Clair looked embarrassed. “You guys aren’t dating?” Her wide eyes are sincere, she has no idea she’s said the very thing I’m afraid of.
“We’re just working on a project together. Who said we’re dating?”
“I don’t know, it’s just what I heard.” Claire eyes me thoughtfully. “I didn’t really think it was true, I mean, no offense, but you’re not exactly his type…”
“His type?” I have a feeling I’m not going to like what she says next.
“You know. He’s popular—I mean, look at his friends. Obviously, you don’t hang out with that crowd.”
“His sister is my best friend,” I grind out through my teeth, torn between being utterly embarrassed at Claire’s insinuation that I’m not good enough for Hunter and terrified that I’m going to have packs of popular girls coming for me. If I thought the incident between Hannah and Allyson was ugly, it’s going to be nothing if they think Hunter and I are actually dating.
“I’m not upset. And even if I was, it wouldn’t have anything to do with him.” I lie.
Chapter Eleven
Hannah
The plane banks slowly to the left as I crane my neck to look out the window. New York City. I drink in the sight of the towering buildings. The rising sun glints off the glass and metal towers, bathing everything in a beautiful golden glow. This city is magic, I can feel it in my bones. I eye my parents in the seats next to me. My mom’s head is resting on my dad’s shoulder, fast asleep and so adorable. I didn’t think I was going to be able to sleep on the flight over here, but miraculously I managed a couple of hours dozing on and off before my excitement got the better of me.
When the plane touches down, it’s all I can do to stay in my seat. I crane my head from side to side, watching as the other passengers slowly gather their things and shuffle off the plane. Sitting at the back of the plane has never been so tortuous, even with my phone to occupy me. Everyone I know is asleep and I’ve scrolled through everything so long there’s nothing new to see.
“Come on!” I hurry my parents along as they pull our bags out of the overhead compartment. My dance bag is unwieldy as I make my way down the narrow aisle, but there was no way I was going to risk it being lost. All my most essential items are in it. Pointe shoes, leotards and tights, headpieces, a thousand bobby pins and my phone charger. I stop at the front of the plane where the flight attendant is waiting for us.
“Here you go sweetheart, good luck with the competition!” He smiles kindly at me. When we’d boarded the plane at LAX, he’d eyed my mom and I skeptically as we marched up to him with the enormous flat bag that held my tutu and contemporary costume. I suppose he’s used to people bringing wedding dresses or musical instruments to be held in the small closet at the front of the plane. We’d folded the four-foot-wide circular bag in half so it could hang in the closet without crinkling the edges of my tutu, but I’m anxious to get to the hotel and check it’s still okay.
I spend the entire thirty-minute drive into the city staring out the window of the car, soaking it all in. Everything is different here, it’s so much greener than I imagined, the trees are so much bigger and closer together. Buildings loom overhead and even at six in the morning there are people everywhere once we get into Manhattan. The only time I’ve ever seen this many people walking places was at Disneyland. It’s thrilling and intimidating.
“Where to first?” My mom asks once we hand our bags over to the concierge. We can’t check in yet so the hotel is going to hold our bags for us. Leaving my tutu and dance bag makes me nervous, but the manager assured me they’ll be safe. “Anybody want to see if we can find some real New York bagels?”
Emerging from the hotel, I stop and look around. People hustling and bustling down the street, sirens wail in the distance and someone is shouting nearby. I take in a deep breath of the city air, and immediately regret it. The sour scent of old trash mixes with the particularly warm smell of wet cement, burying itself deep in my nose. “You okay, sweetie?” Mom asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah, just excited to explore. Can we check out Times Square after we get breakfast?” We take off down the sidewalk, eyes peeled for somewhere to get food. After a few minutes walking, we find a little bagel shop with only a small line of people. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of organized line, so we stand around a little confused and lost, studying the options written up on the chalkboard behind the counter, until someone notices us.
Most people walking in have this air of absolute confidence in themselves. There is no apologizing for crowding anyone else or the natural jostling of a crowded, tiny space. It’s fascinating. I feel small and timid in comparison.
