Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Teaser
About the Author
Also by Victoria Schwab
Copyright
Mikayla Stevens was made of gold.
That’s what Miss Annette was always saying, but tonight it was true. She was wearing a gold leotard, and her dark skin was dusted with glittering powder — every time she rubbed her face, some came off on her hand. She considered her reflection in the mirrored wall, and realized she looked like one of those figurines they put on the tops of trophies.
Only gold girls go to Drexton, she recited to herself. But as her gaze drifted down from her face to her body, she cringed, taking in the catalog of imperfections: She wasn’t tall enough. Her legs were too short. Her waist wasn’t that narrow. Stand up straight, Miss Annette would say. Legs together.
She forced herself to stand tall and smile. A practiced smile. A winning smile.
Halfway down the same wall Mikayla’s classmate, Sara, was warming up on a barre. Sara was a foot taller than Mikayla, long-limbed, and rail thin. She wore a shimmering green leotard, her blond hair pulled back in a perfect bun. The younger members of the Filigree Dance Company were across the room, a huddle of eight- and nine- and ten-year-olds, rehearsing their group number.
Only Sara and Mikayla were competing in solos.
The practice room was loud and full of dancers from across the region — ranging from little kids all the way up to teens, some in simple leotards, others in more ornate costumes (Mikayla envied those, even though Miss Annette said they were a distraction from talent), all waiting their turn to take the stage. A banner above the door read NORTHEAST DIVISION REGIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP.
“Five minutes, girls!” Miss Annette called, crossing her arms over a glitzy Filigree Dance Company sweater. Sara would be performing first, followed immediately by Mikayla.
Panic fluttered through her, the way it always did before she went on stage. Her stomach coiled nervously. She knew her dance routine backward and forward and upside down. She knew it inch by inch, and second by second, so it should be perfect.
It had to be perfect.
“Filigree dancers,” trilled a voice through the intercom. “Sara Olbright, Mikayla Stevens.”
The room snapped back into focus as Miss Annette gave a definitive clap and ushered Mikayla and Sara out of the room and down a hall toward the stage.
“Good luck, Sara,” said Mikayla.
The other girl gave a thin smile. “I don’t need luck,” she said, heading toward the darkened backstage area. Mikayla reached for the door, but Miss Annette put a hand on her shoulder and crouched to look her in the eye.
“I don’t want silver,” Miss Annette said sternly. “And I don’t want bronze. So what do I want?”
“Gold,” replied Mikayla.
Miss Annette smiled, her teeth unnaturally white. “Exactly.” She straightened and gave Mikayla a push. “I know you won’t disappoint me.”
Mikayla swallowed and nodded while Miss Annette scurried off into the audience to grab a seat.
When Mikayla snuck a peek through the velvet curtains, she could see the judges at their long table, the trophies beside them, the cash prizes in elegant envelopes beneath. She needed to win. Her parents needed her to win.
Behind the judges sat the audience, a mass of families and friends and coaches and dancers who’d already gone and were waiting for the awards at the end. Mikayla’s mom was out there somewhere, filming on her iPad. Sometimes, Miss Annette told them, there were scouts in the audience, too. Mikayla had seen a poster one time that said DANCE LIKE NOBODY’S WATCHING, but Miss Annette said that was ridiculous; someone important was always watching.
Mikayla’s pulse thudded in her ears. She closed her eyes, and tried to clear her head, but all she could hear was Miss Annette saying gold gold gold gold.
A routine ended, the music giving way to applause, and three cheerful girls bounded offstage, arm in arm, in matching blue outfits.
Sara stepped through the curtain, let out a breath, and disappeared onto the stage. The audience went silent, and the music began, and Mikayla put away the voices and pulled herself together.
She was up next.
The shadow took shape on the curb outside.
It appeared out of nowhere, tucked in the dark between two streetlights. Everyone was inside watching the dancers, so no one saw the shadow grow or fill with light. No one saw the trace of wings above the shadow’s shoulders. No one saw a twelve-year-old girl with curly red hair and a blue charm bracelet rise out of the brightened shape. And no one saw the girl tell her shadow, “Good job,” and tap her foot until the light went out.
No one saw Aria step out into the world, but there she was. In a new place for the third time.
The last time.
Aria felt a rush of excitement. One more girl, one more mission, and she would finally have her wings. And then … Well, Aria didn’t know what would happen after that.
First things first.
She exhaled, marveling as her breath made a cloud in front of her. She brought her hand to the fog, which fell apart before she could touch it. How strange.
It was much colder here than the last place she’d been, and she shivered and pulled her coat close around her before she even realized she was wearing a coat. She also had on jeans, a sweater, and brown boots. After a moment, she turned the boots a pretty shade of purple, and smiled.
In the distance there was a beautiful skyline: a cluster of tall, skinny buildings stretching toward the sky. A city. Aria had never been to a city before, and she was excited to explore.
