Chapter Twenty
Hannah
Shaking the bottle as silently as I can, I spill four little brown pills into the palm of my hand, popping them into my mouth as quickly as I can, hoping no one notices. I wash them down with a sip of water before tying the ribbons on my pointe shoe. The dull throbbing in my ankle barely registers in my mind, it’s the sharp stab of pain I can’t ignore as I roll my feet in circles, waiting for everyone else to get their shoes on. Lisa is in the middle of the studio, rehearsing one of the trickier transitions in this contemporary piece with her partner.
“You ready?” Noah appears in front of me, holding a hand out to help me to my feet. “How’s the—”
“It’s fine, I’m fine.” I force myself not to snap at him. If one more person asks me how my ankle feels I might lose it. All I want is to dance. Dancing is the only time I’m not thinking about it. Praying that the ibuprofen I took kicks in soon, I follow Noah to the middle of the studio and wait for everyone else. We’re rehearsing the contemporary octet, it’s me and Noah plus Lisa and her partner James, and then two couples from Eight. Marco Bethelo himself choreographed it to Philip Glass’ String Quartet No. 3, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever learned.
The eight of us slide and wash across the stage, getting closer and farther apart with each step. The little trills of quick violin notes match the thrill in my soul as I spin across the stage or in Noah’s grasp. The smooth ebb and flow of the notes as I’m lifted high in the air in an arabesque by Noah and James, floating above the world before I come spinning and falling down, caught in the cradle of Noah’s arms.
He told us there is no story to this dance, but between the music and the movement I like to imagine we are the embodiment of all the times your soul wants to explode from your body—it doesn’t matter if it’s from happiness or sadness. Those days you can’t keep everything locked inside anymore and it has to come out somehow. Maybe it’s a day you stay in bed and cry under the covers, or when you smile so big it hurts, screaming in pain or screaming in laughter, it doesn’t matter. As I twist and spin and step and leap through this music with everyone else, making and breaking beautiful shapes, I let all of those feelings wash through me.
Trevor’s fingers brushing over my cheeks as I look into his eyes.
Fear overwhelming me before getting the x-ray on my ankle.
Butterflies in my belly standing in the wings in New York, Martin by my side.
A dark cloud descending on me after the competition, not wanting to dance, not wanting to do anything.
Landing that perfect pirouette.
My brain racing off into a million anxious, fragmented thoughts.
The feeling that I’m an imposter, looming over me every time I step into an audition.
Seeing my name next to the Black Swan pas de deux, knowing I earned the chance to dance it.
Shock at the venom spat at me by the athlete girls, for doing nothing except being in their way.
Each time we run through the dance I go to that place in my mind, letting it all leak back out through each sweep of my fingers, the placement of my head, and trust in my partners. If nothing else, it pushes the pain in my ankle to the back of my mind, a place I can ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist.
“Lisa!” Marco calls out in the middle of our third run-through. “Really let yourself fall back here, James will catch you.” She’s held straight up in one of the boy’s arms, James behind her, and throws herself backwards, falling into a catch and a spin, her legs piking up, then opening into a split as James spins her. They finish spinning with a slide to the ground, rolling past each other before standing and joining the rest of us at the back of the studio. It’s one of my favorite parts. I wish Hunter could see it, he’d be so proud to see how many times she’s being featured in different dances.
A week from now we’ll be doing this on stage, no more rehearsing. One more week to soak in every bit of this experience I can. To learn everything I can, to pray that they ask me to stay for the year-round program. One more week with Trevor. Is it terrible that I’m not sure which I’ll miss more? Dancing here or seeing Trevor every day?
The final notes fade out at the end of this run through as we spin off the stage. “Good,” Marco calls out, the signal we can relax and catch our breath. “Hannah, can I speak to you for a moment?”
I look at Lisa, panic clawing at me. She gives me a small smile and a jerk of her chin. Walking over to Marco, I pull a deep breath into my lungs, still winded from dancing.
“How’s your ankle feeling?” he asks, eyeing it. “I noticed you didn’t mark anything today. Is it strong enough for that?”
