by JJ Knight
“What should they wear?” Marissa’s mother asks.
“Just have them in their favorite outfit,” Hannah says.
“We have their recital costumes already,” Daisy’s mom says. She turns to me. “Livia, is it okay if they wear them next week?”
“We’re missing the hats,” I say, but I can see that they don’t really want to know what I think. It’s practically a done deal. “But you can check with Janel.”
Hannah claps her hands. “I’ll speak to Blitz about it. And the owner. It will be amazing.” She passes out cards to the mothers. “I’ll be in touch through the studio. Tell the other moms!”
She walks past me, her heels clicking on the floor. She doesn’t seem to need my guidance or help, so I just let her go.
Seriously slick. So this is how Hollywood works.
The moms are abuzz, their heads together over their cards.
Gwen says, “Are we sure we want our girls on television?”
The urge to hug her strikes again. I’m glad she’s hesitating. I don’t want Gabriella to have anything to do with Blitz.
“I’m thrilled,” Daisy’s mom says. “I can’t wait to tell everyone!”
They are going to push it through, I can tell. Their energetic chatter fills me with dread.
Janel is doing fine with the girls, so I head to the foyer to see where the manager shark has gone. When I get to the end of the hall, I peek around the corner to see if she is near the front desk.
Suze and Jacob are there, talking in hushed tones. They get quiet when they see me.
“Hey, Livia,” Jacob says. “How are the ballerinas?”
“Good,” I say. “Suze, I guess you figured out that Blitz isn’t with our group anymore.”
She nods and glances at Jacob. Something is up. I give them a friendly wave and keep walking, past the desk to the other side where glass doors separate the studios from the recital hall.
I hear voices immediately. Danika’s office is to the right. I scoot past the half-closed door and duck inside the auditorium, perching against the last row of chairs so I can still hear.
It’s dark, but if I’m caught, I can easily say I was checking to see if anyone needed help with the stage setup for the recital.
I sit very still and listen.
First is that Hannah woman. “This is a brilliant opportunity! Those wheelchair girls are precious and it’s good all around. Of course we want that one.”
“Blitz is not welcome in that class,” Danika says.
“Nonsense,” Hannah says. “They love him. They were heartbroken that he wasn’t there.”
When Blitz speaks, I nearly jump out of my skin. I had no idea he was even here! “Hannah, there are plenty of classes we can use for the video.”
Hannah’s voice takes on an edge. “The dancing elderly will be good for a laugh, but let me assure you, those ballerinas are what you need to get back in the producer’s good graces.”
Nobody talks for a moment. It’s a stalemate. My fingers squeeze the back of the cushioned chair. This is all my fault. If Blitz and I had just stayed apart, he could have had his video and nobody would be fighting right now.
I push down the seat and plop into it, sinking down low. Maybe I am the one who should leave.
But Gabriella! I can’t. I just can’t.
Tears threaten. I’ll tell Danika I will skip next week. They can do their video. I wasn’t going to be in it anyway. I won’t see Blitz again. It’s not like I really want to. I was just one of a half-dozen San Antonio conquests. His most naive and pathetic. The others were so glamorous, so sure of themselves.
The stage is dark other than a few safety lights along the edge. It has a hallowed glow to it, as if it is illuminated by ghosts.
The voices in the office drop down, talking in quiet tones. I wonder why, but my curiosity isn’t strong enough to get closer to hear. I just sit in the chair and feel sorry for myself. I won’t regret that kiss. And remembering how we danced onstage is a choice. There isn’t any reason to make it an ugly memory.
For a little while, I got to teach ballet to the most famous dancer in the world. That was something. Really something.
I sit up. Time to go. Class is probably about over and I might as well hug the girls good-bye before I head home.
But the shadow of a figure crosses the pale light onstage.
Blitz.
He’s come inside and gone up the stairs in the dark without my even noticing. I hunker down in the seat, wondering what he’s up to.
