“H-hi,” I stammered. “I was uuuh, I came to…,”
“It’s okay.” He cut me off. “I’m here to see you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Erik sent me. Come down here, and I’ll explain.”
Bewildered, I moved slowly to the stage exit and went down and through the usher doors to where he waited.
“You know Erik? You know that—we’ve been meeting here?”
He didn’t answer but asked, “Can we sit?” He indicated the front row, and I followed him over, where we unfolded seats and sat down.
We waited quietly for a moment and Mr. Sims’s knee bounced nervously. He didn’t appear to be going to speak, so I asked again, “You know Erik?”
Taking a breath, he cupped his hand on his knee to stop the fidgeting and nodded. “Yeah, and he wanted me to let you know he couldn’t come. He’s not feeling well. But he was worried about you being here alone.”
“He’s not well? What’s wrong? Has he gone to a doctor? Do we need to help him?”
Mr. Sims shook his head. “No, he won’t see a doctor.” Then he raised a hand to his brow and massaged his temple. “Maybe I should start from the beginning so you’ll understand.”
Swiveling, he looked back over the seats as if he expected to see someone there.
“Mr. Sims? You were saying?”
He faced me again. “A few months ago I was working the late shift, taking trash down to the dumpsters in the parking garage. On my way back, I heard something. We’ve had kids sneak down there to do drugs before, so I investigated. That’s when I found him lying under the stairwell.”
“You found Erik there?”
He nodded dismally. “He was curled up under the stairs, moaning and coughing.”
“Omigod,” I gasped.
“He was sick. At first, he wouldn’t let me get close to him, but I could tell he was in bad shape. So I pulled out my phone to call for an ambulance, but he stopped me, slapped the phone out of my hand. Shocked me that he was able to do anything the shape he was in, but he said if I called any one he’d run.”
“What did you do?”
“At first, I couldn’t get close enough to examine him, but he was coughing, not just coughing—hacking. Sounded like a dying man. I thought he had pneumonia. I begged him to let me get help, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He tried to leave, but I convinced him I wouldn’t call anyone if he’d stay put. It was freezing outside, and I was afraid if he went back out, he might die.
“Eventually, he let me get near enough to discover he was running a fever. After a lot of cajoling, I convinced him to move inside to the boiler room where it was warmer.”
“So, you’ve seen his face,” I said.
Mr. Sims nodded. “That was the only time. Since then he keeps it hidden. He wears a bulky jacket with a hood, shrouds himself in it.”
Mr. Sims’s knee was jerking again. “The problem is his lungs. The heat and smoke from the fire damaged them, and now they’re weak. I’ve tried to tell him staying in that boiler room is only going to make it worse.”
“Wait a minute, are you telling me he’s in the boiler room, still? He lives there?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Sims replied. “I didn’t have the heart to throw him out while he was on the mend, and honestly I think he was homeless. He was like a wounded animal and, well, now he’s sort of stayed.”
“And he has problems with his lungs right now?”
I recalled our dancing the other night, and the tight wheezing in his chest. Had I caused him to become ill again?
“Poor Erik,” I mumbled. “You have to take me to him, to help him.”
Mr. Sims shook his head. “He won’t let you see him like this.”
My stomach rolled as I pictured him in a dark room, ailing and needing medical attention.
“I’m not sure about his state of mind when he has these spells,” Mr. Sims confided. “There are some things about him that are, well, they’re strange. I think he’s a genius. Anytime something around here breaks, he tells me how to fix it; and I know he’s supposed to be some kind expert dancer.” He stopped and appeared troubled. “But sometimes I think he’s not operating with a full deck either. I can’t figure it out. I didn’t tell anyone around here about him because I thought after a while he’d move on. Now I don’t know what to do. I’ve been here thirty years and have two girls in college. I can’t afford to lose my job, so I keep my mouth shut.”
“I wish he would let us help him,” I said. Then feeling a heaviness in my chest, I rose to my feet. “Thanks for coming and telling me. Please let him know if there’s anything I can do to help, all he has to do is ask.”
