Casey
M y torso surges forward, arms extended, back curled. Sweat trickles down my temple as I pull back, my movements short and sharp. My left leg extends behind me, high and straight.
Hold. Hold. Hold.
I twist my body and leg, landing the illusion en pointe.
“Beautiful, .” I cringe, waiting for the but , and I don’t wait long. “Next time, faster.” Miss Dumond claps her hands. “That’s enough for today. I’ll see all of you on Monday.”
I groan silently because she’s right. It was too slow. Everything today has been too slow. I’ve functioned more on muscle memory than actual momentum. I’m just thankful I’m finally done because I’m ready to climb into my bed and hide under the covers until Monday.
We begin to scatter, heading for the dressing rooms when Miss Dumond calls my name. “, a word, please.”
My head falls forward with a sigh. A few girls around me giggle and murmur, and I suppress an eye roll at how catty they can be. I thought when I graduated high school, the mean girl attitudes would be left behind in high school . I’ve learned it follows you everywhere. Maybe it takes a few more years to grow up.
I walk to Miss Dumond, hands clasped in front of me, and wait expectantly for my reprimand over a lackluster performance. “Yes, ma’am?” I almost whisper.
Her warm smile relaxes me when she grabs my hand, pulling me further away from the girls still filing through to the changing room. “, you are one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen.” My eyes fall to the floor, the tips of my ears heating from the compliment. They’re hard to take because I don’t feel that special or great. I know I’m technically sound most days, but it takes so much more than being able to execute the moves to be talented. “I know you think you’ll never be able to do this professionally, but I’m telling you that you can. Your talent and skill. It’s truly breathtaking.” When I start to shake my head, to deny her words, she grips my chin, tilting my head until our eyes meet. “Yes, . I don’t know where the lack of confidence grows from, but trust me when I say you are remarkable. If you believed it too, nothing could stop you.”
She’s wrong. I accepted long ago that my mother was right. I’m not good enough. After my incident , I couldn’t dance for a year because I was recuperating. During that time, I missed dancing more than anything. My former instructor dismissed me, and no others would take me. The reasoning was simple—I was too tall, coming off a serious injury that sidelined me for too long when I was barely getting by before. The rejections were plenty before, but after…
Jagger dragged me to audition for Miss Dumond. I was shocked she accepted me. Thrilled, but surprised. But I already knew by then that dancing professionally would never be in the cards for me. That Miss Dumond has let me continue for so long is another surprise.
I’m grateful though because I’ve realized even though I will never dance professionally, I can teach. It won’t make me rich, but it could make me happy. So I pour myself into it even more, determined to help make other girls’ dreams come true.
Miss Dumond sighs, disappointment emanating from her. “, do not waste your talent. Perhaps, for ballet, your height poses a challenge, but there are ballerinas who have become quite renowned and are as tall as you. And there are other options as well.” I smile at her because she’s determined. She has so much faith in me and my abilities that I almost believe it’s true. Almost . “In fact, Midnight Fantasy will hold open auditions soon, and I think you should try out.”
My brows hit my hairline. Midnight Fantasy is an elite dance team that encompasses so many dance disciplines, exuding skill, talent… and sex appeal. Even if I were good enough, I definitely am not sexy.
“You know they require tall women.” Miss Dumond adds on. “You check every single box, , and I want you to try out.”
My head shakes from side to side as my heart pounds in my chest. The thought of standing next to the multitude of talented girls and women, knowing I will never measure up makes me lightheaded. I may not be a stranger to rejection, but she may as well have said the New York Ballet.
But her eyes tell me she’s serious.
I think I’m going to be sick.
She grips my hands again, her eyes turning stern. “I’m not asking, Cassandra. It’s a demand. You will try out. If you don’t, then you need to find another instructor because I won’t watch you throw away your talent another minute.”
Tears fill my eyes. My stomach feels like it’s free-falling. Doesn’t she know how much I need this? Dancing is my life line. “They’ll never take me,” I whisper.
“Then you come back here, and we keep practicing until the next audition. I would rather you try out and be rejected than never try at all.”
I nod numbly, unsure what to do. I can’t lose this. It’s the only thing I have that’s mine, but my heart can’t more handle rejection. “M-my resume… It’s… I haven’t auditioned for anything except showcases at school in years.”
“Then you work on that until the auditions.” She nods as if it’s that simple, leaving me with my stomach in knots.
By the time I make it to the dressing room, bile is sitting in my chest. Mindlessly, I remove my shoes, tights, and leotard, exchanging them for a red, pleated maxi skirt, cinched at the waist with a wide black belt. I pull a long-sleeve, cropped yellow sweater over my head, then drop to the bench and slip on my Converse hi-tops. I reach up, pulling the pins from my bun, then the elastic tied around it, letting my hair fall free around my shoulders. Tears fall down my face as I massage away the ache in my scalp with my fingers.
