by Ally Mathews
Forcing her mind to focus on what her body was doing, she executed a grand jetés, then moved on to a series of pas de chat. Briefly, she noticed he had stopped stretching altogether and was openly watching her.
Why does he make me so nervous? She was auditioning to become a professional ballerina and she could not, would not, allow herself to give in to stage fright. Though her stomach wobbled like Jell-O, she pushed the rest of the way through the dance, breathing hard by the time she finished.
“Wow. Doesn’t it hurt to stand on your toes like that?”
“It did at first, but there’s a box that supports your feet, and you get used to the pain after a while.”
He studied her feet. “How can you jump so high with those shoes on?”
“It’s not jumping, it’s a leap.”
“Tomato tamato.”
She bit back a grin. “And second, leaping has everything to do with your plié.”
“My what?”
“Plié. The way you jump.”
His face brightened. “Is this something that can help me with football?”
“You wear cleats for football, right?”
He crinkled his eyes. “Um, yeah.”
“Are they flexible?”
“They’re really light, but I wouldn’t say they’re that flexible. Why?”
“If you can get cleats with flexible soles, I can show you how to jump higher.”
“I’m willing to try anything to improve my game.” He studied her for a second. “Scratch that. Almost anything.”
She scrunched her nose. “Let’s go to the barre and I’ll show you. Do a saute, the ballet version of a vertical leap.”
He bent his knees and she lifted her hand to stop him. “Wait. See how your feet are rolling to the inside? It weakens your ability to leap.” Once she had both of his feet positioned properly, she continued. “The way Lauren explained it to me is that you should imagine stacking all your body parts one on top of the other.”
“That sounds vaguely inappropriate.”
“Ha. When you’ve danced as long as I have, you get used to people touching you and manipulating your body.” The moment the sentence left her mouth, she realized how suggestive it sounded, and heat rushed to her face.
He grinned. “Ah, we’ve graduated from vaguely inappropriate to porn movie.”
Izzy shook her head. “Yeah, that even sounded wrong to me. It’s just that when you dance, someone is always correcting the placement of one part of you or another.” Her face burned.
Stop talking, Izzy.
He clamped his lips together. She was afraid he might burst something by holding in his laughter.
“Okay, I’m going to shut up now.”
His fingers slid over her cheek and stopped over the impossibly fast pulse in her neck. “You’re blushing,” he whispered.
Meeting his gaze, she nodded. Her stomach tightened. His hand glided across her collar bone, then dropped to his side, but he maintained eye contact.
She cleared her throat. “Let’s try this again. In dance, being out of alignment means you’ve put some of your energy into a horizontal movement and taken away from your vertical movement.”
“I feel like I’m in physics class, but yeah, that actually makes sense.”
“Hold on to the bar and focus on keeping everything stacked while bending your knees to various degrees and jumping. Once you’re comfortable with that, you can practice without the barre.”
Keeping an eye on him turned out to be more distracting than she’d thought it would be. What she needed to do was figure out how to make her body stop reacting to him. Sure, he was good looking, but there was no way there could ever be anything between them. They were like oil and water. She’d be lucky just to get him to agree to partner her for the production. Although…his leaps weren’t half bad. It was possible she could teach him some advanced leaps. She shook her head. There was no point in wasting more time with him if he wouldn’t dance with her.
After finishing another set of leaps, he wiped his face on his shirt and smiled at her. “You were right about keeping everything aligned and pushing off properly. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it when I’m getting shoved around on the field, but it makes a difference. Are there any exercises I can do to strengthen the tendons in my foot?”
He sat next to her and showed her the scar on his left foot. “I tore the tendon that attaches to the arch of my foot. The doctor said it would always be weaker than it was before the injury, but I’m up for trying anything that might strengthen my foot.”
Without thought, she leaned closer and ran the pad of her index finger over the scar.
He jerked away.
“Did that tickle?”
“No, I just wasn’t expecting it.”
Could he be having the same odd reactions I am? She met his gaze, then quickly looked down and cleared her throat.
“What are those from?” she asked, pointing toward his ankle, which was dotted with small white scars.
“Oh, those are from everyone else’s cleats. We step on each other a lot.”
“In ballet, we try pretty hard not to step on each other, although our footwear generally won’t maim anyone.”
“Really?” He focused on her pointe shoes. “I think you’d break my leg if you kicked me with those things.”
She grinned. “Don’t tempt me.”
He laughed.
“Let me go get some exercise bands, and I’ll show you the exercises we teach the girls who are on pointe. Some of them might be the same ones you did in physical therapy, but you never know.”
The bands were kept in a box in the corner. She grabbed two and tossed one to him, then sat to remove her pointe shoes. It was time to switch to a new pair. “These shoes are dead.”
He raised a brow. “I hadn’t realized they were alive. Was it at least a quick death?”
“Too quick. I barely got two hours out of them.”
“I hope they’re cheap to replace.”