And then Aria heard music. It was coming from the building to her right. She turned to look. A sign outside the building announced that the Northeast Division Regional Championship — whatever that was — was going on inside. Aria headed for the door; she could tell in her bones that this was where she was supposed to be.
Inside, the lobby was filled with boys and girls hurrying around in strange outfits, but none of them were marked by the blue smoke Aria knew to look for. Glitter and makeup and gossamer, yes, but no smoke.
The music was coming from an auditorium, and Aria nudged the door open and slipped in. It was crowded, so crowded that Aria worried she wouldn’t find whomever she was looking for. A few hundred people sat in the audience, some in costumes and others in normal clothes, while on stage a blond girl in a green leotard was dancing. The girl was tall and thin, and her motions were elegant in a practiced way. Aria watched her leap and turn and tumble across the stage, landing on one knee just as the music ended. The audience applauded, and so did Aria, scanning the room for a wisp of blue smoke. Nothing. The girl on stage curtsied, looking pleased with herself, and then scampered off into the wings. A panel of judges sat at a table in the front row, scribbling on their papers.
And then the crowd grew quiet again. Aria’s gaze drifted back to the stage, and she saw her.
The girl was pretty, her dark skin dusted with glittery makeup, and her black hair pulled back into a bun and tied with a gold ribbon. She was
dressed in a shimmering gold leotard with a simple gold frill of skirt, and she sparkled from head to toe beneath the auditorium lights.
The only thing that didn’t match her outfit was the ribbon of blue smoke coiling around her shoulders.
Aria straightened up at the sight. This was her. The girl Aria had to help. The last girl.
No one else in the audience could see the blue smoke surrounding the girl. But Aria could, bright and clear. It was the same color as Aria’s charm bracelet, and her hand went to the third and final loop that hung on it. Waiting. The only loop without a feather on it.
Aria smiled, and the spotlight above the dancer brightened.
The girl struck a pose, draped backward like a flower, so far that Aria was sure she’d lose her balance. But the girl didn’t. Even the smoke twisted around the girl with an elegant grace.
Then the music started, and the girl began to dance.
She was small, but when she danced, she seemed to fill the stage. Aria watched her carefully, in awe of her talent. There was something mesmerizing about the girl, the way she moved, like an extension of the music. Aria had to remind herself that the rippling smoke wasn’t part of the routine, that it was being caused by something in the girl’s life.
But what?
The girl’s face was a mask of calm, but there was a moment — a fraction of time — when she closed her eyes and a small, private smile found its way onto her face. In that instant, the blue smoke thinned. But it was only an instant, buried in the middle of the routine. When she came to a stop, draped in the exact same position she had started in, the smoke was thicker than ever.
The crowd applauded, the judges scribbled, and when the girl smiled again, it was a different smile. A stiff, practiced smile. She vanished backstage and Aria got up to follow. She couldn’t exactly go up on stage, so she ducked and circled around, drawn to the girl by a simple tug, as if a rope were running between them.
She rounded a corner and found the girl leaning back against a wall, head down. She didn’t look like the girl on stage anymore. The girl on stage had been proud, confident, in control. This girl looked miserable.
Aria was about to step toward her when a woman appeared.
“Mikayla,” said the woman, who had the girl’s same dark skin (minus the glitter) and the same bright brown eyes. Aria guessed it was her mother. “You were wonderful.”
Mikayla, thought Aria. What a pretty name.
The girl looked up but didn’t smile. “I missed the turn,” she said softly.
“Which turn?”
“At the end. I was supposed to spin four times, and I only did three.”
“Well, no one noticed.”
“I noticed.” Mikayla’s eyes shone with tears, and her mom tsked and ushered her back toward the audience.
“Hey,” said Aria to her as she passed. “You were really amazing out there.”
Mikayla flashed her that same hollow smile. “Thanks,” she said. But Aria could tell she wasn’t really listening. Mikayla’s mind seemed miles away as Aria trailed her into the auditorium.
The rest of the dancers were good — some very good — but none of them were as good as the girl in gold. So Aria wasn’t surprised when she won first place for her category. The blond girl in green took second.
When Mikayla Stevens (they called her full name) got up to take the trophy, and the cash prize, her smoke got even denser. Aria frowned, confused. The girl had won. What was making her so upset? Aria squinted at the smoke, as if she could see the problems in it, but all she saw was Mikayla’s gold form beneath a blur of blue.
“There’s my golden girl,” said Miss Annette outside the auditorium, squeezing Mikayla’s shoulder. “We’ll work on that turn tomorrow.”
Mikayla held the trophy to her chest, along with the check, and nodded.
The second-place trophy hung from Sara’s hand. She held it with only the tips of her fingers, like she didn’t want to touch it.
“What do you expect?” Miss Annette said to Sara. “It was a silver performance.”
Sara’s parents were standing nearby. They either didn’t hear, or they pretended not to. Sara looked like she was about to cry. The rest of the Filigree girls were gathered around. The group routine had gotten bronze, but Miss Annette didn’t seem to mind.
“Come on,” said Mikayla’s mom. “Let’s get you home.”
