The Hit List (16 page)

I’d always wanted to get back into tap, but I never have time for anything outside ballet. Maybe I could find a class to take over break between semesters.

“So what terrible thing was Fred Astaire told?” I ask, knowing where Luke’s going with this.

He smiles. “He was told by a casting director that he was balding, couldn’t sing, and could only dance a little.”

I stare at the star beneath us. In the grand scheme of things, my issues pale against the things these people have overcome. No one has ever told me I don’t have talent. In fact, I’ve been told on multiple occasions that I’m talented. And if I could get that message to my brain and give up a little bit of control, I might be exceptional.

I glance at Luke, but he isn’t looking at me. He might be the only person who cares enough about me to take me out here and tell me these things. And for reasons I can’t comprehend, he doesn’t want out of this partnership.

He could get mad every time I force him to drop me because I struggle too much. He could get annoyed every time I pull away from him after we’ve just made progress. He could get frustrated every time Miss Tasha berates us for not doing our best, when he clearly is doing everything he can with what he’s got. But he doesn’t do any of those things. He’s patient with me. He cares about me.

Luke’s fingers thread through mine. I stop focusing on the bad things. Things are good with Luke right now and I want them to stay that way.

He tugs on my arm. “Come on. I have one more thing I want to show you.”

Over an hour and a bus ride later, we’re standing in Venice Beach. Luke winds through the crowded sidewalks without releasing my hand. We stop in front of a graffiti-covered wall. It’s a mess with spray paint everywhere.

I crinkle my nose. “You brought me to look at gang art?”

“It’s not gang art. Did you even look at it?”

I squint, looking closer at the images in the sunlight. The brilliant colors form letters and words stretching across the cement. Famous quotes turned into works of art in curvy, bubble, and block writing. It’s beautiful.

Luke watches me as I stare. “It’s called the Wall of Inspiration. The street performers started writing on it a couple years ago. The city tried to clean it up, but it’s become a huge attraction for tourists, so they leave it. You have to have a permit now to add to it. Good thing I picked one up yesterday,” he says, smiling at me.

He pulls a can of spray paint out of his bag and hands it to me.

“What do you want me to do with that?” I ask, looking down at it. Despite what he’s just told me, it seems sketchy to spray paint a wall in the middle of L. A.

He shrugs. “Add your own inspiration. Whatever you feel in this exact moment.”

I shake the can and step up to an empty space on the wall. Whatever I write won’t measure up to the beauty that already exists in this space. All these people who come here looking for inspiration don’t need to hear false words from someone who can’t practice what she preaches. But maybe I can change it. Maybe, starting today, I can make a promise to myself to change, to do what I love, to succeed. I drag the spray can into cursive letters over the wall, stepping back when I’m done.

“I won’t give up,” Luke reads.

“It’s not just inspiration, it’s a promise. One that I hope to keep.” Something I should have been telling myself since day one.

I don’t want to give up on myself or on Luke. He’s made serious effort in this partnership. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to give up on it now.

He smiles. “I’ll help you keep that promise any way I can.”

I grab his hand, already knowing it’s safe. “I’m counting on it.”

He’s been doing it all along, since the first time I fought with him about our partnership. He’s been there every step of the way, whether I wanted him there or not. And I have no doubt he’ll do everything in his power to help me keep my promise.

He leads me down the sidewalk and we stop to get ice cream before continuing on to find an open bench. I stare out at the ocean.

It’s a terrible day to be sitting on the coast. Rain pours down around us. It’s not supposed to be this cold in the summer. I shiver and pull my knees closer to my chest to get warm
.

Patrick drapes his jacket around my shoulders and wraps his arms around the outside of it. I’m trapped against his body. It’s warm and I lean back against his chest to get closer to the warmth, closer to him
.

He leans his chin against my shoulder. “Better?”

“Better.”

My throat closes as I remember exactly why I shouldn’t get involved with Luke. Nothing will keep him here. I’ll get attached, maybe even fall in love, and then he’ll leave. It’ll be worse the second time. And all the recovery time in the world won’t heal those wounds.

“Truth or dare,” Luke says. He takes a bite of his ice cream cone.

I look over at him. “I hate that game.”

“I’m not going to make you kiss a stranger. Just pick one.” He raises his eyebrows at me, as if to tell me he’s harmless.

Right.

I stare at the ground, nervous about either pick. A dare could mean doing something embarrassing, but the wrong truth could reveal way more than I ever want.

He sighs. “Fine, I’ll go first. Truth.”

There is one thing I’ve wanted to know since I met him, but I’m worried it’s too much right off the bat.

“You’re not going to offend me. Just ask.” He looks out at the ocean.

A couple of kids skate by on roller blades and skateboards. A baby cries somewhere behind us. A husband and wife play at the edge of the water with a toddler.

I look up at him. He better know what he’s doing. “Why does Brielle hate you?”

He laughs. “I hope she doesn’t actually hate me.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, why does she
dislike
you?”

“We hooked up last year. She wanted something more and I didn’t. That’s how I get most of my enemies.” He nudges my shoulder with his, a smile on his lips. “Except you. You hated me because I flirted with you.”

I smile, knowing it was so much more than that.

“Your turn.”

I look down at my lap. I’d rather be embarrassed than have to open my soul to him, especially after what he’s just revealed. “Dare.”

