The Hit List (7 page)

“Why are you ignoring me?” Luke pins me against the wall with his arms on either side of me. “It makes me feel like you don’t like me and I know that’s not true.”

He’s close to me, but he’s not actually touching me. It strikes me as odd. Other guys who have flirted with me usually touch my arm or my face, making me extremely uncomfortable. Luke knows next to nothing about me, but he seems to read some of my signals. Maybe he’s more perceptive than I thought.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

He takes a step closer to me and I step back into the wall. I’m trapped between brick and Luke.

His breath is on my cheek when he speaks again. “I just want to know why. I know you feel the connection between us. You can’t deny it.”

“You’re a dick.”

I have no doubt he’s making a second attempt to earn points for me, but the good times are hard to ignore. He’s not always like this. He was decent in the studio and at the fundraiser. If he could just pick a mood and go with it, my life would be so much easier. It doesn’t seem like such a bad idea to be his friend when he actually talks to me.

The war rages inside me. I want fight or flight to take over, but there’s a third option in this scenario— surrender.

His lips hover centimeters over my mouth and his shadow weighs on me like he’s pressed against my body. He leans one forearm against the wall next to my head. His other hand remains flat against the wall above my shoulder.

My thoughts jumble together in my mind. I need to get away from here, away from him.

But my heart won’t let go.

Part of me wants to be this close to him. The smell of his cologne mixes with the smell of sweat from the studios. I chose to leave my past behind when I left New York. I want to start over, but if he’s only after me for this game, it won’t be a fresh start. It’ll be a replay of the pain I’ve already experienced. Except it’ll be worse.

I stay—physically locked by his arms, mentally locked by his gaze, confused about what I want and what I should do. He sighs and closes his eyes. His lips graze my temple and then his breath is on my ear.

“I won’t kiss you while you’re attached to someone else, but do me a favor?” he asks, a smile playing at his lips.

“What?” My voice wavers, a combination of panic and attraction.

“Tell your boyfriend he’s got competition.”

He pushes off the wall and walks into the studio. I’m frozen against the brick. He’s confusing as hell. If my interactions with him were a little more consistent, I wouldn’t feel like I’m in a constant state of whiplash.

I don’t understand his reaction. One minute he’s ignoring me, the next he’s got me cornered in the hallway asking why I’m ignoring him. None of this makes any sense.

Brielle sticks her head out of the door and stares at me. “Are you coming to class?”

I nod, staring at the opposite wall. “Yeah.” I pull myself off the wall and follow her inside.

A double-sided portable barre stands in the middle of the room, ready for our technique class. I drop my bag under the barre and sit down next to Brielle to put on my pointe shoes, trying to shut out the world and focus on the next three hours.

I need to be strong. I’m officially on my own, and the only one who can ensure my success is me. I’ll be so proud if I can make it through this, but it’s hard to see November right now when I’m stuck in September.

Adam stops in front of the door to the studio and Brielle waves. Rachel pushes in through the doorway, hip checking him out of her way. He flips her off as she walks away from him.

Rachel stops beside me. “This is my spot.”

“I’m sorry.” I pick up my bag to move to another section of the barre. I don’t feel like fighting with Rachel. It’s easier to give her what she wants.

Brielle grabs my bag and throws it back on the floor. “Um, no. You know spots aren’t assigned, and Sadie was here first. You’ll have to find another spot.”

I stare between the two of them. I don’t care, but I don’t want to get caught in a fight between Brielle and Rachel.

Rachel narrows her eyes. “You know this is the spot I used last year. You took these spots on purpose because you don’t like me. It’s not my fault Luke picked me over you.”

I bite my lip and stare down at the floor. It figures that out of all the people in this school, I managed to worm my way in between these two and unwillingly joined Brielle’s side in their battle against each other. Luke isn’t even worth fighting over.

“Pick your battles.” Patrick shoves a sweatshirt into his bag
.

Is that what I am? A battle?