Mikayla pulled her Filigree Dance Company jacket on over her gold costume.
“Your dad wanted to be here tonight,” said her mom, zipping up her own coat.
“I know.” Mikayla’s dad used to come to every event, back before he lost his job at the firm. Now it seemed like he spent every waking moment looking for work. She could picture him hunched over his laptop at their kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee in one hand and furiously typing with the other, sending out résumé after résumé. He only left the house for interviews, and so far none of them had worked out. Her mom still had a job — she worked as a graphic designer for a small company. But she didn’t make very much money, and it felt like their lives were tipping out of balance, about to fall.
“I filmed it for him, though!” Her mom waved her iPad. “We can all watch it when we get home.”
On the way out, they passed that girl again, the redhead who’d told her she’d been amazing. The redhead smiled. Mikayla smiled back. There was something about her. Mikayla couldn’t put her finger on it.
“I’m so proud of you,” her mom was saying. “We should get a hot chocolate or something, to celebrate.” Mikayla shook her head. She was already the shortest dancer in her bracket. She couldn’t afford to put on weight. Not with the Drexton audition coming up. “What’s wrong, M?” pressed her mom. “You just won, and you don’t even seem happy about it.”
Mikayla’s smile must have faltered. She forced it back in place. “I am happy,” she insisted. “Just tired.”
The competition was outside the city, in New Jersey, so they’d had to drive instead of taking the subway. Now they climbed into the car and pulled away, the venue disappearing in the rearview mirror. They drove past a movie theater and a mall. Mikayla slumped back against her seat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a movie, or gone shopping for something that wasn’t for dance. A strange feeling twisted in her chest.
Her mom’s cell phone rang. It was Dad.
“We’re on our way home now,” said Mikayla’s mom, answering at a stoplight. “Yes, she was perfect.” Mikayla cringed at the word. “Another gold. Yeah, I filmed it all. Okay. We’ll see you soon.”
The Stevenses lived in a townhouse in Brooklyn. It stood shoulder to shoulder with its neighbors, tall and thin, like a dancer, and made of pretty, dark bricks. Mikayla loved the house.
Which was why she hated the boxes. They hovered by the front door, and in the corners of the rooms, looming like shadows. A threat, a constant reminder that if her father didn’t find another job, and soon, they’d be out of their lovely brownstone, crammed into a smaller apartment in a faraway neighborhood.
The boxes had shown up one at a time, throughout the house. At first her mom said she just wanted to clean up, clear out the things they weren’t using anymore. Simplify their lives. But after she was done simplifying, the boxes kept coming.
“We have too much stuff,” her dad said. “We don’t need it.” What he meant was, wherever they were going, there wouldn’t be enough room.
“There’s my girl,” he said now, pushing up from the kitchen table. He looked tired but still threw out his arms, and she launched herself into the bear hug, the way she had when she was a kid. His arms still swallowed her up, made her feel small.
“Hi, Dad.”
He pulled back and admired the newest trophy. “We’re running out of space,” he said, setting it on the table. Mikayla wondered if the trophies would be boxed up soon, too.
Chow, Mikayla’s overly excitable spaniel mix, bounded up from under the kitchen table and leapt on Mikayla, licking he
r face. She giggled, feeling her spirits lift. By the time he was done, the dog’s black fur was dusted with gold. Her mom let him out into the narrow back garden and began collecting her dad’s coffee cups, which had multiplied.
Mikayla pretended not to see the bills stacked next to the coffee pot as she set the prize money silently beside it.
The first time she’d won after Dad had lost his job, she’d brought the check straight to him.
“Will this help?” she’d asked.
She hoped the sight of the money would make him happy, but, if anything, he looked more miserable than ever.
They’d always put Mikayla’s competition winnings into a special college fund for her. But now she knew her parents actually needed the money. They didn’t want to say it, as if by not saying the words out loud, they could somehow protect her from the fact that they were broke. But the truth was all around them. Just like the boxes.
“We can put it toward my Filigree classes,” Mikayla had added, seeing her dad’s hesitation as she held the check out to him. “That makes sense, right? Dance paying for dance.”
“Okay,” her dad had replied, reluctantly. “We’ll put it toward Filigree. But only until the audition.”
The audition. The only one that mattered. The one for the Drexton Academy of Dance. The most prestigious dance school in the city. Places rarely opened, auditions were once a year, by invite only, and every Drexton dancer was given a full scholarship. Enough to pay for the academy, for school, for competitions.
For everything.
Which meant she had to get in.
“So let’s see this first place performance,” her dad was saying now, nodding toward the iPad her mom was pulling from her purse.
Her mom propped the iPad up on the kitchen table and they all gathered around the screen as the video started.
Her parents beamed. Mikayla watched the gold-dusted girl take the stage. She looked like someone else.
Mikayla knew it was a good performance, but all she could see were the flaws. The mistakes that had cost her points. Yes, she’d won, but not by much. She could have lost. Could have taken second, which was the same as losing.
Last Wishes Page 1