“They’re not, but dancing in dead shoes is a sure way to cause an injury.” She pulled the second shoe off. Her pinkie toenail had fallen off again.
Garret leaned closer. “Why are you bleeding?”
“Happens all the time.”
He met her eyes. “Okay, it’s not football, but I admit this stuff is pretty hard-core.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“There are a couple of guys on the team who sit out when they get a blister, and here you are bleeding into your shoes without complaining. That’s hard-core.”
“Thank you.” Most people thought ballet was easy. It was unusual to have someone say something like that to her, especially coming from Mr. Football. “All right. Back to the exercises for your arch.” She covered dorsiflexion, plantar flexion, eversion, inversion, and toe pushes.
It was after eleven when they finished. “It’s a good thing my dad’s not home or I’d be in trouble.”
“Is he gone a lot?”
“Yeah. He’s making a run for the U.S. Senate next year, so he spends a lot of time in Austin trying to drum up support.”
His eyes widened. “Are you alone?”
“No. We have a live-in…employee who stays with me. I’m not eighteen yet, and my dad definitely doesn’t want to get caught in any sort of a scandal that could hurt his chances in the election.”
He nodded.
“Will you be in trouble?”
“No. I’m eighteen, and since my dad keeps telling me to act like an adult, I figure I’m on my own. My mom’s a nurse and works a twelve-hour shift, so she doesn’t get home until midnight. She’s the one I have to worry about.”
“Sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone to worry about me, but the rest of the time, I’m really glad to have my freedom.”
All of a sudden, their conversation stalled and awkwardness settled over them.
To fill the silence, she said, “Don’t forget about getting more flexible cleats for football
. The arch of your foot is what helps you leap, and you’ve got nice, high arches, so you need shoes that allow for maximum movement.”
“So, you’ve been admiring my arches?”
Heat rushed to her face, along with a healthy dose of mortification. “It’s a dancer thing.”
He took a step closer and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Lighten up. It was a joke.”
She nodded, too mesmerized by his deep brown eyes to look away.
He crossed his arms and leaned away from her. “So, I was wondering. Would you come to my game Friday night?”
Her heart thumped against her ribs, whether in fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure.
He paused, then started talking again when she didn’t answer. “So you can watch me play and give me pointers and stuff.”
“I don’t know much about football.”
“But you know about leaping, and keeping feet straight, and whatever all those French words you keep using mean. Have you ever been to one of our games?”
She shrugged. “Once last year, but I was working the food drive and I didn’t really watch the game.”
“You’ll have fun. I promise. It’s just a pre-season scrimmage, so the stands probably won’t even be full. I can hook you up with some people to sit with if you want.”
“No!” He thought she was such a loser she couldn’t even find someone to go with her? She took a deep breath. “I mean, I can get some of my friends to go.”
“I’ll see you there?”
She bit her lip. This was a terrible idea. She’d be out of place and uncomfortable the entire time. But she owed him after trying to blackmail him, and maybe if she did it, he’d be more likely to agree to dance in the production. It was worth the chance.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. It’s a date.”
She’d never gone out with anyone before, so she supposed it was fitting that she wouldn’t even be with the guy when she went on her first official date.
Chapter Seven
The acre of the salvage yard his dad wanted them to clear made him sick to his stomach. The piles of complete junk made Garret wish he’d never agreed to help. Dad and Uncle Rob had bought the place from the city after the previous owner abandoned it. Though the intended purpose of the yard was auto salvaging, a ton of junk and trash had been dumped there, too. People still drove by at night to drop stuff that was too big to put out with the trash. The team had already had morning practice, and they needed to be back at school by seven for what would be their second practice of the day and the last before their game tomorrow night.
Elliot frowned at the mess in front of him. “So, what are we supposed to be doing?”
“Clearing this acre of land.”
He nodded. “Do you have a bulldozer?”
“Um, no. We have to sift through all of the junk and save anything we can use or sell.”
“How many months do we have to do this?”
Garret shook his head. “Langley and Weathers are coming, and they’re supposed to bring reinforcements.”
“Like the National Guard?”
He gave Elliot the evil eye. “We can use the tractor to pile up the metal and get the trash into the dumpsters. It won’t be so bad.”
No, it was going to be worse than Elliot could possibly imagine, and Garret had no idea how his father had thought a small group of teenagers would be able to do this in a day. Even if the entire team was here…wait.
“Do me a favor and send a group text to the team and tell everybody to get their butts over here.” They couldn’t afford to pay the whole team, but if they donated the salvageable stuff to a charity, everybody could get community service hours.
“What do I say when they ask why?”
“Because their captain said it’s mandatory.”
“Umm, I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask you to think. Just send the message. Tell them they’ll get community service hours.” And maybe food, if he could arrange it. Isabelle probably had a connection with someone in town. Or her father had to have one. He wasn’t quite ready to agree to dance with her, but maybe if he gradually introduced her to his friends, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to be seen with her or do a favor for her.
