I need to free my mind from all of this, to escape. Across the hallway, the open gym and darkened yoga studio lie empty. If I skip lunch, maybe I can slip into the yoga studio undetected for a few uninterrupted moments to at least stretch. My growling stomach wages an internal war inside me, which I ignore. I need to move, to dance.
No one else is here. Humming, I scan my iPod song list. Sometimes I like classical ballet music, but other times, I just need to jam to something more modern, like “Animals” by Maroon 5. My mother loves that song. I dim the lights so all I can see is my silhouette in the full-length mirrors that grace all four walls of the room. I find myself a bit disturbed when I see my reflection. My body is different, now graced by the generous curves of my chest. This feels so foreign to me, so different from the look I used to have when I was a dancer. I know I need to come to terms with this, to accept myself as I have become a woman.
The bouncy hardwood floor beneath my feet feels magnificent. I plug my iPod into the overhead sound system and hit play.
As the first beats of the frenetic rhythm start, I look down at my ankle. It looks normal now, but one chilly night a few years ago, I was in Tahoe on a ski trip with my friends when I slipped on the ice and broke my ankle in two places. Even worse, I tore my Achilles tendon. The broken bones healed with no problem, but even after surgery, my Achilles never healed correctly. Just like that, my entire future in ballet was over.
I tentatively step down on it. Usually, there’s a dull ache when I try to dance, but I just suffer through it because my will to move to the music is so strong that I can’t stop myself. Today is no different, and here I go. The crazy, hair-flipping wild woman from the “Animals” video fills my head as my feet begin to move first as a mini-jog in place, but then sheer insanity takes over as I spin, turn, jog more, and sidestep. Next, I flip down to the floor into a tight tiger’s crouch, but then spring back up with the agile deftness of a cougar.
It’s all going so well that I decide to push it hard. I’m fueled by raw adrenaline. I run full tilt down the length of the yoga studio and push off into the air, fully extending my legs into a near-perfect split. As I’m on my way back down, my foot hits the floor on my bad ankle…snap! I hear it before I feel it, knowing instantly that this is bad. the pain is excruciating. I roll on my back on the floor. It feels like my calf muscle ruptured. I feel like I’m swept up in a storm of pain.
What’s that? Someone is here. For a moment, I think I must be hallucinating, but then my secret observer emerges from the shadows, revealing himself.
The lights brighten, and I hear a familiar voice in that sweet accent. “Oh God! Are you okay?”
No. It’s Ever. He can’t see me like this. His olive skin seems to glow under the rich, deep blue of his polo shirt. His black hair is slightly tousled and wet, as if he just got out of the shower. The faint outline of his lean, wiry physique is abundantly obvious beneath his worn, rugged jeans. My heart hammers as I feel a flutter of butterflies inside. Why can’t I control myself better around him? I hate not feeling in control, especially right now when I’m in such a vulnerable, compromised state.
“Let me go and get you some ice. You don’t want to bruise.” He runs his hand through his hair. It’s like he’s reviewing a mental checklist in his head. He jogs out to the gym and, less than a minute later, returns with two ice packs, a yoga bolster, and two orange pills.
I raise my eyebrows. “Advil?”
“God, no. Turmeric.” His voice pitches up as he says, “Lucky for you, I have a stash of this stuff in my locker…just in case. I’ve pulled a muscle or two playing sports just like this, so I know what to do.”
“Yeah, I heard that you play a lot of sports.” He places the bolster under my leg to elevate it, carefully placing the ice under my calf. It’s swelling.
“Yeah.” His voice returns to normal as he quickly changes the subject. “So how long have you danced?”
“Since I was a kid. I was on my way to going professional before my injury.” I look down at my ankle to show him my wicked scar. He cringes.
“Oh, that’s bad,” he says somberly. He looks guilty, like he knows that he shouldn’t have been there watching me. “It’s important to do what you love, no matter the cost.” He lifts his eyes, shifting his gaze to meet mine. The sun through the skylight catches his blue eyes.
When I’m finally able to catch my breath, I feel out of sorts about this. God, he’s so attractive that his sweetness now makes me feel even worse. Not even an hour has gone by when I vowed that I’d never let him see me be weak, and here I am at it again!
“What?” My voice is seething with venom. “While I appreciate your help, I don’t appreciate your spying on me in here.”
He seems genuinely surprised. “Well, I…uh…” he stammers, which I never thought possible for someone so self-assured. But then, quick as a flash, his whole demeanor shifts. When he starts again, he seems a bit put off. “Look, I had a private session with my coach in the gym a little while ago. I had just come out of the locker room when I saw you in here. And by the way, you’re lucky I was nearby.” His tone becomes indignant. “This is a public place. If you don’t like people watching, maybe you should go somewhere else.”
I’m a little shocked at his response. Just a moment ago, he was sweet as he could be, and now, it seems like he could care less about me. Like maybe he was just being nice because he felt bad about seeing me cry in the hallway earlier.
His voice grows quiet, almost down to a whisper. “My mother used to make me go to the ballet with her when I was younger, and so I grew to really appreciate it. In fact, I’ve taken tango, salsa, and western swing lessons. Dancers of all kinds are incredible athletes.”
