Chapter 17
Jase
What do you miss about LA?
Everything.
—J
Fat raindrops splash against the window next to my bed. Outside it’s dark, even though the sun hasn’t set yet. The sky is full of thick storm clouds that swallow what’s left of the daylight.
The song “In Threes” echoes from my headphones.
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting on my bed and staring out the window.
I’ve been trying for almost twenty-four hours to figure out how the hell Zoe managed to break through my defenses enough that I would answer her questions honestly.
But I did it, and maybe that’s good, because otherwise she might not have agreed to meet me for practice.
On the other hand, it sucks because I don’t want her to know what’s going on with me.
There’s an insistent knock on my door, loud enough to hear over the music. I don’t make the effort to go see who wants something from me. But whoever it is is persistent, and I finally give in, annoyed. I take off my headphones and get up.
I’m expecting Skye, but it’s Mom at the door, the expression on her face a mixture of uncertainty and impatience.
“I thought you weren’t here,” she says instead of greeting me.
I don’t answer. What does she expect me to say? Yes, I’m here. I just didn’t want to answer at first, and now I really wish I hadn’t. Yeah, that might have been a good idea, but Mom can rarely take the truth.
“What do you want?” I say instead.
“Can I come in?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
This room is my kingdom, the only home I have left.
Mom would rather fly to the moon than set foot in my room.
She rolls her eyes and brushes a strand of blond hair behind her ear.
Despite the persistent rain outside, it’s strangely dry.
Only now do I notice that she’s holding an oversized umbrella.
“Don’t be silly, Jase. Let me in, please.”
I snort. “Why should I?”
“Because it can’t go on like this. You can’t turn away from us like this. We’re a family.” She impatiently shifts from one foot to the other.
I laugh out loud, making a sound of surprise and disbelief. “Since when?”
“Jase, you’re impossible. Let me in so we can talk.” She takes a step forward, but I refuse to take even a single step back.
“You can just tell me what it is you have to say and then leave again,” I suggest dispassionately.
Mom sighs. “I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But your father and I only want what’s best for you and—”
“Dad only wants to get his way. That has nothing to do with what’s best for me,” I say, interrupting her sharply.
“Your father wants a secure future for you. He wants you to finish an education that you can build your life on. That doesn’t mean you have to study medicine. But even you have to admit that dancing won’t give you the same security as a degree from Harvard.”
“What about Lia?” The question bursts out of me before I can stop it. I’ve been asking myself the same thing for ages, and maybe it’s about time that I get a goddamn answer. “She’s allowed to dance. You’re even paying her tuition. Why should it be any different for me?”
Mom sighs again and runs her hand over her beige trench coat to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle. “Jase, can’t we discuss this in your room?”
“No, we cannot.”
“Your sister was four years old when she started ballet. Even then, she had exceptional talent; you know that.”
Yes, I know that. I was there. But it’s not an answer to my question. “I have talent too. Which you might know if you ever watched me.”
“Besides, you also know that Lia’s career won’t last forever,” Mom continues, as though I hadn’t said a thing. “She’s been with Archie so long that it can’t be much longer until they get married. Then she’ll have kids, and she can concentrate on being a mother. Just like she’s always wanted.”
There’s so much wrong with those few sentences that I wonder if it’s really my mother standing there or just a clone of the woman who raised me.
“Lia wants to dance,” I finally reply. “And if anyone has shown us that it’s possible to have kids and a career, it’s you.”
“My situation was completely different back then. And Lia is going to be a Goodwin. You know how important Archie’s family is in Boston. She’s going to have other responsibilities.”
“You mean producing children and showing up at charity events, looking pretty and smiling nicely? That kind of thing?”
“Please don’t be so cynical, Jase. Besides, this isn’t about your sister and her future; it’s about you. As I said, you don’t have to study medicine if you don’t want to, but we had hoped that one day you would take over the clinic.”
“I’m not Sam,” I say between clenched teeth. A stabbing pain pierces my heart. It’s old and familiar, and it hasn’t gone away after five years. “He wanted that. I never did! I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.”
“You’re not,” she replies, but we both know that it’s not the truth. “But if I had known you would be so fixated on dancing, I never would have sent you to ballet lessons and . . .” she stops as she realizes she’s gone too far this time.
I’m filled with a stoic sense of calm. “Then why did you pay the tuition for the first year even though Dad would have preferred it if I were out on the street? And why did you try to pay the second year, before Dad caught you?”
I don’t add that if it weren’t for East, I really would have been out on the street. Even though part of me wants her to know, a bigger part doesn’t want to show weakness.
Mom barely flinches and quickly regains her composure. “Because I was hoping that you’d realize for yourself that this place isn’t right for you. You don’t belong here.”
She’s lying to me, I know that, but it doesn’t matter. I can ask as many times as I want, but she’ll never tell me the truth. Because then she’d have to turn against Dad.
“No, I belong at Harvard,” I say, my voice dripping with irony. I’m still clinging to the doorknob so hard that it hurts. “You should leave.”
“No, I won’t go. I want us to be a family again.”
“Then good luck fixing everything you’ve screwed up over the last few years.” I’m about to slam the door in her face, but Mom is quicker. She slides her foot into the doorframe and stops me.
“Jase, please.” There’s a sound of desperation in her voice that I’ve never heard before. She’s about to say something else, but someone interrupts her.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
We both turn at the same time. Lia is standing at the other end of the corridor in front of her room door. She’s soaked to the skin, and her hair is plastered to her head and neck.
“Lia, darling, what happened?” Mom gasps, horrified.
A deeply hurt expression briefly crosses Lia’s face, but it disappears again immediately. Instead, she forces a smile. “We had an appointment to plan the party for your birthday, remember? I was at Le Chat Noir waiting for you, but you were obviously busy. The rain surprised me on the way home.”
