29. The Closure
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE CLOSURE
Layla
“Okay, so should we get our nails done first or wait until after we do a bit of shopping?” I ask, looking down at Bradleigh. We’re at the mall for the morning, and then I’m going to my dad’s house for lunch before my performance at seven.
He’s doing well now that his diabetes is under control, thankfully.
Only took him a stern lecture from his regular doctor about his regimen, but he’s okay now.
Bradleigh’s eyes scan all of the stores, and she shifts her weight nervously. “What if they say something to me?” she asks.
I scrunch my brows. “Well, you’re with me. And Orion will stand tall and get all scary if anyone says anything rude, okay?” I tell her, looking over her shoulder at Orion.
“Promise,” he tells her, winking.
“Okay, maybe shopping first, then?” She looks up at me with an expectant smile.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
The three of us walk into the teen accessory store, and Bradleigh spends an exorbitant amount of time picking between two different pairs of earrings. She’d insisted that Malakai join us today, but since he was busy at Julian’s house, I’d brought the second-best thing—his brother. We’d met Bradleigh at the mall, and her mom had gone back home to rest. Apparently, she was a nurse working overtime, and the whole bullying situation at school had taken a toll on Bradleigh, causing her to have nightmares.
Neither of them was sleeping very well.
She talks to us excitedly about ballet when we get pretzels and dip them in warm cheese sauce. I tell her about my performances at PCB, and she tells me about her dreams to dance for the Royal Ballet in London.
Orion is quiet for the most part, engaging with her genuinely but not wanting to interfere in the girls’ trip. When we declare that it’s time for nails, Orion winks and excuses himself to the bookstore.
Bradleigh and I decide to get matching yellow polish—her choice—and when her technician is still working on her nails, I walk to the outside of the store to get away from the strong fumes. A woman is sitting on the bench in front of the nail salon, and I have to do a double take.
Jean Fuller.
Also known as the judge from the Paris School of Ballet—the one who rejected me all those years ago.
You simply don’t fit the image of a Parisian ballet dancer.
She’s thinner now, if that’s possible. Older. Her severe expression is fixated on something on her phone. As I take a step closer, I contemplate if I should say hello. I doubt she remembers me, but maybe it would be a good time to get some closure or something.
When I take another step closer, she snaps her head up to me, and I go still when I see the tears tracking down her face.
“Are you all right?” I ask, holding my hands out.
“I’m fine, thank you ,” she snipes, her accented English bitter and cold.
I should just walk away. After all, she was rude to me—it almost seemed like she was holding a grudge against me that day, though I suppose I’ll never know why.
“Are you sure?” I step closer, and it doesn’t really seem like she’s okay. Her hands are shaking, and her hair looks less polished than I remember.
Without asking, I sit down next to her.
She scoots away. “I told you, I’m fine ?—”
“You probably don’t remember me,” I say slowly, looking at her with what I hope is an open expression. “I auditioned for the Paris School of Ballet seven years ago, and my stepbrother interrupted the audition?—”
“I remember,” she says, sniffing. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a handkerchief, blowing her nose.
She doesn’t say anything else, so I continue.
“I worked really hard for that audition, and I was devastated for a really long time that I never got to show you my repertoire.”
“And?” she asks, looking annoyed.
I huff a laugh. I’ve thought a lot about this over the years. I held so much anger toward Orion, and at the time, it felt justified. But if I’m truly honest, I think the struggles I’ve had with my size and body shape probably would have been amplified had I lived in a foreign country away from my family and friends. Especially in a city as sophisticated as Paris.
“I realize now that it was never meant to be, and that’s okay. Everything happens for a reason, you know? You told me I don’t fit the image of a Parisian ballet dancer, and you’re right. I never would’ve been happy there.”
Jean’s eyes flicker with a mix of confusion and curiosity, as if she’s trying to decipher my intentions. I give her a small smile, genuinely hoping to convey what I’m trying to say.
“I ended up finding my own path. And it led me to places I never would have imagined. So, in a way, I’m grateful for what happened.”
She blinks at me, her guard slipping slightly. “Grateful?”
“Yes. I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but I hope you find your own peace too. We all deserve that, don’t we?”
Jean stares at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I think she might snap back with another sharp retort, but instead, she just nods slowly, almost imperceptibly.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper, as if the words are foreign to her.
I stand, offering her one last smile. “Take care of yourself, Jean. I wish you well.”
As I walk away, I can feel her eyes on me, her silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Maybe she’ll never fully understand my words, or perhaps she’ll dismiss them entirely. But as I move away from the bench, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.