“It’s fine. A little sore.” I downplay the pain, no way am I telling Marco that it hurts the same as it did last Saturday. It did feel better after the days I rested it, but since I’ve started dancing again, it’s back to the constant dull ache, especially at night. The throbbing makes it hard to fall asleep, but I’m managing. “I’m good to keep dancing, I promise.” I can ignore the occasional sharp pangs. Maybe a little more than ‘occasional’ at this point. The rest is background noise.
“Hannah, you don’t need to be a martyr, you have a whole career to think about. Wrecking your ankle now for a summer workshop isn’t worth risking the rest of your future.” Marco looks around to make sure no one else is listening in to our conversation, everyone else is busy chatting or getting a sip of water. “I promised Leslie I’d keep an eye on you, are you sure you’re okay?”
Under any other circumstance, I would be thrilled that Marco freaking Bethelo was taking such a keen interest in my well-being, I’d even be thrilled that he talked to Ms. Parker about me. But not when it comes to babying me and running the risk of him sidelining me now. Since there’s no classes on Sundays, I’ll rest it again tomorrow, but I only have six more days of dancing left. There will be plenty of time to rest my ankle once I get home to California. “I’m fine, I promise,” is all I trust myself to say without sounding like I have an attitude.
Marco starts to walk away from me, letting me off the hook with a brief check in, but he turns back after a step or two. “Hannah, there could be a spot for you here in the fall. If you’re in good enough shape to take it.” With that bombshell he walks away, leaving me stunned.
Noah sneaks up behind me and grabs my hand to twirl me under his arm. “What was that all about?” I pull my hand back and step away. I never would have imagined it, but the closer Trevor and I have gotten, the easier time I’ve had in pas de deux class. Maybe because I can feel how different it is when Trevor touches me versus when Noah or any of the other guys do. Or maybe it’s that I’ve gotten more comfortable in my own skin. But right now, I don’t want to celebrate anything with Noah. Marco is dangling a chance to stay here year round like a fat carrot in front of me. I have to show him that I’m serious about my dancing, that I won’t let anything distract me from it. Not pain, not classmates, nothing.
“Nothing, he was checking in to see how my ankle was feeling. I’m fine, before you ask.” I poke his side. “You asked me five minutes ago, it was fine then and it’s fine now.”
Fortunately, we only have a few minutes of rehearsal time left, just enough to practice one or two small things, before we’re dismissed. “Ugh, I need a shower so bad,” I tell Lisa as we pack up and head out the door. “Are you going to stay or are you going to go out with the gang?”
“Actually, I think I’ll stay here, I’m exhausted. Want to call Katy in a bit and see how the race went today? I’ll text Hunter and see if she’s awake from her nap yet.” Laughing, I follow her to the elevator, pulling my phone out of my pocket as I walk to check for messages.
As much as I was hoping for a message or two from Trevor, I’m not surprised when there aren’t any. Since the running camp is finishing this weekend, they’re holding a mock meet to test their progress from the last four weeks.
Luckily for me, it’s open to the public for observation so that’s where I’ll be spending my day tomorrow. I’ll have to take a lesson from Katy on how to cheer for my boyfriend.
There are some pictures from Martin of him in his El Capitan costume. CBS is having their end of workshop performances this weekend. I send him back an encouraging message. I know he’s hoping to be invited to stay here in the US as badly as I want to be invited to stay here in the fall.
Lisa drags me to the elevator. “Come on slowpoke, quit looking for texts from your boy, let’s go shower and call Katy.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Katy
My stomach churns as I follow my brothers through the crowd, sweat trickling down my back, dust and dirt tickling my nose. The sun is already beating down on us, already almost ninety degrees. JJ walks besides me, her quiet and calm attitude keeping me from puking in the nearest trash can.
Bless my parents for getting up at five this morning to drive us, we all slept the two hour drive to get here. JJ’s shoulder is surprisingly comfortable. “Did he ever respond to your message?” She leans in to whisper in my ear, careful to make sure my brothers don’t hear us.
