Chapter Eleven
Presley
As my arms float above my head, gliding effortlessly through the air, all I can think about are Rygaard’s kisses, how they trailed across my skin, lighting goosebumps in their wake. A shiver runs down my spine just thinking about the way he makes me feel every time his lips touch mine.
I falter, one misstep, and I nearly collide with another dancer.
“Presley, your pirouette has gotten sloppy. Why?” Madame Dupanchane snaps. I shrug, biting back the real answer.
“Great, she doesn’t have an answer.”
“Oh, I have one,” I mumble under my breath. “You just wouldn’t want to hear it.”
She stalks toward me, eyes sharp. “If you do not want to take this class seriously, then leave. Otherwise, get your head on straight and start again.”
I want this, more than anything.
Since I was a little girl, dancing has been my escape. The way I can twist and bend my body, defying gravity, becoming one with the rhythm... It makes me feel untouchable. Free. Like I could float away and never come back.
My life isn’t bad. I have amazing parents. Rafe and Rygaard drive me insane, but I know they love me. Agatha and I have been top students for as long as I can remember, so everything should feel perfect.
But lately? It doesn’t feel perfect.
Finding my footing again, I twist, spin, leap, every motion fluid, every beat matching my heart. This is my dream. Juilliard is the goal. New York. Broadway. I’ve spent years preparing, GPA, audition tape, all of it lined up.
I was ready… until Rygaard.
We’ve been talking about what comes after high school. He’s got a full ride to NYU, but lately, he’s not so sure. It’s a quick flight from here, but still, what if everything changes?
What if we change?
I land perfectly, breathless, my body humming from the inside out.
Clapping breaks through my thoughts. “Bravo! That’s the effort I want to see,” Madame Dupanchane says, her hands firm on my shoulders. “If you dance like that all the time, imagine what you could become.”
She means Juilliard, I know she does.
“Yes, Madame Dupanchane,” I say, my mind already drifting to the studio I’ve dreamt about for years.
“Then always put your best foot forward… literally.” She chuckles at her own joke.
“I won’t let you down.”
She leans in, serious now. “Don’t let yourself down, Presley. Don’t throw away your dream for something or someone that isn’t worthy of it.”
Oof. That hurts.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Class finishes without a hitch, but her words lodge themselves in my head like an arrow.
Back in the car, I crank my playlist, grateful for the drive and the distraction. “Feel (Slowed)” by Beneld starts playing, and it hits different, like it always does.“You really wanna know the way it feels… boy, you make me feel…”
I sing along, heart full and conflicted, thinking about the boy who makes me feel everything and then some.
My hand drifts down my leg as I remember the way Ry made me feel in the tub, his touch, the way he lit me up from the inside out.
He’s fire, and I’m gasoline, and when we come together, we burn.
The phone rings, jarring me from the memory. I swerve, careful not to hit a pothole in Rafe’s car, and jab the answer button on the dash.
“Hello?”
“Bitch! Where are you?” Agatha screeches.
“Jesus, tone it down. Class ran late.”
“Well, get your ass here. The game starts in thirty.”
“Crap. I totally forgot.” Not hard to do with a million thoughts in my head. “I’ll be home in five.”
“Perfect. I’m already here. Your outfit’s ready.”
“Should I be worried?”
“It’s nothing worse than your usual hot-girl gear,” she snickers. “Now hurry.”
Six minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway, instinctively glancing around for Ry’s car. I know he’s not here, but still, I look.
Old habits.
Inside, Agatha has me playing dress-up. I’m her real-life black Barbie, and honestly? I love it.
* * *
Later, we’re in her car, heading to the game.
“You’re coming to the afterparty, right?” she asks, all hopeful eyes and anticipation.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say with a grin, and I mean it.
“There’s Kammie and Jace, being adorable as usual,” I point out as we spot them waving us down. They’ve been dancing around their feelings for years, but everyone can see what’s really going on. It’s cute.
Not that I’m one to talk.
The guy I’ve been crushing on has been practically family since we were kids, and I only recently let that secret out. Rygaard isn’t just a crush, he’s the blueprint.
“Looks like we’ve got the best seats in the house,” Agatha says, motioning toward the field.
From here, we can see everything, and everyone.
The Cedar Creek Cougars are killing it this year, and the energy is electric.
“I hope my outfit doesn’t distract anyone from playing their best,” I tease.
“Whoa, Presley and the crew showed out tonight,” Ethan calls from the bench. “Wiley, looks like you and your girl made up!”
I glance at Wiley and catch the look. We lock eyes.
Agatha nudges me. “Girl, wipe that grin off. Someone saw that look.”
“What look?” I ask, playing dumb. Too late.
Rygaard is already stalking toward us, a frown etched across his annoyingly perfect face. He grips the railing, pulls himself up onto the bleachers, not caring who he steps over.
He’s on a mission.
Me.
“Care to explain what the fuck you have on, Presley?”