“Was it hard for you to pick NYBC over me? Because it seemed like you had a pretty easy time making that fucking decision.”

This is unbelievable. He can’t seriously tell me not to start this fight. I wasn’t even the one who started it in the first place. He did the second he accepted NYBC’s offer and left me in the dust
.

He walks past me without looking at me. “Knock it off. You’re acting like a child.”

I’ll show him acting like a child. I pick up his shoe and whip it across the studio. It hits the wall with a smack. “And you’re acting like a giant douche bag.”

Brielle raises an eyebrow. “You sound a little paranoid. You might want to get that checked out.”

“You’re such a bitch, Brielle.”

My mouth drops open. I haven’t spent a lot of time with Brielle, but even I’ve learned that she’s feisty and it’s probably not a good thing to piss her off.

Brielle glares at Rachel. “It’s a fucking barre. Get over it.”

“It’s a fucking boy. Get over it,” Rachel throws back. She stands there awkwardly for a second before she gives up and walks to another section of the barre.

Brielle drops to her butt in front of her own spot and sticks her legs out in front of her in a stretch, directly in Rachel’s path. Rachel’s toe hooks Brielle’s foot and she pitches forward onto the ground.

Rachel’s hands skid out in front of her and she cries out as she makes impact. She stays on the floor for a couple seconds before she pulls herself onto her knees. She turns to Brielle, her mouth open, and I brace myself for the string of curse words to follow.

But Adam rushes up behind her and grabs her arm to pull her up to her feet. “You should really be more careful. You don’t want to hurt yourself on the first day of real class.” He gives her a little shove away from us to get her moving again. She pauses, staring Brielle down, and for a second, I think she’s going to lunge at her. But she doesn’t and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Your friend-making skills astound me,” Adam says.

I can’t help my smirk at his comment. It’s absolutely true.

Brielle crosses her arms over her chest. “She started it. What are you even doing here? Last time I checked, you’re not a girl.”

“I was just passing through on my way to the boys’ studio. I should go.” He waves and heads toward the door.

“Later,” Brielle says.

“Try to behave,” he yells over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” She salutes him.

I put all my energy into tying the ribbons on my pointe shoes, tucking in the bow on the inside of my ankle. If I focus on every single movement as I make it, I don’t have to think about how my life is falling apart. And I don’t have to worry about how I’ll make it through the semester with a partner when one bad lift could end my career. My fragile hip won’t come back from another injury.

I know my limits, but I don’t expect anyone else to learn them, or trust anyone not to push them.

A woman I recognize from last week walks into the room and conversation quiets around me. Her platinum blond hair is styled in a pixie cut. Her black leotard and sweater stand out against her pale white skin. She doesn’t look like she’s stepped outside in the L. A. sun in the past year.

She walks to the front of the room and turns to watch us get ready for class. The remaining girls trickle into the studio. Only one space is open on the twelve-person barre. Girls around me warm up their feet and stretch in their shoes. I lift my leg onto the higher level on the barre and lean against my leg. Rachel whispers to the girl next to her, Courtney, and they both glare at Brielle and then at me.

I ignore them. Brielle flips them off.

After about five minutes of watching us stretch, the teacher steps forward. “Ladies, welcome to your advanced ballet technique class. My name is Miss Laney. You will be required to wear pointe shoes for every practice. Even though we are a contemporary school, you need to maintain proper technique. Understood?”

The girls around me nod.

“Good. Let’s begin. Spread out on the barre and make sure you have enough space. We’re going to start with two demi pliés and a grand plié in first, second, and fifth positions, relevé in fifth position, hold for a count of eight and turn to the other side.”

Soft piano notes drift from the speakers as the music starts. I push down on the tips of my toes one at a time. I haven’t worn my pointe shoes as frequently here as I did in New York, but that’s enough to make the skin on my feet less resistant to the unforgiving stiff blocks. I rest my hand lightly on the barre, careful not to wrap my thumb around it. Standing with my feet together, I open them at the toes, my heels glued together. My hips turn out and my feet stop just before they reach 180 degrees.

