by JJ Knight
“Now act as though you are going to lie facedown, straightening your body while letting your head fall in front of me.”
It’s hard to do, sort of like choosing to fall off a shelf, but I follow his instructions.
The hand on my ribs slides forward to encircle me and the other grasps my leg. I tumble down in a roll, but when I’m facing out again, Blitz has caught me with a hand on my thigh. I’m head down, legs angled up and away, like a swan dive. We’re facing the mirror, and it’s beautiful. I quickly arrange my arms so that they are not just hanging there.
“Nice,” he says. With a quick shift of my weight, I’m back on my feet. “The whole concept is that when I go low, you go high.”
He stands directly beside me and bends over at the waist. “Now lean over me but keep your body straight as a board.”
I do as he says, and soon I’m lying across his back. He stands up partway. “Arms down,” he says. “To the floor and cartwheel out of it.”
I drop my hands and bring my legs around. When I’m upright, he says, “See? Easy!”
We do that move a few more times.
“Now we’ll combine,” he says, back on one knee. “On my shoulder, roll across my back, and come out with the cartwheel.”
I’m panicked about trying this, but I turn my back to him.
His hand pushes me as we go up. I lie flat on my back as he stands, and cartwheel out.
“Wow!” I say. “This is fun!”
“It is when it works,” he says. “And nobody lands on their head.”
“Does that happen?” I ask.
“Yes, when a pair isn’t a good fit.” He places his hands on my waist. “Jump when I squeeze.”
We move across the room, me jumping with his guidance. To the mirror, it appears that he is lifting me across the room, but really it is a coordinated effort.
“Now spin in my hands,” he says, his hands lightly around my waist.
I turn, feeling his touch telling me when to go faster and when to stop, communicating just as we had in the waltz.
When we finish the turn, I ask, “What makes a couple a bad fit?”
“Height, body style, strengths and weaknesses,” he says. “But more than that, it’s the power struggle. Some dancers want to be in control no matter what. It can be hard for some to give up the lead.”
I spin again, paying attention to the pressure, then jump, and suddenly I’m up on his shoulder, rolling across his back, and cartwheeling down.
“Oh!” I say. “You just told me how to do that without talking!”
He grins at me. “That’s what good partners are made of.”
The door to the room opens. Suze pops her head in. “I hate to be the dance police, but this room is about to be for hip-hop.” She looks at the two of us, and I can see her biting her lip. She wants to say more, but she doesn’t.
“Thanks,” Blitz says.
Suze nods. She backs out, but leaves the door open.
“We should have a couple minutes,” Blitz says. He bends down and snatches up my string bag. “Come with me.”
I don’t ask questions, just follow him out. The hall is starting to get busy for the afternoon classes. We’ve been dancing for over an hour. I should feel tired, but I’m exhilarated, like I could do anything.
He heads to the back of the hall and the doors to the storage room. My pulse leaps when I see where he is going.
Blitz glances back to see who is noticing us, then opens the door. We duck inside, blinking in the dark.
The door is barely closed when he pulls me to him. “God, I want you alone,” he says, then his mouth is on mine.
His hands lift me, pulling my thighs around his waist again. We take a few steps through the room, then he presses me against an empty wall. His hands immediately go to my breasts, cupping them and thumbing the nipple.
His erection is instant. I feel it against my body and everything wakes up, all the need and emotion I’ve stuffed down for four years. I want him, desperately. I’m willing to do anything he asks, to get alone, be together, all the way.
I don’t hesitate, but give back every kiss, nibble, and bite. I run my hands down his neck and back, rocking against him, creating friction that makes him groan.
His kiss is deep and long and demanding. But the leotard is impossible, everything connected and layered. He can only touch me through the fabric.
I’m not as hindered. His shirt is open on bottom, so I lift it to run my fingers across his skin. He breaks the kiss, burying his face into my neck. “Please say I can come get you tonight,” he says. “I can’t beg any harder.”
I think about the evening. My parents go to bed at ten. Could I get away, sneak out my window? Dare I do it?
“I’m not sure I can,” I say. “I can try.”
“What is your phone number?” he asks.
I’m trying to think of a way to explain about my lack of phone when the storage room door opens.
Jacob, the jazz instructor, comes in and heads for the wall of props.
I quickly drop my legs to the floor. All he has to do is turn and he’ll see us.
Noise filters in from the busy hall. Blitz holds his finger to his lips and motions for me to move behind one of the costume racks.
But when I try to move, my elbow bumps a box of egg shakers, and it falls to the floor.
The noisy eggs roll everywhere. Jacob jumps straight in the air and whips around.
“Blitz? Livia? What are you two doing lurking in the dark?” He looks from one to the other, then says, “Oh.”
My face flames. God, if he talks to Danika, we’re doomed. Blitz will be out of here. I think fast. “Blitz was teaching me lifts and we thought we might need to double up the mats.”
“Is that why the mat was out in my room?” Jacob asks.
“Yes,” Blitz says. “Livia is a very quick learner. Sorry if it’s in your way.”
Jacob waves his concern away. “I’ll have the boys move it. Are you helping with our class today?”
