Stella Hoffman’s Dance Academy, Summer After Freshman Year of College
Evie
Evie is the first to arrive at Miss Stella’s. It’s a hot Monday in mid-July, the first week of a monthlong dance camp. She opens the studio with a key that no longer belongs to her, a key she never returned, to warm up before the kids arrive. Sitting alone in an empty studio that was once synonymous with home, she slips on her jazz shoes, then stands and stares at her reflection in the mirrored wall, a focused determination furrowing her brow.
Evie inhales.
Rests her palms on the maple wood barre.
And dares to go on relevé.
Fuck.
She winces, falling out and folding forward to relieve the pain. Evie squeezes her eyes shut. Fifteen months since she fell… and the simplest exercise still hurts.
Is this just her life now?
Will everything she loves always hurt?
Evie used to love dance camp. Attending it as a tiny dancer. Working as a student teacher alongside Theo. When Miss Stella called her mid-infusion and asked if she’d be home for the summer and willing to teach? Her heart fluttered from the potential and she took the job without hesitation.
Evie needed the money.
Wanted a reason to be at the studio.
Assumed Theo would be here, too.
“Evie?” Caro’s voice draws Evie’s eyes up to her mouth, a mouth that is chewing a wad of pink gum, a mouth that has been on Theo’s mouth. “I can lead warm-ups today if you need—”
“No.”
Does Caro deserve the snap in Evie’s voice?
Yes.
Caro pops her gum. “’Kay.”
“I’ve got it.”
Evie once lived for these last four weeks of summer. Now? It’s going to be unbearable teaching with a fucked-up ankle, with no future in dance, with Caro . Not Theo. He took some internship in New York. Subletted an apartment somewhere. Since spring break (or, as Imogen calls it, the Topher Incident), their communication has been extra exclamation points. Excessive apologies for delayed responses. Super off. Neither addressed it. Both kept showing up for Survivor Wednesday, and the texts in between became sparser and sparser, but it was fine. Evie was certain dance camp and Afters and time together in real life would be a reset. She never considered that he wouldn’t come home.
It’s fine.
They’re fine.
“Morning, girls!”
Miss Stella waltzes into the studio carrying coffees for herself and Caro and a chai for Evie. Stella Hoffman is still as gorgeous and graceful as she was when Evie became her student over a decade ago; her only sign of aging is the stripe of gray in her platinum-blond ponytail. Evie was once obsessed with Miss Stella’s hair, her nails, her lipstick. Now? She can acknowledge that her slight fixation on her dance teacher in elementary school was so baby gay.
It quickly faded.
Her crush.
Evie became a dancer and didn’t have time for crushes.
Miss Stella’s eyes shimmer when they meet hers. “It’s good to see you in the studio again.”
Evie beams. “It’s better to be here.”
“I missed it, too,” Caro adds, as if she misses it in the same way.
Caro chose not to dance.
Evie had dance taken from her.
She ignores the comment as she ties her tap shoes, then pops two Tylenol as tiny dancers in tights and tutus filter into the studio in friendship clusters, all between the ages of six and ten. They greet Evie and Caro with enthusiasm, wrapping their arms around their waists. I missed you, Miss Evie! Sophia Rose, one of her former students, exclaims with her cheek pressed against her torso. Evie leads warm-ups while Caro sets up the arts and crafts station, then teaches the first thirty-two counts of choreography to a routine that the dancers will perform for their parents at the end of the summer. Attempts to mask the pain that spikes her heart rate whenever she overextends her bad ankle. Fails to hide the fatigue that builds over the course of the morning session. Dance camp is more babysitting than dance, so she thought she could handle it and is unprepared for the physical toll.
By lunch, she’s ready to nap.
For the rest of the week.
Miss Stella notices.
“Ev.”
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes narrow. “Go home. Caro and I can handle the afternoon session.”
Evie wants to scream.
She is too tired to scream.