Everything stops. All the stressful thoughts, the worry about having to dance with a partner again, the bullshit with Luke and The Hit List, it’s all gone. As soon as my hand connects with the smooth wood of the barre, I’m in my own world.

The entire class starts the exercise on cue without a word from Miss Laney. For so long, these barre exercises have been engrained in me, I could do them in my sleep.

And it’s been my escape for as long as I can remember. When I can’t stand the thoughts in my head anymore, I dance. Focusing on the movement, being told exactly what emotions I should be feeling, either by the music or by my teacher, feeling the physical pain and pleasure of exertion instead of the mental pain I’ve never gotten used to.

The one thing I can always count on when I dance is knowing exactly what I should be feeling during a performance. Barre and floor exercises keep my emotions in check as I focus more on the positions than the music. Choreography is a completely different story. I could be having the worst day ever, but dancing something happy makes me forget all about it.

Dancing allows me to feel something other than what’s inside my head. That’s my goal most of the time. When I’m doing floor work and barre exercises, I’m comfortably numb, content with focusing on muscle memory and the way it should feel if I’m doing it right. Every time I go into practice, I put in two hundred percent because if I’m not getting any better, then what’s the point?

I finish on the right and rise up onto my toes in fifth position relevé. My right foot automatically pulls back against my left for support, as if a delicate thread holds them together. My arch rests against the top of my foot as my feet slide down against the bottom of my shoes and the stiffness of my shoes cuts into my foot.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

The rest of the class is filled with more barre exercises and floor routines. We battement, grand jeté, frappé, and pirouette until we can barely move. Miss Laney calls the end of practice as the sun falls behind the building across from the studio. The absence of natural light makes it seem later than early afternoon.

Sweat drips down my back. My face has taken on the lovely hue of being out in the sun all day. My feet are on fire, a sure sign that the blisters that have formed over the day have also popped. Every muscle in my body feels stretched beyond its capacity.

It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had.

“All right, ladies. That’s it for today. Thanks for a great class. Miss Catherine would like to see you all in the main studio for partner assignments in fifteen minutes.” Miss Laney smiles and walks out of the room.

“I guess it’s time.” Brielle shoves her shoes into her bag and stands beside me. “Let’s go.”

She heads out of the studio, but I hang back. I have to talk to Miss Catherine, convince her to let me have Adam as a partner. I won’t survive with anyone else, especially not Luke.

If I don’t speak up, I’ll be stuck with someone I can’t stand.

It’s now or never. After today, I have no chance of getting Adam as a partner. I find her office and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, I step inside. Dance posters line the walls of Miss Catherine’s office, all featuring her as the subject. I take a few steps forward. She looks busy.

“Sadie, what can I do for you this afternoon?” She sits at her computer, typing something furiously on her keyboard.

I press my fingernails into the palm of my hand. It’s not that hard. I can do this. If I want to survive here, if I don’t want my plans to fizzle out and die, I have to do this. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

She frowns. “I don’t make a habit of meeting with my students without prior arrangements. I’m very busy, but I have a few minutes open right now. Have a seat,” she says, pointing at the chair in front of her desk.

I manage a smile and sit down in the chair.

“What’s on your mind?” Her eyes are hard. She’d rather be working on whatever it was she was doing instead of talking to me.

My words come out in a rush, not at all like I practiced in my head in the hallway. “I know we’re getting partners today. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

She glances up at me quickly before focusing back on her computer. “You’ve danced with a partner before. You have nothing to worry about.”

I play with an invisible spot on my tights. I want to tell her what my concern is, but I can’t bring myself to tell her about my life. She doesn’t care about people leaving, about my trust issues, about my injury. It will only add to her doubt of my abilities.

“I haven’t partnered in a really long time and I just think it would be better if I could partner with someone I’m starting to get comfortable with. Like Adam.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you asking me if you can partner with Adam?”