Chapter Eighteen
Carly
I don’t know why I’ve been staring at myself in the mirror for the past ten minutes.
I’ve changed my outfit twice already, thinking the other two made me look…
well, I don’t know. Not cute enough? But ugh, why should it matter what I wear?
It’s just Ryder. And he’s coming over soon to practice the dance routine, not to take me out on a date or anything.
A shiver of disgust passes through me at the thought of Ryder and me going out on a date. Volunteering to be around him just for the sake of being around him? Getting to know him better? Hearing his innermost thoughts and secrets? No thank you. I’d rather jump into a lion’s den.
A little voice in my head tries to convince me that’s not true, but I shove it aside.
I can once again admit that my loathing of him is on a much lower scale than it was only a few weeks ago, but I’m certainly not jumping at the opportunity to hang out with him when I don’t have to.
I’m only doing this because he’s a member of the dance team and I’m the captain and choreographer.
I won’t let anything ruin our chances of placing at the dance competition.
Even though it did warm my insides when he smiled at me after our halftime performance…
No . I shake my head so fast I swear it might topple off my body. I’m not going there.
In the end, I decide to change into my other sweats, which I think make me look cuter than the other pair, and then I plop down on my bed with my phone.
I browse social media as I wait for him to arrive.
I’m tempted to text one of my friends to come over so she could be a buffer, but I already know they’ll say no.
Because they said no a million times during our sleepover, no matter how many times I begged, bribed, or whined.
One might think they secretly enjoy seeing me suffer, but I think they just want Ryder and me to make peace and move on with our lives.
Well, maybe except for Addie, because she thinks Ryder and I have a vibe or something?
And maybe Sophie, too, because she thinks we’re living a romance trope? Seriously, my friends can sometimes be—
A knock on the door yanks me out of my thoughts, causing my heart to pound. Sheesh, the guy could have knocked softer.
“One second!” I call as I toss my phone aside and make my way to the door. “Who’s there?”
“Best dancer on the Harrington Bay Academy dance team reporting for practice, Captain.”
I open the door a crack and peek my head out. “If you were the best dancer, you wouldn’t be asking for my help.”
He’s dressed in his gym clothes and has that lazy smile on his face.
It drove me insane in the past, but for some reason, I don’t hate it as much as I used to.
It kind of makes him look cute—in an objective way, of course.
Because while I can admit that the guy is super good-looking, it doesn’t change the way I feel about him.
I mean, duh, how else does he gain the attention of so many girls?
All he has to do is flash that smile of his and they’re gone.
“You know, Cap, everyone needs help once in a while. Even those that are masters of their craft.”
I blink at him and say, “That’s true.” I widen the door for him to enter.
“Wait a sec. Did Carly Simmons just admit that I, Ryder Bennet, am right? Someone call the doctor! I think she’s sick.”
I roll my eyes. “Unlike you, I can admit when I’m wrong.”
He laughs lightly as he folds his arms over his chest. “I admit when I’m wrong.”
“Sure you do.”
“I do it all the time.”
“Bull. You never admitted that you were wrong to call my dance team corny.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “I tried out for the team, didn’t I? I’m like the most dedicated member. I’m here, aren’t I? I think I’m way past thinking the dance team is corny.”
“You never took it back and you never apologized.”
He steps closer to me, and all my instincts tell me to step back, but my feet remain planted in my spot.
“You never give me the chance to,” he says. “Every time I try to apologize, you either push me or away or—”
A group of girls who are passing by squeal, “Hi, Ryder!” and stop before my room. “What are you doing here?”
He flashes them a smile, but it’s not the usual one he throws at girls. “Just going over some dance moves.”
“Wanna hang out with us?” they gush.
“Thanks, but maybe another time.”
They frown and pout as they walk away.
I raise a brow at him.
“What?” he says. “I turned them down, didn’t I?”
“Amazing. You should get a prize.”
He groans. “Come on, Carly. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m choosing dance over them. I swear you are jealous,” he mutters.
“I’m not jealous. I just don’t want people on my team who aren’t serious.”
He throws his hands up. “For the love of all that is dance, I’m here .”
