by Sasha Dawn
“I was nervous. You should know what that’s like. You’re closely acquainted with insecurities.”
“But you’re you, and I’m me,” I say. “You don’t get anxious.”
“Everyone is anxious sometimes. I know I give off this outgoing vibe, but when it comes to making small talk with cute, talented near-strangers I practically get hives. Communicating online bypassed all that awkwardness. It let us be ourselves with each other right away.”
“But you weren’t being yourself. You lied to me.”
“From a certain point of view.”
“From all points of view. You let me think you were the origami poet. You told me your name was Dylan Thomas.”
“It is. Or was. I was born Dylan Thomas Weekes. I changed my name legally to my stage name after Peter Pan. My sister told you. I named myself after Brendon Urie.”
I don’t know what to say. This feels like a technicality, not like exonerating evidence. “This is so screwed up.”
“I’m sorry I scared you—”
“You did more than scare me. You manipulated me. And you had so many chances to tell the truth, once we were actually friends in real life. With everything else going on, I really needed someone to be honest with me.”
He sighs and leans back. “I know. I’m really sorry. It was dumb and it was cowardly. I was hiding behind Dylan for fear you wouldn’t feel the same way about me, and then in New York, you all but told me—well, you didn’t tell me, you told your dad—it was never going to happen. So how could I come clean after you’d said that, and face you every day?”
“I said that to my dad to get him off my back, not because I wasn’t into you! Besides, you’d been dating a guy . . .”
“Yeah.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Then a girl caught my eye. Like I said.” There’s a pause. “Is there a chance now? Now that you know?”
On the one hand, I can’t believe he would even ask this. On the other hand, even now, I don’t want to stop talking to him. Under all my confusion and frustration and anger, there’s still this other feeling, this insistent sense that I can trust him, this sense that we understand each other in ways that go deeper than the lies. “I don’t know.”
He sighs. “You know what? Stupid question. I understand. I hope you can accept my apology. If you can’t, I’ll do my best to give you all the space you need onstage. But maybe at some point we can be friends again.”
I feel like I should say something, but I’m totally at a loss for words.
“Goodnight, Madelaine.”
“Goodnight, Brendon.”
He sighs again before the screen goes black.
A few minutes later he texts me.
Dylan: I just wanted to say one more thing.
Dylan: Like I said, I get it if we can’t be friends after this
Dylan: but I hope you’ll remember that if you’re feeling all alone and like no one understands you, I’m a few neighborhoods away
Dylan: and I’m wishing we could be alone together.
Dylan: Because I do understand you. And I love you for who you are.
Chapter 52
“Mom?” I stand outside her door. “Can I come in?”
“Of course, baby girl.”
I lie down next to her on her bed just like she usually does on mine. I tell her about Brendon being Dylan Thomas. “In a way it’s a relief to know that he was the one I bonded with online, not Ted. And at the same time, it feels awful. Because we were friends. And maybe we could’ve been more.” I sigh and lean back on the pillows. “I think I inherited your bad judgment when it comes to men.”
She laughs. “It’s not hereditary.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
Mom looks at me thoughtfully. “I know things have been especially rough lately, with your dad and then with Ted. And now this boy with his secret identity. A lot of people have let you down, in a lot of different ways.”
She strokes my hair, and I find myself thinking about how I dyed it reddish brown to satisfy Dad. I’ve already decided that I’m going to tint it pink again, and this time it’ll be doubly important.
“But I’m glad Brendon apologized,” she says. “I’m not saying you have to accept that apology or pick up right where you left off with him like nothing’s changed. But I don’t want you to feel as if you can’t give anyone a second chance. Some people are capable of righting their wrongs. Some people can grow and change for the better. I think we’re starting to see that with your father. Maybe you’ll see it with Brendon too.”
I close my eyes. “I want to believe that. But it seems naive.”
“Oh, honey, it’s not naive to trust. It’s not weak to have faith that people—certain people—can be better. Of course, I will never encourage you to settle for less than you deserve. But you should always believe in love.”
“Even if it means getting your heart smashed to a million pieces?”
“Yes, because if you’re lucky you learn from it and get stronger from it, and then when something truly wonderful comes along you can appreciate it more fully. You know, I’ve fallen for twenty idiots in my lifetime, but the twenty-first time . . .”
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We’ve been over this. You loved Dad more than you imagined you could love another person.”
“True. Until I had you. You are number twenty-one. I fell in love for the twenty-first time the moment I looked into your eyes. I knew at that moment, that nothing anyone could ever say or do would change the fact that I love you. And if I never love so completely again—on the stage performing, or even at home, with the next guy I decide is worth a chance—I am forever fulfilled being your mother. You are my twenty-first love.”
She kisses my forehead.
