A few seconds passed when my message alert sounded. It was a simple see ya then.
With the exception of the ballet on Sunday, I’d never sneaked out of the house before, and here I was, barely twenty-four hours later, doing it again.
When Mom went to bed around ten, I waited half an hour before changing into my dance clothes then another fifteen minutes before skulking into the hallway. Motionless, I listened for any sign of activity from her room. When it seemed safe, I hooked my dance bag over my shoulder and crept down the hallway, stealing out the door and into the night.
On the way down in the elevator, in the lobby, and on the trek up the sidewalk, I kept a watchful eye on my surroundings, walking a little faster when I passed the alley where Barney the homeless man camped.
Arriving at the Wakefield Center, I went around back, swiped my card to get in, and moved quickly down the hall. Through the curtains and onto the stage, I dropped my bag to the floor and waited. It was so quiet. Was he here? Had I risked Mom’s wrath for nothing?
Then I heard him from behind the big, heavy drape. “I didn’t really think you’d come.”
“I’m the one who texted you remember?”
“I know, but I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t. No doubt I sounded strange—hiding behind a curtain asking you to dance for me.”
I pressed my lips together and considered my answer. “Everything in my life right now is strange. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be. Why should dancing be any different?”
“Sucks,” he commiserated. “But I made a promise to myself last night,” he said. “I decided if you came back, I would put the last two years behind me and make the best of what I have left. So no more Debbie-downer for either of us. Got it?”
“Got it.” I agreed then asked, “Now, what do you want to do first?”
Striding to the center of the stage, I warmed up and followed a few commands he issued. He wanted to see more of the technique I’d been taught. After a short while, though, I gravitated closer to the curtain and we ended up sitting near each other—the red, velvet material the only thing between us—and talked about ballet.
He’d trained under several of the world’s best teachers, and preferred a blend of the Vaganova and American, or Balanchine, method because he said it prepared a dancer for a company with a more diverse repertoire.
“A ballerina should learn to dance more than one way.”
He truly was what he claimed to be, or had been—a world-class dancer.
Sometime later, I went home, but I was awake into the wee morning hours, thinking. Choosing to visit Erik had turned out to be the right thing. If only for a while, I had helped him enjoy the realm of ballet again. And his enthusiasm for my abilities boosted my ego, which of late had been flat-lining. It was the start to a friendship that would be beneficial for us both.
Chapter Thirty Three
I was sluggish the next morning, and Mom was surprised to see me have coffee with my breakfast. But the caffeine didn’t help near as much as the text I received from Raoul.
Can’t wait til this afternoon. wanna see if I can out plié you.
What the coffee hadn’t done, anticipating seeing Raoul did, and I found the energy to get through my morning classes.
Jenna and I never talked about Mrs. Hahn’s scolding, but at lunch, she barely nibbled a few carrots, and when Van came up behind her and snatched a stalk of celery from her plate, I feared she might bite his hand.
Unaware he might be poking a sleeping bear; he took a seat beside her. “So, either of you lovelies going to attend my performance next weekend?” he asked.
“What performance?” Jenna snapped.
“I have the lead in the level five’s recital next Sunday. Of course, it’s only for the recital. I’ll still train with level sevens.”
At her best, Jenna doesn’t have a lot of patience with Van’s boasting, but I dreaded to think how a hungry Jenna would react.
“I’m grounded,” she snapped. Getting to her feet she picked up her tray. “I can’t go anywhere for a while.” Then she stomped away.
“What’s up with her? Somebody put bitching powder in her tights?”
“Cut it out, Van. She and Mrs. Hahn have been going at it, and trust me, you don’t want in the middle of it.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged and shook it off. “How ‘bout you, my soon-to-be first wife? You coming?”
“I don’t know, Van. I have a lot on my plate right now.”
“Yeah, I heard you have another man in your life, and I’m deeply wounded.
“What? Who told you?”
“The whole school knows, and you’ve ripped out my heart.” He clutched both hands to his chest. “I thought it was you and me all the way. And now I find out you’re hooking up with a football player.”
“First, you’d have to have a heart for it to be ripped out.” I flicked a slice of cucumber and he dodged it. “Second, we are not hooking up! We’ve only been on one date, so how does everyone already know?”
“Nothing is secret around here, not even the phantom. It’s a matter of time for him, too.”
“You still trying to convince everyone there’s a ghost in the Wakefield?”
“Shhh,” he hissed and leaned in closer, conspiratorially. “Stupid Paranormal Response Team shot me down,” he grumbled. “But I’ve emailed Supernatural Sector. They may not be on a major network, but it’s TV and that’s all that matters.”
Just then, several girls took up seats at a table adjacent to ours and Van said, “Ah, there’s a pot of honey that needs stirring,” and the heart-breaker-in-training left me to go join them.
Later that afternoon, I was relieved to see Jenna perk up some when Troy arrived for class. It made me wonder if she really liked him, or if it was simply the chase she enjoyed.
When Raoul sauntered in, I sucked in a breath, somehow having forgotten how gorgeous he was in only a few short days.
