Chapter 6
Jase
I was accepted at the New England School of Ballet! Dad is going to kill me just for going to the audition. But I couldn’t care less. I was accepted. How crazy is that?
—J
My muscles ache. Everything hurts. I’m feeling the lack of lessons during summer vacation in a very unpleasant way.
Everyone who stayed here during the break, like Skye and me, technically had the opportunity to use the studios and gym whenever we wanted.
But it turns out it’s harder to be responsible for your own workout plan without the structure of daily classes.
“Get a move on, Jase. Francesca will kill us if we’re late.
” Ches, the only guy from our class who’s halfway tolerable, kicks my bag and turns toward the corridor while I heave myself off the floor with a dramatic groan.
I grab my things and follow him. I’m tired, and for the first time, I wish that our teachers would go a bit easier on us the first day after vacation.
Then again, it’s not their fault I could hardly sleep last night. I only have myself to blame for that.
The pas de deux class is one floor up, in the same studio as last year. Skye and a few other girls are already there when we enter. They’re sitting in little groups on the floor and talking quietly.
I throw my bag in the corner with the others, and I’m just about to go over to Skye when I hear a familiar laugh. A few seconds later, Zoe enters the room with two other freshmen, whom I haven’t met yet.
At the sight of her, the muscles in my chest react with a warning twitch. My hands clench into fists all by themselves.
Fuck.
I force my pulse to slow down, consciously stretching every finger as I watch her sit down on the floor and take her ballet slippers out of her bag.
I knew that we would have this class together because freshmen and sophomores always have pas de deux together.
But I refused to think about what that meant, even for a second, because that would mean that I cared. And I don’t.
So we have one stupid class together. That doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other. I don’t want to, and she clearly doesn’t either; otherwise, she would have answered my damn notes last semester.
And that settles the issue.
Somehow, I manage to turn away before Zoe spots me. I walk over to Ches and the others, pretending to join their conversation but barely listening to what they’re saying. I don’t say a word while I wait for Francesca to show up so we can get this bullshit over with.
She arrives punctually as usual, not a minute late.
Francesca was our teacher last year too.
She’s a petite, slender woman with an angular face and a low voice that has just a trace of an Italian accent.
Everything about her is severe, except for a few dark curls that play around her face, as though they’re trying to soften her up.
“Good morning,” she says, stepping into the middle of the room.
She introduces herself briefly and gets straight to the point.
“I have big plans for you this year, and I expect you all to do your best. Do you understand?” Francesca doesn’t mince words.
Her explanations are just as concise as her praise and criticism.
Precise and harsh, but always honest. “The pas de deux is all about trust and working together. It’s about creating a connection with one another.
That’s why you will be divided into permanent pairs at the end of the week.
After that, there will be no more changes for the rest of the semester,” she explains.
“Over the next few hours, I will decide who is suitable for whom. Is that clear?” She looks at us with her eyebrows raised. We murmur in agreement, and she nods.
“Skye, you will dance with Raffael, and Julie with Ben.” Francesca goes through the names one by one, and the fewer of us that are left, the more my body tenses up. I know who Francesca is going to assign to me even before she says it.
“Zoe and Jase.”
My pulse goes haywire, and I only realize that my hands are clenched again when I feel my fingernails digging painfully into my palms. Great. As if I didn’t already have enough shit to deal with. Now I’m stuck with Zoe.
You’re a coward.
The voice in my head is familiar, and it still hurts.
Shut up, Sam.
I turn toward Zoe to escape his voice, which is a joke because he’s not there and he’s not talking to me. It’s all in my head, and I can’t get away from myself. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Zoe is white as a sheet, looking as though she can’t imagine anything worse than dancing with me. My nails dig even deeper into my skin.
She doesn’t move a damn inch in my direction while Francesca assigns the last pairs, just stares at me, her eyes wide.
I return her gaze coolly, and a hurt expression flits over her face.
It’s easy to see what’s going on inside her.
She’s realizing I’m not the same person I was back then.
I’m not the one who kept her secrets. I’m different now.
Well, guess whose fault that is, Pixie.
My mouth twists into a condescending smile. I can’t help it. It’s pure self-defense.
Her gaze wavers, and she blushes. Thanks to her fair skin, I can see the heat rise up her neck and into her cheeks.
I don’t move, so she takes a step toward me with her shoulders hunched. Her insecurity is palpable, and in the past, I might have asked her what was wrong.
“Jase,” she says softly. The sound of my name on her lips makes my shoulders tense. When she says my name, it sounds different than when anyone else says it. That alone is reason enough for me to never want to hear her say it.
“Very good, then. Everyone has found their partners.” Francesca saves me from having to acknowledge Zoe. But then she claps her hands encouragingly. “Okay, let’s go.”
Francesca briefly explains the sequence of our first routine, but I’m barely listening.
It’s the same as last year, and I already know what to do.
I step behind Zoe, just as Ches and the others step behind their partners.
We’re so close now that the familiar scent of her shampoo washes over me.
She smells just like she used to. Like lavender, and something indefinable that is simply Zoe.
My heart skips a beat, and my hands find their way to her waist all by themselves.
She flinches as I touch her and place my fingers on her flat stomach.
Believe me, I don’t like it either.
In the mirror, her eyes meet mine, and her pupils are so dilated that her eyes look almost black. My grip on her waist tightens instinctively, and her eyes widen even more in response. I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, through the thin fabric of her leotard.
We start moving at exactly the same moment, in perfect harmony. Her gaze in the mirror meets mine again and again, and there’s something in her eyes that I can’t make sense of.
But it’s difficult to think about that now because my fingers are wrapped around hers, and my body remembers other things. Her fingers on my face, my hands in her hair. I grit my teeth so hard it hurts and push the memories back, concentrating on the steps and nothing else.
We follow Francesca’s instructions, going into spins and bending forward. It’s easy, far too easy, to dance with her. It shouldn’t be this damn easy, not after everything that’s happened.
I try as hard as I can to imagine the girl I’m dancing with is someone else, anyone but Zoe.
She’s just another dancer. And somehow it works.
I ignore her gaze, even as it keeps shifting to my face.
I ignore the fact that her skin is getting warmer and warmer under my hands.
I ignore the lavender scent of her hair. She no longer exists.
And then all at once, nothing is easy anymore.
I lead Zoe into a pirouette, holding her just like before, but this time she loses her balance, stumbles, and doesn’t regain it. Not even when she stands up again, her face scarlet, and puts her hand back in mine.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. Her voice sounds thin and fragile. The hair stands up on the back of my neck.
“Let’s just get on with it. Get this over with,” I say gruffly, and she flinches again. I ignore it.
We carry on, but it’s like a switch has been flipped inside her, and her movements are suddenly choppy and out of time, not flowing like they were a moment ago.
She is stiff and can’t be guided. She’s either too fast or too slow.
Nothing works anymore, and I feel Francesca’s skeptical gaze on us more than once.
Zoe suddenly tears herself away from me and steps backward. Her breathing becomes frantic, and tears shimmer in her eyes. Is she fucking serious? Is she going to start crying now?
You’re acting like a total jerk, Sam’s voice says.
I roll my eyes, and I’m about to comment, but I don’t get the chance. She whirls around and flees the room like she’s being chased by a demon.
Stunned, I watch her run away and just leave me standing here. Again.