Chapter Fifty Two
I didn’t text or try to see Erik the rest of the week. I was still too hurt. How could he say I played at ballet? I worked as hard as anyone in the school did. And I’d gone there to warn him, to help him, and he’d taken it wrong. Granted, I’d put my foot in my mouth, but he didn’t even give me the opportunity to explain.
During the week, though, my anger cooled and I started to rethink everything. If I were in his shoes, having lost my mother, my looks, and my career to a horrible fire, I would be sensitive about it, too. And aside from Mr. Sims, I was the only person in his life. He had no one, and I had gone and pointed out how pitiable he was.
Then on Thursday night, I dreamed about him. He was somewhere in the theater, calling my name, but I couldn’t get to him. And by Friday morning, I regretted the whole matter and wished there was a way I could undo it.
At lunch that day, I picked at my food and Jenna asked, “What’s up with you? You seem down.”
Chewing a bite of apple, I shrugged.
“What gives? You’ve moped around all week. Raoul asked me if something was wrong after class yesterday.”
“He did?”
I didn’t want to push Raoul away. Maybe if I confided in Jenna, I could shake off some of the unease. But would she suspect Erik of pushing Van down the stairs?
“Hey—you remember the tutor I told you about?”
“Um, yeah, Aaron?”
“Erik.”
“Yeah, right. What about him?”
“Well, I royally pissed him off, and now I’m afraid he might not forgive me and probably won’t work with me anymore.”
“Really? What’d you do?”
“I hurt his feelings.”
“You hurt his feelings?” Jenna scoffed. “How old is this guy? Ten?”
“There are some things about Erik I haven’t told you.” I picked a seed from my apple and rolled it between my fingers to give myself time to think about how to proceed. “The reason Erik doesn’t have a studio, or even go out in public, is because he’s terribly disfigured. His face is scarred and he’s self-conscious about it.”
“Whoa, seriously?”
“He’s sensitive about it and keeps to himself.” I glanced around the lunchroom before continuing. “Then last week we argued, and we both said some things that were hurtful.”
“So have you tried apologizing to him?”
“No.”
“Look, why don’t you lay low for a while. Then go back, grovel, stroke his artistic ego, and get back to work.”
She made it sound simple. Maybe she was right. Erik was a dancer; he could be as temperamental as any other artist. I would give it time, go back and apologize, and perhaps we could resume lessons.
I finished my apple and tossed the core onto my tray. The hum of students around me felt oppressive. I didn’t want to be here today. The school was suffocating me. I wanted to get out, go somewhere, and do something.
“Hey,” I said, “how do you feel about ditching the rest of the day?”
“What?” Jenna’s eyes widened.
“It’s Friday and I’m sick of this place. How do you feel about ditching?”
“Damn, girl.” She popped her head back in surprise. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You brought your mom’s car to school today, right?”
“Yeaaaah?”
“So what if all of a sudden, I caught a stomach virus?”
“I hear ya,” she said and smiled.
“You know how Mrs. Z. loathes germs. If I were in the bathroom throwing up—” I fingered air quotes around throwing up, “—and you had to take me home, she’d never investigate for fear of catching it.”
“You sly little devil,” she muttered.
“So you’re in?”
“Hell yeah!”
We stood at the same time.
“Wait,” I said. Then I picked up my half-eaten container of yogurt, stirred in a little green bean juice from Jenna’s plate, and said, “I’ll dump it in the toilet just in case.”
“Christine Dadey, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it.”
We executed my plan flawlessly. And when we’d climbed into her car and prepared to leave, Jenna asked, “So where are we going?”
“Ever heard of Urban Honesty?”
“No. What’s that?”
“They’re a dance crew at a studio called Street Feet in the Montrose area, and I want to check out their studio.”
“Cool,” Jenna said. “We’ll pop the address in the GPS and follow the yellow brick road.”
Chapter Fifty Three
We stopped by the apartment to change clothes before heading to the Street Feet Studios.
“Crap, you’re skinny,” Jenna complained as she tried to squeeze into a pair of my jeans.
“Here, try these. They’re big on me.” I tossed her another pair from my closet.
“So where did you meet these people?” Jenna asked, zipping up the jeans.
“I saw them performing in an alley once. Then the night Raoul and I went out, they were at Discovery Green for a festival.”
“And we’re going to see them because…?”
“I don’t know. I thought they were cool, and Magdalena invited me to visit some time. And now’s the time.”
I told her more about the troupe as we traveled across town. Jenna had no trouble finding the studio, but I had second thoughts as we walked to the entryway. How I’d felt that night I’d danced with Dionte came back to me—that hesitation brought on by self-consciousness. How could I feel intimidated by, yet drawn to, these people?
Inside the studio office, a girl with pink spiky hair, a nose ring, and heavy black eyeliner looked up from a desk when we entered.
“Can I help you?” Her smile was wide and sincere.
“We’re looking for Magdalena,” I said.
“Christine?” I looked beyond the receptionist to see a smiling Magdalena emerging from an office door. “I thought that was you.” She moved from behind the desk to give me a hug that smelled like sunshine and citrus.