He takes a few leaps, turning, legs scissoring. His form is lean and true, striking and powerful. He drops to the floor and pops back again in a back flip, so unexpected that I almost gasp out loud.
Then he runs and attempts a grand jeté. It’s not bad. His arms still aren’t quite right, but then, I’m not really an instructor. Just a two-year ballet student with a crush. He really should get Betsy to fix his form. I picture him doing one on Dance Blitz when he returns and my heart glows. It’s a little bit of me he will take with him.
He does another grand jeté but when he gets to the floor, he drops to one knee, head down. It’s like he’s broken, struck by grief.
Without thinking, I jump from my chair. “Blitz! Are you okay?” My feet carry me up the aisle to the stage.
He quickly stands, resuming his easy posture. “Livia?” he asks.
I hurry up the stairs. “Yes. Why are you dancing in the dark?”
“Why are you sitting in it?”
I want to run up to him and throw my arms around him. But I stop short, the image of all those women, all those nights, running through my head.
Blitz moves forward to reach for me, but I take a step back. He drops his arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
I don’t want to ask about the other girls or admit I cyberstalked him. But it isn’t really in me to lie to him. And I have no explanation for my behavior today compared to Friday if I don’t say it.
“How is Avery Hines?” I ask.
He lets out a long rush of air. “Nicer than people give her credit for,” he says. “And madly in love with another girl. She just won’t go public yet.”
My legs wobble, so I plop down on the stage. “Really?”
Blitz sits next to me. We both look out to the shadowy seats, the entrance, how close Danika and his manager are right now. But we’re just two people sitting on a stage.
He must feel the same, because he kicks his legs out in front of him and leans on his hands like this is any ordinary conversation. “I’m guessing if you saw one, you saw them all.” He doesn’t wait for a confirmation, but goes on. “Jenna is someone I knew from high school. She’s about to get married, but after those pictures came out, her fiancé is not speaking to her. I really screwed that up. I’m hoping she can fix it.”
“Oh, no.”
Blitz stares up into the dark canopy above the stage, the mass of stage lights and curtains invisible in the blackness. “Yep. And then there were two women with the network. I’m pretty sure one was testing to see if I would act like a man-whore to justify them killing my contract without even paying me.”
He shakes his head. “The other was just — God, I don’t know. Bitter, I guess. It was a difficult dinner to force myself through. There were two other men with us but of course the photos cut them out.”
Somewhere deep in my chest, a tiny glow of hope starts to light up around my heart. I want it to go away, to take me back to the safe place where I knew it was over. But it refuses.
“I guess it was pretty tough seeing all that,” Blitz says. “I didn’t go anywhere this weekend, though. I turned everything down. Just spent time with my parents.”
His eyes shine in the low light. He’s watching me earnestly.
My chest rises and falls with each breath. I refused to wear the light blue leotard, so it’s the white and yellow today, glowing in the dark. I pull my knees up to my chest. “It was definitely hard,” I manage to say. “But I didn’t do a B
urn Blitz Burn Tweet.”
His laugh rings in the silent hall. “Oh my God, Livia, this was the longest weekend of my life.” He shifts close to me and pulls me into his arms. “All I could think about was my princess. Even my mother noticed.”
My face snaps around to his. “Really?”
“Really. She asked why I acted like I was walking on a cloud.”
He shifts me onto his lap. I sit sideways on him, my head on his shoulder. It’s frighteningly intimate, closer than we’ve been before. My heart thuds wildly.
His fingers trail along the nape of my neck, my back, my shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten so worked up over a kiss before,” he says. His breath tickles my jaw.
I turn my face to his and our lips meet. The kiss is tender, conciliatory, a reconnection. His hand moves to the back of my head. His mouth covers mine, increasing the urgency, his tongue seeking entrance.
I taste him, no mint gum today, but a hint of coffee and cream. My body is less hesitant, more eager to move in close, to feel his muscular body tight against mine.