Mr. Sims nodded and stood, and as I made to leave, he placed a hand on my arm to stop me. “I think you should be careful with him, Christine. Be very careful.”
Chapter Forty Five
It was impossible to fall asleep that night. Racked with guilt, I worried it was Erik’s dancing with me that had made him sick. If his lungs were weak, he shouldn’t have done it. The lifts alone required an enormous amount of energy. On top of that, he wouldn’t allow anyone to help him.
Finally, I slept, but it was fitful. Then the next morning, Mom’s cursing from somewhere in the apartment roused me. I slipped out of bed to see what was happening and was surprised to see her dressed in work clothes and bustling around the living room, cramming papers into her brief case.
“What’s up?” I yawned.
“I have to go into the office this morning. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home.”
“M-kay,” I said and shuffled toward the kitchen.
The doorbell rang. Who could that be?
I heard Mom in the foyer. “Let me grab my bag.”
“No problem,” a man replied. Then he said, “Listen, I thought we’d have lunch after we’re done.” Recognition rolled over me. I knew the voice.
I whirled about and rushed into the foyer and discovered Cooper Nance standing in the open doorway. Dressed like he'd just come from a what-every-young-stylish-metropolitan-man should wear fashion show, he smiled like his presence was an everyday occurrence.
“Hi, Chris.”
“Christine,” I corrected. “Mom, what’s he doing here?”
“I told you I have to work today.”
“But why is he here?”
“We’re carpooling,” he said.
I gave him a dirty look.
Then he suggested, “Why don’t I wait downstairs?”
When he’d left, I prodded Mom. “What the hell!”
“I’m going to work. If Cooper wants to take me to lunch afterward, I don’t see anything wrong with having a nice lunch with a handsome, young man.”
“But—Mom.”
“Dammit, Christine. It’s only lunch. Now I’ll see you later.” Then she grabbed her purse and briefcase and went out the door.
I ground my teeth together. What was she thinking? He was probably ten years younger than her. It would have been more plausible for me to date him.
Having lost my appetite, I skipped breakfast and sat in front of the TV. Mindlessly watching some cooking channel, I heard the video chat notification from the laptop in my bedroom. I ignored it. It was time for my regular chat with Dad, but I didn’t want to talk to him. When my phone rang, I walked to my room to get it. If it was him, I wasn’t going to answer it. Happily, it was Raoul.
“Hey,” I said and sat on the side of my bed thinking the day just improved.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Nothing—vegging in front of the TV.”
“I’m downstairs at Dad’s. Can I come up?”
The request propelled me to my feet. I hadn’t even brushed my hair.
“Umm, yeah. Can you give me ‘bout half an hour?”
“Sure. See you in thirty.”
I tossed my phone on the bed, hurried to my closet, and found the best thing I had clean. Then I ran to the bathroom, and in less than thirty minutes my mouth wa
s minty, my hair brushed, and I had on my sexiest jeans and tee. By the time he rang the doorbell, I was already in the foyer waiting. Counting to five and taking a deep breath, I opened the door.
“Hey,” he said as he stepped across the threshold and leaned down to kiss me.
The familiar warm, fuzzy feeling came over me and before he could pull away, I wrapped my arms around his neck and let myself enjoy the kiss. When he drew away he looked surprised by my enthusiasm. I smiled at him and said, “Hey.” Then I closed the door and took him by the hand, leading him through the apartment.
“Is your mom home?”
“Nope.”
“So where are you taking me?”
“My bedroom.”
Chapter Forty Six
“Whoa,” Raoul yelped. “Your bedroom? You trying to get me killed?”
“Relax.” I laughed. “Mom went to work this morning. She won’t be home for hours.”
I had no idea what I was doing. The things coming out of my mouth sounded mature and cool, but I was terrified. Still, Mom and Dad were moving on. Why shouldn’t I?
Raoul sat on the edge of the bed while I picked up the remote to my iPod station and turned on some music.