I glare at him. “So are you going to come in or just stand in the doorway?”
“Kind of hard to get in when you’re blocking the way.”
Oh. I turn around and walk deeper into my room.
I hear his footsteps behind me, but then he gently grabs hold of my arm, stopping me in place.
When I turn around, he says, “Carly, I’m sorry I called your dance team corny.
I…” He runs his free hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I said it, but—”
“Because you want to mess with me and ruin everything that’s important to me.”
His mouth falls open. “Do you really think that?” He shuts his eyes for a second. “Look, can we just—”
“Dance,” I say. “Let’s focus on dance. The competition is only a week away and we’re no way at all ready. Stand in the center of my room.”
He nods and walks to the center, but then he catches sight of my side of the room. With a smile, he heads to my bedspread. “I remember this,” he says with a laugh. “You still have the same linen you had as a kid?”
My cheeks heat up. It’s pictures of ballerinas. I fell in love with it at the store when I was like eight and begged my mom to get it for me. Every time I sleep in it, I feel one step closer to making my dreams come true.
“There’s no reason to throw out perfectly good linen just because I used them as a kid,” I say.
He shuts his eyes and sighs. “Carly, I’m not making fun of you. I find it adorable.” He moves closer to my bed and traces one of the ballerinas with another smile. “This reminds me of your home and how much I loved hanging out there. Wow, so much nostalgia.”
Again, I’m bursting to know why he preferred to spend time at my house rather than his own, but I’m not going to pry. We are not friends.
“Are you ready to start?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the homework piled on my desk. “I can’t picture you poring over your schoolwork.”
“Trust me, my dad can’t either,” I mutter.
That makes him laugh softly. “He knows you’re working hard. Well, as hard as you can,” he teases.
I give him a look.
He laughs again. “Geez, Carly. Am I not allowed to joke with you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have time for this.” I take hold of his arm and yank him to the center of the room. “Take it from the top.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once I play the music, he starts the routine. He does a phenomenal job during the first half, and the beginning of the second half, too. But then he reaches the part he’s struggling with.
“I see what you’re doing wrong.” After shutting the music, I join him at the center of my room and demonstrate how to do the move. He tries again, but he stumbles through it.
“That was completely wrong, wasn’t it?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say regretfully. “Try it again.”
He does, but he does the move even worse than before.
“Wrong again,” he says. “One more time.”
He does it a little better this time, but it’s obvious he’s totally messing this up.
“One second. I got this.”
He’s pretty determined to get it right, but unfortunately, he’s not being very successful. He tries a few more times, and he improves a little with each attempt. But he’s still nowhere there.
“Darn it,” he mutters as he runs his hands down his face. “Why isn’t this working?”
“It’s okay,” I assure him as I head to the kitchenette and grab two water bottles from the fridge. “You’ll get there. Here, take a break.” I hand him one of the water bottles.
“Thanks, but I got this.”
He does the move over and over, working so hard that sweat breaks out on his forehead. My gaze drops to his injured leg. Could it be that’s what’s holding him back? Is he in pain?
“Ryder.” I put my hand on his arm, trying to stop him. “You’re going to hurt your leg. Please take a break.”
He makes no move to slow down, so I tighten my hold on his arm, though not strong enough to hurt him. That doesn’t seem to have any effect on him.
“Ugh, you’re more stubborn than me,” I grumble as I pull him toward the sofas in my room. But it’s like pulling on a freakin’ tree. “Come on, dude,” I mutter as I continue to pull. “Help a girl out here.”
“I’m not stopping until I get this right.”
“I’m going to splash water on your face if you don’t quit.”
“That won’t stop me.”
“Like heck it won’t.”
I uncap the bottle and throw it at the back of his head. But he chooses that exact moment to finally stop and turn around to face me. So, the result is half the water from the bottle all over his face and dripping down his clothes.
“Oops!”
“You said you wouldn’t splash me if I stopped! I stopped .”
“Sorry!” I dash to the bathroom for a towel and toss it to him. “I didn’t think you would actually stop.”
“Darn, that was cold.” Wiping his face, he falls down on my bed and groans.
“Are you getting my ballerinas wet?” I accuse.
