by Kat Kenyon
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, phone to my ear. “Wait, what’s wrong with Mom?”
“Your dad is a dick, Tyler. When he’s not just messing with you, he’s trying with her. And if he thinks he can bully or intimidate her, it’ll be over my dead, toxic body. I won’t allow anyone to screw a member of my family.
“I appreciate your help.”
I hear him snort. “I’m your grandad. It’s my job to take care of things, and son, money talks. And God knows I’ve got enough money to hire a hundred debate teams. Just give me a couple days to get there.”
“Thanks, Granddad.”
“Love ya, son. Now go to class and make sure you tell your coach. You gotta keep your team happy. That’s the only thing I want from you on this right now.”
“Love you too. I’ll tell him today.”
We say our goodbyes and I have to rush until I step into the small changing room to get ready for the dance class Rayne and I have together. She’s slipping on dance shoes when I get to the studio, a pinch to her brows.
“You okay?” I know she’s not, but I want her to share.
“Fine.” She grabs my hand and hops to her feet.
“Sure?”
Sadness and frustration fade from her face, determination replacing emotions I know she feels are weak. “Yeah.”
Grinning at her, I snark at the almost dirty look she’s giving me. “Well, let’s get to it, ballerina girl.”
“Modern dancer, not ballerina.” She gives me duck lips, two seconds from sticking her tongue out at me.
“If the shoe fits…”
She rolls her eyes, pulling me to the corner of the room as the class starts, falling into the moves quickly. You can’t tell she was gone, the music flowing around her like water, leaving no part of her not soaked with the emotions of the moves. She looks almost joyful, and it makes releasing her after class easier, especially since we’re back together for statistics. After that, I have to head to Dixon while the security team takes her home.
My hand still needs therapy, but the two hours I work with Brian doesn’t do much damage. He has more confidence, but he’s no gunslinger, so I’m in no danger of injury anytime soon.
At the end of the practice, I head into Coach Mills’ office and I tell him everything. The situation with Rayne, how we’ve both been doing our work. How I received acceptance if not approval from all my teachers to be absent and then hand him the email.
Red spreads across his face and neck. “You had approval?” he asks, shaking my phone at me.
“Yeah. I can send you the emails if you need me to.”
“Nope.” He looks like he’s going to chuck my phone across the room, but remembers to hand it back to me. “I hate that little pissant. I’ll make a few phone calls.”
“Sorry, Coach, I know you have other things to be doing.”
He leans back in his chair, one arm straightening, cocking his whole body to the side as he gives me an offended look. “Ty, I already told you, when there’s an issue, you come to me. I’m here to run the team, yes, but I’m also here to help you young men get it right.”
“Thank you.”
“Son, this whole thing is a clusterfuck from start to finish. I’m disappointed in the administration, because it should never have gotten this far.” He bares his teeth. “I won’t be part of that. You tell me what’s happening, and I’ll do the best I can to help you resolve it. This is not who California University is supposed to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rayne Mathews
Coming back to work has been harder than I thought it would be. My shift started right after my workout with Tyler and the constant stream of people doesn’t feel comforting like it did before. Sitting behind the big desk in front of the vaulted windows makes me feel like I’m in a fishbowl, with people checking to see if I deserve a hook in my mouth.
Most of my regulars are cool, but with the change of semester, I’ve got an entire group of people who don’t know me, but they know of me. They don’t try to hide the way they check me out as if they have a right. Only halfway through my three-hour shift, and I’m crawling out of my skin. The book in front of me hasn’t sunk in and the colossal waste of time frustrates the shit out of me. I give up and flip open my laptop and check my messages.
Corey has copied me on the videos of Emily buying drugs and two others. One of her going into Mr. Stevens’s work and one with her coming out. He also sent it to Detective Gillete, who says they’ll use it in the search for Gabe.
This had to be how Gabe was always able to get my number. All those times I changed it, scared and confused how he always got the new ones. My mother sold me out. I wouldn’t think a parent could do that to their child if we weren’t talking about Emily, but it’s still stunning she’d hand my number over to someone who put me in the hospital.
I watch the videos, over and over again, each replay pushing away the shock and allowing the anger in. Rage is warm. It makes blood pump, sweeping away insecurity, fear, pain.
Only one thing matters.
After work, I head to the sports cafeteria, grateful it’s not raining. It means no flashbacks or tics. Just the leftover anger I hide when I find Bay waiting outside with a big grin. Huge arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground, before he even says hi.
“You waited outside for me?” I ask, letting his good mood drift over me.
“I’m taking advantage of the sun,” he says, waving at the sky before opening a door for me.
“How are things?”
Walking next to me, he bumps my shoulder. “Good.”
“How’s Kris?”
A satisfied smile brightens his already sunny face, whipping around to look at me. “She’s so awesome. She brought me food yesterday.”
“She brought you food?” I quip, grabbing a tray. “You must be in love if she’s good enough to feed your stomach.”
“What can I say, she gets me?” He grabs the same baked chicken I do, then loads up his plate higher than I’d be comfortable carrying around, adding a small plate with pie.
