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“How exactly was it supposed to make anything easier?”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a tired smile. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

I want to disagree, but I just nod instead. It really doesn’t matter now. Woulda-coulda-shoulda is over. Everything is more complicated now, so much more. And it’s not because of a girlfriend who may or may not exist.

It’s complicated because we’re both here, at this school. In this room. My fingers reach for the necklace and clutch at thin air again. Of course he notices, and I have to ask.

“Then who did you get the necklace from?”

He hesitates for a second and then expels his breath sharply. “Do you remember asking me that night if I’d ever been in love?” he asks, his jaw muscles tensing.

My heart skips a beat. “Yes.” Of course I remember. As if I could forget.

“From her.”

“You kept the necklace your ex gave you?”

“Call me sentimental if you want.” He grimaces, but there’s something else in his eyes, something too familiar. A dark pain that I know, but it’s different somehow.

“I would never tell Pearson about us,” I say at last.

He nods. “I know.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I do know that. I just . . . forgot. I panicked. This job is really important to me, and I can’t risk getting fired.”

I want to ask why but then decide not to. It’s none of my business. Unfortunately, I still want to know.

“You won’t be. No one is going to find out, at least not from me. I promise.” I swallow and smooth my skirt. “We should go back. The break is almost over, and if anyone sees us coming out of here together, it probably won’t matter whether I tell Pearson or not.”

He smiles slightly and pushes back his hair. “You go ahead. You’ll probably get in more trouble than I will if you’re late.”

“Yes. Thank you. Then—” I stop.

Is that it?

He nods like he’s read my mind.

Yes, that’s it. This time for good.

Part 2 Act 2

Chapter 14

Lia

My muscles are burning. I squeeze my eyes shut and stretch my legs a little farther, going deeper into the split and leaning into the pressure on my body from the Theraband that’s wrapped around my back foot to intensify the stretch. A tremor runs through my legs. I have to stop; the day was too long. Just like every other day has been for the past two weeks.

The level in senior year is just so much higher than it was in the semesters before. And it should be. After all, it’s our final year. Nine months to go, and then our time at the New England School of Ballet will be over. Nine months when we and our teachers want to get the very best out of us, so we can find jobs afterward. Ideally a position in a ballet company. Probably not as lead dancers immediately, since most of us are still too inexperienced for that. Emily was one of the few who made it directly last year. She graduated in the spring and went straight to New York. She’s living the dream we all share. Including me.

That’s why the final year is so tough. That’s why our days are so long, and we have to give even more than before. Train a little longer. Get our bodies in even better shape, if that’s even possible, because we all want the same thing. I’ve been running at 120 percent for the last two years, but this year it must be 130, or even 150.

The seventh semester is different from all the others. Not only because we don’t have our usual theory classes in the afternoons—they’ll start again in the next semester—but above all because we are largely left to our own devices after the morning classes. In the afternoons, we’re supposed to be working independently on anything that isn’t completely perfect yet, because soon the roles for the Christmas performance will be assigned. After that, we’ll spend all our time rehearsing.

We’re trusted to be able to work on our own. Of course, there is always someone from the teaching staff there for us. The teacher on call goes from one studio to the next all day long, correcting and helping, but the point is to let us feel our independence a little. To give us more responsibility for ourselves. Not that we don’t already have that. We’ve all been dancing for so long that we know what we’re doing, but it’s still something different. Studios must be booked ahead of time. Some of us prefer to practice alone, and others in groups.

I want to be alone.