Real
Chapter thirty
Hayes Rosewood
My security guard, Mac, grunts as he struggles to open the auditorium door while holding fifteen ballerina teddy bears with matching pink roses tied to each one. I try to help him, but it’s difficult when I’m carrying a bouquet the size of a small child and a gift bag.
“Here, I’ll set this down and open the door for you,” I offer, and place the giant cluster of pink and white roses on a nearby table that’s lined with brochures about the dance school Aurora teaches at.
Mac glares at me above the mountain of stuffed animals. I give him a bright smile as I open the door.
“We should have gotten a box,” he grumbles, and shoulders his way through the too-small doorway.
Yeah, probably, but the gift was a little last minute, so there was a lack of forethought put into the transportation aspect.
I knew I would get Aurora a gift, but then I realized that the recital is for the little girls she teaches, so I did some research yesterday and called a gift-and-flower shop that’s close to the school.
We took Mac’s SUV and piled everything in the back.
Once Mac is inside, I hold the door open with my foot and reach over to grab the roses. A flurry of brochures falls to the floor. I heave a sigh and let the handle go, so that I can clean up my mess. I’m on the floor gathering pamphlets when I hear someone call my name.
“Hayes? Hayes Rosewood is that you?” the feminine voice trills.
I glance over my shoulder and let out a quiet groan.
Sheila Truncator, one of my mom’s closest friends.
They were sorority sisters, and even though my parents stay in New York more than Atlanta, they’re still close and talk often.
Sheila has several kids, and I don’t keep up with any of them beyond what my mom says, but a faint memory of her saying Sheila’s youngest is a dancer comes back to me now. That must be why she’s here.
“Hey, Sheila, how are you?” I ask, and stand up.
She pulls me in for a Chanel-scented hug.
“I’m wonderful! It’s been too long. I was just telling your mother last week that all of us need to get together again. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to support a—” I’m about to say friend, but then Sheila’s eyes dip to my T-shirt. The one Aurora is going to kill me for wearing. The one with her face on it. Yeah, there’s no downplaying this. “My girlfriend,” I sigh.
To everyone on campus, and almost anyone else, I’m happy to pretend Aurora is my girlfriend.
But I know as soon as Sheila leaves here—maybe before—she’s going to call my mom saying she didn’t know I was dating someone.
Which means shortly after that, my parents are going to call me.
I wanted to keep Aurora out of my world, but this chance encounter has ruined that plan.
“Girlfriend?” Sheila squeals. “I was just listening to your mom lament over how you’ll never settle down, but here you are!”
I muster up a smile. “Here I am.” I glance behind me, noticing that the lights in the auditorium have dimmed. “I should get going, though. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Of course, of course! We’ll talk later.” She gives me another hug, then sashays through the doorway.
I quickly put the table display back in order, then pick up the gifts again. Thankfully, someone comes up and opens the door for me. I murmur my gratitude and slip inside as the emcee is giving the night’s itinerary.
Mac is in the back corner of the room, teddy bears piled at his feet while he surveys the area.
Pushing the conversation with Sheila to the back of my mind, I nod to Mac as I pass, then search for Aurora’s family.
Her mom turns around as if she was looking for me and waves me over.
It’s difficult to be inconspicuous with a bouquet as large as this one.
I didn’t exactly think that through, either.
I just told the florist to make me the biggest, pinkest bouquet she could manage.
There’s a seat at the end of the row next to a scowling Jameson Sinclair. To his left is his girlfriend, Marigold, who doesn’t quite glare at me, but she doesn’t smile either.
Jasmine’s head pokes out a few people down.
“You’re wearing the shirt,” she whispers with a grin.
She reached out to me over social media and said they got T-shirts for the event. While she didn’t have any extra, she sent me the design and I was able to have someone overnight it.
Marigold’s eyes drop to my shirt, and her expression softens.
“You might not be so bad after all,” she says rather cryptically before leaning back in her seat.
“Is that a compliment?” I ask Jameson under my breath.
He makes a low, rumbling sound in response. Not much of a talker, this one.
I turn my attention to the stage as the emcee announces the first performance.
“To start us off, it is my pleasure to welcome to the stage Madeline Holt.”
Jasmine shoots up in her seat, along with several people in the row in front of us, all of whom are wearing black T-shirts with the words “Mad Dog Crew” across the back.
“GO, MAD DOG!!!” they scream as a blonde floats across the stage. She blows them a kiss before settling into a pose.
A soft song begins, and I don’t know anything about dance, but she does a good job of telling a story through her movements.
When it’s over, the entire auditorium erupts in applause, the loudest being her “crew.” She leaves the stage, and Jasmine removes her black shirt to reveal the pink one beneath it. They must know each other somehow.
A few performances later, I finally hear Aurora’s name, though it’s not her turn yet.
“Please join me in welcoming our tulip-level ballet class to the stage, taught by Miss Aurora Driscoll.”
I join my row in loud applause and even throw a whistle out for good measure.
A group of little girls in white tutus and lavender leotards tiptoe onto the stage. I squint and make out Aurora standing in the wings, gesturing for them to keep going.
They settle into a pose, with a few of them fidgeting a little; then the music begins.
It sounds similar to what Aurora had in her earbuds the other day, but a little different.
A smile takes over my face as they spin and jump around.
If one of them gets lost, they glance to the side, where Aurora is waiting to help.
When it’s over and they do the most adorable little curtsies, I’m out of my chair before anyone else, dropping the roses so I can clap loudly.
Aurora probably can’t see me, but it doesn’t matter.
She and the girls deserve to hear that their hard work is appreciated.
I sit back down and can feel eyes on me.
When I glance to the left, Andrea is leaned forward, beaming at me with tears streaming down her face. I shoot her a smile and try not to focus on the ache in my chest. Lying to someone as kind and welcoming as Andrea is the kind of thing that makes you feel like you’re drowning in guilt.
More performances go by, then, finally, Aurora’s name is announced. We all scream in support of her, and I swear I see her blush as she takes the stage. She’s wearing a pure white costume. The skirt looks like it’s made of white feathers, and the top portion sparkles beneath the stage lights.
The music starts and I watch, mesmerized, as Aurora begins to dance.
She’s smiling. Wide and bright and beautiful.
Everything about her is captivating. From her long legs to the elegant way she presents herself.
I barely blink the entire performance because I don’t want to miss a single second of it.
She radiates a love for dance, and while I may not know much about ballet, I know she’s talented.
I feel in my bones that there’s something special about her.
The song fades away and I’m on my feet again. Aurora dips into a few elegant curtsies, in no rush to leave the stage. She’s so different up there than she is on campus. It’s like watching a flower unfurl right before my eyes.
As she glides offstage, it hits me: I want her to be mine.
I want to be at every performance she has.
To buy her presents and tease her and play fight with her.
I want to go to her parents’ every Sunday and cuddle on their couch, then come back to campus and kiss her beneath the twinkle lights.
I want to get to know her friends and maybe get them to like me.
To learn everything there is to know about her at a level no one else does.
My heart pounds in my chest. Real. I want this to be real.
The only problem? I have no idea if she feels the same.