“Nubo, I’ve got class. I’m on a scholarship. I can’t miss,” I tell him.
“Dashiell, it’s over.” Nubo looks like he might cry, and I don’t know what to say. “I tried to stop her. She’s got so much power in this school, in the whole dance world—it’s insane. If you go in there, the police are waiting to arrest you. The board revoked your scholarship in an emergency meeting last night.”
“Arrest me? Like the cops? You mean my scholarship is gone? Can they do that?”
“Katerina Koslova can do whatever the hell she wants. She’s got the whole board by the balls. The Koslovas are the biggest benefactors of the Haverton Scholarship fund; it wouldn’t exist without them. She’s saying you’re a direct danger to her daughter.”
“So she can fucking ruin me? Just like that? No fair trial? No chance to defend myself? I’m the one helping Sam!”
“Kid, it’s not worth it. I’ll do what I can for you. See if I can get you into another program somewhere…” Nubo wrings his hands.
I kick the wrought iron fence, and Nubo grabs my shoulder like he’s become accustomed to doing.
“I wish I never fucking laid eyes on her!” I yell it as loud as I can, hoping even the cops waiting to arrest me can hear me through the manicured trees and foliage that border the school.
“It’s not Natayla’s fault. If anyone knows the wrath of Katerina Koslova, it’s her poor daughter. Imagine if she didn’t have any talent? It may seem impressive, but at this point, Taye is dancing to save her life. Don’t blame her.”
“So I just walk away? This is my fucking future, Nubo. What the hell do I tell my mom?” Jesus fucking Christ. This is all she has, too. I punch the crest on the fence and holler again. My fist comes away covered in blood.
“Take your revenge out on the dance floor, Dash. You’re one of the most talented street dancers to make it this far inside the elite dance world. This is only one setback. Don’t let it take you out.”
“My talent can’t be worth a whole lot if I can get kicked out for some imagined infraction. Koslova is a witch, and so is her perfect daughter. I hope they both burn in hell. As far as I’m concerned, you can go with ‘em,” I say to Nubo. I don’t really wish that upon him. He had the decency to warn me. But I’m so fucking pissed, I’ve got no sympathy for any of them.
I turn my back on Haverton, on the elite dancing world, and on the girl I befriended over a sandwich. We may have shared a dream to kill our pain by dancing it away, but I guess nothing comes between Katerina and her daughter’s fame.
Back at the shelter, Mom is losing her shit over what happened, and it makes me realize how much she needs some serious therapy. Maybe we both do.
“So that’s it. We give up? We let them win?”
“We let Dad win,” I say but immediately regret it.
She pierces me with eyes filled to the brim with tears. “It’s all we have, Dashiell. I’ll ask the board to review your case. They can’t make a unanimous decision without hearing our side.”
“Of course, they fucking can. You think I want to go back there? Somewhere where I’m hated and despised. Just cause you could live like that for years doesn’t mean everyone can. I’ll get a job like I should have done in the first place. It’s exactly like Dad always said. ‘Dancing is for Saturday night living room parties, not for making a living.’”
Mom puts her head in her hands and cries. Usually, I’d comfort her. But I feel like my heart’s gone cold and all my sympathy has shriveled up and died.
The following morning is even worse because I wake up ready for school with a grin, and then yesterday comes crashing back to me. It’s not surprising my dreams have been crushed, only that it happened so early in the game. I figured I’d at least get a chance to perform. Now I can forget the classical training, the chance to make my mark and climb into the ivory tower with the dancers who’ve spent a lifetime training instead of making YouTube videos. Breakdancing in my driveway was my claim to fame.
I groan and roll over, considering going back to sleep, but the shelter kicks everyone to the curb by 7 am. Might as well get out there and try to find some work. Becker told me about this car wash over on the west side that’ll hire anyone, even without papers or a resume or phone.
Craig’s at the security desk, and I shoot him a wave on my way out.
“Cunningham, get over here. Someone dropped this off for you last night. Think it was your dad. Then this morning, a guy with an accent dropped off your bag. Pretty popular kid. Must be the hair.”