He walked straight to me and leaned down to plant a kiss on my lips. I was both thrilled and mortified. Immediately, I took a step back,
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s ummm, well, we can’t do that here.” I flagged my hand outward.
“Oh, right,” he grinned. “Here you are the teacher and I, the lowly student.” He bowed humbly. Then he stepped closer, dipped his head, and leaned forward very near my cheek. “So you think later maybe you can give this naughty pupil a few private lessons?”
I didn’t have to look in the great mirror to know my face was red. And right then I was certain of one thing; there was no way Mom or anyone at this school would to stop me from seeing Raoul Chaney.
Chapter Thirty Four
Tuesday night, Jenna took both a math and science test and passed, improving her mood immensely. “I talked Mom and Dad into letting me have the car Friday night,” she said as we waited for our rides outside the school Wednesday afternoon.
“How’d you do that? It was only a couple of tests.”
“Troy asked me to come to his game, and I promised if they’d let me go, I’d stay in and study the rest of the weekend. How do you feel about watching the Diamondbacks play?”
“Seriously? That would be awesome.”
“Good. I didn’t want to go alone.”
“So you and Troy are hitting it off?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s slow, but I think I like that.”
“Aw,” I teased and gave her a playful shove, “my little Jenna is growing up.”
“Bite me,” she snarled.
Mom pulled up then. “So text me the details,” I said, opening the door and climbing in.
“Details?” Mom said as she entered the flow of traffic. “What details?”
“Just guy stuff,” I replied.
“Guy stuff?”
“Jenna and I are going to a Diamondback’s’ game Friday night.”
“Is that right?” Her voice held a challenging pitch.
“Well, that is if you
let me.”
“Jenna is seeing one of those football players, too?”
“You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Like what? I was simply asking.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Troy or Raoul. They’re both nice guys, and I would think you’d be glad I’m seeing someone whose family is connected with the Rousseau.”
“I would prefer you not see anyone right now, Christine.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Mom’s head jerked sideways. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know you talked to Ms. Zaborov. She doesn’t approve either.”
“Well, that should tell you something, honey. Lena Zaborov knows what it takes to be a principal dancer. She dedicated her life to it.”
“Yeah, and look at her now—a woman alone, with no life outside the ballet school where she teaches.”
Truthfully, I understood Lena Zaborov’s decision to dedicate her life to ballet; I just didn’t know if that was the life for me. Plus, loads of other dancers date—even marry and have children. This really came down to my mother wanting to maintain control of my life.
She never told me whether I could go to the game or not, so I took it as a yes and planned accordingly. She would have to straight up tell me I couldn’t attend to stop me.
Later that night, I sent a text and met Erik at the theater. He’d managed to get a remote control to operate the stage speakers, and surprised me by playing some contemporary pieces of music, stuff currently on the radio, for me to practice to. It wasn’t until he asked me to perform a scene from Giselle that he switched to classical. That’s also when he commented on my lack of concentration.
Pausing the tune coming through the onstage speakers, he said, “Okay, Ballerina, something’s on your mind. What’s bothering you?”
Catching my breath, I tugged my hair out of its ponytail, flattened and smoothed it in place, and wrapped it back in the band again. Reluctant to air my problems, I pulled a bottle of water from my bag and had a few swallows.
“My mother is on my case about what she views as my lack of dedication.”
“Yeah, mothers can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but fortunately you still have one.”
Mental. Freaking. Head. Slap.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry. I can’t seem to stop saying the wrong things around you.”
“Look, Christine, you don’t have to keep apologizing. What happened to me wasn’t your fault. I should have said that differently. What I meant was, well, a ballerina’s life is like a vortex. The amount of dedication and passion it generates forms a great whirlwind that can’t help but suck in the people around her. Of course, your mother would be picked up and carried away by it.”
This knocked me completely off kilter. Consumed by my frustration with my parents, I hadn’t really thought about all they’d had at stake in my succeeding, or failing, at the Rousseau.
“How’d you get so wise?” I asked, smiling.
“The hard way,” he replied.
Chapter Thirty Five
Thursday, in the school kitchenette after the Diamondback’s practice, I told Raoul about Jenna and me making plans to attend their upcoming game.
“So it will be my turn to show off,” he teased.
“Show off?” I replied. “You think I show off?”
He stepped closer to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and smiled. “Did I say show off? I meant to say shine. It’s my turn to shine.”
“Mmmm,” I groaned and pulled away. “I have to go. Ms. Zaborov is waiting.”
“You still doing the one-on-one with her?”
“Afraid so. The second company tryouts are in the spring of next year; until then it’s work, work, work.”
“All right,” he grazed his lips across mine, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Then he walked out the kitchen door.
“Yeah,” I called after him. “I’ll be the one in the tutu.”
Later that day, Ms. Z. and I practiced for close to an hour before she decided to stop for the evening. “This was good,” she observed. And though she’d said this before, this time was different. She really meant it and her smile proved it. “Excellent work, Christine,” she said, and I curtseyed and thanked her.
