Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
That my dad is able to attend this time because the Terror doesn’t have a game tonight feels special. My mother has never missed a single performance. As a kid, she would even come to rehearsals when she could. She’s been my biggest supporter, always encouraging me to pursue my dreams. But it’s rare for my dad to make a performance work. I’m excited and nervous to have him here. I always want to make him proud.
I center myself as the current song ends and the other dance class exits to join us in the wings. I squeeze Arya and Charles’s hands before we leave the wings, the rest of the class falls into place around us on the stage.
I steal a glance at the sea of faces filling the theater. No seat is empty. I spot my parents with my brother and sister. Ties and Fenna both look bored, which is understandable since they’ve been dragged to countless performances over the years. The Babes are a few rows back, and my heart stutters and skips a beat as my gaze finds a group of the Terror guys as well. Even Flip is here, looking gorgeous and untouchable. He rejected me, but he still came to support me, which just proves he’s a great friend, and I’m an idiot for having asked him what I did.
The first notes of the song filter through the sound system as the lights come up, forcing me back into the moment. I’ll panic about Flip later.
But for now, I channel all my emotions into our routine as I move across the stage. This is my happy place, where I get to live in the music and tell a story with my body.
Charles steps in behind me, and his hands find my waist. We move as extensions of each other, synchronized and fluid as he lifts me and I float on air. We hold our position while Arya spins around us, and the rest of our troupe follows, a ribbon of graceful bodies twirling across the stage.
I count the beats, every muscle locked tight so Charles can maintain his balance as he spins, and every time we face the audience, my gaze catches briefly on Flip, whose eyes are fixed on me. My feet touch the ground again, and I leap across the stage, spinning as I weave through our troupe until I’m back in the center with Charles, converging for the final lift. He sets me on my feet and dips me backward, and I arc over his arm, the crown of my head nearly touching the stage as the final notes drift through the auditorium.
It always feels like it’s over too soon. We hold the pose for a count of four, chests heaving with exertion. The audience erupts in applause. I’m breathless and high on adrenaline as I join hands with Charles and Arya and the rest of the class, and we step forward to curtsy and bow.
Flip stands and whistles with his fingers. His proud smile makes my silly heart clench. He probably thinks of me like a little sister. Embarrassment hits when I’m in the wings. I can’t enjoy the high of our performance because I’m a giant bag of what-did-I-do? all over again. For the past week, I’ve buried that conversation under practice and coursework. But he’s here tonight and I can’t hide from the sting of his rejection. I don’t know how I’ll recover from the mortification: the look on his face, his disbelief, his definitive no, all play on an endless loop in my head. As if Flip Madden would ever want more from me than friendship.
And yet, he showed up for me. I don’t even know what to do with that.
“The Terror are in the audience!” Charles grabs my shoulders. He has a thing for hockey players. I get it, truly. “What I wouldn’t give to be in the middle of a Madden and Stiles sandwich.”
“Stiles is married,” I remind him. I avoid commenting on Flip, because I don’t trust my voice.
“Yeah, but in my fantasy world he’s not, and they’re both into me.” Charles’s grin is downright lascivious.
Flip’s previous reputation isn’t a secret. For a while his exploits were splashed across the internet. But it’s been years since Flip has lived up to his fuckboy status.
“I would take Quinn Romero home any night of the week,” Arya adds dreamily.
“He does have that strong, silent type vibe,” I agree. Of all the guys, he tends to be the quietest. Also, I’m happy to indulge infatuations that don’t involve Flip.
“And those freckles.” Arya sighs.
This incites an entire whispered conversation about which Terror player everyone would like to take home for a night while we touch up our makeup for the post-performance reception. We’re still in full costume as we traipse out to greet our families and friends. I’m reeling with nerves. Will Flip still be here? Did he leave as soon as the show ended?