I squeeze out a nickel-sized drop of the cream and rub it gently into my ankle. The pressure of my fingers is painfully cathartic as I press into the tender spots. It doesn’t take long to rub in, leaving me with no choice but to talk to Ms. Parker before Lisa gets back. Lisa doesn’t make empty threats. With a sigh, I pick up my phone, ignoring all the notifications on it to open the messages app so I can text Ms. Parker.
Me: Hey Ms. Parker, do you have a minute? I’m sorry, I know it’s late but I need to talk to you.
My phone rings almost immediately, startling me. “Hello?”
“Hannah? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Ms. Parker’s voice is anxious, making me regret my choice of words.
“I’m okay. Lisa’s fine too,” I add before she can ask. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She mumbles something to someone nearby, hopefully that’s Mr. Mike. “That’s okay sweetie. What’s up then? Are you having trouble with your Black Swan pas?”
“Kind of?” I hedge. “Please don’t get mad at me for not saying anything sooner, but during dress rehearsal my ankle started hurting. Just the odd twinge every so often and kind of achy at night. I tried to rest it as much as I could over the break so it would be okay once I got here, and it was okay until the other day.”
“Sweetie, Mike is right here, I’m going to put you on speakerphone so he can hear,” Ms. Parker interrupts me. I wait until she speaks again. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Hannah, can you start over for me?” Mr. Mike says gently. “When did it start hurting?”
“During dress rehearsal.”
“So that was about five or six weeks ago? Did it hurt at all while you were in New York?” I hadn’t thought about that.
“No, it didn’t. I noticed it the first time after dress rehearsal and it wasn’t that bad, mostly aching.”
“Got it,” Mr. Mike says. “So, what’s happening now?”
“I rested it as much as I could before I came and it was getting better. It only hurt when I went hiking one day and walked around the mall a lot. But I was trying hard to rest it, I promise.” The more I talk the more panicky I am about the situation. What if it keeps getting worse? “It hadn’t gotten any better or worse until this week. It’s mostly achy after class with the occasional sharp pain.”
“When do the sharp pains occur? When you jump? Taking off or landing? When you relevè? Does it hurt when you pliè?” Mike asks his questions in a gentle, methodical way. I guess he’s pretty used to us dancers and knows how to ask the right questions.
“Tonight, I started getting sharp pains when I took off for a jump. Pliès and stepping onto pointe isn’t too bad, it’s jumping and going up on relevè that hurts.”
Lisa tiptoes back into our room holding an ice pack while I listen to Mr. Mike. Gingerly, I wrap it around my ankle. Moments after I put it on, the cold starts drawing out the pain I hadn’t even noticed. It was so constant I forgot what it felt like not to have the tight, dull ache in my ankle. Grabbing one of my leg warmers, I wrap it around the ice and tie it so I have my hands free.
Sliding my feet up the wall next to my bed, I lay back, patting the space next to me in invitation. Lisa doesn’t hesitate before joining me.
“Without looking at it and maybe an X-ray, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but hopefully it’s just a strain and a few days of rest will be all you need,” Mr. Mike says, sounding concerned. “But you need to go see the therapist there, this is in no way an official diagnosis young lady.”
“Hannah,” Ms. Parker says, “you need to go to whoever PSB has on staff. It’s important that they know you’re having an issue.”
I chew my lip, fighting Ms. Parker’s words. If Lisa wasn’t here beside me, I would be tempted to pretend this conversation never happened. But Lisa has been listening to each and every word. There’s no way she’ll let me get away without doing what Mr. Mike and Ms. Parker are telling me. No matter how much I want to fight it.
Lisa’s already giving me the stink eye for hesitating to answer. “Yeah, I’ll go tomorrow morning.”
“Promise?” Mr. Mike and Ms. Parker say in unison.
“Yes, I promise.” I sigh, dreading going. Almost always, the solution to an injury is to rest. I don’t want to rest—I came here to dance, not waste time here sitting on my butt.
