Chapter 34
Zoe
I feel safe with you. It’s always been that way.
—Zoe
“What’s up?” Jase is at my door. Recently, he’s been here a lot.
Not that I’m complaining. His eyes sparkle mischievously, and my heart jumps.
I automatically think of what Mae said, but no, I’m not in love.
It’s just the damn hormones. His gaze makes my skin tingle, and I want him to touch me and explore my body with his mouth. I want to do the same to his.
You see? It’s just the hormones. And a bit of lust because it’s so new.
“I’m copying Mae’s notes from yesterday.” I let him in and point at my desk, where Mae’s notebook is lying next to mine, with half a dozen highlighters next to it.
Jase makes a face, and I can tell he’s thinking about his scholarship. “I have to do that too. I’ll ask Skye if she took notes. She probably didn’t.”
“You’re good friends with her, right?” The question jumps out of me before I can stop it.
Congratulations, Zoe. It’s exactly the right moment for this.
But maybe it is. I never asked him about Skye before.
But all at once, I remember Jase and Skye arriving late to Pearson’s talk on my first day and how he put an arm around her shoulders.
The image annoys me. Damn, why am I even thinking about this?
Because maybe Mae is right.
Jase raises his eyebrows, as if this is the last question he could imagine me asking, and I wish I could take it back.
“Right,” he says honestly, seeming a little surprised, as though it just became clear to him why I asked.
Then he answers the question that I don’t dare to ask.
“Skye likes to act like she’s my big sister and I’m the little brother she has to take care of.
Sometimes she’s really annoying.” A mischievous grin crosses his face.
“The way siblings are, I guess.” His smile slips, and I quickly change the subject because I don’t want to talk about Caleb, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about Lia either. He’s never talked to me about her.
“You didn’t come to talk about the notes from the class we missed, did you?”
He shakes his head, and the gleam in his eyes is back. “Do you want to do something forbidden?”
“How forbidden?”
“Just a little.” He reaches out a hand, and I give him mine without hesitation.
At this moment, something becomes clear to me.
Until yesterday, Jase had no idea what had happened to me.
But from the beginning, from my first day at this school, he was the one who held out his hand to me.
Waited for me. He was always waiting for me. In the ballet studio and outside of it.
His hand was always the question, and mine was the answer. Our fingers twine together as though they’ve never done anything else, and we leave my room. We walk across campus in the twilight, shuffling through the red and yellow leaves.
Jase leads me around the theater to the emergency exit, and after a cautious glance over his shoulder, he opens the door.
We slip inside. He seems to have a plan, and I follow him although I have no idea what it is.
Voices echo through the auditorium, and then the music begins.
I recognize the piece immediately and stop dead.
“Jase,” I whisper. “They’re rehearsing The Sleeping Beauty.”
He grins at me. “Exactly.”
“We shouldn’t be here.”
Rehearsals for the senior ballet are off limits to underclassmen. Although Pearson wants us all to be part of it, only the seniors and a few juniors who were needed to fill out the cast are allowed to be at the rehearsals.
“I know. But if you don’t come with me now, we’ll get caught, and then it will all have been for nothing,” Jase says. But he doesn’t sound worried at all.
I hesitate for just a moment before following him. We slip out of the backstage area into the foyer and then into the upper balconies. From here, we won’t be seen from below if we’re careful.
My heart hammers as Jase bends down and pulls me into the front row.
He gives me a warning look but can’t hold back a smile.
We sink into the soft cushions. It’s dark up here, but we can still see everything.
Emily is standing in the middle of the stage with Mr. Conrad.
He’s explaining something to her that we can’t hear.
Other dancers stand and sit at the edge of the stage, watching them and whispering to each other.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the railing, and just watch. There’s something magical about rehearsals, and not only when you’re the one dancing.
Of course, they can’t be compared to performances.
At the premiere, everything is flawless.
The costumes, makeup, hairstyles. Every step, every movement.
Every smile. But you’re also nervous. You’re afraid of failing, even more than usual.
Because everything has to be perfect. For the audience and for everyone who has put so much work into the production.
But the moment when you move from the practice studio to the stage for the first time, putting the steps you’ve learned over weeks of hard work into context, it’s a totally different feeling.