“Get a pickle.” I point at the dish.
“I don’t want one today, I’ve got plenty.” He lifts his tray to my face, but I know better.
I put two on my plate so I’ll get one, then we grab seats by the window. The sun is peeking in and out of the cloud cover and each time it hits me, my mood brightens.
“So, do you guys have a court date?” Bay asks, drawing my attention back.
“Yeah, and I’m back in all my classes.”
“You okay?”
Chewing on my lower lip for a moment, I ask myself the same question, and exhale the ugly thoughts, allowing the powerful anger from earlier to gain some ground. “Enough to do what I have to.”
“You know I’ve got you, right?” His foot kicks me under the table.
“Yeah. I do.” How I got so lucky with the people I met first semester, I don’t know, but I know he means it. “Tell me how things have been,” I say.
“I haven’t been running at asscrack nasty in the morning,” he says, stuffing a forkful into his mouth. He doesn’t look smug as much as relieved.
“No?” I want to laugh. He looks way too happy about sleeping in, instead of getting up to run with me.
“No.” Another forkful disappears, and as soon as he’s done chewing it, he waves at the window. “I’m doing that shit at like, nine, when the sun’s out. Inside.”
“You play outside.” I laugh. “And it’s cloudy sometimes.”
Pointing his fork at me, he takes a gulp of his Gatorade quickly and gives me a look of faux derision. “I am not an early bird. I did that because I love you. Not because there’s anything redeemable about heading out at dawn.”
“You surfed early.”
“Only because my numbnut friends came to my house and dragged me out.” Popping a cherry tomato in his mouth, he grins while he chews. Then he adds, “I never voluntarily got out of bed before sunrise. Ever.”
“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t enjoy getting up to watch the sun come up?”
He wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking distinctly childlike. “Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying. I don’t like mornings. I like to sleep in. And just so you know, the water is fucking cold at the asscrack of dawn.”
“But you did it for me.” I preen.
Faux annoyance crosses his face, “Yeah, I did it for you, and now I’m not. That makes me happy.” He takes another bite and rolls his eyes. “Plus, I have reason to be staying up late now.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Dude, that is gross, I don’t need to hear that. Keep your shit to yourself.”
“I don’t know, I think it’s pretty awesome that I have tons of things to keep me busy. I mean look at me. Everybody wants to be with me, be around me, amuse me.” He waves a hand at his plate. “And feed me.”
Of course, I must fall into the feeding him category, since he’s grinning at the pickles I picked up. “You’re an ass and you’re lucky I’m not dating you. I’d starve you.”
“Bullshit. You love me. Admit it, you totally want a piece of this.” He strokes his hand down his stomach, giving me duck lips. “Say it, I’m cute.”
“Uh-huh.”
He finishes his lunch with a final bite of chicken and I still have two pickles sitting on my plate.
“Did you want one?” I ask, waving at the lonely pale green spears sitting at the top.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” He gives me a smirk. “I don’t want to pickle today.”
“You always want to pickle.”
His smirk spreads to a smile. “I’m usually hungry and the pickle is the easiest thing to take. I can’t exactly reach over and take your food with my fork.” His brows rise. “You’d stab me.”
That’s true but I know he’s still messing with me, yet he doesn’t take the pickle no matter how much I try to force it on him. Five minutes of trying to bully a guy over a hundred pounds heavier than I am does no good. It does make me laugh though, which feels good.
When we’re done, we both get up and dump our trays, walking outside, not paying attention until noise explodes around us. The shouting makes me stumble back into Bay, who grabs my shoulders to prevent me from hitting the doors. Reporters surround us, holding microphones and cameras as questions about Richard Blackman’s interviews and Gabe are screamed at me, with both false admiration and aggression threading in every word.
Flash after flash of light pulses in my face, making me put my hands up to stop them from getting the pictures they want.
Bay pulls me behind him, protecting me from the vultures trying to pick my life apart for their own amusement. With one hand on me and one hand blocking the reporters, he shoves them out of the way as we try to make our way through the gauntlet and the riptide of questions threatening to pull me down.
As we passed the last one, someone screams behind me, “How did it feel be in the loony bin, Rayne? Think Granddaddy Mathews will get control now?” The sneer is clear in his voice, bringing my feet skittering to a halt.
Whipping around to look at the reporters, flocking together to get the tiniest scrap to feed the public’s addiction, it takes everything I’ve got not to flip them off. “You’d have to tell me what it’s like to not be competent. I mean, when I write a paper for school, I have to make sure I have all of my facts right. I can’t just throw something out there because it’s salacious or entertaining. I have to get it right or I fail. But you, you get to write whatever you want. Make things up. Harass people. If you really think I’m crazy, what the hell are you doing here?” I look the camera directly in the center. “I mean, what kind of people hunt a teenage girl if they really think she’s unwell?”
A moment later, the doors slam open and Neil appears, weaving his way through the crush. Slipping in front of me, he throws a nasty look over his shoulder at the reporters, moving us away like he has the ability to repulse them by sheer force of will alone.
