But before I can say anything, she storms into the waiting room, an accusatory finger pointed right at my face. “Stay the hell away from my daughter, you scum!”
Her eyebrows are raised almost to her hairline, and she looks haggard and half-starved. Her body is all sinew, tight muscles under loose skin, and I see her as a creature instead of a human. She’s so sick that she can’t even see the writing on the wall.
“I never meant to hurt her. She’s my best friend,” I say weakly in my defense. But it’s no use, she despises me, and she’s now going to do everything in her power to ruin me.
“Katerina, come,” Shareen says, pulling her away from me.
“Dashiell loves Sam. He’d never hurt her,” my mom says.
I crinkle up inside at the word love. Not because it isn’t true, but because she’ll use it against us. This woman won’t relent until she takes us down, and we’re not in a position to play the game. Take us down another notch, and what becomes of us?
“Mom, let’s go. There’s nothing we can do.” I grab her arm, trying to keep her from engaging the crypt keeper. “We don’t want to miss the check-in, or we’ll be sleeping in the bus depot.”
I think Nubo might hear it, but honestly, I don’t have it left in me to pretend anymore.
“Natayla will be up and running by tomorrow, Mr. Nobu. She’d be thrilled to dance the lead at the gala. Now, contemporary isn’t her strong suit, but if you pair her with a strong lead, I know she won’t disappoint,” Katerina says. She speaks as if her daughter isn’t in a hospital bed a few feet away because she put her there.
“It’s Nubo,” he tells her.
Of course, Katerina would confuse him with an upscale restaurant.
We turn to go, and Shareen pulls me into a hug. “Don’t worry, Dash. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s happened before,” she whispers. Like that’s supposed to make me feel better.
“Let’s wait and see how Taye is feeling tomorrow before we make any commitments for her,” Nubo says politely.
“Professor Nobu, Natayla has an eating disorder, I’m sure you gathered. She manages quite well despite it, and as you know, it’s common in young dancers.” I hear Katerina try to legitimize her abuse as we walk toward the exit. I fight the urge to turn around and give her a piece of my mind. Or a piece of my fist in her horrible face, for that matter. Natayla loves to eat. Katerina is the problem.
Chapter Eight
Dashiell
It’s never really bothered me much before that I haven’t had a phone since we left my stepdad. I don’t care about social media, and I can use someone else’s phone if I need to. But tonight, I stare at the gymnasium ceiling and wish more than anything I had a phone to call Sam.
I want to check in on her and make sure she’s okay. I want to apologize for not looking out for her like I should have. But I have no way of getting ahold of her short of taking the bus downtown and trying to get the security guard to let me in the building. Katerina probably has the whole place on alert not to let the homeless mother-son duo into the complex ever again.
So instead, I toss and turn, listening to the various snores and noises those sleeping around me are making. I vow then and there to do whatever I can to get my mom out of this nightmare. I can’t think about helping Sam until I’ve got my own life under control.
I don’t fall asleep until the early morning hours, and I know I’ll dance like shit at school. Maybe the teachers will take pity on me since I accompanied Natayla to the hospital.
I’m almost late to school thanks to the shitty public transportation, and I run the last block, my backpack bouncing and coming down hard enough to hurt. I was too miserable to tell my mom that I lost my dance bag in all the commotion yesterday. Hopefully, it’s still at Haverton. If not, I’ll have to borrow dance clothes from the lost and found—won’t be the first time.
Strangely, Nubo is waiting outside the main gates like a security guard, and I raise my hand to wave. His face falls dramatically when he sees me, making my heart race. I’m afraid Tayla has taken a turn for the worse, that maybe she’s dead, so I drop my backpack and run the rest of the way to him.
“Dashiell, I drove to your house last night, but your dad said you haven’t been there in months,” he says. He looks desperate and hopeless, and my heart fears the worst.
“Is Sam okay? Did something happen?”
“Walk with me,” he says, putting his hand on my back.