Part 22 (1/2)

Just Like That Everything was great between us again. She has this way of making me forgive her instantly for any indiscretion, tiny or unimaginably gigantic. Good thing loving someone doesn't require caring about their parents. Jenna's mom just kind of ignores the fact that I'm still dating her daughter. She's so hung up on Kendra and building her career that she barely notices Jenna anyway.

Her father, I'm sure, hasn't even come close to accepting us. Not that it matters.

Jenna does as she pleases.

I definitely do not desire a confrontation, however. In fact, I want to steer way beyond clear of Rudolph Mathieson. I kind of like being alive.

I Especially Like Being alive when I'm dancing. It's like the best part of me cha.s.ses out of the shadows, into the spotlight.

I usually have lessons on Sat.u.r.day morning.

But Liana is taking tomorrow off to drive to San Francisco so she can spend Easter with her family.

So I am ball-changing and pivot-stepping this afternoon instead.

Liana is working me hard. Posture!

Keep your shoulders back. That's it! Beautiful, Andre.

Okay, let's practice some isolations now.

Left rib cage. Right rib cage. Cooling me down after a couple of very hard routines. She is evil. Good evil.

When we finish, every muscle, tendon, and joint in my body sings.

I grab a towel, dry a little sweat, exit the studio. Outside the door, in the waiting room, is that cheerleader on the Galena team. The one who stalked off at the compet.i.tion that day. What was her name? Shan... tell.

Yeah, that's it. Head bent toward her lap, where she is busily texting someone, she doesn't notice me at first. I think about backing away, so she won't know about what I do on my free afternoons.

G.o.d, what if she tells everyone? Yeah, Andre, right. Like who? And there's nowhere to back away to, anyway.

So I Take The Direct Approach ”h.e.l.lo, Shantell.” Her head rolls up from her texting.

It takes a few seconds for recognition.

Then her eyes go wide with surprise, and her jaw drops practically to her neck. You... dance?

”What? Did the leotard give it away?”

I smile. ”Yes, in fact, I do dance. You train with Liana too, I guess?”

Since I was little. But I've never seen you here before.

Her voice is acid. Sharp. Caustic.

”I take private lessons. On Sat.u.r.days, usually.” At the word ”private,” she starts to nod. ”What?”

Nothing. It just figures that you'd take private lessons. She looks away as some other girls arrive for their group lesson. ”You don't like me very much, that's obvious. What I don't get is why not.”

She turns to face me. Points toward the mountain. I don't live up there. She means in a mansion on the hill. And that p.i.s.ses me off.

”Do you want me to apologize because my parents worked their a.s.ses off to become successful?

You could live up there if you want. All it takes is determination.”

Baby, I've got plenty of that. Talent, too. I'll get there on talent. Because I do not have connections.

I'm Not Sure If That Means She likes me after all. Or if it means she has forgiven me for living up there. Or if it means one d.a.m.n thing, or why I even care. ”So are we friends now?” I smile my warmest smile, expect her to melt.

She snorts. Yeah, right. Even if I thought I could maybe like you, I wouldn't because you have c.r.a.ppy taste in girlfriends. I mean, Kendra's cool and all, but her sister is just a regular bee-otch. What you see in her...

She would doubtless say more, but Liana pokes her head through the door and calls the girls to cla.s.s.

I don't need to explain my love for Jenna.

So I say, ”Whatever you think about Jenna-or me-I like you, Shantell.”

As I Say It I realize I really do like her, despite her open contempt for me.

Not that it matters. ”Have a great weekend.”

Yeah. You too. She tosses her head, haughty and pretty as some extravagant bird of prey.

And I watch her walk away, all rich cocoa skin and sleek raven hair and a dancer's well-muscled body.

She is no Jenna, but she does have something special going on. Wait. Jenna. I forgot to call and let her know I'd be late. Bet she's mad.

I locate my cell, check for messages. Uh-huh. d.a.m.n. Three of them.

Where are you? At least it's a whine, not a roar. And why aren't you picking up? Are you okay?

That's it. Play the guilt card. She's great at that. But I should have called. So I do now. ”Hey. Sorry I didn't call sooner....” She goes off on me about how worried she's been. ”I'm really sorry, sweetheart. I... uh...” What do I tell her? The truth? No way.

”...got hung up, filling out college applications with my dad. He's been pus.h.i.+ng me to do them for weeks now.

Let me get cleaned up and I'll be right there.”

Don't think she'd want me sweaty.

Then again, maybe she'd like it. I get in my car and drive home, wondering why I don't feel like I can share my private dreams with the girl I'm so in love with.

Cara

Private Dreams Snare you. Swallow you.

Make you feel like you're all alone, like you don't want to sleep and fall into them. What good are dreams if you can't share them? How sad to think there are people who must move forward into some hollow future, empty of hope. Destined to travel an avenue potholed with broken promises.