24. Amelia
Chapter 24
Amelia
I t's my first day at the Chicago Royal Ballet, and they've decided to start inductions on a Thursday because apparently, someone here hates order and common sense.
Who does that?
I'm such a Monday person—it's the start of the week, the clean slate, thelet's-get-our-shit-together day.
Today's basically a fancy guided tour masquerading as an induction. They've thrown the new recruits from both the dance company and the orchestra together, which means twice the awkward small talk.
After a couple of hours of being shuffled from one place to the next, I already wish I'd brought a second cup of coffee.
The tour started in the studios, a space so pristine it felt almost sacred. The polished floors gleamed under the overhead lights, while mirrors stretched across every wall, reflecting the nervous energy bouncing around the group. Further in, the rows of plush, red velvet seats cascaded down to the massive stage, where curtains draped thick and heavy. It's breathtaking in a way that makes your chest tighten—a little fear, a hell of a lot of excitement, and perhaps the slightest hint of imposter syndrome creeping in. But standing there, staring at that stage, it hit me that this is it. This is the place where everything I've been working toward will play out.
Harper, Logan, and I had set up a meeting spot since they've got an hour off, and I'm in no rush to head home. When I finally spot them, they're already standing, arms flailing wildly like a pair of drunk puppets, yelling my name at full volume as if I've gone missing.
"You two are embarrassing, you know that?" I say, but I'm fighting a smile because these idiots have somehow wormed their way into my heart.
"You realize I'm never going to greet you any other way now, right?"
I roll my eyes at her, but the truth is, I don't hate it. Not even close. I didn't expect to make real friends here but Harper and Logan have gone out of their way to make me feel like I belong.
"How's it going, anyway?" Harper asks.
"Even after being shown around, I still have no idea where anything is. But I'll get the hang of it."
"You got a timetable?" Logan asks, holding out his hand expectantly. I dig it out of my bag and pass it over. He studies it for a moment, nodding in approval.
"This is good for an apprentice," he says, handing it back with a nod. "Better than what Harper got when she started, anyway."
"Meanwhile, Mr. Perfect over here basically got handed the keys to the kingdom." Harper digs an elbow into his ribs, but there's nothing but love in it.
"That's because the woman who hired me wanted to see me in tights more often."
"So you both started as apprentices?"
"Everyone who walks through those doors does. It's like a rite of passage—you've got to pay your dues, stick it out, and prove your worth before they move you up. Apprentice with minor parts to full-time, touring, and eventually lead-role opportunities. They don't just hand those out."
"That makes sense," I reply, even though it sounds a little daunting.
"We were both lucky to make the cut for the next national tour though," Logan says with a hint of pride.
"Holy shit," I say, my eyes widening. "That's amazing."
"Six months on the road, starting in Denver." He says it like he's not casually dropping a bomb on my newfound sense of belonging.
"Okay, what am I supposed to do without you two?"
"Why don't you see if you can get on the tour?" Harper asks like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"I haven't even started, but, sure, I'll get right on that." The sarcasm slips out of me before I can stop it.
"I'm serious. They do apprentice auditions in the fall—understudies, crew work, ensemble roles. It's competitive, but it's not impossible."
"Wait, really?" I ask, the sarcasm dropping out of my voice.
"Yeah," Logan confirms. "They only picked two last year though. And it wasn't either of us."
"You both tried out?"
Harper nods, her eyes going soft with the memory. "I really wanted it. They did Swan Lake last year, and I was crushed when I didn't make it."
"What's the production this year?"
" Romeo and Juliet. "
The show that made me fall in love with ballet in the first place.
The one I've watched so many times I could probably dance it in my sleep.
The production that lives in my bones like muscle memory.
"I'll audition when the time comes," I say with conviction because if there's one thing I'm not going to half-ass, it's this. "I need to let them know I'll be away for a few days next week, so hopefully, I don't miss anything important about it."
"Where are you going?" Logan asks, his words muffled as he crams the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.
"Pennsylvania," I reply, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "It's our parents' anniversary. They throw a party every year to celebrate the miracle of not killing each other."
"Wow," Harper says softly, her tone shifting, like she knows what it's like to have family dynamics that are anything but Hallmark-perfect. "That bad, huh?"
"Tobias's dad is a bit of an asshole, so it's amazing that my mom stuck it out this long."