Grinning, I nod my head. “Yesterday. He couldn’t promise, but he said he’d try. Don’t say anything.” I mime zipping my own lips, and in a moment of bravery, I mime zipping JJ’s as well. My fingers barely brush her lips but even that sends sparkles of excitement through me. JJ’s eyes open wide at my action, for a split second I could have sworn she started to purse her lips. No, that’s just wishful thinking. She does grin and poke me in the stomach, her fingers toying with the knotted strips of fabric at the side of my shirt.
“Come on slow pokes,” Jack calls, the three of them a dozen yards ahead of us. Jogging to catch up, we take spots in the little space they cleared. “Does anyone know what time it is?”
Instinctively, I reach into my pocket, but of course it’s empty. None of us have our phones on us since we’ll be getting wet and muddy as soon as we start the race. JJ glances at her wrist, she’s got one of those heavy-duty running watches. “It’s seven fifty-three. We have time.” Our heat doesn’t start until eight fifteen so we take the time to stretch and warm up while we wait for the groups before us to get lined up and sent on their way.
I adjust the wristband with my number on it and pull my socks up more securely. I know how to prepare for a show—perfecting my makeup, smoothing back my hair, getting pointe shoe ribbons tied. Those are the things that calm my nerves, the routine of preparation, the comfort of finding something to use as a barre and going through plies and tendus, swinging my legs and stretching. All of this is similar and yet so different. It’s close enough to my normal to feel manageable, but different enough to have me second-guessing everything I’m doing.
Were the double French braids a good idea? What about my socks, what if they slip inside my shoes as I run? The underwear and sports bra I’m wearing feel wrong—my brain is used to feeling this kind of pressure when I’m wearing tights and a leotard, not somewhat normal clothes. Looking at my brothers and JJ, we’re all dressed in old clothes, with the exception of the bright pink matching shirts Jack and Hunter organized for us, even my parents are wearing them. When they pulled them out to show us, JJ and I burst out laughing at the hot pink color. “We wanted you to be comfortable,” Hunter had said, with a wink. “Besides, I think we’re all secure enough in our masculinity to wear a hot pink shirt.” Again, I’d laughed, even if I couldn’t help glancing at Cole. His genuine grin as he pulled the shirt on reassured me that he was in on the joke as much as anyone. I still catch him looking sad when he thinks no one is looking, which is what prompted my top-secret plan, but at least he isn’t quite so grumpy these days.
Finally, it’s time to line up with the rest of our heat, there’s maybe fifty people corralled between temporary fencing, a big sign ahead of us proclaiming this the starting line. Glancing around, I spot my parents standing on the hill to our left, they won’t be able to watch the whole race, it winds through and around this wide open space, but they’ll watch as much as they can and meet us at the finish line. My mom gives me a thumbs up, ready to play her part in the plan.
“Okay gang, are we ready?” Cole’s voice breaks through my nerves. “We stick together, we get through this as a team, right? Agony of De Feet forever!” He finishes his pep talk with a deep roar, Jack and Hunter joining him, JJ and I adding our own yells to the mix. Jostling in the crowd, Cole maneuvers behind us, sandwiching JJ and I between him and the twins.
As I scream, my heart thumps and heat rushes through me. I bounce up and down, shaking my hands and pumping my elbows. Suddenly, I don’t miss all the prim and proper whispers of backstage. I add a few more whoops to the noise of the crowd as the race announcer gets us ready to begin. Someone slaps my butt. Turning to glare at Cole, he holds his hands up and mouths “wasn’t me” before grinning and nodding his head towards JJ.
I slap her butt in return and earn myself a grin and a wink as the announcer starts his countdown. “Three…two…one…GO!” The crowd shuffles forward at a slow jog, with the exception of a few guys at the front of the crowd who take off at a sprint. The cloud of dust kicked up by the runners in front of us has a fine layer of dirt already sticking to my sunscreen-tacky skin.