What am I going to do?
I can’t audition, but it seems I can’t not audition either. Miss Dumond doesn’t get it. I. Am. Not. Good. Enough. My skill, talent, looks… nothing about me would ever pass muster for Midnight Fantasy. I would be more likely to be cast in some off-Broadway ensemble than one of the most famous dance teams in the world.
I sigh, dropping my head into my hands for a brief moment, wondering if I should just quit now and be done with it all.
But I need to dance .
I can’t explain it, but I feel free when the music begins and my body moves. I give everything I am, releasing all my pent-up emotions into each sway of my hips and each extension of my legs. It clears my head from the fog that weighs me down.
Even though it didn’t do much of that today, it still helped. I felt lighter, even if marginally, after class. Until the following conversation, that is.
I can’t sit here any longer. If I’m going to wallow, I have to do it at home. Wrapping my fingers around the Burberry peg duffle Lily gave me when she decided my old bag had seen its last days, I set it next to me and toss my things into it. Before I zip it closed, I remove my phone, and then I slip the strap over my head.
My fingers tap my phone screen as I walk toward the door. I quickly delete a few messages from my mom. My self-esteem and mindset are in bad enough shape today. Allowing her to add to it would be masochistic. But as soon as I hit the trash icon, guilt bubbles in my stomach. I wish I could establish boundaries without feeling bad.
Once outside, the overcast sky makes me turn my face up to see the dark clouds building. The smell of rain is already thick, and I pray the inevitable downpour will wait until I’m home, snug under my covers, away from the world.
Ugh. But first I must cancel on my two best friends.
I step back away from the sidewalk so as not to block foot traffic and pull up Lily’s contact info, tap it, and then place the phone to my ear. “If you even think about bailing on us tonight, I will personally drag you by your hair.” She hisses before it even rings.
“But I’m tired,” I whine, hoping she’ll take pity. “Please, just let me—”
“No.” I should’ve known better. Lily doesn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body. Especially for pity parties. “You are not climbing into that bed of yours. I’ve let you cancel three times already. Now, the car I ordered for you should be pulling up any second, so you get your skinny ass in and get here.”
“Why are you whispering?” I ask instead of arguing. Because arguing with Lily is pointless, she never backs down. She is stubborn to her own detriment.
“Because your dad is five feet away, and I know you don’t want him to know you’re dipping. Again .”
“Dammit,” I mutter because she’s right. Dad will ask questions if I cancel again. I’m not sure the last few excuses worked either, but he didn’t question me. Though it would explain the looks he’s given me lately.
“That’s right, little girl. Now you have twenty minutes to get to Slippery.”
“ Slippery! ” I screech, instantly turning red when I draw a few smirks. “Lily, I am not dressed for that place!” Truthfully, I am not a fan of the place at all. The dress code always feels clothing optional. It’s not a state I’m comfortable in unless it’s whatever costume I’m wearing for a performance.
“I. Don’t. Care. Now, get into the pretty, environmentally friendly Tesla that just arrived. Love you. Bye.”
She ends the call just as a car pulls to the curb. The driver rolls down the window and calls my name. I stomp to the car, muttering under my breath like a petulant toddler, and climb in the backseat.
I love Lily, but sometimes I wish she understood shoving me out of my comfort zone actually hinders me more than helps. At the end of every day, I’m already exhausted from overstimulation. A night out with her always takes me days to recuperate.
“Are you ready, ma’am?” the driver asks with a slight accent I can’t place.
“What gave it away? Was it the closed door or me sitting here, twiddling my thumbs?”
His dark brows dip, a hard scowl pulling his mouth down. “Porra da cadela.”
I wince, catching the meaning from his tone more than his words. Embarrassment slithers across my skin when I realize how much like my mother I just sounded. My head ducks in shame. “I apologize. You didn’t deserve that. Yes, I am ready to go.”
His hard eyes soften, and he nods. “Thank you.”
“Did your instructions come with the address of where we’re going, or should I find it?”
“I have it, ma’am.”
I nod and try to smile, still embarrassed about the way I spoke to him.
Forty-five minutes and half a dozen texts from my bossy friend later, we arrive at the club. The bright neon purple sign in the swoopy script flashes brightly above the club, mocking me. Despite its name sounding like an open invitation to get wet and wild, the club is exclusive, and the place everyone wants to be, made apparent by the line circling the block. Just as I open the car door, the first fat drops of rain begin to fall.
I race to the entrance, and the bouncer lifts the rope, letting me through. The crowd behind me complains. It’s not unusual when you’ve been in line for hours. Then, some rich prick gets in without suffering a second, monopolizing that precious maximum capacity limit. I’m not rich. I don’t look it either. But I’m connected to people who are. I guess that makes me a prick, too.