“Is there something you want to listen to?” I asked.
“That’s good,” he said as he glanced around my room.
I looked about as he did and became a little embarrassed by the sheer girliness of it. Leotards and ruffled tutus hung on the closet door. My dance bag lay on the floor, pointe shoes and tights spilling out of it, not to mention my first pair of slippers Mom had bronzed sitting on the dresser.
“Wow,” he observed, “You really are serious about this ballet stuff, aren’t you?”
“Kinda weird, huh?” I moaned.
“No, not at all. I think it’s cool you know what you want to do with your life. How do you do it though,” he asked, bending down to pick up a pointe shoe. “It’s gotta be hard on your toes.”
I smiled and stepped closer to take the shoe from him. “No harder than getting plowed by those bulldozers you call football players.”
“Touché,” he said, reaching out to take my hand.
I dropped the shoe and let him pull me down beside him. With feathery fingertips, he pushed my hair off my shoulder and leaned in to kiss my neck. It tingled to my toes and I snickered.
“Can’t say that I’ve ever made a girl laugh when I kissed her.”
“No, it was nice. It’s just that it tickled.”
“Mmm,” he sighed and did it again. Slowly and deliberately, his lips made a trail up my neck to under my ear, giving me a shudder.
Somewhere in my mind a voice warned, you’re alone with a boy on a bed; what are you thinking! Then I thought Dad was in Norway doing who knows what, while Mom was out getting herself a boy-toy, so I’m doing exactly what I want.
When Raoul lifted his head, I tilted mine so my lips met his, and before I knew it, we’d fallen back on the bed, wrapped together so tightly a shaft of light couldn’t have come between us. I had no idea how long we made out, but at some point Raoul sat up abruptly.
“Whoa,” he exhaled. “If we don’t stop now…”
I sat up. “What? Why are we stopping?”
“I can’t…we can’t…” he stammered breathlessly.
All of a sudden, I wanted to cry. Was he rejecting me? What had I done wrong?
He must have seen my concern because he sputtered quickly, “It’s not you.” He took my hand and kissed it. “Believe me, I want to. Man, do I want to.” He motioned to where we’d left an indention in my bed. “It’s, well, I can’t. Not here—in your bed—in your mother’s house.”
I smiled. He was being chivalrous. With more temptress in me than I knew I had, I raked my hand across his bangs, making them lay properly. “So, no kissing,” I teased, planting one on his eyelid. “If you say so.” Another to the cheek. “Absolutely no kissing.” One more at the corner of his mouth.
“Okay,” he growled, “maybe some kissing.” And being the gallant football hero he is, that was all we did.
Chapter Forty Seven
Mom came home to find Raoul and me in the theater room watching a movie. Caught off guard, she didn’t know how to respond when she saw the two of us sharing a chair.
“Christine, I didn’t know you were having company.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dadey.” Raoul jumped to his feet, flopping me onto the chair arm as he did. “I was downstairs at my father’s and I called to see if I could hang out for a while. I hope it was okay.”
“I suppose it’s alright. But in the future, I’d prefer to be home when you visit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Raoul said.
“I’m going to order pizza for dinner. Will you be staying?”
Raoul looked at me. I nodded, and he said, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
When she walked out and Raoul was sure she was gone, he fell into a chair—his own, and I started to laugh. “You don’t have to be afraid of her.”
“You just stay in your chair,” he said.
Since he was spending the weekend at his father’s, Raoul didn’t have to leave until midnight. Mom hovered a lot. I showed him my schoolwork and explained how I do most of it online, Mom hovered some more, and we watched television. Having him around was nice. The I-could-get-used-to-this kind of nice.
He was back the next morning with a box of donuts, and he stayed around while I worked on math. When he left that afternoon, I found Mom waiting for me on the sofa.
“We need to talk.” She pointed for me to sit next to her. “I’m not sure if Raoul being around here so much of the time is a good idea.”