Once we have our bagels and coffee—hot chocolate for me—we wander out onto the street. I take the lead and start us walking towards the subway station that should take us to Times Square. I checked the map on my phone while we were waiting, so I’m pretty confident that I’m going the right way. Of course, we walk two blocks in the wrong direction before my dad turns us around, laughing at me.
“Guess you need some practice?’ Dad teases.
“One day, Dad, you’re going to come visit me here and I’ll know exactly where I’m going.” I laugh back, too excited by being here to mind. I keep looking at all the people walking by us, trying to figure out who is a tourist and who lives here. The subway ride is uneventful, no one breaks out into song or dance, just a lot of people in business suits looking bored in the warm, stuffy air.
The closer we get to Times Square, the more the crowd is definitely made up of tourists. I’m tempted to join them in stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and gawking at the massive glass and neon buildings looming overhead. We finally stumble into the famous square, the giant billboards and screens filling the sky flash with bright colors and distracting images. As early as it is, there’s already a sizable crowd gathering. I let my gaze wander where it will, taking it all in. The noise of so many people and cars washes over me. Sirens, honking, shouting. One day, this could be my home. Men and women in various costumes break out into practiced speeches and skits, handing out flyers to anyone who will take one.
Sipping my hot chocolate, I glance over at the line in front of the TKTS office, wondering if there’s any chance we can get last minute tickets to see a Broadway show tonight. I pull my phone out of my pocket to take a photo for Katy and Lisa realizing I haven’t even looked at my phone since we landed.
My screen is disappointingly blank, even though I half expected to have a couple of texts from Trevor waiting for me. I take a quick selfie of myself sitting on the steps, not caring that I have dark circles under my eyes. I toy with my phone, trying not to think about how much I was hoping for a text from Trevor. Stop thinking about him, Hannah, you need to stay one hundred percent focused.
“Hey, sweetie.” Mom drops down into the space next to me. “Dad went to buy us tickets for one of those double decker bus tours. How are you doing?”
“I’m good. Excited to finally be here.” I scoot closer and rest my head on her shoulder. A yawn sneaks up on me forcing my eyes closed for a long moment. “I’m tired.”
She laughs and takes a long sip of her coffee. “Yeah. I think we are definitely going to need a nap once we get checked into the hotel.”
“Are you guys ready?” Dad calls from the bottom of the stairs. “The bus stop is that way.” He points over his shoulder. I hop up, reaching back to offer Mom a hand, pulling her up from the stair with a groan.
As I sit on the bus, letting the warm, slightly humid air settle on my skin, my eyes bounce from sight to sight as we tour the city. I’m as curious about the people we drive past as I am about the tour guide’s stories. Where do they live? What do they do on a normal day? Is this where I could end up living?
“Hannah, this is my dear friend Rebecca and her student Martin.” I follow Ms. Parker inside a smallish studio, gently clo
sing the door behind me. “Martin is also competing this weekend, we thought it would be nice for you guys to meet each other ahead of the competition and share the rehearsal time.”
“Hello there, Hannah. Nice to meet you.” Rebecca has a lovely lilting accent. I think it might be Australian?
I nod, shyness keeping me silent. Martin is already at the barre, stretching. His mop of curly brown hair is a bit long, and he seems friendly enough, smiling at me in greeting. Ms. Parker and Rebecca chat while I strip off my extra layers and get my ballet shoes on. Tucking my dance bag against the wall, I head over to the barre not far from Martin and start my own stretching routine.
“Hi there,” Martin says, dropping into a down dog pose, he cranes his head to the side to look at me. “It’s Hannah, yeah?” He has the same accent as Rebecca, but I can’t quite place it.
“Uh, yeah,” I say from my spot on the floor, legs crossed as I pull one arm across and stretch my shoulders out. I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs from my thoughts. After our early lunch, my parents and I were able to check into the hotel early and take a nap before I had to meet Ms. Parker. I’m still tired, but I’m hoping that doing a bit of class right now will help me feel better. A yawn catches me by surprise as I’m about to speak. “Sorry, I’m half-asleep. We took the red eye to get here this morning.”