Everything is a little easier, with less pressure.
The pain that accompanies us every day as we push our bodies to their limits fades into the background.
It’s pure adrenaline and euphoria. It’s the last moment before everyone sees it.
It’s the one time you’re dancing for your own pleasure.
Everything feels more real, but at the same time, it’s like a dream. The space is bigger, it smells different than the practice studios, and the sound is better, deeper. The texture of the stage floor is different. Even the air feels changed.
On stage, and backstage, everything feels extra special. It feels like you’re getting closer to your big dream. Everyone is more excited and calmer at the same time, out of respect for the stage, the audience, and the dream.
Emily nods, and Mr. Conrad steps aside, leaving the stage for her alone. He gives someone a sign, and the music rings through the theater.
My feet twitch of their own accord. I know the steps, and I want to be down there in Emily’s place. I want to dance the part of Aurora, because it was always my role.
I only realize I’m on my feet when Jase steps behind me and puts an arm around my waist. His breath caresses the sensitive skin behind my ear, and I get goose bumps.
“In three years, that will be you, Pixie,” he whispers. He makes it sound like an indisputable fact.
I turn my head, just a tiny bit, so his lips meet my skin. “You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can. You know why? Because I saw you dancing on Saturday night. And I saw you last year before Charlotte stole the part from you. Emily is good. Charlotte is kind of good, when she’s not busy making people cry in bathrooms. But neither of them dances like you do.
You’re tougher than they are because you had to fight. ”
I turn in his arms to look at him, leaning back against the rail. He’s looking directly into my soul. He’s picking up the shards of my broken spirit and putting them back together piece by piece.
“You’re stronger than they are. That’s why you’ll be down there in three years.”
“Okay,” I whisper, because I want to believe him. Then I kiss him, because he’s so close to me that I simply have to.
This kiss is different. Slower, gentler, more careful. He holds my face between his hands, and then I lay my hand on his chest. I can feel his heart. It falters and beats just a little too fast. I have to smile, because mine is doing exactly the same thing.
My lips open. His tongue is in my mouth, and everything is different, but I can’t tell why.
We kiss while The Sleeping Beauty is being rehearsed right below us.
Voices and music blend into an indistinct blur.
All I can hear is Jase’s breathing, which accelerates as I run my fingers through his hair and gnaw gently on his lower lip. His body reacts, rising against mine.
The kiss changes. It becomes deeper, more eager, more demanding. Heat shoots through me. We kiss endlessly, and I lose all sense of space and time. I can only feel. I feel him and myself and this desire for more. An intense pressure builds up that’s almost unbearable in a bittersweet way.
I push myself against him, and there’s too much clothing between us. I’m so hot. I want to feel his skin on mine and nothing else. His tongue plays with mine. The pulsing between my legs grows stronger, and I want to feel something else there.
Jase lets go of me and steps back, just far enough that he can see me.
His lips are swollen from our kisses, and his eyes are shining.
I’m sure I look exactly the same way. His gaze roams over my face and then focuses on my mouth.
He swallows hard and then puts a hand on my lower back, turning us around together and lowering me gently into one of the seats behind me.
The cushions are soft. My breath catches as Jase sinks to his knees in one fluid motion.
He smiles, and his eyes flash with the same hunger that I feel.
Desire pulses through my veins, so strong that it makes me dizzy. I must be losing my mind a little, because I let Jase put his hands on my knees and spread my legs. Not just let him; I want it. His fingers wander up my thighs, inch by inch. Agonizingly slowly.
I have to bite my lower lip to stifle a moan as my head falls back.
His fingers reach the waistband of my tights, and I thank myself for having chosen to wear a dress this morning.
I close my eyes. He tugs at the thin fabric, and I raise my hips so he can pull off the tights and panties.
They bunch up around my ankles, and I kick my shoes off so the ball of fabric falls at my feet.
There’s a quiet voice in my head whispering that I shouldn’t be doing this. And certainly not here when the rehearsal is going on below us. I look into Jase’s eyes, and he returns my gaze. God, I’m so hot I’m melting. My whole body is pulsing, longing for more.
I ignore the voice. I should, and I want to.
Then Jase lowers his head between my legs.