I shift to face him, my legs straddling his waist. His dance tights are form fitting and sleek. I move against him, feeling our bodies connect. It’s slippery and smooth, so easy to shift into place.
His hands grasp my ribs. His thumb slides up, flirting with the underside of my breast.
I suck in a breath against his mouth. Fire licks through me. It’s way beyond what I felt in the storage room. It’s needy and unquenched. I break away, my breathing rapid.
“We should probably be careful,” Blitz says.
I nod and shift away from him. I don’t want to, but my brain is buzzing. So many reversals in the past few minutes. Hating him, feeling despair, then hope, and now fire.
“Why is Danika against us?” Blitz asks. “I mean, I know I have a horrible reputation, which I totally deserve.” He stands up and reaches for my hand to help me rise as well. “But she’s the owner, and you’re a student. Is she a close friend of your family?”
I shake my head no. I don’t want him to know my situation, how sheltered I’ve been, how abnormal.
“Then let’s see each other away from here,” Blitz says. “We can go anywhere. Will you do that?” His eyes implore mine, flashing in the dark. “Tonight? Tomorrow? I can’t wait any longer than that.”
I think about my time, how to get away, searching for possibilities. I could lie again, say I’m coming here, say Danika has a work session and lunch planned for the staff. I’ll make it work. I can always just walk away. Dad won’t be home. Mom can’t exactly lock me in my room.
“Yes,” I say. “Tomorrow. Away from here.” I think frantically. “I’ll meet you at the park on this street, a few blocks down. By the swings.”
“That’s adorable,” he says. “And a date. When?”
“When do you have a class here?” I ask.
“Ten. Done at eleven. Tappin’ Grandmas, remember?”
Right. “Okay, eleven-fifteen at the park.”
He pulls me to him fiercely. “It’s a date, Princess.”
We scurry off the stage and go separately out of the hall.
Class is long over, so I don’t talk to anyone, but just head outside and into the bright fall day. I’m halfway home when it hits me, and I grand jeté on the sidewalk.
I have a date with Blitz!
Chapter 13
I dress carefully the next day in a loose T-shirt and baggy cropped sweatpants, like I’m going to be doing hard physical work. Beneath them, I have on my favorite red shirt, casual but with a little shine to it, and a simple black skirt. I’ve carefully folded it flat against my belly and hips so it won’t be too crumpled when I change out of the pants.
I sling a clearly almost-empty dance bag on my shoulder. I need it to put the old clothes in, but I couldn’t risk a change of nice things in there in case Mom checked. It only holds a pair of flats so I don’t have to wear my work sneakers with my skirt later. She should assume my ballet slippers are in there.
This has to work. If she says no, I have to walk out anyway. My heart is pounding fiercely in my chest. I’m going to lie. Big-time lie. I haven’t lied since the time before, when I got pregnant.
But I don’t feel guilty. This is too important. I’m nineteen. I should be allowed to date. I can’t live with my parents forever. I can’t be punished all my life.
Mom folds towels on the living room sofa. Andy is having recess time in the backyard. Good. I don’t want any witnesses, and Andy has an uncanny ability to notice when I’m trying to get away with something.
“Your hair sure looks pretty,” Mom says, and I lift my hand to it self-consciously. I’ve plaited a single braid around my crown. The rest flows black and shiny to my shoulders.
“Thanks. Just trying something new.”
“What’s the bag for?”
“Today is the day at Dreamcatcher when all the staff and helpers unearth all the holiday decorations from the storage room. It’s a big job and Danika will have lunch for us brought in.”
Mom frowns. “I don’t remember this from last year,” she says.
I’m ready for this. “I wasn’t assisting with the wheelchair class last year.”
She nods. “Well, I guess that is okay.” She glances out the back window at Andy digging in the sandbox. “He’ll miss you today.”
