Chapter 8
COVEY
The studio is eerily quiet today. Typically, it’s a hub of bustling activity between rehearsals, classes, and individual practice. At the very least, groups are roaming the hallways, chatting, comparing notes, or causing mayhem. I may or may not be one of the people often causing mayhem.
Today, the place is dead. I suspect that it’s a quiet anticipation of the craziness that befalls every dance studio and company this time of year. It’s the perfect environment for me to focus on learning the choreography.
I’m lying on my stomach, watching a recording from last year’s production, and stretching.
Even after watching this section a thousand times, I’m still mesmerized as I watch Anders go through the movements.
He’s cast as The Nutcracker this year, which means I’m lucky enough to get this part.
It’s both inspiring and terrifying. People will be comparing us, which is a lot to live up to, not only within the company, but also in the larger community.
While most of the year, the public barely knows the local dance company exists, come Thanksgiving, suddenly everyone’s holiday tradition includes a trip to The Nutcracker.
That’s not a complaint. I love seeing people fall in love with the show and ballet for the first time—or the hundredth.
A production like this is the reason five-year-old me begged to take dance classes.
When my parents finally gave in, they bet on how long I would last. My dad gave it two weeks. My mom said a month.
I think I win that one.
My mind wanders back to the awkward moments at Eddie’s.
I can’t place my finger on it, but something from that night is niggling in the back of my mind.
There’s no reason for me to dislike Silas, but he bugs me for reasons I can’t describe.
Maybe it’s because he’s taken my place as Aidan’s best friend—a ridiculous concept to be discussing in our mid-twenties.
People can have many friends and not need a ranking system.
So why is it still bothering me so much? I check my phone for a message from Aidan. Nothing. I sent him a couple of texts today, checking in. He’s probably in class. I suspect it’s frowned on for teachers to be on their phones during lessons.
I’m still annoyed he hasn’t responded. It’s as if I can’t get him off my mind until I hear back, which is distracting me from focusing on the video.
I turn my attention back to my tablet and the pas de deux. When life doesn’t make sense to me, this is always what I do. Bury myself in my craft and hope that it allows me to work out the issue.
This section of The Nutcracker, as the audience is taken on a trip through the Land of Sweets, is my favorite.
All the pairs dance together, showcasing a diverse range of choreography and costuming.
I’m not quite ready to practice with my partner, Krisztina, yet.
That’s a whole other level of nervousness.
The dancers need to mesh together seamlessly, and we’re still finding our footing.
After two more complete watches, it’s time to get to work. There’s only so much I can do without getting a sense for how the steps feel and flow together.
At the edge of the room, I use the mini remote to hit play on the music. It takes me a few times before I find the right entrance, stopping and starting the music until I can feel the right moment to enter. It’s a quick start and fast dance the whole way through.
Ninety minutes later, I’m exhausted, but the first half is starting to come together.
It still needs work, especially on the jumps and turns, but the steps are all there and in the correct order.
Thankfully, this is a short dance—quick, but short at less than two minutes.
Still, it’s a step up from the usual background roles I get at this stage in my career.
I meet with Krisztina tomorrow, hoping to have enough muscle memory to start pulling the piece together.
I avoid checking my phone for as long as possible.
Picking up stray pieces of clothing I’ve pulled off, closing my laptop, and wiping down surfaces.
When I finally do check, it’s nothing but disappointment.
There are plenty of social media notifications, but nothing from Aidan.
He’s busy changing lives and whatever, but I wish he’d check in occasionally.
I shake my head. No, that’s something a real boyfriend would do.
Fake ones don’t have to do shit like that.
They only worry about attending social events.
It did feel like we were becoming friends again—at least a little bit.
I know we aren’t ten anymore, and having one special best friend isn’t a thing.
But maybe it could be?
AIDAN
“So, there’s one more thing we should probably talk about. And I should have brought it up before now, but it’s a little weird.” Having Covey in my house at the end of a long week is comforting in a way I can’t describe. This time, I didn’t bother to clean. Much. I only put a few small things away.
“Oooo… what kind of deep dark secrets do you have?” He leans forward, his face full of excitement.
“There are no secrets.” I could’ve introduced this a little better. Now he’s expecting something juicy and interesting, rather than a boring discussion of logistics.
“Wait, let me guess.” He taps his finger against the side of his head. “Did you murder one of your students and bury them in the backyard?”
“That’s awful.” I might occasionally fantasize about having a student transfer mid-year, but nothing dark.