“Is Lisa there?” Ms. Parker asks, not letting me wriggle out of it.
“I’m here, I’ve been listening. I promise to make sure she goes to the physical therapist in the morning,” Lisa answers for herself.
“Good,” Mr. Mike says. “Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“I want to know what they tell you to do, okay?”
“Okay. I promise.” It’s late and we’re all tired but there’s one last thing I need to ask Ms. Parker. The thing that scares me more than anything else right now. “Ms. Parker?”
“Yes?” The concern in her voice has tears pricking at my eyes. “Do you think this is going to ruin their opinion of me? What if this makes them think I’m unreliable or injury prone?” I don’t voice the last part of my thought—what if this ruins my chance at being invited to stay year-round?
There’s a long pause before Ms. Parker speaks. “Sweetie, I’m not going to sugar coat this. Depending on what you do next, there’s a chance that it will.” I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Too fast to sort out, half-formed thoughts crowd my brain, drowning out Ms. Parker’s words. “Hannah, listen to me. Take a breath.” The sharp words cut through the fog building in my mind. “I know this is difficult to hear but listen to me. What you do right now is going to be more important than the fact that you have an injury. When they tell you you’re not allowed to take class for the next few days, because that’s the most likely scenario, you’re going to go to class and be present. You are not going to touch your phone. You are going to bring your yoga mat and do the barre exercises laying down. Do them as much like the class as possible, but modify it to slow down as needed. We’ve done floor barres before, you know what to do. If you can do any of those strengthening exercises you’ve learned…”
“The Progressing Ballet Technique ones?”
“Yes, those ones.” Ms. Parker’s voice is insistent. “Do as much of them as possible without being a distraction to the class. When they get to center, sit up and do all the upper body to each exercise. You’re going to show that even though you have to rest your ankle you are still engaged and taking class with everyone else. Do this for every class. That’s how you’re going to show them that you’re there to work, not get sympathy.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard, adjusting the ice to a different spot. “I can do that. Thanks Ms. Parker. I’ll let you know what they say tomorrow.”
“Please take care of yourself sweetie.” She calls out a little louder. “You too Lisa! I’m glad you called. I’m going to pester you tomorrow until I hear from you,” she adds with a laugh. “Lisa, you keep an eye on her, okay?”
“I will!” Lisa says, sticking her tongue out at me. “I’ll try to keep her from doing anything too stupid.”
Chapter Fourteen
Katy
“Are you texting my girlfriend?” Hunter leans into my field of vision, blocking my phone.
“No.” I don’t bother to hide the annoyance in my voice. “And she was my friend first so back off.” I shove at his chest so he quits looming over me. Annoyingly, he just stands up straight, arms crossed over his chest, like the freaking Iron Giant or something, blocking the sun from warming my skin. Ass.
“Are you texting my girlfriend?” Jack’s face pops up on the other side, grinning stupidly before taking up a matching position on my other side.
Raising an eyebrow at him with a dash of “I don’t care” attitude, I pull a face, desperate to keep my real feelings hidden. “What girlfriend? All the gorillas at the zoo are accounted for.”
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Hunter cracks up at this, which is good. I can laugh with him and cover up the very real anger that simmers in my gut and the panic I’m fighting. Don’t say JJ. Please don’t say JJ. I can’t take losing one more person to these clowns. “As a matter of fact, no, I am not texting Lisa or JJ.” I fight the wave of nausea that hits me and keep talking. “I was texting Olivia about going to class tonight.”
Jack’s easy grin is replaced by confusion at my words. “Bug, JJ isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Whatever, ‘girl you’re talking to’ doesn’t have the same ring, but you know what I mean.” I grump. Putting my phone face down on my lap, I collapse back into my lounge chair. It’s been unbearably hot all day, so I’ve come outside for a dip in the pool after lunch. For once, we are taking a rest day from training with JJ and I am determined to relax and enjoy it.