“He’ll be fine,” I say. “Have you thought about enrolling him in school? I think he’s lonely.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not ready to let him go yet.”
I don’t get why. He’s only eight. And it’s not like he can get pregnant. But now is not the time to get into this argument.
“I’ll see you later this afternoon. I’ll be home way before Dad.”
“Make sure of it,” she says.
I wave and head for the front door. As soon as I’m a block away, I want to start skipping. I’m out! I’m going on a date!
It’s only 10:45. I’m early so I can duck into the public bathroom to shed the outer layer of my clothes and change shoes. I have a panicky moment, picturing myself going home and forgetting to put the sweatpants back on. But I can’t make that mistake. I won’t.
When I get to the park, it’s mostly empty, just a few moms and small children. It’s not a popular place, rundown and in dire need of new equipment.
The trees shed leaves on my path as I head toward the bathroom. The weather still hasn’t broken for autumn yet, although it’s cooler than the ninety degrees of summer. The walk is bright and pleasant, the sort of day when anything seems possible.
The inside of this outdoor bathroom is about as romantic as a sewer tank. I wrinkle my nose and quickly remove the sweatpants and T-shirt, carefully rolling them so they won’t look oddly scrunched when I wear them later.
Then I switch shoes. There’s no mirror here, but I doubt I look any different than I did at home. Simple, a little plain, no makeup, but with a pretty hairstyle, like a princess. He calls me that. I have no idea why. I should hate it. A lot of people would find it condescending.
But I can’t. It makes me think of us dancing across a ballroom, him in a uniform and me in a ball gown, finding that happily ever after.
I’m such a wreck! Reality, Livia!
My bag is packed. I check my watch as I exit the bathroom. Straight-up eleven. He’ll be here before long, however much time it takes him to extricate himself from the grandmas and put his shirt back on.
The thought makes me laugh. At times like this, I still struggle to align the man I’ve gotten to know with the larger-than-life personality of his show. It’s as if there are two people — Blitz from television, and Benjamin the charmer.
I walk along the path to a bench near the street, so he can spot me easily.
I know intellectually that Blitz and Benjamin are the same person. And in the footage I saw with Mindy over the weekend, him with all those different sophisticated women on his arm, the two versions definitely collided.
But
none of that is what he is like at the dance academy. He shies away from the women who come on too strong. He delights in the children.
He worries about me. Me. A plain naive girl who can barely pirouette and hasn’t earned her toe shoes.
But maybe I am more than that. There’s this power in me now, the strength and determination I once felt, before my family hid me in shame. I am a survivor. I can be brave. I can reach for what I want.
I can love someone again.
The crunch of leaves makes my head pop up expectantly. It’s just an elderly man walking his dog. He nods at me.
I sit on the bench, looking up the sidewalk. There is a car coming down the street. The fanciest car I’ve seen in my life. Cherry red. Sleek. The hood is low and long. It looks like it could scoop you up and sweep you away all on its own.
This is a pretty poor part of town, mostly families. We don’t see cars like that around here. There is only one person who could be driving that car.
Blitz.
I squint at the windshield, but I can’t see inside. There’s a glare from the sun and the rolling reflection of leaves from the trees overhead.
So I wait, sitting primly on the bench. The car slows down as it nears and sidles up next to the curb.
And stops.
The driver-side door opens, and a familiar black head of hair pops above the roof. He’s wearing sunglasses that obscure his eyes, but I’d know him anywhere.
“I think I’m having a dream,” he calls out. “About rescuing a princess from a dystopian land.”
I glance around. It’s true. The park is mostly broken concrete and the paint on the bench is peeling. The grass hasn’t survived the summer.
“Are you a white knight or a black one?” I call out.
“The blackest,” he says as he comes around the car. “But I’ll scrub myself clean for you.”
Then he’s in front of me, tall and strong. He’s changed into jeans and a loose button-down shirt, pale yellow and expensive looking.