Shrieks and screams sound off before I walk through the door. Chancing a look over my shoulder, I see the fat drops have turned into a tsunami in seconds. The crowd scrambles, looking for cover from the deluge falling on them, and I catch the glares of a few girls I recognize from Miss Dumond’s classes.
Lovely.
Once I’m through the entrance, after checking my bag, I continue through the double doors to the main room. Purple and green lights streak across the building. Not a table or booth is available, and it appears to be standing room only at the bar. Because , of course, Lily wants to be where the entire city is.
A resentment escapes my lips as I work my way through the crowd, dreaming of a Cosmopolitan so big I can swim in it, to the roped-off section on the other side of the building to the private booth owned by none other than Lily’s rock star brother. I didn’t even know people could own booths.
When I reach the table, my dream dies an excruciating death when I spot my dad and Uncle Henry sitting there with Lily and Ashleigh, laughing at something. I was hoping they’d be gone before I got here because I cannot drink with them around. It just feels… wrong. It doesn’t help that I’m not twenty-one, but as long as Lily or Ashleigh buy, no one says a word. I just can’t with Dad or Uncle H here to witness it.
I swallow disappointment and frustration—never wanting the two most important men in my life to feel for a second I’m not happy to see them—and smile wide. Sticking my fingers out to the side, I give a little jazz fingers wave. “I’m here.”
Lily and Ashleigh practically flash the room in their micro dresses as they climb over Dad and Uncle H. I hear my uncle grumble something about starting a fire later while Dad mutters thanks to God that at least I’m wearing clothes.
My friends ignore their boyfriends—I gag every time I think about that—and throw their arms around me, bouncing on their toes. Lily’s high-pitched squeal of excitement nearly ruptures my eardrums, and their squeezing is sucking the life out of me. “Can’t. Breathe.” I tap out on both of them.
“Let her go, you psycho,” Dad calls out. “It’s not like you didn’t see her a few days ago.”
“I didn’t,” Ashleigh pipes in with an eye roll.
“And I saw her for two minutes before you walked in. It doesn’t count when you’re around,” Lily says over her shoulder with a wave of her middle finger.
“Why doesn’t it fucking count?” Dad grunts, bringing his drink to his lips.
Lily spins, batting her lashes. “Because we can’t be depraved little sluts with Daddy watching.”
My face turns ten shades of red as I shake my head. I peek at Dad and see him biting his cheek with a grin. Oh my God, I might puke. At least whatever deity exists has a little mercy because he doesn’t voice what he’s thinking. No matter what it is, I’m sure it’s something that will leave me with mental scars forever.
But I use her words as an excuse to get out of this thing. Besides my mood, something in my gut tells me tonight won’t end well. “Well, since they’re here, this doesn’t count either, so I can just go home and go to bed, right?” I laugh, trying to make it seem like a joke.
I fail. Not only do Lily and Ashleigh scowl, but my dad’s watchful eyes narrow, and his brows dip. And just like that, all the time I spent the other evening convincing him I was okay unravels.
“No such luck, kid.” Uncle Henry stands and wraps his arm around my shoulders. He plants a kiss on my temple, then tugs my hair as if I’m still a little kid. “Liam and I are meeting up with Dane for new ink.”
I would much rather do that.
He lets go of me and grabs Ash. “And the only slutty depravity that happens better be at home, or I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”
She bats her lashes at him. “Promise?”
“Ew. I just threw up in my mouth.” They laugh, but I’m not joking. “God, why did both of you have to go after my friends?”
I snap my mouth shut. I’m struggling with my filter today. Uncle H chuckles, thankfully missing my bitchiness. “Technically, they were ours first, kiddo.”
Cue the insecurities. All the ones that scream Ashleigh and Lily are only my friends because of my uncle and my dad. My lids slam shut, and I push the nonsense away, trying to remind myself that Dad and Uncle H met them first, but Lily and Ashleigh chose to be my friend. They knew their relationships weren’t dependent on me.
But my mother’s voice still niggles at my brain.
They chose me. They. Chose. Me.
When my eyes open, my dad’s blue gaze is locked on mine, worry creasing his eyes.
Jesus, I keep making everything worse. I knew I should’ve gone home.
Dad stands, kisses Lily, then grabs my hand, pulling me away from the group. He grips my face, tilting it toward his. His eyes search mine, the worrying furrowing deeper between his brows. “Talk to me.”
I place my hands over his. “I’m okay, Dad. Just having an off day.”
I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. His lips press to my forehead. “Love you, bear,” he whispers, his voice cracking a bit. “My office for lunch Monday.”
“I remember.”
Then they leave, and when I rejoin my friends, I swallow hard at their matching smirks.
Time for the inquisition.