“Did you see your detail?” he asks quietly.
It takes a moment, but I realize I didn’t. I’m so used to them trailing me, knowing where I am better than I do, that I don’t pay attention anymore. “No.”
As we march away, Neil whispers into his shoulder and I hear the digitally thin answer come back. “Campus security detained us. I wanted to contact you, but they wouldn’t let us.”
“Excuse me?” Neil stops in the middle of the concrete, and I almost stumble into him. Bay stops with me in confusion, his arms coming around me, brows rising.
“Yeah,” comes the answer. Even though he’s barely audible, I can tell he’s angry. “They grabbed us fifteen minutes ago and claimed we were scaring the students. We didn’t want to cause a scene so we tried to keep it quiet when they pulled us away. They released us after a call to the president.”
Neil’s fist turns white. “They released you right as she was getting mauled by the press.”
There is a distinct curse when I butt in. “Do you think they did it on purpose?” I ask Neil.
His jaw clenches for a moment before answering me, “I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t put it past them. And if I hadn’t wanted to check in with you, I wouldn’t have been here either.”
Without skipping a beat, Bay throws a hand in the air, and says, “Perfect timing, man.”
Not five minutes later, the other guards come up behind us, nodding at Neil and trailing at a distance while I walk to class lost in thoughts of someone feeding the media information, because how many people know about Lawrence’s petition?
Fortunately, in most of my classes, no one is interested in me or my drama, and they let the time pass without comment. It isn’t until I walk into my first Satellite practice since December and Marcus immediately scoops me up into a hug that I feel the ugliness slap me.
Half the crew pretends I’m not there and the other half, including Katie and her friends, glower and practically hiss at me from the corner.
Besides Marcus, only the group’s academic sponsor, Ellie Mission, respond positively. Ellie gives me a hug and assures me she’s glad I’m back, attracting hostility from the rest of the group.
“Thank you, Ellie.”
She’s been just as great as my other teachers about sending me videos of the choreography so I could perform as soon as I was able.
“No problem, hon. We just need to get you worked into formation. So, shoes on,” she says, waving to the side.
Giving her a smile, I go to put on my ballet slippers. As I do, Neil approaches Ellie, and they have a quiet conversation, with Neil gesturing to the door and Ellie giving tiny nods and barely audible sounds of sadness.
I told him he didn’t need to come into the room now that the other team members are back, but he doesn’t see it that way. He’s pissed and shaken at finding me alone in the middle of the crush, so I’ll let him work it out with Ellie.
“Okay, everyone,” Marcus announces, his voice breaking through the whispers and mutters in the room, his hands clapping to get attention. “We’ll do a quick run through, let Rayne see what it looks like, and see how far we’ve come along, then we’ll break into teams and double check each eight count.”
Katie cocks her hip out. “We already have it perfect, she’s the only one who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Some of the other dancers give Katie a dirty look, because it’s never perfect, and everyone here knows it. Dancing is a continuous process of self-improvement, of pushing oneself to the edge to make magic happen. Eight count reviews are part of life for anyone even tangentially involved in dance life.
“Shut up, Katie,” says Charles from the other side of the room.
“It’s true, Chucky. We shouldn’t be wasting time because Princess couldn’t make it to practice.”
“My name’s not Chucky, and if Marcus wants us to review, we will. He can make us review the same eight count all day, because it’
s not about her, it’s about the performance.”
“Of course, it’s about her,” she huffs, her hand flicking out at me. “We shouldn’t have to slow down.”
Marcus scowls. “We have to review because you only hit your flat fall fifty percent of the time.”
Katie’s face turns red, and a sharp whistle comes from the corner as Ellie steps forward. “Katie, I understand that you don’t like the monotony of review, but that’s what we’re doing today. If we don’t correct errors now, they become habits you can’t fix later.” She gives me a small apologetic smile. “As for Rayne, if she can’t keep up, we’ll make decisions from there, but I suggest focusing on your own performance. I recommend you practice into the mirror so you can see every detail.” She waves at her. “I’m assuming you’re ready to practice, so why don’t you get into position, and Marcus,” she says, waving him to take over, “please continue.”
Marcus claps his hand and motions for everybody to get in formation. A heartbeat later, the music begins and Marcus’s eight count begins.
The sound of drums begins low, their rhythm slow. It’s beautiful and haunting, and while the basics look good, I can see the areas of improvement necessary to bring it up to standards. Soft toe points, counts that are a fraction of a second off. We shouldn’t have arms or legs off by even a fraction of degrees in an elite squad like this one. All of our movements have to be perfectly in sync, with everyone acting as one heartbeat. That’s what’s demanded here, especially by the best of the program.
When the crew’s done with the initial run through, everyone splits off to work in groups and Ellie approaches me. “You ready to go?”
I’ve practiced as much as I could in the time and space I’ve had, so I have the basics down. “Yep. Let’s do this.” I give her a smile with more confidence than I feel.
“Let’s see it.”
Stepping back, I get into position, folding down on myself to a crouch, balanced on the balls of my feet.
“Five, six, seven, eight…” She starts the count.