This is what I’ve missed so much about my friendship with Covey.
He’s the sweetest person I know, but he’s also full of energy and chaos.
That comes with challenges, but it also brings so much joy into my life.
“Okay, wait.” He holds up his hand to stop me from saying anything. “Are you a secret agent who’s pretending to be a teacher to get dirt on a parent?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the plot of a movie, and no.” The whole week dragged, and by the time I finished today, I had a pile of text messages, emails, and DMs to respond to. I ignored all of them, except the ones from Covey.
Trust me, I’ll hear about that from my mom later.
“You’re making this tough, but is it that you—”
“Covey, be serious for a minute.”
His shoulders drop, and I immediately regret my words.
“I mean, it’s getting late, and we do need to talk about it.
” I forgot how carried away he gets. It’s one of the things I always loved about him as a kid, though even then I could tell how much it annoyed the adults around us.
I shudder thinking that I’ve somehow become one of those adults, the ones who shut down his creativity.
“What is it?” His voice is different, lost without the thrill that was there a moment ago. It’s easy to forget that underneath the carefree exterior, Covey’s a deeply sensitive person.
“Um, well…” I wish I’d let him continue now. “If we were dating, we’d… maybe touch each other.” Wow, I’m bad at this.
“Are we back to the fucking discussion?” The muscle at the edge of his lips twitches.
“No.” I put a hand up. The last thing I need is to go back to that ridiculous conversation.
Even if it is what prompted these thoughts.
Silas—and I hate to say this—might have a bit of a point, not about us having sex, but about people expecting a physical relationship.
“I’m talking about little things. Holding hands, hugging…
kissing.” I don’t know why I’m embarrassed.
It’s not like I’m some blushing virgin or something.
Far from it. It’s just weird to bring it up.
Despite our easy affection for each other as kids and teens, it’s a bit different now, especially with the implications of our relationship status.
“Oh, we can do that.”
“Which part?” I need him to be clear. The last thing I want is to overstep any lines accidentally.
“All of it, I guess. I mean, we don’t need to get carried away. It’s around our families, so a heavy make-out session isn’t called for, but a little peck would help sell it.”
Is it hot in here? I glance toward the thermostat, wondering if it’s on the fritz again. “Okay, so basically keep it PG.”
“I can work with that.” Covey takes a deep breath. “You don’t… have a boyfriend, do you? Or girlfriend?”
“Of course not. Why would you feel the need to ask?” There’s no way I’d offer to be a fake date for someone if I also had a real partner. That would be weird and border on the edge of cheating.
“I… never mind. I had to ask.” I want to press him for more information, but hold myself back.
We sit quietly for a few minutes, each of us seemingly lost in our thoughts. I’m about to suggest we watch a movie or something when he speaks up.
“Should we practice?” Covey asks, breaking the silence.
“Practice?” My voice breaks at the end of the word.
“Yeah, I’ve taken a few acting classes and had to do some stage kisses over the years. They always told us we had to practice ahead of time, otherwise it’s obvious to the audience that it’s your first time.”
That makes far too much sense, which is why I can’t think of a single argument against it. “Yeah, okay. How do you want to…”
“Maybe I’ll come sit next to you?” He slips off his chair and moves to sit next to me. Immediately, I have flashbacks to high school, sitting awkwardly next to a date, trying to figure out how to initiate something. Never thought I’d end up right back in that same position a decade later.
Especially with Covey.
“How do we—” Covey cuts me off by putting his hands on either side of my head, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs.
“Can I kiss you?”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips in response to his question. My body doesn’t seem to know that this isn’t real. Instead, my stomach does a few anticipatory flips. “Yeah.” All I can hope for is that he’s so distracted that he ignores my breathy words and trembling hands.
I keep my eyes open as long as I can, watching as he leans in and tilts his head. All I can think of is how not to screw it up. It feels like my first kiss all over again, where I can’t remember where I’m supposed to put my hands or how to keep my teeth out of the way.
At the last second, I slam my eyes shut as his lips press against mine.
People might not believe it, but I never thought about what it would be like to kiss Covey.
His lips are so soft, yet firm. The way he moves against me sends a slight shiver down my spine that I try to hide.
A stage kiss, as he called it, shouldn’t have this much of an impact on me.
Aren’t they supposed to be forced and unsexy?
He pulls away before I’m ready, and I resist the urge to chase him.
“See? Better. Now we’re ready.”
Yeah, I’m ready for something.