Chapter 2
Zoe
Sometimes I wish I were more like Caleb. Then I wouldn’t worry about what other people think. I would make decisions for myself and not constantly wonder if I were being fair to everyone. Why can’t I be more like him and less like me?
—P
Three hours after my arrival, my suitcases are empty, and I make a mental note to ask Dad if he can come get them as soon as possible, because my room is definitely too small to hold them all.
My clothes are stowed in the wardrobe; my leotards, tights, and ballet skirts are in the top drawer of the dresser; and my ballet slippers, toe caps, and pointe shoes are in the bottom drawer.
My resistance bands for stretching, exercise mats, and foam rollers are in a large wooden crate next to my desk, and my hair bands and clips are neatly tucked inside a little box on the dresser, under the mirror.
The books I need for theory lessons are lined up in a neat row on the dresser, sorted by size. My notebook and iPad sit on my desk, alongside my laptop. In the middle of the desktop, the gray ring binder is lying open, showing the appointments that I have scheduled for today.
Everything is exactly as I want it. Aside from the fairy lights, which I am currently holding in my hands. I want to hang them up over the bed, because I have a penchant not only for order but also for subdued lighting.
Unfortunately, I did forget something at home.
I don’t have anything to fasten the lights to the wall with.
Sighing, I put them in the drawer of my bedside table.
I’m about to reach for my phone to send Dad a message when I hear a crashing sound in the hall.
Someone swears. That doesn’t sound good.
I leave the drawer ajar and rush to the door. I throw it open and gasp in surprise.
A girl is sitting on the floor in front of my room. One of her suitcases has burst open, and her clothes are all over the place.
“I told Mom that the suitcase wouldn’t survive the trip!” she says to herself, carelessly pushing aside her backpack as she begins to pick up her stuff.
I clear my throat to get her attention. “Do you need help?”
She whirls around to look at me, a hand on her chest. Her dark green eyes are wide with shock. “God, don’t scare me like that!” she blurts out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
She smiles at me. “That’s okay. It’s not your fault.
My day started off like shit, and it was clear that it was going to go on that way.
” She blows a strand of red hair away from her mouth.
Her hair is darker than mine, not copper but mahogany, almost raspberry, with a violet tinge that fits perfectly with her olive skin tone.
“That bad?” I lean against my door with my arms crossed and can’t stop an amused grin from spreading across my face.
“My sister has food poisoning and threw up all over the house this morning. That’s why Mom couldn’t bring me to the airport.
I almost missed the flight, and now, with only a few feet more, this stupid suitcase couldn’t even wait until I make it to my room before breaking. ” She grabs two bras off the floor.
“So it’s really bad,” I confirm, bending down to help her collect her things.
She smiles at me gratefully. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you. My name is Mae, by the way.”
“Zoe,” I say. “Where’s your room?”
She points to the door to the left of mine. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”
* * *
“Do you believe in fate?” Mae twists her hair into a messy bun, and her eyes flash with excitement.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and picks up the last armful of leotards and ballet skirts, stuffing them carelessly in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to her bed.
With difficulty, I hold back a sigh. My fingers are tingling with the urge to organize her things.
“Not necessarily,” I reply slowly. Where is she going with this?
Mae laughs. “I do. It must be fate that I got the room next to yours, of all rooms. After all, I know nothing about Boston, and you were born and raised here. You can show me around.”
“That might just be a coincidence,” I say, but I still have to smile.
We’ve been sitting in her room for two hours and have talked the entire time about everything and nothing.
I like Mae. She’s easy to talk to, open and friendly, and she smiles all the time.
She’s so different from my high school friends that a part of me feels almost insecure because of how shockingly new that is for me. The other part of me is just relieved.
“No coincidence.” Mae shakes her head. “Fate made sure that I got a neighbor who knows her way around Boston. And not only that, but you’re also nice. A coincidence could have just as easily sent me someone I don’t like. Fate made sure that we found each other.”
“You’ve only known me for two hours. You can’t know if you like me or not.”
“Yes, I can. The first impression always matters to me. And I knew after exactly seven minutes that I liked you.”
The corners of my mouth twitch. “Did you stop the clock?”
“Sure. I have a built-in stopwatch in my brain.”
“Speaking of which, we should get going soon.” I point at the alarm clock on Mae’s nightstand. It’s a quarter to four.