Jack shakes his head at my words. “I’m serious, Bug. We’re not dating, she’s just a friend. I’m pretty sure she has a crush on someone else, she mentioned something about liking someone but them having no idea.” I open my mouth to say something, but Jack claps his hand over it before I can make a sound. “And no, it wasn’t in that subtle but not at all subtle way that girls do it. She meant it was someone else.”
Hunter nods in agreement. “She said something similar to me the other day, and I know she wasn’t fishing for compliments from me. She likes Lisa. She stood up for her when the other girls on track were talking shit about us dating.”
None of this is easing the sick churning in my stomach. Why am I so upset at the thought of JJ having a crush on someone? “Huh, and here I thought she was another one of your groupies using me to get to you.” The words are out before I can stop myself.
“Groupies?” Hunter says slowly. “What do you mean, Bug?”
Do they not know? I swear we’ve had this conversation before.
“I mean, that for as long as I can remember, girls have been coming over here vying for my brothers’ attention. It’s like living in the Bachelor sometimes.” Jack grins and holds his hand out for a high-five from Hunter. “The smart ones pretend to be nice to me to get in good with you knuckleheads.”
Jack’s offended look would be hilarious if it wasn’t because of my words. “Bug, you can’t be serious. They’re being friendly. That’s what normal people do.”
Oh, my sweet summer child. Pulling my legs up to my chest, I wrap my arms around my knees to make space for them on the lounger. Hunter is the first to sit, one hand resting on my knee. “We know you’ve always tried to vet the girls for us, but what do you mean? Care to elaborate?” he says, jerking his head at Jack to sit down.
“When Cole was a freshman, and the girls started coming over more, I always wanted to hang out with them. I thought they were so pretty, so cool. What other fifth grader could brag that she spent the weekend hanging out with high school girls, right?”
This time Jack high-fives me. “Hell yeah! We get it, we had the same thought. Why do you think we invented Quinn Ball? So we had an excuse to hang out with Cole and his friends.”
My brothers aren’t giants, but they’ve always been super athletic, the bastards never went through that horrible awkward stage in middle school. Nope, they went from gangly kids to muscular teens overnight. I, sadly, was not blessed the same way.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to get back to my point. “Most of the girls would tell me to go away, go play with my Barbies, or whatever, and it would piss me off. So, I would find ways to get rid of the ones who made me mad. Like, telling mom who was kissing Cole behind the bushes, or which ones I caught trying to sneak into Cole’s room when they went ‘looking for the bathroom.’”
“I remember a few of those,” Hunter says, smiling. “I begged Dad to let us put a lock on our door after a girl walked in while I was changing. And I don’t think it was an accident.”
Hugging my knees tight I keep going. “I doubt you guys ever heard about them, but there were girls at school who would pretend to be my friend for a while, they’d hang out with me at recess, sit with me at lunch, until I finally invited them over after school. A few of them were dumb enough to make a beeline for you guys the second they walked in the door, some of them were smarter and would come over a few times before asking where you were. In the end, it didn’t matter how long it took—they were all just tricking me into thinking we were friends so they could make a pass at one of you.” I finish with another shrug and scrunch down into the cocoon of my arms and knees, my stomach roiling. “I thought JJ was different, but I guess I was wrong,” I whisper into the safety of the darkness between my chest and my legs.
“Seriously, Bug?” Jack’s indignant snort has me looking up at him. I’m not sure if the snort is because he doesn’t believe me, but the second I see his expression I know it’s because he’s angry on my behalf. “I wish you’d said something. You know we wouldn’t have hung out with anyone who would use you like that. Quinns stick together. You know we’d have your back.”
Silent, I shrug. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but I appreciate the thought. “It’s okay, Jack. I thought that JJ was better than that, but I guess she was just smarter than the rest.” I move to sit up, but Jack puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“Bug, I’m serious, we’re friends. That’s it. She hasn’t flirted with me once. I assumed she had a boyfriend until the other day, she was so hands off. But she said something about being single and wishing she had someone to go out with. But,” he says before I can interrupt. “She didn’t say it like she was wanting me to ask her out.” Jack falls silent and eyes me for a second. “She was looking at you when she said it. Well, you and Hunter, but we all know Hunter is happily taken and oblivious to every other girl on the planet.”