On my walk to the apartment, I made a mental note to tell Erik about Ms. Z.’s compliment when I went to the theater that night. But upon arriving home, I found a note from Mom saying she would be late again. There would be no trip to the theater, since I had no idea when she’d be in. Instead, I made myself a sandwich, did some homework, and crashed with my literature book sprawled across my bed a short while later.
“Christine. Christine!” Mom shook me awake the next morning. “Did you sleep like that, sweetheart?”
I glanced down at the slouchy shorts and tee I’d slipped into the night before, and the literature book that lay crumpled under my hip.
“Yeah,” I yawned and stretched. “I guess so. What time did you get home? Where were you?”
“I was at work. You better get moving if you’re going to shower and have time to grab breakfast.”
She left my room and I doubted her at work story. It was turning into her go-to excuse. More than ever, I needed to find a way to convince Dad to come home. If he were here, Mom wouldn’t be working late so much of the time.
The extra sleep did me some good. I wasn’t at all tired at the end of school that day. Of course, anticipating attending Raoul’s game might have had something to do with that.
Jenna showed up at the apartment at six. The stadium was on the south side of town. Traffic would be heavy, rush hour on a Friday, so we had no time to waste.
“Be careful,” Mom said as we started out the door. “Be home by eleven-thirty. No texting and driving. And certainly no drinking and…”
“Mom. Don’t be ridiculous. Give me a little credit.”
She laughed. “I’m your mother. I don’t do credit.”
With that, I kissed her goodbye and we left.
Traveling across town, Jenna cut into the I-59 traffic. We listened to music and talked for a while when it occurred to me that I’d never told her about Erik. Between my practices with Ms. Zaborov, and her putting in overtime on her homework, we hadn’t had a decent girl talk in days.
“If I tell you something,” I said, “can you keep it a secret?”
“I’d take it to the grave.”
“I’m being serious. You have to keep it to yourself.”
Drawing her gaze off the rode a second, her brow furrowed. Then she put her eyes back on the freeway and smiled wickedly.
“You’re telling me Christine Dadey has a secret? Now that’s a shocker.”
Chapter Thirty Six
“I’m not a total goody two-shoes,” I said.
“Yes, you are, but that’s a subject for another time. Right now, I want to know this juicy secret.”
“I met this dancer; his name is Erik, and he’s promised to teach me some things, help me get Mrs. Hahn off my back.”
“Okay,” Jenna prompted, “and this is a secret because…”
“Well, other than Marisol, no one else knows.”
“Isn’t that generally how a secret is defined—no one knows? The question is why you’ve kept it a secret.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, but haven’t had the chance. I met him after the ballet the other night—the night we were supposed to attend Romeo and Juliet—I went by myself. Well, actually, I met him before that.”
Traffic had stalled, so while we crept along at a snail’s pace, I relayed everything to Jenna. I told her he’d caught me sneaking into Claudette’s dressing room, but I omitted the fire and the fact that he’d stayed behind the curtain for our practices. She’d probably think me nuts if she knew.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” she jibed.
“No, no. It’s true. I’ve practiced with him a couple of times now. His method and strategy is different from anything I’ve experienced. He’s a
ll about varied styles, and muscle and mental energy.”
She nodded. “Cool. So where’s his studio?”
“That’s the thing. He doesn’t have one. I’ve been sneaking out at night to meet him at the theater to practice, and Mom doesn’t know.”
“Dayum, girl. When you decide to have a secret, you go all out. Maybe there’s a bad girl underneath that leotard, after all.”
“Stop it,” I said. “He truly is helping me.”
“If you say so. But you can trust me. Your secret is safe. Whoa, there’s our exit,” she said, pointing at a green road sign, and we dropped the topic altogether.
Jenna soon located the stadium parking lot, and before long, we were seated in the stands with the other excited fans.
I know nothing about football and the whole occasion was a bit extraordinary. The stadium was gigantic, filled with people wearing the Diamondback’s team colors, drinking from cups with the team logo, and blowing air horns at unexpected times. Fortunately, Jenna was no novice. She has a younger brother who plays peewee and her dad is an aficionado. So while we waited for the players to take the field, she gave me a quick tutorial on running, passing, punting, and tackling. I learned the most important thing was to get the ball into the opponent’s end zone.
My anticipation built as we waited with the noisy crowd, the smell of freshly made popcorn and something sweet I couldn’t identify, floated on the air. Then without warning, a band commenced playing and the people around us went wild, some screaming louder than the deafening air horns.
“Here they come,” Jenna yelled, and we rose to our feet along with the others and started clapping to the music.
From where we were in the stands, we had a clear view, but I was ill prepared for the way the boys we’d been teaching to plié and jeté would look in football uniforms. They were enormous! With the pads, their shoulders had doubled in size. This made me a little concerned because Raoul was not as big as they were. They would trounce him. I hoped his helmet would keep his brain intact. Then Jenna informed me it wasn’t the size of Raoul’s teammates that mattered, but of the other team. To my horror, the Springer High Razorbacks were no less humongous. They were going to kill Raoul.
It turned out there was no need for me to worry. Raoul was good. He was fast, light on his feet, and when he threw the ball, it went where he intended. No wonder colleges were pursuing him.