Stella adjusts her schedule without fuss. Slashes her hours from full-time to part-time. Morning sessions Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Afternoon sessions Tuesday and Thursday. Doesn’t slash her pay and Evie’s stomach flips, embarrassed because a na?ve part of her believed if she just rehabbed her ankle, if she just managed her Crohn’s symptoms into remission… maybe, maybe she wouldn’t have to let go of this.
Dance.
She wipes her tearstained cheeks in the bathroom after her last session of the week concludes.
Feels so stupid.
Misses Theo so much.
Evie composes herself, then opens the bathroom door and Caro is just there , like a jump scare.
“ Shit , Caro.”
“Sorry, I just—”
Evie pushes past Caro and exits the studio. Caro follows her, two beats behind, then slides into the passenger seat of Phoebe.
“Question.”
No. Evie doesn’t have the energy to deal with Caroline Shapiro-Huang. Every time she looks at Caro, she’s transported back to Theo’s dorm and feels like an idiot because whatever confusing feelings brought her there… weren’t reciprocated. Obviously. Embarrassment still courses through her veins and touches every text, insisting that if she just adds one more ! at the end of a sentence, everything will be fine.
Everything is not fine.
Evie rests her forehead against the top of the steering wheel.
“I’m going to ask this as gently as possible.” Caro lets out her ponytail just to bunch it all into a messy topknot. “What is your problem with me?”
“I don’t… Caro, I don’t have a problem with you.”
Caro snorts, then flips the vanity mirror and applies vanilla lip balm. “Your energy this week is super hostile.”
“It’s—” She cuts herself off before she says not , swallows the defensiveness that’s so Naomi. Besides, hostile is generous. She’s been a bitch. “I’m sorry. It’s not…” Evie’s voice trails off as she gestures at her ankle, at her poor excuse.
“It’s never been serious or, like, romantic.”
Evie blinks. “What?”
“Theo.”
“Okay.”
“He’s too obsessed with you.”
“Caro.”
She laughs. “It’s good! Seriously . I never wanted something serious and he never wanted serious with me.” She gets out of the car. “My sex life is none of your business, but I just wanted you to know that… Theo is no longer the person I call when I need a platonic fuck buddy. He hasn’t been that person, well, since spring break.”
“Caro.”
“I just… I get how it looked.”
“It’s not like that.”
Caro’s expression hardens with Evie’s double down. “Well. You should probably tell him that.”
“Tell him what? It’s not like that for either of us.”
“Evie.” Caro shakes her head and it’s so infuriating, the thought that Caro knows Theo better than she does. The reality that she might. “Theo will waste his entire life waiting for you if you let him.”
“It’s not like that,” Evie repeats, but her voice is softer now, less sure.
“He adds mushrooms to his eggs now.”
“What?”
“Topher’s allergic.”
Caro leaves it at that, slamming the passenger door shut without saying goodbye. Evie puts the car in reverse and gets out of the studio parking lot before she chokes on her tears, on Caro’s words. Theo will waste his entire life waiting for you if you let him. Evie told him to go to New York. Pushed him to stay. I will hate you if you don’t stay . Now she wonders if she only pushed because she knew that he would come back. Or thought. Because she’s his best friend. Because he loves her, too.
Too.
Does he?
Did he?
Does it even matter?
Summers were supposed to still be theirs, but Theo didn’t come home.
Not for dance.
Not for her.
I will hate you if you don’t stay .
Evie pulls into a street spot in front of the bungalow. Puts the car in park and manages to throw the door open just in time to hurl onto the street. Then she presses his name on her phone and it rings and rings and rings, and it’s for the best that it goes to voicemail. What would she even say? I’m obsessed with you, too. I think it was some fucked-up test. Insisting that you should stay. I didn’t want… I fucked up. No. She hangs up. Cuts the line.
Evie pushed Theo away.
Theo stayed away.
Is it not for the best that she pushed before he left?