Chapter 6
AIDAN
Inviting Covey over to my house was a stupid idea. No, that’s being far too nice. After being accosted at Covey’s parents’ house, I panicked. In that moment, it seemed like a good idea.
Now, much clearer-headed, I realize how stupid I was in that moment. It’s not that my place is a mess so much as it’s a bit cluttered. By that, things aren’t in the right place. Ever.
Fine, it’s a bit of a mess. I prefer the lived-in look that it gives my home.
Plus, after wrangling a bunch of five and six-year-olds all day, the last thing I want to do is come home and clean.
My classroom is kept spotless. When a bunch of germ factories are touching every surface, it’s essential that things are wiped down multiple times a day and items are returned to their correct places.
Work, yes. Home, no.
My friends know what they’re getting into when they come over. If they want to be here, they deal with the clutter. It’s not dirty, just messy.
But Covey is in his own category. He’s Covey. He used to be my best friend, now he’s my fake boyfriend and hopefully future friend.
How will he feel about my mess? No idea.
He’s only getting half the Aidan experience. I did my best over the last two days to put every item somewhere. It might not be the right place, but it’s out of sight. As long as he doesn’t poke around opening closets and cupboards, we’ll be okay.
I stack a couple of plates on the table for us. Our food’s still a few minutes away, and Covey should be here any minute.
When my doorbell rings, I freeze—food or Covey?
My nervous system must go temporarily offline, because the next thing I know, the bell rings again. It must be Covey because the delivery person would leave it on the porch.
“Hey.” I open the door to find Covey holding two massive bags of food—yes, I ordered too much.
“Hey, I thought maybe I got the wrong house.” Both times at his parents’ house, he’s been dressed up.
Not a suit or tie or anything, but slacks and a button-up or sweater.
Tonight, he’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, both of which are plastered with ballet company logos.
Only the sweatshirt is from Green Mountain, and the pants say something in a language I don’t recognize.
Both are at least two sizes too large, practically swallowing him whole.
“Sorry, I was in the back,” I lie as though my house is big enough to have a back.
It’s got two bedrooms and a single bathroom.
Not amazing, but it’s all mine. I love having a home after spending several years in dorms and apartments—a place where I can paint the walls or change the flooring at my whim. I don’t. But I could.
“No worries.” He rocks back and forth on his feet. “Can I come in?”
Wow. I’m already screwing this up, leaving him standing in the dark and freezing.
“Of course, sorry.” I usher him into the house and point him toward the kitchen table to put the bags down.
He unpacks the containers slowly, looking up at me after he finishes the first bag.
I shrug. We don’t need that much, but I didn’t know what he’d want.
At least this way, I’ll have leftovers for the rest of the week.
Cooking is not my thing. Thankfully, more places in town are starting to deliver, or I’d probably starve to death.
“What do you want to drink? I’ve got water, soda, beer…” I trail off, trying to think if I have anything better to offer.
“Water’s great. Do you need help?”
I wave him off. “Sit, I’ll be right back.
” It’s not like he can’t see me. The fridge and sink are a whole four feet away from the table.
I use the tiny bit of distance to give myself a stern talk.
Why am I nervous? It’s not an actual date.
We need a chance to get to know each other again. It’s still Covey.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep. Be right there.” Get. It. Together.
I return to the table with two glasses of water. Not fancy, but at least it’s from the chilled filter on the fridge. I even added ice cubes.
“So, what did you do today?” It occurs to me that I have no idea what a professional dancer does. I mean, I assume it involves dancing, but beyond that, I’m lost. They can’t possibly do that all day. Right?
“The usual. Dance classes, rehearsals.”
“You still take classes?”
He grins. Talking about ballet was always his favorite subject. “They’re essential. We’re always working on keeping up our technique and improving. I usually have about ninety minutes of class every day, sometimes more. Think of it like professional development.”
For me, professional development means a week a year in Boston for a conference, not daily classes. And then I usually try to sneak out for some sightseeing most afternoons. “Sounds rough.” I hand him a plate and start piling various Chinese dishes onto it.
“Classes are my favorite.” He gets a far-off look on his face.
It’s the same look he always got when he talked about ballet.
Other kids would go on and on about the newest video game or TV show.
Covey would listen intently, a smile plastered on his face.
No one would know it was fake until you mentioned dance.
That’s when he’d light up. Some things never change.
“During rehearsal, I’m focused on learning the choreography, so it’s hard to think about anything else.
Classes let me hone in on the pieces that help put it all together. ”
I hum as if I understand any of the words he just said. “Fun.”
“What about you? What did you do today?”
“Wrangled five-year-olds who’ve had too much Halloween candy and forced them to do counting exercises.” The time between Halloween and winter break is nearly impossible. Too much sugar, not enough structure.
“You know, I don’t remember a single thing we did in kindergarten.”
“I remember meeting you,” I say quietly.
“Really?”
“Yeah, my mom was trying to leave, and I didn’t want her to go.
I don’t know why, but you came over and asked about my Power Rangers backpack.
” It was the moment I knew we’d be friends.
Covey was so outgoing and friendly. Any other friends I had growing up were because Covey found them and brought me along for the ride.
“I don’t remember that, but I’m glad my love of Power Rangers paid off.” I clear my throat quietly, trying to clear the tightening.
I smile and take a big bite of food. I hadn’t thought about that day in a long time.