“So much of the time!” I sputtered. “He was here yesterday and a couple of hours this morning.”
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“Let me get this straight. I can’t date a perfectly nice boy, have him over occasionally, but you can go to lunch with Cooper Nance.”
“I told you I was working yesterday,” she countered.
“Riiight, with your carpool buddy.”
She took a deep breath before continuing, “You have a lot going on right now. Do you really think you have time for a boy in your life?”
“I think I’d have all the time in the world if I quit ballet.”
This sucked the air out of her speech.
“What?”
“I’m thinking of quitting ballet.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I’ve considered it. Especially since Mrs. Hahn’s been on my case.”
“That’s your nerves talking. You always get jittery when it gets close to audition time. But this is what you’ve wanted. You’re so close to attaining what you’ve worked for. Why would you give up now?”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“Don’t give me that crap. Of course, I want you to succeed, but you’ve been given plenty of opportunities to quit along the way. Why now? Why all of a sudden? Is it Raoul?”
“No,” I protested. “It’s, well, I want something in my life that feels normal. Other kids go to school, attend football games, hang out.”
“And haven’t you been doing those things?”
“But…” words caught in my throat. I wanted to share my fears, talk about the panic attacks, and even confess to pinching the Xanax. I couldn’t muster the courage, though.
“What if I don’t make it? What if Mrs. Hahn lets me audition and I don’t make it again?” I started to cry. “What if I’m simply not good enough?”
“Oh, baby,” Mom murmured and pulled me close. “I have absolutely no doubt you can dance every girl in that school under the table, and if you want in the second company, you’ll get in. But you have to want it.”
I wondered if she was right, and I wondered if I even really wanted it anymore.
Chapter Forty Eight
That night, I texted Erick and asked how he felt. He didn’t respond and it worried me. Concerned for him, I con
templated going to the theater, to the boiler room, but it would have been intrusive. Erik had made it clear when he sent Mr. Sims that he didn’t want any intervention, and I needed to respect his wishes.
Monday morning at school, a crowd of students milled around outside the building’s entrance. As I approached, I sensed something was wrong. A few of the young level fives seemed to be crying.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You haven’t heard?” a young girl responded.
“Heard what?”
“Van broke his leg last night.”
I gasped. “No way! What happened?”
“Nobody knows,” the girl said. “He was here after the recital. They say he fell off the catwalk.”
“Omigod!” I exclaimed. “We told him to stay away from there.”
I ran into the building in search of Jenna and found her in the dressing room standing near a vanity table, her head sagging low.
“Is it true? Did Van break his leg?”
She dropped into a chair with a loud sigh. Eyes moist, she swallowed hard. “Yeah, it’s true.”
“Oh, no.” I lowered myself into a chair next to her. “What happened?”
“He was on the catwalk. The stupid little fart was probably up there planting his phantom evidence. We should have gone to Ms. Zaborov about that when we first learned of it. But I swear, Chris, I never really thought he’d keep it up, you know? I thought he’d lose interest and move on.”
“He’s a boy,” I said. “Boys do stupid things. Especially boys like Van who believe they’re invincible.”
“I know, but what if he can’t dance anymore?”
Ms. Zaborov popped in the doorway. “Everyone to studio A—right now,” she said then moved on.
Grabbing a handful of tissue, I passed them to Jenna. “Let’s go see what’s up.”
I figured since they were gathering us into studio A it had to be about Van because that was the only studio large enough to hold everyone. The school’s assistant director Mrs. Crane was already there waiting. Once she’d comforted a couple of crying level fives, she explained to everybody she’d been in contact with Van’s mother, and Mrs. Woodruff had assured her Van would be fine. He’d broken his leg, but it was a clean break, and when healed wouldn’t affect his dancing. Heartfelt cheers and expressions of relief resonated around the room, and when everyone had settled down again, Mrs. Crane released us to our classes. But before the first person could step out of the studio, Mrs. Hahn stormed in.
“I’d like them to remain, Mrs. Crane,” she said sternly.