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I look at him. It happens instinctively, and I wish it didn’t. Unfortunately, my body doesn’t pay any attention to me.

“Ophelia,” he says with a curt nod. Ophelia, not Lia.

My skin tingles, and despite everything, a smile spreads across my face all by itself.

That’s not good. Not good at all.

Chapter 7

Phoenix

I can’t help but watch Lia as she walks off with her friend toward a group of kids who seem younger and much more nervous than the others. They must be the freshmen. Her steps are graceful and smooth. The way she moves her head, her hands, everything. It’s obvious that she’s a dancer.

How the hell could I have missed that three months ago? Probably because she said she couldn’t dance. And because I was too busy exploring every inch of her body with my lips to waste a thought on wondering why she moved the way she did. Here come the memories and images again. Her soft skin, her skilled hands. Her trembling body against mine, her tongue in my mouth.

Don’t think about it, Phoenix. Let it go.

None of that matters. It was just one night, and it’s long gone. I’m going to get the necklace back, and that’s all. There’s nothing more to it, and there never will be. Fuck, I hope she didn’t tell anyone about us. If her friends know, I’ve got a real problem. Even more than I already do.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

I flinch when Pearson pats me on the shoulder and laughs. It takes me a moment to realize what he means: not Lia and me, but the freshmen who are leaving the theater now with the older students.

“Yes. Strange that it’s already been so long,” I reply.

“Six years. Sometimes it’s crazy how the time flies.” He sighs and then smiles. “Come with me. Francesca and the others will want to ask you a few questions about your time in New York. You didn’t have much chance to talk at lunch today.” He smiles as he propels me in the direction of Francesca, who is standing just a few yards away with Mr. Conrad.

It’s pure instinct that makes me turn my head and catch another glimpse of Lia as she leaves the theater. She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder in one fluid motion, the short skirt of her dress swinging around her long legs. My gaze is glued to her, which is kind of annoying. But I can’t help it.

Then she looks back, just for a split second. Unfortunately, that’s long enough to catch me looking. Her hand twitches upward, closing around the pendant lying against her skin beneath the fabric of her dress. It’s become a reflex, I can see that. Her cheeks flush, and if I wasn’t already positive that she was wearing the necklace she stole from me, I know for sure now. She turns and hurries away.

But running away won’t make any difference. I’ll catch up with her eventually.

“How was your first day back at our beautiful school?” Francesca greets me as we stop next to her and Mr. Conrad. She tucks a strand of her wild mane of curls behind her ear. She’s acquired a few gray hairs over the years, but otherwise, she hasn’t changed a bit. She’s still the same Francesca.

“Good,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s still a bit strange to be on the other side now though.”

She makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, you’ll get used to it quickly. In any case, we’re happy to have you back. It was a real shame that you left school.”

Her words hit me like a blow, squeezing the air out of my lungs. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. I’m catapulted back to the moment when I realized it was the end. When I spoke to Pearson and packed my bags. Two suitcases full, that was it. I left the rest here for Mom to take care of. I turned my back on the school, the city, the state. If I could have, I’d have left the country or the whole damn continent.

It was a real shame that you left school.

As if I wanted to. No, I didn’t want to leave. I had to, because everything in this city reminded me of Isabel. Of what I lost. Of my failure and my guilt. If I had stayed, I would have drowned in it.

“It’s also a shame that you’re not introducing me,” Mr. Conrad says to her, taking a step toward me. He extends his hand with a friendly smile and brings me back to the present. “We didn’t have a chance to meet at lunch today. I’m John.”

“Phoenix,” I say, taking his hand with a nod of gratitude for him changing the subject. His grip is firm, and I think I see sympathy in his eyes, as if he knows what happened back then.

Please don’t. That’s the last thing I need right now.

“Right. Sorry, I forgot you weren’t with us back then,” Francesca says.

“No, I was still dancing myself then.” John smiles, but he also looks a little pained. “Injury,” he explains, even though I didn’t ask. I know it’s none of my business, so I just nod. He’s only a few years older than me. If he could still dance, he would definitely be on stage right now instead of teaching. None of us stop unless we have to.

“So tomorrow is your first day,” John continues. “Are you nervous?”

“A little. I think the biggest challenge will be not lining up with the others when Francesca gives instructions,” I joke half-heartedly, even though the thought of teaching has been keeping me awake at night for days. I have the necessary training. Dance education was part of my studies here and at Juilliard. But just because I have theoretical knowledge doesn’t mean I can actually teach. I’ve never seen myself as a teacher, only a dancer. But things change. And I need to change too, otherwise I might as well leave right away. Which isn’t an option. I really need this job—if not, I won’t have any idea what to do.