I feel music in my bones. I see notes pop up on the staff in my mind.
***
In the morning I text the Raspberry Beret crew.
Me: Counter Offer before rehearsal?
McKenna: You know it!
Brendon: Wouldn’t miss it.
Brendon: :)
Maybe a full reboot on my friendship with Brendon won’t be possible. But I want to at least try for a fresh start. For once, I want to not assume the worst. I want to leave the door open for trust.
And maybe for something more.
Me: <3
I open the diary app on my phone and record how I’m feeling. Celestial. Musical. Loved and accepted.
Like a song just waiting to be sung.
Acknowledgments
Thanks, as always, to my agent, Andrea Somberg, and to team Lerner, especially the amazing Amy Fitzgerald, for putting your heads together to make this book a reality. I appreciate your patience as I juggled deadlines, and I appreciate your spot-on advice as this plot took a few twists and turns none of us expected, not to mention my own struggles in the medical realm. Sasha = 2. Breast Cancer = 0. Thanks for hitting the pause button while I kicked some cancer ass.
To my cover designer, Kimberly Morales: I could not have imagined a better representation of my Madelaine. Bravo, from the mess in her head to her pink hair peeking out from beneath her beanie! It’s almost as if you lived in my brain while you conjured her.
To my family: Thanks for your cheers and well-wishes. LOVE YOU ALL TO PIECES even though you’re crazy. Nana, thanks for being proud of my Edgar nomination, even though you didn’t know what it was. Then again, you’d be proud of me for unloading the dishwasher.
To Mary, for whom I wrote my first full-length manuscript at age fourteen: I have a great idea for a game with a hat and some laminated cards . . . I look forward to the days of the farmhouse and Swatch Talk.
Andrew Tomlinson, I know you’re far too humble to have wanted your name in print, but your influence on both my daughters has been tremendous; forgive me, therefore, for slipping your name into this book. You are an incredible teacher, a brilliant choreographer, and an immeasurable sense of support. My girls will carry the lessons you’ve taught them far beyond the stag
e. “If you’re on the run and bleeding, go to the vet. They have all the tools you’ll find at a hospital. Just kidding. Turn yourself in.”
To the rest of our Dance Connection family: you have supported generations of dancers throughout your many decades on Center Street. We both applaud you and are proud to be linked with you in our circle. You have provided the foundation from which many a dancer has twirled her way toward her forever—including two very close to my heart.
To the performers who lent their names to this tale—Madelaine, Emmah, Ella, Hayley, McKenna, Timothy, Daniel Karl, Kari, Jennica, Adie, Jess, and Jake-in-disguise: thank you for showing my youngest what true friendship means. I’m so pleased she found her people in you.
Joshua, as always, I appreciate your support in everything I do—even when I decide to bring home puppy No. 4. I couldn’t help it . . . she’s just so flippin’ cute! Finishing this book with the crazy Daisy Maisy warming my feet was both challenging and rewarding. I love that we have sixteen paws in our house. No one is more determined than we are to fill our home with love—even at the risk of losing control. <3
Samantha Mary, I can hardly believe you’re tap dancing your way onto college stages. You’ve grown so much since your name, and those of your friends, graced the pages of Splinter. Thank you for being a supportive big sister to your own Madelaine, and for believing in all those around you, including your mama. You are a role model for dozens of little girls and boys in dance shoes, and I know you’ll be a great teacher. Keep dancing. It’s in your heart, your soul, your head, and I love that you spread the joy it brings you to all those to whom your light radiates. From the moment I knew you existed, I envisioned pink ballet shoes. And Miss Carlye is right: You’re superhuman. <3
Madelaine Josephine, I know you’ll touch the stars for which you’re forever reaching. When you were a very little girl, you said, “I’m dancing because I hear music in my head.” Not much has changed, has it? Your skills with the ukulele, guitar (rock that Fender, girl), piano, and (insert musical implement here) stun me to awed silence. Your voice is beautiful. Keep singing. Vienna waits for you—along with stages all over Chicago, New York, and LA, and anywhere else you shall roam. You only become more determined as you grow, and you pave your own paths to reach your destination. One of your first performances was to Madonna’s “Holiday,” which is why Nana Adie is obsessed with the QUEEN of the universe. See what I did there? QUEEN. :) <3
About the Author
Sasha Dawn creates tales of survival and terror, disasters and dreams. She has degrees in both history and writing, and she loves old buildings and new ideas. She fights traffic daily in the north suburbs of Chicago, where she lives with her husband, daughters, and puppies. Her debut YA novel, Oblivion, was an Illinois Reads selection and one of the New York Public Library’s best books for teens. She is also the author of Blink, an Edgar Award nominee, and Splinter.
