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My forehead is throbbing. I need something to drink and a nap, but I don’t have enough time. Pearson is about to give his speech, and I can’t skip it. So I don’t lie down, even though my body protests vehemently. Instead, I open the window to let in some fresh air and then make my bed.

I keep my hands busy, pulling off the old sheets and putting on new ones before unpacking my suitcase. But my mind won’t calm down. Too much Mom, too little Dad. Too much of him. It’s a confusing mess until I finally give up and do what I always do when my thoughts get too loud. I take the notebook and pen out of my bedside table drawer and start writing.

Not about him, never. He’s the only secret I can’t ever write down. Otherwise, he’d become too real, and the situation would be too serious. I can’t allow that to happen. No, I write about Mom instead. Like I almost always do. I doubt that will change anytime soon.

Why isn’t Mom interested in me and my life? Why can’t she even ask how I’m doing? Why can’t she at least pretend to care? And why can’t I bring myself not to care? I wish so much that I didn’t. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much.

My eyes burn, and my throat feels like it’s full of broken glass, making it impossible to breathe. The paper rustles as I tear the page out of the notebook. I get up, grab the lighter that’s lying on my desk, and go into the bathroom.

The flame is small, bright, and red hot.

My hands are completely steady as I hold the lighter to the paper. It starts burning immediately, the flame growing larger. I hold it until the heat almost reaches my fingers, and only then do I drop it into the sink, watching as the fire consumes my pain.

It feels a little like redemption.

Chapter 3

Lia

An hour and a half later, my mind is completely blank, and so is my heart. Somehow I’ve managed to overcome my low point by taking a cold shower. I’m not tired, or maybe I’m just so tired that I can’t even feel the exhaustion anymore.

I’m just slipping into my sandals when there’s a knock at the door.

“Just a sec,” I call out, knowing it’s Katie and Susannah who’ve come to pick me up for Pearson’s speech, as promised. This will be the last one, at least for us seniors.

Our last year.

My stomach flutters. I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or fear, but things are getting serious. Really serious. This is the most important year of my life, the one that will determine my future. I can’t screw up. I won’t. I’m prepared. After all, I didn’t spend the summer in London for nothing.

“Lia, hurry up!” Katie calls impatiently.

“Almost ready!” I grab the mint-green cardigan from my bed and pull it over the cream-colored dress I put on earlier, then open the door. “Are you in a rush?”

“Yes. Pearson is going to introduce the new teacher, and we want to sit right at the front.” Katie’s dark eyes sparkle with excitement.

“What new teacher?” Confused, I frown as I step into the hallway. I’ve barely closed the door behind me when Katie puts a hand on my arm and stares at me in disbelief.

“Oh my God, didn’t we tell her?”

“Apparently not,” Susannah replies. “I can’t believe we forgot! We’ve been talking about nothing else for days.”

“Yes, how could we forget?” Katie seems so genuinely shocked that I have to laugh.

“I have no idea. But you can fill me in now.”

“Actually, there’s not that much to tell. All we know is that a new teacher is joining the school this semester. Pearson hasn’t said a word about him, though. He’s making a huge secret out of the whole thing.”

“Then what have you been talking about all this time?” I ask. Kate hooks her arms through mine and Susannah’s and tows us down the hallway.

“What do you think? We’re hoping he’s young and hot.”

“Young and hot? Seriously?” My eyebrows shoot up. “That’s all you’ve been talking about for days?”

“Well, we already know he has to be good, otherwise Pearson wouldn’t have hired him,” Susannah says with a shrug.

“But what if he’s old and unattractive?” I have to suppress a grin because the likelihood of that being true is pretty high. Young, hot dancers usually have better things to do than teach at a ballet school. Most of them are still performing.

“Then I’ll go to my room and cry very loudly into my pillow,” Katie says, sounding a little too serious.