“We should. We don’t want to sit all the way in the back at Mr. Pearson’s talk.” Mae jumps up and offers her hand to pull me off the bed.
Dozens of students come out of the dormitories, laughing and chatting as they walk across the wide lawns. The sun is already low on the horizon, and the buildings cast long shadows on the broad paths, but it’s still pleasantly warm.
I look around curiously. In comparison to Harvard, Boston College, and MIT, the ballet school is tiny.
There are four classes for the high school students and four for those of us studying dance as part of our bachelor of fine arts.
No class has more than twenty students. Still, when we all walk into the theater at the same time, it feels like there are many more of us.
A group of giggling girls passes us quickly. They can’t be older than about fifteen. Maybe it’s their first day too.
“Are you nervous?” Mae asks quietly as we walk up the wide steps. The theater rises impressively in front of us. The bright sandstone looks like it’s glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. There are pillars on either side of the wide door, above which a sign hangs:
New England Theater.
This is where the careers of the best dancers in the country begin. This is where dreams come true. My body begins to tingle. Now I’m here. This is my dream. I nod and hold my breath for a moment as we enter through the wide doorway and step into the theater. “I’m about to die of excitement!”
“That makes two of us.” Mae laughs breathlessly and looks around with wide eyes as we both try and fail to get an impression of the entire inside of the theater.
It’s beautiful, and we’re not even in the auditorium yet, just the foyer.
The plush red carpet absorbs any sounds made by our feet.
My gaze lingers on the white walls. Here, the plaster moldings are covered in gold leaf, and they glow warmly as the rays of sunlight reach them through the arched floor-to-ceiling windows.
The coat-check room is tucked away so discreetly in a corner that it’s not even noticeable at first. There’s a bar on the opposite side of the foyer, and spread throughout the area are small, round gold tables and armchairs upholstered in red velvet.
But the centerpiece of the foyer is the huge door that leads into the theater.
To either side, wide spiral staircases give access to the upper tiers.
The voices around us hush as they enter, as though no one would dare to disturb the awe-inspiring silence in these sacred halls.
I let myself be carried by the stream of students and follow Mae into the auditorium. I get goose bumps as soon as I see the stage. The plush red curtains are raised, and although it may look like a totally normal stage, at the same time, it’s not.
It’s the stage upon which all our fates will be decided.
“Look, there are two seats free at the front.” Mae touches my arm and draws my attention away from the stage. She points at two seats next to the aisle. I follow her down the narrow steps between the left and center sections, and again, I don’t know what to look at first.
The parterre is divided into three parts, and it’s even larger than I expected—eight seats to the right, eight to the left, and sixteen in the middle.
I don’t have time to count the rows, but together with the upper tiers, there must be at least enough seats for not only the two hundred students but also their families when there are performances.
The seats are upholstered with the same red velvet as the chairs in the foyer, and the walls are also white and decorated with similar gold-leaf-covered plaster moldings.
“You look like you’ve just landed in your own personal wonderland,” Mae observes, sinking into one of the seats.
Relieved that she left the place on the aisle free for me so I don’t have to squeeze past anyone, I sit down next to her. I’m just about to answer when all at once, the whole room goes quiet, and all eyes turn to the stage.
Principal Pearson steps into the spotlight.
He’s a tall, thin man in his forties, and he moves with a grace that clearly betrays his years as a dancer.
His dark hair, which is shot through with silver, is combed back smoothly.
He’s wearing a gray blazer and dark blue trousers.
The smile on his face is both friendly and authoritative.
He’s one of those people whose personality immediately fills a room, no matter how large it is.
Now he steps to the edge of the stage, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his trousers.
He is just about to start his speech when I hear quick steps walking into the room and then a burst of nervous laughter.
Almost simultaneously, everyone turns around to look.
A boy and a girl are trying to sneak into the last row as quietly as possible, but they freeze abruptly as they notice that everyone is staring at them.
The girl turns to look at the stage, an innocent expression on her face. Her long, dark hair flows softly over her shoulders. She’s tall, taller than me but just as delicately built. She’s beautiful. She moves like a fairy.
I recognize the boy who walked in with her just as Pearson says his name.
“Jase! Skye! Why don’t you sit here in the front, since you’re already late?” It’s a rhetorical question, and a mischievous murmur spreads through the room.
I don’t understand a word. I can only stare at him as he turns around. He exchanges a brief, incomprehensible glance with Skye and then walks toward the front of the auditorium.
Jase.