“Let’s go!” JJ shouts in my ear, before darting into an opening beside Hunter, taking the lead from him. Laughing, I follow, grinning to myself at the chorus of protests from my brothers. They can be as protective as they want, but JJ and I got this. I chase her to the first obstacle, a giant set of monkey bars, suspended over a muddy pit. JJ climbs up next to me and we take off, swinging from bar to bar. My hands burn from gripping the metal, my shoulders pulling and stretching as I shift my weight from one arm to the other. I pump my legs to help gain momentum near the end, my lungs burning in my chest. People are shouting encouragement to us from the other side, even as other racers fall into the mud beside and behind us. I tune out the distracting grunts and splashes, focusing on my goal of making it to the other side.
With a triumphant yell, I swing my legs forward to set my toes on the bar at the finish. JJ is already there, waiting for me, hand held up waiting for my high five. Looking back, Jack and Hunter are already swinging across, grinning, and yelling encouragement to each other. “Should we wait for them?” I ask, nodding my head in their direction. Cole is following behind Hunter on the monkey bars, a streak of mud already decorating one cheek.
JJ watches them for a moment. “Nah. They’ll catch up. Come on!” Jumping down off the bars she reaches a hand back for me. Taking it, I jump down and run with her past the slower racers ahead of us. My heart pounds in my chest, my lungs burn, and the hot August sun beats down on my skin. I’m a warrior, a hunter, Diana loping with her hounds through the forest, JJ by my side.
Army crawling beneath a field of ropes, we grit our teeth against the mud being kicked up by the racers in front of us. Swinging across a water filled trench on a rope, my hands and shoulders strain from the effort to hold on until I’m across. Carrying a bucket filled with rocks for twenty-five feet slows us down enough for the boys to catch up. JJ’s crow of triumph at seeing the buckets of rocks has me reaching out for her before I know what I’m doing. At the last second, I turn it into a high five, instead of whatever else my heart wanted to do in the split second I wasn’t thinking.
“Hey Bug, you got a little mud on you,” Jack’s voice interrupts our groans as we put the heavy buckets down on the other side of the marked area. Casually setting his bucket next to mine, he has my head locked under his elbow before I can get away. Fighting to get loose, I push and tug at the thick bicep curled around my head as the sound of footsteps gets closer. A yelp from Jack as he lets go tells me that JJ at least has my back against these overgrown boys.
“Took you long enough, I thought you boys would never catch up,” JJ teases as Cole and Hunter stride over to us
, wiping their dirty hands off on their shorts. “Are we ready for this one?” She points at the twenty foot wall and suspended rope climb looming ahead.
“Hell yeah!” Jack lets go so he can lead the way, the rest of us falling in line behind. I’m wet, exhausted and have mud in places it definitely shouldn’t be, but I’m having the time of my life. The rest of the race is a blur of burning arms and legs, hauling myself over obstacles, pulling JJ or my brothers after me and splashing our way through the course.
“Come on,” I shout as we clear the last hurdle. All that stands between us and finishing is a few dozen yards and a narrow trench full of water. Laughing, I grab JJ’s hand and pull her with me, leaping over the trench with an awkward grand jete as she long jumps over it beside me. Jack, Hunter, and Cole are waiting for us on the other side, hands held out so we can all cross together. I don’t even care how ridiculous we must look, holding hands as we cross the finish line together like a freeze-frame ending from a made-for-tv movie. I’ve never felt this satisfied or alive.
Sucking air into my lungs, I walk a few steps forward so I’m not blocking the finish line, but not paying attention to where I’m going. It’s only when someone grabs my shoulders and spins me around that I notice the medals hanging around my brothers necks. JJ is the one who turned me, a medal hanging around her own neck as she grins at me. “You forgot the best part,” she says, holding out the medal hanging from her hand. “Come here.”
I duck down so she can loop the ribbon over my head. As I straighten up, she leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips. It happens so fast, if I didn’t catch the shock on her face matching my own, I wouldn’t believe it happened. Neither of us has a chance to say anything before Jack and Hunter are pulling us away from the finish line and towards our parents.
What just happened?
Whatever it was, I want more.
Face to Face (On Pointe Book 3) Page 18