“Yes,” Blitz says. “That’s why I was here. I saw Livia practicing and thought—”
“It’s all good,” Jacob says. “Say no more. Just watch out for the boss lady. If she thinks you’re going to take advantage of sweet Livia, she’ll cut off your balls.” He picks up a box. “And I do not mean figuratively.”
He heads out. Blitz hesitates, looking back at me, but I scurry out behind Jacob. As much as I want to figure out a way to be alone with Blitz, I have to think this through.
If there is a way, I’ll find it.
Chapter 16
On Friday, I have to rush through the academy to get to class and can’t ask anyone where Blitz is.
I wasn’t able to come early. My mother gave me a thousand chores to do, still angry about my insistence on dancing yesterday.
The other girls are already at the barre as I jerk off my sneakers and slide on my ballet slippers. Betsy nods at me and gestures for me to get my place on the barre as she calls out commands for the warm-up.
I join in, wishing I could see into the hall. I can only hope he’ll wait.
Last night, I planned and plotted for a way to escape and see him. On Saturdays, my parents always go see a movie and leave me to watch Andy. Afterward, though, they generally go to their room early and don’t come out again. If I can convince Andy to go to bed early, or at least stay in his room, I can sneak out at a relatively decent hour, ten or so. For someone like Blitz, that probably isn’t late.
As long as they don’t discover I’m gone, I can be out most of the night.
I’m distracted by these thoughts, and Betsy reprimands me repeatedly for my sloppiness and lack of form. I focus back in, pretending Blitz is at the window watching me, and get back on track.
She’s more pleased with me after that.
Class still drags. When we’re finally done, I snatch up my string bag and race out of the room.
The hall is mobbed with parents and dancers. I can’t s
tand to search through the crowd, so I jump onto one of the benches so I can see over everyone’s heads.
He’s not there.
I hop down, feeling low. Surely he waited.
Jacob is in Studio 2, so I pop in as he picks up mats.
“Was Blitz here for Advanced Jazz?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says. “Big ol’ no-show.”
My belly sinks. He wasn’t here at all. Why?
“Thanks,” I tell Jacob. I wonder who would know what happened. I curse my lack of a phone. I have no way to get in touch with Blitz. And he can’t talk to me either.
Even though I know it’s pointless, I wander through the academy, down the aisle of the dark recital hall, across the stage, and into the storage room. He isn’t anywhere.
When I get back to the front, I head out. No use getting in trouble for lingering if there’s no reason for it.
I head home to a dismal weekend without Blitz.
Chapter 17
The weekend is horribly long. I take Andy on walks past the academy, but I never spot the red Ferrari. I’m not surprised. I don’t think he’s there for any of the weekend classes.
But I know he’s still in town, because at church on Sunday, Mindy and I hole up in the girls’ bathroom reading Tweets about Blitz sightings.
Unlike the previous weekend, however, there are no date pictures. Just Blitz with his parents, eating at restaurants or shopping. The mentions are slowing down and almost none of them have anything mean to say. There’s one or two “Go home to Mama” messages, but overall it’s just general excitement to see a celebrity.
He is, however, doing another charity event Sunday evening. We find a link to a Holiday Giving kickoff for Any Baby Can. Seeing that he’s doing a fund-raiser for children makes my heart squeeze.
Knowing that he’s avoiding anything that even looks like a date gives me hope.
On Monday, I decide not to go up to the academy and risk him not being there again. I want to save up my escapes for when I can actually see him. So I plod on to Tuesday. It’s a good plan, because Mom has calmed down about all my time at the academy last week. She doesn’t even look up when I wave bye for the scheduled class with the wheelchair ballerinas. Hopefully she won’t be upset if I’m not back right on time.
Since Blitz didn’t see me in the light blue leotard on Friday, I carefully wash it to wear again. I’m anxious about this class, because Hannah the shark manager has told the mothers we’re going to be filming the video with Blitz.
As I approach the academy, I see it must be true. There are two vans in the parking lot, both for some production company. A couple men are hanging out behind the open doors of one of them.
When I get inside, the foyer is pandemonium. The girls are getting made up by actual makeup artists under bright lights. Two women are modifying their recital costumes, making sure every strap is perfect.
All the parents who aren’t involved in our class are standing around too. Dancers who should be in class are whining and begging to stay and watch rather than attend their own practice.
Danika weaves through the chaos, trying to move people along and maintain order. Her spiky blue hair is easy to follow in the crowd.
Despite being anxious to find Blitz, I look for Gabriella first. She’s waiting near the makeup table, her eyes bright with excitement. A woman approaches from behind and talks to Gwen, who nods. The two of them swiftly remove the sequin scrunchie and start braiding her long black hair.
She looks so pretty. As they twist her hair into an updo, I realize she closely resembles an image of me hanging in our hallway at home. Anyone who knew Gabriella would see that image and think it was her.
My heart hammers. I can’t imagine a scenario where Blitz or Janel or Danika would be in my house, but I have to make sure it never happens. I never did answer Blitz when he asked if Gabriella was my sister, but it hasn’t come up again. I’m sure he knows I would have mentioned it by now if she were. The truth might scare him. It isn’t time to reveal it.
