriting fast but still pretty, each letter looped together. I’ve never seen this part of her process before. I assumed she learned just by watching as I do, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

The video plays over and over again, and I find my focus switching between watching it and then Amelie. She’s entirely focused on it, and I could probably disappear from the room without her noticing. She zooms in to different parts, pausing and playing whenever she needs to as she observes in close detail every movement of the dancers.

“Do you do this for every performance?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.

“Most of the time,” she replies. “I like breaking it all down, figuring out exactly what needs to happen during and between moves. It’s easier to learn this way.”

“That makes sense,” I nod, thinking back to every time I’ve seen her dance.

There’s always been a level of precise detail I could never quite figure out how she managed. Now I have my answer, and another reason to admire her.

I’m not sure how much time passes while we watch the video, but it’s been long enough that I think I could replay it with my eyes closed. Amelie leans back against the sofa, switches off her phone, and puts away her notebook before she closes her eyes. It’s not quite morning yet, moonlight peeking in through a small gap in the curtains, but there’s a faint glow to the sky as the sun gets ready to rise.

I let myself look at Amelie a little closer. She’s prettier like this, with her eyes closed instead of glaring at me, her lips pressed together instead of ready to spew some taunting remark. But I can’t deny that I like that side of her, too.