After that, the two of us were inseparable, although our teachers tried.
Even from opposite sides of the room, we’d manage entire conversations somehow.
Now I know how our teachers felt. I’ve got my own students who refuse to stop talking.
No matter how many times I try to keep them apart, they always seem to find their way back together. I may owe a few teachers an apology.
COVEY
Being an extrovert serves me well. I’ve moved around a lot, but I always manage to make friends.
I’m well aware it’s not that easy for others.
I always find people, mostly because I talk to anything that moves.
At least that’s what my mom says. The problem with that is that it’s easy to make a lot of friends, but it’s more challenging to make good friends.
I almost forgot what it’s like to be around someone where I don’t have to try; where I’m not attempting to convince them to be my friend. Aidan feels like home.
“So, we probably need some sort of story about how we started dating, right?” Aidan suggests.
“That’s a good idea.” I take a bite and think about it for a minute. “I think I probably made the first move. Invited you out for a drink, then initiated the relationship.”
His brows knit together. “Why would you be the one to initiate? I’d kiss you first.”
I let my head fall to the side. “I’m pretty sure I’d make the first move.
” Between us, I’m the one typically leading the way, pushing for the riskier side of things.
I let myself picture us on a real first date for a minute, the way we’d sit at a table, walking him to his front door at the end of the evening. Yeah, I’d kiss him first.
“Fine, you made the first move.”
I’m not sure how specific we need to get in this. It’s not like they’ll ask about our sex life.
Scratch that. They’ll definitely ask about our sex life, but we’re not answering those questions.
“How long ago was this?”
“Well, I moved here in mid-July, so anything under three months makes sense time-wise. I first mentioned my fake boyfriend to my mom in September, so we probably need to be somewhere between two and three months.” Which is what I said the other night.
At least I think. The details are already a little fuzzy.
“Okay, so what if we first started hanging out when you first moved back over the summer, going out together as friends, and then it slowly developed into more around the start of September?”
“Oooo… that’s a good story. We can tell people that we were out as friends when I leaned in and kissed you.”
“Covey, I don’t think they’re going to ask about stuff like that.”
Lies. Aidan’s forgotten how invasive my family can be. They mean well, honestly, but they tend to be a little bit too much in each other’s business. “Well, we know in case someone asks.” My mom. My mom will ask.
“I still think I’d kiss you first, but fine.” He leans back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and arching his back to stretch.
“Does your back hurt?”
He snorts—which is adorable. “My back always hurts. I spend all day sitting in chairs that are too small and picking toys up off the floor.”
“I can show you some stretches to help with that.” At least my knowledge comes in handy occasionally in the real world. It’s not like there’s ever an emergency on a plane and they call overhead looking for a ballet dancer ready to choreograph an Adagio.
“That’s okay. I’m good.” I doubt that, but I won’t push. Today. He’ll cave eventually. “We need to get to know each other, not just our relationship. People expect me to know about your current life and vice versa. Tell me some things so that I have basic facts.”
“Really? You want me to list off a bunch of fun facts?” It’s like the worst icebreaker in history.
“If that’s the easiest way, then yes.”
“Okay, so I’m a Pisces, can’t live without chocolate, hate anything that has coffee in it, and I’m a professional ballet dancer.”
“Covey, you need to take this seriously. All of those are things I’ve known about you since we were ten.”
I don’t point out that I’m not sure I’d even tried coffee at the age of ten, and I wasn’t a professional. Yet.
“Fine, what do you want to know?”
“I—I don’t know. I didn’t expect this to be so… hard.” He throws his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated by the process.
When people do this in movies, it always seems so much simpler. Now, I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to do. “I’m just going to say it. I think the only way to do this is to spend time together.” It’s the hard way, but shortcuts aren’t working.
“Like dating?” Aidan cocks his head and glares at me.
“Not dating but spending time together. As friends.” Playing twenty questions isn’t the best way to get to know someone. At least past a superficial level. “Friends hang out and talk.”
“Fine, but we need to do other work, too. Why don’t we each create a cheat sheet? Basics about likes, dislikes, job things, and education. That way, we have something to reference.”
“That sounds suspiciously like schoolwork.” I didn’t hate school, but it often got in the way of ballet, which was where I truly wanted to be. The dance studio always suited me better than a classroom.
“If it helps for you to think of it like a homework assignment, then go for it.” Aidan’s forgotten how hard it was to get me to do homework when we were kids. I groan and put my head down on the table.
“Oh, my God. You’re as dramatic as my kindergarteners. Maybe worse.”
“Can’t I do something else instead?” The most I write these days is the occasional email. And those are only on a must-do basis.
“What? Like an interpretive dance?”
“Could I do that instead?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I already know the answer.
“No.” Aidan gives a stern look. He’s got that whole teacher gaze down. Maybe they teach that as part of the major. I’ll have to ask him later.
“Fine, I’ll write you an email.”
“Great, and we’ll find some more time to hang out.”
“It might be a little bit tough with my schedule.” I bit my lip thinking about the coming weeks.
This is always a rough time for dancers in relationships.
While the rest of the world is looking forward to holiday parties, family get-togethers, and time off, I’m hunkering down for a long stretch of rehearsals and performances.
It means my time is rarely my own, and the time others have off is usually when I’m on.
“Whatever, we’ll work it out.”
I hope he’s right.