He wasn’t unkind about it, but it was still embarrassing.
I resisted the urge to fold my arms over my chest, but instead tried to be casual about it and act like it wasn’t a big deal. I’d felt my nipples even through my bras from time to time. It couldn’t always be helped.
It was nice how he’d offered me the sweatshirt, though. Sweet, really.
I found my way to my room and swung the door closed a little, just in case Arion came in with her boyfriend. I’d locked the doors downstairs to keep the party outside, but Arion knew where the key was hidden when she wanted in.
I tore off my tank top and pulled on a sports bra, putting my top back on when I was done. I almost always wore bras since I didn’t have the genetics to be as small as some dancers, but I wasn’t that big, either, given the diet and training I still put myself through.
And the one time I didn’t, someone said something. Awesome.
I grabbed my pointe shoes on my bureau, but then stopped and put them back, deciding against them, and felt for my slippers instead. Opening my door, I left the room and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. Leaning just barely into the bannister for support as I walked, I tapped the top of my screen, the voice-over reading the time.
“Ten-thirty,” it said in a computerized male voice.
Arion would be down at the pool for hours yet. Plenty of time.
I walked toward the stairs, but the floorboards somewhere behind me suddenly creaked, and I stopped, turning my head.
“Arion?” I asked.
I hadn’t heard her come in.
“Arion, are you here?” I called out again, louder this time.
Did I hear that right?
But it was silent now. No response. No more creaks. My heart started to pump harder, though, and I listened for a moment, my brain going through every possible scenario of what that could’ve been.
We didn’t have pets.
My parents were gone.
I was the only one in the house.
The wind, maybe?
I clutched my phone, my thumb nervously rubbing over the corner of the screen. “Phone,” the voice-over said as I accidently hit the app there. I startled, picking up my foot.
As I did, though, the floor creaked again, and I hesitated a moment before putting my foot back down on the same spot.
The floor creaked under me once again. Right at the sp
ot I was stepping.
Was that me then? I turned my head behind me, perking my ear for any sounds. I could’ve sworn the sound came from the floorboards behind me.
I put my foot down again, the old hardwood floors in our antique home creaking under my weight as I trailed down the stairs and into the mini ballroom.
It was fine. I just came inside, and all the doors were locked.
I walked into the large room, counting the strides and picturing it in my mind from my memories as a kid. A whole wall of large windows sat to my left, facing the front of the house, and it was adorned with long, cobalt blue drapes, I remembered. The dark wood floor always flickered with the glow of the electric candles coming from the massive chandelier above, and I still remembered the white fireplace against the far wall where I got to decorate the mantel every Christmas.
Or my mom would let me decorate it, and then she’d come and “fix” everything how she wanted it when I wasn’t looking.
I pulled on my ballet slippers, my feet too sore to put up with the pointe shoes tonight, and picked up the remote for the small stereo system I had set up by the wall.
Clicking to the second track, I found “Nothing Else Matters” by Apocalyptica and increased the volume to drown out the music outside before tossing the remote and my phone on the table.