“Just trust me. I’ll be right back.” Garret walked far enough away that Elliot couldn’t hear him. Even though he knew about the dance lessons, he didn’t want him or his dad to know that he and Isabelle were becoming friends. At least he thought they were. As tempting as it was to cop out and send a text, he manned up and hit call instead.
She answered on the first ring. “Garret?”
“Yeah. Are you busy?”
“That depends on what you want.”
“I need your help. I’ve got the guys from the football team coming to the salvage yard to help clear some ground. We’re going to donate everything to a charity, so nobody’s getting paid.”
“Are you asking me to come work there?”
“No, of course not. I was wondering if you might know someone who’d give us a big discount on lunch.”
“Wow. You’re already using me for my father’s connections. I figured it would be at least a little bit longer before you tried to take advantage of me.”
A wave of guilt swept through him. He hadn’t thought his plan through. People probably tried to get favors from her all the time.
“I’m sorry if I insulted you, but I’ve got the entire team coming to work, and I really need a way to feed them, and you were the first person I thought of who might be able help. I’m desperate here.”
“Obviously, or you never would’ve called me. How many people are we talking about?”
“Maybe about twenty-five.” If everybody showed up, they could eat enough to feed a hundred normal guys, but they’d just have to suck it up. Free food was free food.
“When do you need it delivered?”
“You don’t have to get it yourself. I can do it, or send one of the guys to pick it up. I just hoped you’d be able to tell me if there was a place that might give me a discount.”
“Just tell me when you need it, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Around eleven thirty would be great.”
“Okay. I’ll make it happen.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“And I think you know exactly how to repay your debt.”
Click. She hung up on him. Now she expected him to agree to dance with her, but he’d worry about that later. It was time for him to break the news to his original crew that they weren’t going to get paid, and tell his dad he had to use the money he was going to pay them with to buy lunch.
…
An hour and a half later, Garret was wishing he’d never been born. It was hotter than Dante’s sixth circle of hell, his dad was mad about having to pony up money for lunch despite the fact that he would’ve had to pay the workers otherwise, and the guys who’d expected to get paid were mad, though of course they wouldn’t complain to him. Not after they’d watched how his father tore into him. Luckily, it was before the rest of the team had arrived, so at least most of his teammates had been spared the drama. It was his father’s own fault for thinking a handful of guys could clear an acre of trash in one day.
“Remember, everybody, we’re looking for anything we can salvage and moving it into the warehouse. After lunch, we’ll start sorting the recycling from the trash and get the rest of this crap moved.” He wasn’t at all sure they’d be able to finish in one day, but they’d do their best.
To avoid disaster, Garret walked around the field, making sure anything usable was put aside. “Make sure those sheets of plywood get put into the warehouse.”
He’d also discovered a set of bedroom furniture that only needed a good cleaning and a few minor repairs to be usable, and there was a ton of metal that could be recycled. Since all of his teammates were working their asses off for a few service hours, he was determined to convince his father to put part of the money he got from the r
ecycling into the team travel fund. If they made the playoffs, and he sure hoped they did, they’d have to go long distances on the bus and stay overnight to play the other teams.
Ramirez, their center, lifted a rusty metal file cabinet and chucked it onto the recycling pile, then turned to glare at Garret. His mom had made a bunch of lemonade and brought it over, but if lunch didn’t arrive soon, he’d be in deep trouble with the team. He’d expected Isabelle to call and tell him what they owed. A quick glance at his phone showed that he hadn’t missed any calls. He tapped the screen to call her.
“Impatient, aren’t you?”
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he heard her voice. “I’ve got twenty-five hungry guys here. My butt is on the line.”
“Then it’s a good thing your food is on the way.”
“I told you there’s no need for you to deliver it yourself.”
“I’m not. The restaurant wanted to do it. They should be there any minute.”
“O-k-a-y.”
“It’s good publicity for them. I might have mentioned that the football team was doing some community service over at the salvage yard.”
“Might have?” He could almost hear her smile over the phone.
“Never give a definitive answer if you don’t have to.”
“That something you learned from your dad?”
“Of course. And you’re welcome.”
Then she hung up on him again. He’d have to come up with some way to thank her that didn’t involve him embarrassing himself on a stage. Maybe a book on phone etiquette.
“Is that lunch? It’s about time,” Ramirez said.
Garret whipped around. Sure enough, a guy who looked vaguely familiar was walking toward them, talking to his dad, and Uncle Rob followed behind them, carrying a bunch of bags from the Chicken Fried Everything Diner in town. They’d already set up a folding table, and his mom appeared with a tablecloth and tossed it onto the dirty, dented surface, then dropped a huge jug of hand sanitizer on top of it, which was likely to go unused. She took the food out of the bags and lined it up across the table. They’d packed giant boxes of fried chicken fingers, vats of coleslaw and potato salad, and gallons of sweet tea. A couple of the guys were already at the table with plates in their hands.