He turns so he faces me on the bench. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Not happening. He hasn’t earned that story yet. He might not ever earn that story.

“That’s not a dare.”

His eyes pierce into me. “I dare you to tell me why you don’t trust me.”

For a brief second, I consider it. Things might be easier if I told him about New York, about Patrick and my mom, about the friends who left me behind. He’s opened up to me about hurting Brielle, so maybe he would understand.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

I look out at the ocean, straddling the line between past and present. “I can’t.”

The sounds of Venice fill the silence between us. It drags on as both of us eat our ice cream. I want to change the subject, but my brain won’t focus on anything other than the boy next to me.

“Do you think you’ll ever trust me?” He stares out at the water.

Do you really think he’s interested in your brain? You’re stupid if you believe that
.

I don’t answer him. I don’t know how. If I say no, I’ll hurt him. But if I say yes, I might be lying. I don’t want to give him false hope that this partnership will ever work out the way both of us want it to. So I don’t say anything.

He turns to look at me, not questioning me. His look tells me everything his words never could. Reassurance that we’ll be all right. Faith that we can do this, even if I don’t fully trust him yet. Hope that one day we’ll get there.

But beneath the emotions written on his face, he can’t mask everything he doesn’t want me to see. Hurt that I don’t trust him enough. Disappointment that we’ll never get there. Realization that he can’t fix me.

His not-so-secret emotions tell me I should have said something, anything. I want to tell him why I didn’t, but he turns away from me to stare back out at the water.

The moment’s gone.

I should have said yes.

THE HIT LIST UPDATE

October 13

The week you’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived. The top girl in our polls has been taken out of the game. It’s a shame that we lost her so early in the game, but second best is still available. Keep voting to see your favorite girl in the second place spot. And remember, the top spot may be gone, but we’ve still got six girls in the game.

Happy hitting!

~THE HIT MAN

10

“You look adorable.”

“I look like a five-year-old.” I stare at the tiara Brielle insists I wear. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. It’s my birthday. I should have a say in whether I wear a stupid plastic crown all day.

“People should know to treat you like a princess. It’s your eighteenth birthday. That only happens once.” She walks up behind me and plays with my hair.

“You’ll get mad if I take it off, won’t you?” I make eye contact with her so I can see how she really feels. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

She pouts at me in the mirror. “Maybe.”

It’s not going to hurt me to wear it. “Fine, I’ll wear the damn tiara.”

She smiles and claps her hands, doing a fantastic impression of an excited three-year-old. We’re a perfect pair today.

“Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

She rushes me out the door and over to the studio. Most of the students in our class are already here. I’m the only freshman in this class. It used to be awkward, but years don’t mean a whole lot here. Technique has nothing to do with how old we are at this point in our lives. We find a spot and spread out. Brielle sets her bag in an open space to save room for Adam.

Courtney and Rachel sit near us and I can’t help but listen to their conversation.

“He’s been trying really hard. I figure it’s time to reward him for it.” Courtney giggles as she slides on her shoes.

Brielle leans over to me. “Am I hearing this right? Is she seriously bragging that she’s about to be used for sex?”

I try to give Courtney the benefit of the doubt. “Maybe she doesn’t want to get hit on anymore?”

It could happen. There wouldn’t be a point to sleeping with a girl anymore if she had already been used for points.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She waves at Courtney to get her attention. “Probably something you shouldn’t be bragging about.”

Brielle’s voice is loud and half the students turn to look at her. Courtney glares at her.

Rachel whips around. “Were you included in this conversation? I didn’t think so.”

“Was I talking to you? I didn’t think so.” Brielle turns back toward me. “I’m just trying to help her out.”

“At least your name is still on the list.” Rachel says it to Courtney, but she glances at me for a second, anger gleaming in her eyes.

Courtney and Rachel continue their conversation, their backs to us.

“What do you suppose that means?” We’re not crossed off the list either. It doesn’t make sense.

“Who knows. Ignore her.”

The rest of the chatter in the room is back to its original level. No one stares at us anymore.

Luke talks to Cara, but he doesn’t even give me a sideways glance. He hasn’t talked to me outside of class since he took me to Venice Beach and the Hollywood Walk of Fame almost two weeks ago. And in rehearsal, he’s practically a zombie. He’s still patient with me and does a great job hiding his frustration. But I know it’s there. Just like it was there when I refused his dare.

Cara reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him into a hug. He goes willingly. With his arms around her back, he looks up at me for the first time.

I look away the second his eyes meet mine. I don’t want to watch him flirt with her.

It’s bad enough to think that I’ve pissed him off because of my issues. I don’t want to think I’ve pushed him right into her waiting arms.

“So what do you say to dinner? We can do anything you want after.” He whispers something in her ear.

She gasps and smacks him in the chest, but her smile never leaves her face. “You’re dirty.”

You don’t do relationships
.

And just like that, I’ve pushed him so far away during the time we’ve been dancing together that he’s not coming back.

Do you really think he’s interested in your brain?

When I glance back in their direction, he’s separated from her.

“Trouble in paradise?” Brielle asks. She leans forward on her elbows between her legs and looks up at me.

I watch other students in the mirror. Most of them look tired, but happy, and I wonder if any of them struggle as much as I do, if they know what it’s like to be afraid to let go. “He’s mad at me.”