He wipes the back of his neck. “Serves you right for giving me a freezing shower.”
“You’re so ridiculous,” I say as I lower myself next to him.
“Here we go again. You’re the ridiculous one.”
“No, you are!”
“You are!”
“We both are!” I say.
He opens his mouth to retort, but then he chuckles and says, “Yeah, we both are.” He glances at the ballerinas under his butt. “Sorry. They did get wet.”
“Louisa and Marta?” I say with a frown. “Those two are my favorite.”
His brows lift. “Louisa and Marta?”
“ The Sound of Music ?”
“Oh. What do they have to do with dance?”
“Seriously, dude? Have you seen the movie? There’s dancing in there. Mostly singing, true, but they also dance. Don’t give me that look. I liked the choreography when I was a kid.”
“I’m not giving you any look.” He shifts over and touches the two ballerinas. “Sorry Louisa and sorry Marta for getting you wet.”
“That one is Louisa and that one is Marta,” I point out.
“They look exactly the same.”
“Only to an ignoramus cretin like you.”
I expect a comeback, but he just laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Here I am, trying to practice the dance routine, and I end up getting wet and nearly getting my head chopped off for sitting on two ballerinas named after two von Trapp children.” He continues to laugh.
I fold my arms over my chest, ready to tell him that this isn’t funny at all, but then I find myself joining in his laughter. I laugh so hard that my stomach hurts.
“Stop,” I say between chuckles.
But that only makes him laugh harder, which makes me laugh harder. I push his shoulder to get him to stop, but he pushes mine back.
I can’t help but stare at him as he continues his laughing fit.
He’s always charming and charismatic, but I usually sensed a hint of pain in his eyes.
As though no matter how much fun he tries to have, there’s something in his life that’s troubling him.
But I don’t see a trace of any of that now.
It seems that for the first time in a long time, he’s truly laughing one hundred percent.
And that makes him appear…well, beautiful.
He catches me staring at him and the laughter starts to die down. “What?”
I snap out of it, quickly shaking my head. “Nothing.”
“No, what? You were staring at me.”
I turn my head and purse my lips. But then I face him again. “Why do you carry so much pain in your eyes?”
As soon as the words are out, I regret them. Because his whole face changes.
“We should get back to dance,” he says as he gets up.
“I’m sorry, Ryder. I didn’t mean to pry—”
“It’s okay.” He puts on a smile. “It’s all good. Or, at least it will be once I get this move down.”
I feel really bad. I don’t think Ryder expected me to see through the facade he always puts up. Maybe he does a good job hiding the pain from everyone else, but for some reason, I can see through it. Maybe because I’ve known him since I was a kid?
“Um, maybe we should take a break and try again tomorrow?” I suggest. “I don’t want you to put too much stress on your injured foot.”
“My foot is great, thanks. I want to get this right before tomorrow’s practice. I don’t want to fall behind and bring the rest of the team down.”
He has a point. We may not be able to move on if he can’t get this right. Maybe the best course of action is to remove it? It is harder than the other moves in the routine.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says as he gets into position. “But please don’t remove the move because of me. I’ll get it right. Promise. Even if it takes me all night.”
He spends about an hour practicing. I do the move along with him, encouraging him as he improves with each attempt. Then, when he’s drenched in sweat and looks like he’s ready to call it quits, it finally happens.
“I got it!” he cries.
“You got it!” I cheer.
He makes a move to throw his arms around me, and I do, too, but then we stop ourselves when we’re only a few inches apart.
With a grin, he holds out his hand. “Thanks, Captain. You have no idea how good I feel.”
I stare at his hand, knowing he deserves more than just a handshake. But I fight the urge to hug him and shake it instead. “You did really well, Ryder. Thanks for not giving up. I admire your tenacity.”
His face softens with another smile. “Thanks, Carly. I’m going to practice more in my room. Good night.”
“Good night, Ryder.”
He makes his way to the door and opens it. Then he turns around. It looks like he wants to say something, but he offers me another smile before walking out.
I rush to my window and watch him leave the girls’ dorm and head to the boys’ dorm. For some reason, I want him to look up at my window. But he doesn’t.
I watch until he disappears from sight.