“Hi,” I said then found I didn’t know what to say next, so I turned to Jenna. “This is my classmate, Jenna.”
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” Magdalena shook her hand. “So what are you doing on this side of town?”
“Nothing. We ditched class and were hanging out, so I thought we’d come see your studio.”
“Great. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Magdalena led us down a wide hall deeper into the building, an old cinder block structure they’d converted into a dance studio. Colorful murals of dancers lined the walls, and music reverberated from everywhere. I looked at Jenna and she mouthed an excited sweet at me.
We passed by a couple of rooms filled with small children in the middle of lessons, some taking tap and others actually dancing flamenco. They were adorable and it took me back to my first dance lessons as a child.
“There’s always something going on around here,” Magdalena commented. “At the moment, we’re preparing a program to take into public schools. Dionte’s working on it now. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
Magdalena guided us away from the children’s classes through the building and into a studio filled with the people I now knew to be Urban Honesty. There was no music playing at the time because Dionte was standing before the group, giving instruction and demonstrating steps.
When he whirled around and saw us, he called across the room, “Hey, it’s the ballerina! You’re just in time.” Then he motioned with his hand. “Get in here, girl; we’ll turn you into a real dancer.”
I froze, feeling plain and ordinary among these wildly talented dancers. It was one thing to dance with them at a festival, but here, on their territory, was something altogether different. I looked at Jenna.
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” she said and hurried over to join the group.
Jenna picked up Dionte’s direction naturally. In no time
, she could pop, lock, and drop it as well as they could. Shaking her booty like Jell-O, a person would have thought Jenna a charter member of the group. It made me jealous. I marveled at how she could relax in whatever scenario she found herself. I wished I felt that comfortable in my own skin.
Magdalena sidled up closer to speak over the music. “Whatcha really doin’ here, love? You’re a little out of your element, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “I don’t really know. Lately I…Well, you all seem so confident. I’m amazed by it. You don’t even think about it when you dance.”
“Oh, trust me, we think about it,” Magdalena said. “It’s hard work. But you know that.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like it’s hard for you.”
“Listen, momma, I know what you’re thinking, and this ain’t for you.” I glanced at her. I wasn’t sure if she was making fun of me.
“To find what you’re looking for you’ve got to get out of here—” she tapped her index finger to the side of my head, “—and get in here.” And then she touched it to my chest above my heart.
I smiled at her. She did get it. Even if I didn’t.
Chapter Fifty Four
We got back to the apartment shortly before five. I’d sent Mom a text earlier, telling her the same story we’d told Ms. Zaborov, so I had to be home sick when she got there. Jenna stuck around for a while, and she couldn’t stop chattering about our visit to Street Feet.
“That place is awesome. Why haven’t you told me about them before?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly keeping it a secret.”
“I wanna go again. When can we go back?”
“Go back? What for?”
“Not sure. I just wanna go again.”
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Raoul. He was on his way to the football stadium, but he was letting me know he would be staying the weekend at his father’s again.
“Aw,” I said and smiled, “it’s awesome to have my boyfriend practically living in the same building with me.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “You two are way too cutesy.”
“You’re just jealous. By the way, what happened between you and Troy? I haven’t heard you say anything about him in a while.”
“I don’t know. It’s not really working out. I guess I’m not as into him as I thought I was.”
It occurred to me that our problems weren’t that different. Jenna was unhappy with her dating situation but couldn’t see how to fix it in the same way I was unhappy with my dancing career.
When Mom came home, Jenna left. I was supposed to be convalescing, so I stayed in my room. But before the night was over, I told her I was feeling better. I had to be well if Raoul was going to visit tomorrow.
The next morning, I dressed and put on make-up, readying to see Raoul. My chat alert went off as I styled my hair, but I ignored it. Dad and I hadn’t chatted since the day he’d told me he’d cheated on Mom. And I still didn’t want to talk to him. He’d even sent Mom an email to ask her to intervene, but I refused to talk to him. There was nothing to say anymore.
Mom answered the door when Raoul showed up. She was surprised to see him because I didn’t tell her he was coming. Why put myself through one of her diatribes.
We stayed around the apartment for a while, playing video games and watching TV, and that afternoon, I managed to convince her I was well enough to go to a matinee with him.
The movie was tremendously boring, but I didn’t care. I spent the hour and thirty-nine minutes teasing Raoul, tugging on his hair and kissing him senseless. Best movie ever.
When it was over, he still had time before curfew so he came upstairs with me again. The apartment was dark, and I saw a light on under Mom’s door. She was probably reading. Taking him by the hand, I put my finger to my lips and pulled him behind me like a train car to my bedroom.
“You really are determined to get me killed, aren’t you,” he whispered as I closed the door to my bedroom.
I switched on the bedside lamp. “She’s never said you couldn’t come in here, so until she says you can’t, I’m taking it as a green light.”
“You are bad,” he teased and pulled me into him to plant a delicious kiss on my lips. As I wiggled my fingers into his hair, he groaned and pushed me away. “Wait, I have something for you. I was going to give this to you earlier, but there never seemed to be a good time.”