Although, if I'm being honest, I think her lifestyle keeps her distracted. Fancy parties, perfectly practiced smiles, the whole "keeping up appearances" thing—it's probably enough to stop her from looking too closely at how much of a piece of shit her husband is, especially when it comes to his own son.
"Were you another child of divorce? I'm one of those, but my parents were the worst together. I like them both a lot more now that they're apart."
I answer in the way I'm used to, the way that rolls off my tongue like I've said it a hundred times before. "My parents divorced when I was young, but my dad died a few years ago."
"Oh shit," Harper blurts out, her face instantly crumpling with regret. She nudges Logan sharply. "Did you know that? A little warning would've been helpful before I opened my big mouth."
I can't help but laugh. "He didn't know either. And really, it's okay. I dealt with that grief a long time ago."
Harper still looks unsure, like she's waiting for the emotional breakdown I'm clearly not having, but Logan reaches out, rubbing my shoulder in a way that's more comforting than I expected. "Well, if it isn't fine at any time, you know where we are."
Yeah, I'm going to be friends with these two forever.
Grief doesn't wear the same face for everyone. But one thing I know with absolute certainty is that my dad loved me. He'd want me to live fully, to find happiness, and to chase after everything that makes my heart race and my soul come alive.
That's why, every day, I get up and try to be the best version of myself, not just for me but for both of us. That's how I keep moving forward. It's how I carry him with me, even in a world that feels a little emptier without him.
"So are you and Tobias going together?" Harper asks, breaking me out of the moment.
"I'm assuming he'll be flying, but I'll be driving."
"You're gonna drive? All the way to Pennsylvania?"
"Yeah. I don't fly," I answer, shrugging at Logan like it's no big deal.
But it is. It's a huge deal.
After my dad's accident, flying became more than just a fear—it became this living, breathing thing inside me. His accident wasn't just a tragedy—it was a before-and-after moment. The kind that splits your life in two and changes the way you see the world. Planes didn't just become unsafe—they became unthinkable. Even the idea of boarding one makes my stomach twist in knots.
"Besides, I like driving. Road trip for one. Snacks, all the music I want—it's like a little adventure."
"Screw that, I'd be getting a flight. I hate driving. Too many assholes on the road." She's not wrong, but I'm not one of them, so that's got to boost my odds of getting there safely.
"How long does it take to get there?"
"It took my mom's driver about ten hours to get me here when I moved—give or take a couple of breaks." I watch Harper's eyebrows shoot up, climbing so high they're practically part of her hairline.
"You guys have drivers?"
I wince, feeling the awkwardness creep in. "Uh, yeah," I admit reluctantly. "But listen, as far as I'm concerned, I never told you that."
"Did you have a pony called Princess when you were a kid?" Logan teases, his grin widening, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I flip him off with the grace of a prima ballerina. "No ponies, asshole."
"All rich kids have ponies," Harper jumps in, barely containing her laughter.
"I grew up like a normal person. No animals, no trust funds, just a kid who wanted to dance and probably ate way too many boxed mac and cheese dinners."
"You and Tobias don't seem like the usual rich assholes we meet," Harper adds.
"We've benefited in ways many people haven't, and I don't take that lightly. But I'll never be the kind of person who flaunts it or makes others feel less important because of what they don't have. That's not me. It's not Tobias either."
"Yeah," Harper says with a genuine smile that lights up her whole face, bright-green eyes sparkling. "We definitely made friends with the right person."
Tobias wasn't home when I got back, but that's not unusual. He usually works until about six.
However, by the time the clock hits nine-thirty, my mind starts doing that fun thing where it begins to wander.
Is he working late? Is he on a date? Is he dead in a ditch somewhere?
Okay, that last one's pretty dramatic, but my brain still drifts there.
This is Tobias we're talking about. Of course he's on a date.
And I shouldn't care. I don't care.
I can practically smell the bullshit in every word I try to sell myself.
Girls have always surrounded Tobias. They came and went, never staying long enough for their names to stick, each one effortlessly beautiful—just like him. But he was always unattainable. Nobody ever kept him for long, and I can't say I hated it.
Back then, Tobias's skin was still free of ink, and his piercings hadn't yet made an appearance, but he didn't need those details to stand out.
With eyes the color of a winter morning and lipsI once thought would taste like sunshine and summer afternoons.
But I'm almost certain I was wrong.
Those lips wouldn't just kiss; they'd consume and unravel me until there was nothing left.