“Can you blame me?” Hunter asks, grinning.
“Nope, you got the best girl out there. You and Trevor,” I add. It’s only after I say it that Jack’s words sink in. JJ was looking at me when she was hoping for someone to go out with?
“Wait…” I trail off, my brain shorting out. Like a goldfish, my mouth opens and closes several times as I try to find words to process what I think Jack just told me. “Me?”
Jack shrugs. “Maybe? That’s what I thought at the time.”
“Either way, the important thing is,” Hunter interrupts my frazzled thoughts. “JJ isn’t in it to get to me or Jack. She wants to hang out with you.” He pokes my forehead with a finger to emphasize the word. “So I guess there’s only one question left to ask. Do you like her or not?”
Record scratch. “Do I…?” I snap my mouth closed, my mind turning the thought over. “Why are you guys so interested?” I turn it back on them, hoping to get out of the conversation.
“We figured it was our turn to make sure your crush passed inspection. Like you do for us.” Hunter reaches out to punch me on the arm.
This conversation did not play out the way I was expecting. I need space, need to think about what they’re asking.
I stick my tongue out at them both, playing at my usual self even if the old Katy feels a million miles away. “Can you go away now?” When shooing them away doesn’t work, I push at their broad chests until they give up and head inside. It’s about two in the afternoon, I can’t call Lisa or Hannah, they’ll still be in the middle of classes for the afternoon. And, I don’t want to talk to Olivia, it’s too weird.
JJ and me. Me and JJ. I turn the idea over in my mind. I’ve had my fair share of girl crushes over the years, but I took them as seriously as my crushes on various celebrities—fun in theory but never going to happen in real life. But why not?
I’m still staring blankly at my phone when someone sits down on the edge of the lounge chair. “I told you guys to go…”
“You want me to go?” Looking up, it’s not the Weasley twins grinning at me, it’s Cole. “And here I thought you’d want to hear all my deep dark confessions.” W
ith a shrug, he starts to stand but I stop him with a hand on his arm.
“No, wait! I thought you were the Wonder Twins. Stay?” I tug on his arm, pulling him back to sit with me. “Please?” I add my patented puppy dog eyes. They only work on Cole, but they work one hundred percent of the time. “I’d much rather hear about your drama than think about mine.”
When he hesitates, I tuck my legs under me so I’m kneeling, hands clasped in front of my chest, batting my eyelashes. Laughing, Cole sits back down, clasping his hands between his knees, head dropping as his smirk fades. Sensing he needs comfort more than he’s letting on, I move to sit next to him, wrapping my hands around his bicep and resting my cheek on his shoulder while I wait for him to speak.
“You wanted to know why I’ve been so grumpy.”
“Yeah?” I draw the word out, not wanting to pressure him, but dying to know what he’s going to say.
Cole heaves a sign, dislodging my head from his shoulder as he runs his hands through his hair. “I hate my team.”
“You hate playing?”
Cole shakes his head, still not looking at me. “Maybe? I dunno. I can’t stand my teammates, Katy Bug. It gets harder and harder to keep playing with them. But I have to, I can’t afford to lose my scholarship.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I worm my way under his arm so I can hug him. “I’m sorry, Coley. Why do you hate them?” He squeezes me back, resting his cheek on my head. The scruff on his face catches my hair as he talks, but I don’t protest, he needs someone to talk to and I’m glad it’s me.
“It’s a freaking testosterone overdose, all the damn time. Everything is a dick-measuring contest. How’d you score, who you score, what shoes you wear, what you eat, what you drink, how much you drink, how hard you can party, how long you can party. It’s exhausting, Bug.”
Face to Face (On Pointe Book 3) Page 12