He pulled a small box from his pocket.
“It’s no big deal,” he said. “I thought of you when I saw it.”
I hesitated and he pushed the box toward me. There was little doubt it was a jewelry box.
“Raoul?”
“Just open it,” he said and blushed.
My fingers shaky, I took the cardboard lid off the small box. Inside was a silver chain. I looked at Raoul. He appeared anxious, expectant.
Lifting the chain from the cotton it lay nestled in, I murmured, “You shouldn’t have.”
“Do you like it?”
I stared at the delicate sterling silver chain with its ballet slippers charm, and my breath caught in my throat. It was so sweet. Too sweet for words. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that over the years I’d received dozens of such pieces. They were go-to gifts for any ballerina. But never had one ever meant so much to me as this one did.
Tossing the box on my bed, I handed the necklace to him. “Here, hold it a minute.”
My fingers trembled as I reached to unfasten Erik’s necklace. His probably cost much, much more, but Raoul’s was the one I wanted to wear. Linking the ends of the locket together again, I opened my jewelry box and dropped it in. If Erik ever spoke to me again, I would return it to him.
Then I swirled around, lifted my hair, and said, “Will you do it?”
When he’d draped the chain around my neck and snapped the clasp in place, he leaned forward and kissed the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I pivoted about to face him, and he took both my hands in his. We stared at each other, until we heard, “Christine, is that you?”
Chapter Fifty Five
Mom wasn’t too freaked out about finding Raoul in my room. After all, we were standing when she waltzed in, but after he left, I got the don’t-know-if-you-should-have-a-boy-in-your-room speech.
She was even less thrilled when he came back the next day, as he had the weekend before, and stayed until he absolutely had to go home. I got the impression she wanted to complain, but kept it to herself.
The following week, I worked doubly hard for Ms. Zaborov. Without Erik, she was my only hope. Time was running out. It was already the middle of October, and only six months remained until the auditions.
Tuesday, right before lunch, I came out of the dressing room to see Van and his mother walking down the hall. He was on crutches, wearing a pair of sweatpants altered to fit over the cast on his right leg. The light blue, fiberglass cast already had signatures and short notes scrawled across it.
Excited, I squealed his name and ran toward them. I knew if I hugged him, I could knock him down, so I did a couple of exaggerated air kisses.
“Easy, princess, I know you missed me, but please, not in front of my mother.”
Mrs. Woodruff pinched her lips together in a sideways smile and shook her head as if to say he was beyond hope.
“Man, I’ve missed you,” I said. “It isn’t the same here without you.”
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jenna cried, coming out of a nearby studio.
“I had to come,” Van said to her. “I knew you couldn’t carry on without me.”
Jenna and I led them to the kitchen so Van could get off his feet. As word got around the school he was there, young dancers began pouring into see him. He was in heaven—everyone made a fuss over him, signing his cast, and telling him how much he’d been missed.
Eventually, the room cleared and only Jenna, Ms. Zaborov, assistant director Mrs. Crane, and I stayed behind. Jenna and I sat at a table where Van had his casted leg propped in a c
hair, while Mrs. Woodruff talked with the two women at another table.
“So, listen,” Van said, towing himself forward to lean in secretively. “You didn’t tell anyone about what happened at the hospital, did you? You know—what I said about the phantom?”
“No, shrimp, we didn’t tell anyone,” Jenna replied.
“Why?” I asked.
Van shrugged. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it. Maybe it was like Momma said, trauma. I could have imagined it. I’m not sure anymore. When I try to remember it now, it’s blurry, and I don’t want everybody around here thinkin’ I’m a wuss.”
“Don’t sweat it, buddy. We got your back,” Jenna said and gave him a playful punch on the arm. “We’re the only ones around here allowed to give you a hard time. Anybody else tries, and Christine and I will be all over ‘em.”
“Thanks, Jenna,” he said sheepishly.
When they’d left, I couldn’t get Van’s confession out of my mind. He’d admitted he’d imagined the leather-face incident. I’d let a frightened, injured little boy come between Erik and me. What kind of friend was I? The only thing Erik had ever asked of me was trust. I couldn’t stand it anymore. That night I would go to the theater to apologize, even if I had to grovel.
Two hours before Mom’s usual week night bedtime, I sent a text and crossed my fingers Erik wouldn’t ignore it. I didn’t bother dressing in my dance clothes, as I was only going to talk to him.
Once there, I called his name repeatedly and walked the stage, weaving in and out of the curtains, and waited. Staying for more than two hours, I even went down and paced the theater aisles. But he never showed. Fleetingly, I considered going to the boiler room. Somehow, it seemed like an invasion of his privacy, though. There was no getting around it. I’d royally screwed up, and I hoped that one day he would forgive me.
Chapter Fifty Six
I tried to push Erik out of my thoughts. He was gone, and I still had the auditions coming up. But first I had to get past Mrs. Hahn. Wednesday after class, I went to her office to talk to her.
“Mrs. Hahn?” I tapped on the doorframe. “May I come in?”
“Yes, Christine.”
Taking off her glasses, she laid them on the desk. “What can I do for you?”