He was always my secret, hidden in the corners of my mind where no one could find him. The one I let myself think about in the quiet moments when no one else was around to see. But now, it’s not just that he’s my secret—it feels like, somehow, I’ve become his too.
Tobias has always looked at me as if I mattered—not just someone in the background, but someone who belonged with him in whatever capacity we existed back then.
The funny thing is, he didn't even look at the girls he dated the way he looked at me. What we had went beyond superficial attraction. We got each other in a way I've never had with anyone else. He saw the parts of me I didn't show anyone else, and I saw the pieces of him he kept hidden beneath the charm and confidence.
A part of me envied the girls who got to be close to him, even if it was only for a little while. But I pushed it down. I ignored it. Because what we had felt more important, more real, and I couldn't let anything—least of all a silly little crush—get in the way. But sitting here now, watching the clock tick toward ten, I try not to imagine whose bed he might be in.
After grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen, I hear the front door open. I should just go to bed. I should let it go, pretend I didn't hear anything, and see him tomorrow.
But of course, I don't.
Instead, I stride out into the entryway in my cloud-printed shorts and matching crop tee, looking like Andy's wallpaper from Toy Story.
When I step into the living room, Tobias looks up, surprise flashing across his face. "Hey," he says, his tone easy, but there's something there—something subtle and unreadable. It's not quite nervousness, but more like he's unsure of how to gauge me.
"You okay? You're back late."
"You waiting up for me, Firefly?"
"No," I shoot back, rolling my eyes like his nickname for me doesn't make my chest tighten every damn time. "I was just about to go to bed, but you have no idea how to be quiet when you open a door."
"Says the drunk who flew through the house not that long ago, knocking shit over."
I let out a laugh, one that comes too easily, but it freezes in my throat the moment I hear the sound of a toilet flushing and taps running in the bathroom.
The room goes still, my laughter shattering into silence as the noise echoes through the apartment.
The sharp stab of jealousy hits me before I can even fully register it, sinking deep and dragging the air from my lungs.
"Someone here?" I ask, my voice tighter than I mean for it to be.
I don't look away. I don't blink. I'm hoping it's just Harry or one of the others and that this isn't what I think it is.
But Tobias's eyes stay on mine, and something in his expression confirms it before he even says a word. A split second of pure, unfiltered guilt. It's all there, but the warning comes too late as the bathroom door opens and soft footsteps approach us.
And then I see her.
She's stunning, of course—blonde with sun-kissed skin and legs for days and not a single hint of awkwardness about being here.
My throat tightens, and all I can feel is this hot, searing mix of rage and humiliation bubbling up inside me. My stomach twists, my heart pounds, and every logical thought is replaced by one singular, irrational truth—I hate her. I hate her for being here and for reminding me in the cruelest way that Tobias isn't mine and never has been.
But more than that, I hate him for letting this happen and for making me feel like a complete idiot, like some stupid little girl who misread all the signs.
"Hey," she says, her voice light and polite, the kind of tone that instantly grates on my nerves, turning me into a catty bitch.
"Hi," I say, the word barely escaping my clenched teeth.
It's irrational, and I have no right to be mad.
I don't want to be mad.
I don't want to care.
"This is Chloe," Tobias says, his voice calm, but there's a slight shake I don't miss. "Chloe, this is Amelia. She's my…" He pauses, the word hanging in the air as he glances at me.
Say it . I hold his gaze, daring him. Call me your sister. Reduce me to that.
"Roommate," he finally says, and the word lands with the weight of a slap.
My chest tightens, my pulse thrumming so loudly I can barely hear Chloe's polite, "Nice to meet you."
"You too," I manage.
I see the quick once-over she gives me. She doesn't know what I really am to him—hell, I don't even know anymore—but I can feel her sizing me up, and I hate it.
I stand there, feeling like a jealous, petty prick in my ridiculous pajamas that scream child and not woman , staring at her in her cute outfit and perfect hair.
"Well, I'm going to bed," I announce, not waiting for a response.
I don't look back. I just turn and head toward my room as my vision starts to blur with angry tears I can't even begin to explain.
Why do I care this much?
Why did I ever expect anything different from him?
Why did I expect anything from him at all?
As I shut the door behind me, my chest heaves, the emotion spilling over as I grip the edge of my desk to steady myself. I've seen Tobias with women before, but this feels different, and I hate it.
I crawl into bed, turn off the light, and pull the blanket over my head like it can block out the world. The thought of hearing them—of hearing her laughter or his voice or, God forbid, something worse—feels unbearable.