This confession makes him seem so incredibly charming and endearing in a sweet, old-fashioned kind of way. It’s impossible to envision Ever sitting through a ballet performance and much harder still to think that he would enjoy it. And while I’ve been drawn in by his stark honesty, I find my mind wandering back to Samantha.
Be careful, my mind warns.
“Ummm,” I stammer, “where’s your girlfriend?” I imagine that if Samantha were here, Ever wouldn’t be so incredibly charming.
He grins in a way that tells me he knows exactly where she is, but then he says, “Who knows?” That adorable dimple is back. “So, I had a really nasty basketball injury – tore my ACL – just over two years ago. I was out for half the season. It really pissed me off to have to sit it out, to no longer be the top player.” I grow bored as he recaps the long list of sports that he plays. He sure likes to hear himself talk.
Despite my boredom with what he’s saying, I can’t help but be acutely aware of his alluring presence, sitting there so close to me. He smells like fresh mint with a hint of cedar and citrus, maybe. Whatever it is, wow! My heart beats so hard that I can see the vein pulsing frantically on the side of my wrist. God, I wish he didn’t have a girlfriend!
I tune back in to the conversation just as he finishes recapping the stats and records he’s set in basketball this past year. Obviously, he’s back to number one status now despite his setback a few years ago. Unlike me. Not only have I not yet fully recovered from my previous injury, but now it’s likely I won’t even be able to walk without a crutch or a limp for the foreseeable future.
“Okay, seriously…is there anything that you’re not good at?” I demand.
He scoffs a little too loudly as he answers with a wry grin, “No, not really.”
He tries hard to stifle a laugh, his blue-green eyes crinkling around the edges. His laugh lines reveal a trace of that adorable dimple again. I can’t help but smile. But seriously, it seems that everything comes so easily for him. I wonder, has he ever had to work hard at anything in his sheltered, perf
ect life? So unfair.
“Oh, goody for you, Mr. Overachiever,” I say in my best pretend-frustrated voice. “Do you realize how it feels to be a mere mortal here with you, especially with my injury? I would give anything to be able to dance again.”
“Well, actually, I just thought of something that is quite a challenge for me.”
“Yes?” This I want to hear.
“Cleaning. I’m horrible at cleaning the house,” he says his eyes sparkling with mischief. Now that’s a sight I’d like to see: Ever, the golden boy holding a broom, sweeping the floor. With all his wealth, I can’t imagine he’s ever performed a chore in his life. Or how about scrubbing the toilet? We both laugh.
Is he flirting with me? His reputation as a player shoots through my mind—and I’m not talking about sports. I hear myself whisper, “Cleaning wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I asked the question.”
He steps away from me slightly, twisting a black bracelet around on his wrist. “What did you mean, then?” His blue-green eyes are wide and innocent as he meets my gaze, but I can tell there’s something brewing under his smooth exterior…something deep.
“Outside of cleaning.” I give him that knowing look. “Is there anything else that you’re not good at? I mean, I heard that you master everything that you try, especially girls.”
Did that really just fly out of my mouth? What is wrong with me?
His smile is back, the whole front row of his brilliant white teeth exposed. He’s absolutely beaming. He must notice me looking at his teeth because his gaze falls to my lips. Oh no. He must think I’m staring at his mouth for other reasons.
Shaking his head, he asks, “And where did you hear that?”
“Around.” I twist my hair with my finger, trying not to look directly at him. An awkward silence overtakes us for a moment.
He moves in closer to me and whispers into my ear. “It’s true. You figured me out. I do like girls. Although I’m not sure about mastering them, because that’s freaking impossible.”
The hairs inside my ear tingle. I shiver.
“What? Would you prefer that I like boys?” He pulls away.
Exasperated, I turn and look him directly in the eye. “I don’t really care who you like!”
“Well, clearly you do, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
His Apple watch buzzes, so he grabs his phone, quickly scanning a text message. I look away. All of a sudden, he slams his hand against the wall. I can’t help but turn to look at him and his phone. The message is in Greek, so I have no idea what it says.
“What is it?” I know I shouldn’t ask. But how can I not?
“My dad! It’s such a load of rubbish. He wants me to work with him tonight, but I promised the basketball team I’d be there later.” His head is in his hands. “And the band wanted me to practice with them tonight too.” Anger laces his voice now. “He wants me to be just like him. But I won’t do it. This is my life, not his!”
This show of fury seems so atypical for Ever. Not that I know him well yet, but so far, he seems so composed. Except that one time I saw him arguing with his coach.
“Oh no, trouble in paradise, I see,” I say quietly, and immediately regret it. Ugh, how condescending. I’m sure my life would be easier if I could just say the right thing when I’m supposed to.
“What did you just say?” His anger is now directed at me. But he quickly regains control of himself as if nothing is wrong. This is political prowess at its finest. He should be a politician.
“I guess I can see how you’d come to that conclusion,” he says wryly, sighing.