“No worries, I’m still fighting the jet lag. We got here on Friday so we’d have longer to get used to the time difference.”
“Where are you from?”
“New Zealand.” Martin drops down into a plank from his down dog. I watch for a second, impressed at the ease with which he slides from one movement to the next.
Feeling the pressure to get moving a little more actively, I hop up and start padding through my feet as I swing my arms in large circles, getting my heart rate up and working the stiffness out of my feet from the long plane ride and the hours of walking this morning. I focus on twisting and moving through different variations of yoga poses and ballet steps, to get my body loose and limber. The more I loosen up my body, the more my mind narrows down to the single thought that I’ve been pushing to the back of my mind for weeks. Can I do this? Or am I going to fall apart at the last minute?
“Have you done this before?” I can’t help asking Martin. He seems so calm.
“I’ve never competed at YIGP before, but I’ve done a couple of the big competitions in New Zealand and Australia. I wanted to go to the Beijing International Ballet Competition, but I couldn’t work out the travel. It’s hard to get anywhere from New Zealand.”
“I never thought about that. So, are you going back to New Zealand after this?”
“Actually, I’m staying here with Rebecca until the CBS summer intensive starts, I’ll only go home to Auckland after that’s finished.” He grins. “Unless they ask me to stay year-round.”
“I’m so jealous,” I say, keeping my voice low and glancing at Ms. Parker to make sure she’s not listening. “I’ve been trying to convince my parents and Ms. Parker to let me move here for years, but they all think I’m too young.” I eye Martin. “How old are you?”
He chuckles and stands up to join me at the barre. “Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in September though. Don’t feel bad, I’ve been begging for years. It took me three years of saving up my money to finally be able to do this. You’ll get there,” he adds. I suppose he’s right. I shouldn’t complain too much, most people would be jealous of me living in California, with our perfect weather and Hollywood so close, but there’s no professional ballet world in LA, it’s all here in New York City.
“Are you ready?” Rebecca calls from across the room.
Scrambling up from the floor, Martin and I spread out, each taking a space at the barre, ready to follow Rebecca’s directions. Even though I’ve never had a class from her, Rebecca’s class is familiar and comfortable.
Whenever I have my left hand on the barre, Martin is in front of me and I’m able to study him a bit as we warm up. He’s not super tall, not as tall as Trevor, but he has broad shoulders and a narrow waist paired with a muscular set of thighs. Just like my leotard and tights allow my body to be seen easily—nothing baggy to hide behind in a ballet class—his t-shirt and tights do the same. Men’s ballet tights are much thicker than women’s—I’ve always secretly wondered what it would be like to wear them. Within minutes, I can tell that Martin is talented, I bet he’s a powerful jumper.
I’m sweaty and ready to run through my solos by the time we finish up, about twenty minutes later. Martin goes first while I slip on my pointe shoes. He’s doing Basilio’s variation from Act Three of Don Quixote. Too bad my Kitri variation is from Act One or we’d have a matching set. As I suspected, he flies through the air, his powerful legs propelling him high enough for a few triple tour saut de basques. The first time he does it, running a few steps, throwing his left leg forward as he jumps, then doing three revolutions in the air before landing in an open lunge, I think my jaw might hit the floor. It’s so smooth and seamless, like watching a figure-skater doing a triple Axle. Just like how my Kitri variation is sassy and flirtatious, Baslilio’s character is cocky and brash.
I’ve watched hundreds of videos of this variation. Some guys play it too smarmy and arrogant, but Martin transforms into a self-assured, playful, and flirtatious Basilio, without coming across as over the top. I’m glad I got to meet him before the competition, I’m hoping he and I can stick together this week. It would be nice to have something like a friend here.
