I nod, hands on my hips, even though most teachers forbid it. Becker and I walk to one corner and Dash and Alyssa to the other.
“You hanging in there?” Becker asks me.
I lift my chin once in response, trying to give him a reassuring grin, but I think it comes off as a grimace.
Dash and Alyssa captivate me. They move so fluidly to the music, it’s like they’re swimming in tandem in some kind of magical ocean. I’d much rather watch them than attempt the combination again.
The small audience bursts into applause when they finish, and I clap for them as well. Until Dashiell sits down on the floor and looks up, I forget that all eyes will be on me.
Once again, the music saves me as it moves under my skin and takes hold of my form with invisible marionette strings. I let it push me into the jumps and drag me through the complicated step patterns, dipping into Becker’s arms when the melody calls for it. We end where Dash and Alyssa did, backs curved over one another’s form protectively as the final note subsides.
We’re met with thundering applause. I don’t look Dash’s way on purpose. I hope we weren’t as impressive. I want the piece to go to Dash. He deserves it, and I know Nubo has his eye on him.
Chapter Seven
Dashiell
I clap as hard as I can. I feel bad for not watching my supposed best friend, but Sam was so captivating that I forgot Becks was dancing. Without a doubt, no one at Haverton holds a candle to Sam’s talent. I hope she can make it through the audition without collapsing with hunger. I hate that she refused to eat with me today. Somehow it feels like she’s punishing herself—for what, I’m not sure.
“Brilliant,” Nubo says. He rubs his gray stubble with his thumb and forefinger. “That was phenomenal. I’d love to see Cunningham and Koslova partner if you’ll humor me. Your styles are incredibly different, yet you both bring something original to the work.”
My eyes fly to Sam, and she looks afraid. She’s leaning forward, hands on the knees of her pink tights, her chest still heaving from exertion.
I grab the sports drink from my bag and walk back to the center of the studio. I know it’s frowned upon, but she won’t make it if I don’t get some sugar into her.
“Can you?” I ask her as I hand her the bright blue drink. It’s the same color as her eyes, minus the terror.
She nods and grabs the bottle from me. Tipping it back, she chugs and then wipes her lips with the back of her hand.
For some reason, I like that she didn’t attempt to wipe the mouth of the bottle, just took it from me and drank. I also feel a burst of pride that her mother would be horrified. The riff-raff commoners sharing saliva with the aristocracy.
“Don’t do it full-out if you can’t,” I mutter to her.
She’s as white as a sheet, and there’s no color in her lips.
“Give me one second,” she mouths to the pianist and holds up a finger to let them know she’s winded and still hasn’t recovered.
“I’d like to set this piece to live drumming, and I’m planning on putting a half dozen or so dancers in the background of the main duo.” Nubo explains his vision for the piece as we all give Sam a second.
I want to speak up and let them all know she’s in no shape to push herself like this. But Natayla is private and she’s a perfectionist. Great combination for dancing professionally, terrible combination for self-preservation. My loyalty aligns with my secret sandwich friend, so I say nothing and watch her walk in two small circles and then signal that she’s ready to start again.
I’d be lying if I said I’d never fantasized about dancing with Taye, but I certainly didn’t imagine it would be like this. I’d envisioned something lighthearted and fun, where I could make her laugh and we’d get a kick out of connecting on the dance floor. This is more like walking in front of the firing squad and delivering your last words.
The pianist nods, and Nubo sits on a stool. I walk to my starting place, right behind Tayla.
“Breathe deep and slow. I got you, Peanut butter and jelly,” I say under my breath.
I’m rewarded with a smirk and a tiny snort of a laugh. Small enough to be imperceptible, but it makes my heart soar.
I fall right into her rhythm when the music begins, and dancing with her is everything I thought it would be—fluid and symbiotic, like we’ve tapped into some kind of universal energy. I lift her effortlessly, and when she falls into my arms after the hold, it’s as natural as breathing.