I’m not that young girl anymore. I’m stronger, and I’ve moved on. And maybe, just maybe, Jean needed to hear that she can too.
I nearly walk into Orion. When I place my hands on his arms, I realize he’s not looking at me.
He’s looking at Jean.
“What did she say to you?” he asks, jaw feathering.
I huff a laugh. “Nothing. I wished her well. She seems to be having a bad day.”
Orion sags with relief. “Good.”
I arch a brow. “You can’t avenge every person who hurts me, you know.”
His darkened eyes look down at me, and for a second, it looks like he wants to say something else. Instead, he swallows.
“I heard she lost her job working for the Paris School of Ballet.”
I cock my head as I narrow my eyes. “What a coincidence.”
Before either of us can say anything else, Bradleigh comes running out of the salon, nearly colliding into us.
“Look! Banana nails.” She shows off the cute little banana decals laid over her nails.
“Amazing. Who doesn’t love bananas?” I ask, winking.
“Now maybe the girls won’t make fun of me,” she says under her breath.
I look at Orion, and his brows are furrowed in concern.
“Let’s go take a walk,” I tell her, my hand on her shoulder as I usher her out of the salon. I’d prepaid for our nails, so I wave goodbye to the technicians and head in the direction of the ice cream shop.
“I know things have been tough lately. I remember what it was like at your age, and it’s not easy when people are mean. But I want you to know something really important: fitting in isn’t everything.”
Bradleigh crosses her arms, listening, so I continue.
“Sometimes, when others bully, it’s because they’re dealing with their own issues. That doesn’t make it right, but it does mean that it’s not about you—it’s about them. You’re unique, and that’s a good thing. It might not feel like it now, but the qualities that make you different are the same ones that make you special.”
“Sometimes I feel so different,” she says, looking up at me with a crease between her brows.
“I know. And you know what? I realized that the people who matter the most are the ones who like you for who you are, not who they want you to be. It’s okay if you don’t fit into a certain group or if you feel like you stand out. Standing out is brave and strong. And I promise you, one day, you’ll find people who love you just as you are. And when that happens, you’ll be so glad you didn’t try to change for anyone else. If you ever feel down or alone, remember that there’s a whole world out there full of people who haven’t even met you yet but will care about you so much. It gets better, and you’ll find your people. For now, just keep being kind to yourself, because you deserve that.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Have you ever had someone be mean to you?”
I nod, thinking of Jean. Thinking of all the people in high school who called me a liar, or a slut. Thinking of anyone else who felt the need to be mean.
“Oh yeah. It’s just a part of being humans. Only we can choose how we react to those mean people, you know?”
She nods, seeming lighter. “Yeah. All the mean people can fuck off.”
I bark out a laugh, and Bradleigh joins in. As I look up at Orion, he’s watching me expectantly.
“That’s right. All the mean people can fuck off.”
His eyes burn with something prideful—something appreciative.
“Ice cream?” he suggests.
“Yes, please. My favorite is strawberry.”
He chuckles. “Hmm. I think I know someone else who loves strawberry ice cream.”
Bradleigh peers up at me, eyes bright. “Ms. Rivers, are we twins?”
I pat her head. “I think we might be,” I tell her, holding my nails up. “Yellow nails, strawberry ice cream, and not giving a fuck about mean people? That’s more than a coincidence.”
Bradleigh squeals with excitement, and as we walk up to the ice cream shop, Orion places his arm around my shoulders.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.”
His eyes are soft, almost as if he can see right through me. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me, something that makes me feel seen in a way I didn’t expect from him, but I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.
Maybe it’s because his Starboy persona heard me when I was bearing my soul, or maybe because he’s known me most of my life.
“You know,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “you’re like Odette in so many ways—kind, genuine, always true to your heart. But you’ve got Odile in you too. You stand up for yourself and for what you believe in. You can be quite intimidating. It’s amazing to watch.”
I could identify with both characters while up on stage. But it hadn’t occurred to me that he saw both of those traits in me. It’s a relief to be able to give him everything I have, and for him to see me how I’d always wanted to be seen by someone—without judgment or expectation. For so long, I had to tiptoe around my dates because of my demisexuality or my profession.
“Yes, well, you would know, seeing as you attend every single performance, you psycho.”
He laughs. “I don’t regret a single second.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you don’t.”
He leans down so that he’s murmuring his next line into my ear. “Roll your eyes again. I dare you.”
I don’t stop smiling all morning.