All this banter between us has been so exhilarating that I have totally forgotten about my mission to find my mom. How could I let this happen?
Just the mention of Ever’s dad triggers a typhoon of emotion in my body. I am not here to flirt, I’m here for a specific purpose. As endearing as Ever seems now, I haven’t tackled the most urgent question with him. I want to scream, “Where are you holding her?” But I can’t be that bold. I need to be stealthy about it.
“I know a little about feeling like my life is not my own,” I say. “You should try moving across the world at a moment’s notice to live in a foreign country with a relative you never knew you had before.”
He sits silently. Finally, he reaches down to remove the ice packs from my leg and says, “Wow, no bruising at all. You might have gotten lucky on this one.” He smiles as he extends his hand out to me. “Here, let me help you up.”
He wraps one arm around my neck and the other around my waist. I feel that familiar jolt of raw, pulsing electricity again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a tingle runs down my spine as he pulls me up to a standing position. It takes everything I have to appear unaffected.
“Ever, where have you been?” Samantha strides into the gym. Her eyes are like evil daggers boring into Ever. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” For a moment, I actually feel sorry for him. I realize how this must look, with his arms still wrapped around me. Oh, crap. Her mouth drops open as she sees us together. This can’t go well.
His smile is forced as he drops his arms and swiftly steps away from me. “Uh, so…Samantha, this is the new girl who just moved here from California. She injured her leg.” He points down and I shift with an exaggerated limp. “Can you tell me how to say your name? Is it Helen?”
It makes me crazy that no one ever seems to be able to pronounce my name. It’s not that hard. But I guess here, where English isn’t everyone’s first language, this should be expected.
“Helene,” I say.
“Oh, like Helen of Troy,” Samantha counters with a sneer.
I would take this as a complement, but from the look on her face, I know better. “No, Hel-een, not Helen.”
“So, wow…” she looks me square in the eyes, “Your eyes are weird. Maybe you should try colored contacts and get rid of those glasses. Purple is pretty passé.”
This pushes me over some dark ledge to a breaking point that I didn’t know existed. My heart feels like a hammer in my chest as I feel the heat rise in my face. I snap. “They’re not purple! My eyes are violet.”
Samantha laughs with a snort. Ever smiles with her, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Then, he surprises us both by whispering to me, “I like your eyes.”
She socks his arm and then swiftly directs him away from me. “We need to go…now!” she says as she leads him out of the gym. Just as they are about to turn the corner, Ever turns his head back towards me and winks. I’m confused. It doesn’t seem like he really wants to be with her, so why is he?
Now that I’m alone, the school feels empty, like a ghost town. As I’m still feeling frazzled from my leg injury, I hobble down the lone hallway to my locker, punch in the code, and open it up. My brain feels fuzzy. I accidentally knock my hand softly against the side of the locker a few times to process all that has just happened. The slow, monotonous beat of my hand with the silver ring rapping against the metal of the locker fills me with a sense of calm. But what I see next shocks me.
A strange symbol is engraved into the bottom of the middle shelf of my locker. Just like on my ring, it’s a twelve-point star, and it’s glowing.
10 – Secret Room
I look back and forth down the hallway to make sure I’m alone. Then, slowly, tentatively, I lift my finger up to trace the lines that make up the brightly glowing yellow star.
Eeeerrrrkk! An eerie sound, like old grinding gears, echoes down the hallway. I jump back, terrified that someone will hear it and come out of the classrooms. But no one does, and abruptly, the sound dies.
Inside the locker, the whole backside of t
he locker has opened into a dark passageway. I place my hand inside and feel a cool breeze. A musty smell makes me sneeze. My head follows my hand into the dark space, and as I look down, a red light flashes that illuminates the space below. I can see that I am standing at the top of a tunnel that drops off into a deep cavern below. A rusty old ladder hangs just under my feet.
What could be down there? I don’t know, but this appears to be the only way down. What if it's a trap designed to terrorize new students? I can just see Bertha cackling as she watches me from afar on some hidden camera.
This mysterious star symbol keeps reappearing for me. It can’t be a mere coincidence. It could be a message from Mom. Maybe she’s down there!
I look down the hallway once more to make sure that no one is around, then stiffen my resolve and step down onto the ladder. Immediately, the locker door slams shut behind me. It must be an automatic door…or maybe a ghost! My heart beats hard in my chest. I start to panic. What if the locker door won’t open again and there’s no other way out? I might be trapped here, never to escape. Like being buried alive!
My eyes finally adjust to the dark, which at least brings me some comfort. I breathe in deeply, regain my senses, and reach out to try the door again. It opens easily. Sweet relief courses through my veins.
Slowly, I make my way down the tunnel shaft. A cool, musty breeze tickles my face. The rungs of the ladder are dewy. At the bottom, the red light is now distinct and brightly flashing, easily lighting the way for me to see a short hallway made of old weathered cobblestone that ends abruptly at a large, black, wooden doorway. I look around to locate the source of the breeze, and it appears that there is some sort of air shaft above jutting slightly out of the uneven stonework of the walls surrounding me.
Protogenesis: Before the Beginning Page 9