I head up to the girls and hug them. “You all look so beautiful!” I say.
Janel hovers nearby, looking perturbed. “Did you sign a waiver?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “I can’t. My parents would never allow it.”
“You’re over eighteen,” she says. “You can do whatever you want.”
“Not worth it,” I say. “I have to live with them.”
Plus, Blitz will be in the video. God, I have to hope they never see it and realize he was here. This whole thing is so hard. I have to protect my dance.
A woman with a clipboard approaches me. “Are you Livia Mason?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say.
Janel slaps her hand on the clipboard. “She’s not signing, so back off.” She’s more forceful than I’m used to her being.
The woman takes a step back. “She can’t be in the video unless she signs.”
“I don’t want to be,” I say. “I’ll stay out of the way.”
The woman frowns. “We have the right to remove you from the room if you don’t sign.”
“Back off, shark attack, she assists the dancers,” Janel says. When the woman finally moves on, Janel turns to me. “They are super pushy. That’s why I was up in her face.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Danika spots us and heads over. “This is more than I bargained for,” she says. “I guess it always is.”
“You want some help clearing the foyer?” I ask.
“Good luck with that,” Danika says. “I already tried to herd them. We’ll just have to muscle through.” She glances at her watch. “I probably should have moved this to a quiet time, not the regular slot,” she says. “I thought it would be safe enough on a Tuesday morning without any school-aged kids.”
“It’s the homeschool day,” I remind her.
“Yes, it is. So a lot more kids and parents, all with open time.” Danika looks around. “We’ll get it done. The day’s probably a wash anyway.” She sees someone behind me and looks surprised. “What is Bennett doing here?” She excuses herself and heads toward the door.
A tall man in a perfectly fitting charcoal suit stands just inside, looking over the chaos. Danika approaches him and gives him a long, tight hug.
I’ve never seen Bennett Claremont before, but I know he’s important. He built Dreamcatcher Dance Academy for Danika, his mother-in-law. He married her daughter Juliet, a professional ballerina who sometimes comes in between tours to give the girls a pep talk.
He’s the reason I can take ballet, I know, funding the academy so that it doesn’t have to turn a profit to stay open.
His handsome friendliness makes me think of Blitz. I’m not tall enough to see clearly through the crowd, but I don’t think he’s there. All the attention is on our ballerinas, and I suspect that if he was in the foyer, a lot of faces would be turned to him.
Surely he’ll be here, though. They can’t do the video without him. Maybe I can get a moment to ask Suze if she knows what happened to him Friday, and if he was here yesterday. I hate being unable to communicate with anybody. I had no idea today would be this crazy either.
Maybe I’ll volunteer a second day up at the church just to get more access to a phone.
Jacob comes up behind me and squeezes my arm. We’re officially in the transition now, and the foyer gets even more mobbed as dancers come out of the studios, joining the ones who were waiting for their class.
He leans in. “He’s already in Studio 3,” he whispers.
“Thanks,” I say. It’s nice to have an ally in this. I want to hug him.
Danika is still with Bennett, and I don’t think she’ll go to the studio until the girls do. They are absorbed with makeup, so I take one more look at Gabriella and then push my way to the dance rooms.
It’s crowded here too, everyone buzzing about what is happening. I make my way to the back and peer through the window of Studio 3.
Blitz is in there. He’s got a makeup gir
l of his own, an older woman who is applying gel to his hair. The manager is there too, in a plum suit today, looking just as put together as last week. She’s talking into a phone while simultaneously pointing at a man who is moving a light pole around.
A couple other crew members are in there, but I don’t see any reason why I can’t go in.
As soon as I’m through the door, Blitz pulls away from the makeup woman and heads straight for me.
“Princess!” he says. “I have got to get your number! Nobody here would give it up and I had no way to find you. I even hung out at your dystopian park this weekend.”
He did? “We’ll figure that out,” I tell him. “What happened?”
“She happened,” he points at Hannah. “Had me going a mile a minute. I missed Friday and you didn’t come yesterday.”
Oh! I could have seen him.
“Let me program in your number.” He reaches in his pocket and comes up empty. “They took my dang phone,” he says. “They are always doing that.”
Hannah approaches, clicking her own phone off. “Blitz, I’m not sure about that outfit.” She tugs on the pants over his hips in a familiar way that makes my cheeks blaze. “I do not want a hint of sexy. Not even the suggestion.”
“Should I wear something baggy?” he asks. “I have sleeping sweatpants in the car.” He laughs.
“Blitz, this is not funny,” she says, but this makes him laugh harder. “The last thing we want are ugly jokes about you and young girls.”
“Hannah, relax,” he says. “Let’s just make a good video. Don’t let anybody take a crotch shot.”
She ignores him and tugs at his fitted black short-sleeved T-shirt. “This is just right,” she says. “I’m just not sold on the pants.” She waves at a girl standing near the door. “Abigail, run to the car where we keep Blitz’s wardrobe bag. I swear we have the pants from episode three in there. Black, loose, a little shiny.”
The girl runs out.
Blitz shakes his head and pulls me away again. “Give me your number. I’ll commit it to memory forever.”