“Oh, Lia, I completely forgot about that. I’m so sorry.
” Mom moves toward Lia, and it’s the perfect opportunity to finally close the door, but something stops me.
Probably the final dissolution of our family, which is playing out right before my eyes.
“Would you like to freshen up, and then we’ll drive to the restaurant together?
I’ll come get you in a few minutes, okay? Jase and I have something to clear up.”
Lia looks at me sharply, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was jealous.
“Go ahead, Mom. I guess we’re done.” I stretch and yawn, feigning boredom.
“We’re not.” She rubs her forehead. She’s probably getting a headache again, like she always does when I do something that freaks her out. “What do I have to do to make you part of this family again?”
“Maybe just accept me for who I am,” I suggest, my voice artificially cheerful.
“Jase—”
Now another voice interrupts her. The last one I wanted to hear. But hey, this whole situation has to get even worse somehow.
I turn and see Zoe. I didn’t notice the door to her room opening, and if I’m unlucky, she’s heard every word. The walls between our rooms are so thin that you can hear almost everything.
“Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt you,” she says, not dignifying my mother with a glance. “We need to go over the choreography again.” She gives me a meaningful look, and it takes me a moment to realize what she’s doing. She’s trying to rescue me. We didn’t have a practice scheduled, not today.
But instead of feeling gratitude like any normal person in this situation would, I start to get angry. Anyone else could have overheard this stupid conversation and I wouldn’t have cared, but not Zoe. She already knows too much. If I’m unlucky and she’s been listening, now she knows even more.
Still, I take her up on it. Anything is better than dealing with Mom and Lia any longer. I turn to Mom. “I have to leave.”
She looks from me to Zoe in amazement. “But we’re not finished yet.”
“Yes, we are. Lia’s waiting for you. Go plan your party. I’ve got things to do now.” I turn around, grab my key, which is always on the coat hook, and pull the door shut behind me.
I ignore her as she calls my name, with Lia still standing soaking wet outside her room, staring at me in disbelief as I walk away.
Zoe follows me, even when I leave the dorm and head to the practice studios.
It’s pouring, and we’re soaked to the skin in seconds.
I don’t say a word, and neither does she.
We silently enter the building and walk up the stairs, then cross the hall on the fourth floor to reach another staircase.
It’s the one that goes up one more floor to the old studio under the roof that’s too small for group lessons.
The floor here is worn wood, not the gray linoleum in the lower studios.
The old boards have some creaky spots. The round windows can’t be opened—some kind of security measure to keep people from falling out.
In summer, it’s also roasting hot. Now it’s just stuffy, and the smell of sweat hangs in the air.
“Jase, are you all—”
“Don’t ask!” I say, interrupting her harshly. I feel the pressure building up inside. I have to pull myself together. I’m so furious I’m about to explode.
She wants to know if everything is okay, if I’m all right, and of course, after that scene in front of my room, anyone would ask. But it’s not just anyone with me; it’s Zoe. The girl who knows more about me than anyone else does, even Caleb. I didn’t write any notes to him, after all.
Zoe gazes at me silently, and something in the way she looks almost makes me walk away. It’s not pity but something else. I can’t define it, but she looks at me and actually sees me, directly into my soul. She’s always done that, and before, it made everything a little easier. Not today.
Her gaze sends a shiver up my spine, and I get goose bumps. Partly because I’m cold in my wet sweatshirt. Without thinking about whether it’s a good idea, I pull it off over my head. When it lands on the floor with a splat, I look up and see suspicion in her eyes.
“What exactly are you planning?”
I roll my eyes as if it’s not perfectly clear. “I’m cold.”
“And it’s warmer without a shirt?” she asks skeptically.
“It is. Which you’d notice if you took off your sweatshirt too.
It’s always pretty warm up here. But we can forget any extra practice if you get sick from walking around in wet clothes.
” I give her a meaningful look, but she just crosses her arms in front of her chest and narrows her eyes.
Then she exhales with a sigh, as if she’s made a decision.
She puts a hand to her shoulder, and it’s only when the strap slides down her arm that I realize she was wearing a backpack. She opens the zipper and pulls out a dry sweatshirt and two towels. She tosses one of them to me. I catch it reflexively. My eyebrows go up. “You’re prepared.”
“Actually, I was just about to go to the gym,” she says, shrugging. She pulls out her hairband and wraps the other towel around her head.
I follow her example, rubbing my hair dry and then the rest of my body as best I can. But my pants are wet and cold, and they’re going to stay that way.
When I see Zoe reach for the hem of her sweater and pull it off over her head, I’m almost relieved.
She’s wearing a black leotard under her sweater that contrasts with her pale skin, and even though I’ve already seen her in leotards a thousand times back when Caleb and I were friends, this is different.
The thin material is clinging to her slender body because of the rain.
I don’t want to look, but I can’t help it, and then I remember why we’re here.
I remember why Zoe needs this extra practice, and I feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
I only look at her again when she clears her throat. Her wet clothes are lying a few steps away on the floor. Now she’s wearing soft sweatpants and a cropped hoodie that would end at her navel, if she weren’t still wearing the wet leotard underneath it.
It does something to me to see her that way. With messy hair and not anywhere near as tidy as she always is in class, when all the girls wear their white tights and black leotards and have their hair in smooth buns. Now there’s no sign of her perfectionism.
I can’t help the fact that all at once I’m not cold anymore, and my heart might be beating just a little bit faster.
“And now?” she says. Her voice sounds different than usual. “What kind of extra practice did you have in mind?”
Fair question. I have no fucking idea.