Rebecca takes him aside to quietly give him corrections while Ms. Parker cues up my music. “Aurora first?” I nod and take my place in the center of the room, waiting for the familiar music to wash over me. In the finals I’m only allowed to do one of my classical variations, instead of the two I did in the regionals. After a lot of debate, we decided to focus on my Aurora variation, since it shows a broader range of my technique. Watching Martin rehearse his Basilio variation makes me miss doing it though, Kitri is so much fun.
An hour and a half later, I’m exhausted and happy. Pulling my phone out of my bag while Ms. Parker and Rebecca chat in the corner, I flop on the floor next to Martin and unlock it. I haven’t checked it in hours, since I sent the photo I took this morning to Lisa and Katy. As I expected, there are dozens of texts from the girls, wanting to know everything I’m doing. Surprisingly, there aren’t any from Trevor. Martin glances over from where he’s also scrolling through his phone next to me, then lifts his arm up high, capturing us both in his camera.
“Smile!” My head next to his on the floor as he snaps a picture. “What’s your insta? I’ll tag you.”
Groaning, I hoist myself up to sitting so I can take my pointe shoes off. “Hannahbananaballerina.” I can’t help the hiss of relief as I ease my shoe off. Thankfully there’s no new blisters, but my feet ache after all the walking I did earlier. “Where are you and Rebecca staying?” I promised myself I was going to try and meet new people, even if I’m cringing at how awkward I sound. I might as well ask about the weather.
“A friend of Rebecca’s was going out of town for a couple of months, so we’re subletting her place until I can move into the dorms. What about you?”
“My parents and I are staying at a hotel nearby. Ms. Parker and her husband are staying with a friend.” I pause but decide to ask anyway, even if it makes me sound like a dork. “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”
Martin laughs. “Oh god, I’m so nervous!” His confession startles a laugh out of me as well. “You seem so calm, I thought for sure I was the only tosser who was nervous.”
“Seriously? You’re so good though! I wouldn’t be nervous if I was as good as you are.” I pull a pair of joggers over my tights and grab my shirt out of my bag.
“Have you seen yourself dance?” Martin teases back. “I mean, Leslie Parker is your teacher, so I’m not that surprised.”
“Hannah, are you ready t
o go?” Ms. Parker and Rebecca are standing by the door, waiting for us to finish gathering up our things. I dump my pointe shoes in my bag and follow Martin, checking to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
“Hannah, I’ve already sent a text to your folks. They’re going to meet up with us for dinner. Rebecca, Martin, would you like to join us as well?”
“That would be lovely,” Rebecca says, glancing at Martin. He smiles and nods, still scrolling through his phone.
Walking through the streets of Manhattan at six in the evening is far different than it was this morning. I struggle to keep up with Ms. Parker and Rebecca as they confidently stride through the crowd, people keep cutting me off and getting between us. Every time we come to a crosswalk, I have to weave my way close, afraid that I’ll miss a chance to cross with them. It’s so noisy and I’m so out of breath from trying to keep up. My heart races. I panic that I’ll get separated from them. The chatter of people on the street, the cars, the sirens, echo off the towering buildings on either side of us get louder until I can’t differentiate one noise from another. My mind is a spinning mass of noise and fear. Martin’s mop of curly hair is easy to see over the crowd, so I zero in on it and follow until we arrive. It’s only once I see my mom that my anxious brain starts to settle down. Silent, I slip next to her and rest my chin on her shoulder, needing the comfort of her presence for a moment. Absently, she strokes my head, hugging me close.
“How’d it go?” she asks as we settle into our seats. I’m on the end, next to my mom and across from Martin. The restaurant is crowded, but bright and cheery inside. We’re not far from Central Park and the wall of windows at my back is warm with golden light. My stomach growls audibly as I pick up the menu.
“Good. I feel better, not so stiff.” Hmmmm, do I want to order a salad or a sandwich. Or do I want French fries?
“Do you feel ready?” Mom peers over at my menu. “Do you want to share an order of fries with me?”
Head to Head (On Pointe Book 2) Page 9
