Chapter Eight

Eva

“Get that back leg up St. Clair!” 

I sail into a leap, careful to keep my back leg lifted to satisfaction when I pause in a penche and then slip my body into a series of pirouettes. 

“Beautiful transition. Now give me a triple!”

I spin myself into turn after turn, my eyes fastened to my reflection as I complete my warm up routine. 

“Good.” Madam Shaw gives a curt nod. “Just watch the leg.” With that I’m dismissed back to the barre for more stretching.

“You looked great out there,” whispers Julia Adams. It sounds like a compliment but I know her well enough at this point to expect what comes next. “Such a shame you’re lazy with that leg.” 

There it is.

“Oh, doll,” I sigh with a roll of my eyes as I channel my inner Nina. I don’t even bother turning around as we lean back then swing forward for the barre combination. “I wouldn’t worry yourself about my leg. You know I don’t give a shit what you think anyway.” 

A month ago I never would have responded to her snide comment, I may have even allowed her to give me pause, but it seems this newer improved me is feisty.

“Hey Julia,” Lisa Thompson’s lilting rasp rises behind us. “You should really worry more about your shitty little turn out.” 

Yikes.

The fact that Lisa is deigning to shoot her down at all is a very bad sign for Julia. Lisa ignores the first-year students the way one might ignore ugly wallpaper while everyone’s eyes stay glued to the terrifying soon-to-be prima ballerina. There is no way this exchange went unnoticed.

  She’s like the Regina George of the Santiago School of Dance. She’s beautiful, cunning, and she calls the shots maybe even more than Madam Shaw. But unlike the infamous character, Lisa dances at the top of our food chain because of her talent and drive, not just because she’s mean as fuck. 

I can practically hear Julia’s muscles straining to push her heels forward and her toes out as far as her body will allow.  Judging by the throaty derisive laugh, Lisa can too.

“Don’t hurt yourself. I’m not the one you need to impress today.”

She’s right. For once we all have bigger fish to fry.

The Nutcracker is coming up as the fall semester’s big showcase. There is a lot of pressure to get the right part or else (god forbid) end up in the chorus.  I don’t see what the fuss is about. Especially as a first year student. We’ve already gone through the first round last week. Today is just callbacks.

Once warm ups end I get ready for my own busy day of auditions. I’ve signed up for several characters, so before setting out for a long few hours of continuous dancing I quickly sew a new pair of shoes, making sure I bring down the rim of the satine to get that sweet fit I want. Without a second to lose, I slip them on and try to break them in a bit more before packing up all of my shit and heading to the first audition.

“Hey girl, break a leg today,” Lisa calls as she passes me on her way out. 

Say whaaaat…

My mouth drops open, then closes, then opens again as I attempt to respond. “Um—yup. Thanks? You too!” 

“Oh please,” She laughs, spinning around and walking backwards a few steps. “Thanks anyway though.”

We both know she’ll be Sugar Plum Fairy.  

Does she have a concussion? I stand, swinging my bag over my shoulder as I follow the last stragglers out the door. That was friendly; dare I say, even nice. 

I spend all morning rehearsing, waiting, and auditioning for dispassionate instructors. I prefer to concentrate on enjoying the elegance and familiarity of each step and ignore their blank expressions. I already know that even if they love me, they won’t show it. Besides, I’ll be content wherever I end up. They could stick me in the back of the chorus and I’d be happy as a clam. 

Okay fine.

If I’m being totally honest with myself… I’d like the opportunity to tackle Arabian. It’s my last audition of the afternoon and I’ve been looking forward to this one. It’s such a different number from the rest of the show, it’s slow and almost sultry. Plus, it’s a complete solo so not having a chorus or partner to rely on makes it all the more alluring. I’ve danced in so many of the Nutcracker roles but Arabian has always been my white whale. 

I’ve been told more than once that I’m not believable in the character. I’m better suited for a flower, or a snowflake, which is probably true. But the new and improved Eva won’t let that stop me from auditioning, if for no other reason than to have a chance to dance the routine.

If I do well, great. If not, oh well.

I walk into the room and come to such an abrupt halt, I almost hit myself with the door. I barely resist the urge to lean out and check the studio number because I can’t be in the right place.

Stephen McMillan is sitting on the panel. 

The Stephen McMillan.

An industry living legend.

The man is one of the reasons I applied here since he’s the program chair and dancing under him in any capacity is a dream come true. He’s younger than I expected and handsome to boot. I didn’t realize he sat in for auditions and you’d think if he did, it would be for the Sugarplum Fairy. 

My neck grows hot as his razor sharp eyes follow me across the room like he’s filing away every detail of how I move. I give a shaky wave and try to swallow my nerves as I take my opening position.

No mistake will get past this man.

“Good afternoon, you are auditioning for Arabian today,” McMillan states with a surprisingly warm and charming smile. It’s just a flash of feeling before his face settles back into its calculative mask.

My head snaps into a jerky nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” His mouth tips upward as he leans back, toying with a sleek gold pen as he scrutinizes me. “That’s a bit ambitious for a first year student. What makes you think you’ll be a good fit?” 

“Oh, um...” I don’t usually need to interview for a role; casting panels let my dancing speak for itself. “Well, I love the routine. It stands out among the others because of its uniqueness. I don’t know if I’m the girl for the part, but I hope my love and respect for the steps come through in my performance.”

Hand to god, I never would’ve managed that answer if I wasn’t wearing my damn pointe shoes.

He must like my response because he studies me with piercing interest for a beat, then nods. “I’m eager to see what you have to offer.”

Shit. Here goes nothing.

When the first notes filter through the speaker I let the music flow over me and slink into the steps. I close my eyes and throw myself into the mind of Arabian, letting her take me away. All my  uncertainty from a moment evaporates and I embrace the boldness the part demands. 

Trying something new, I make eye contact with each member of the panel while I slip through the steps, they keep a straight face during the quiet recital. It’s a risky move but I have nothing to really lose here so why not?

Stephen McMillan is watching me dance.

When I finish he stands, holding my gaze hostage, and claps slowly. “Beautiful, Evangeline.”

Evangeline.

I smile, but something about the way he says my name lands wrong. I don’t know why. He’s being perfectly professional.

“Thank you, St. Clair,” Madam Shaw says with the faintest emphasis on my last name. “You’re dismissed.”

I nod and get my things. Consciously keeping my normal pace as I make my way from the room. Once I’m out of sight I collapse against the hallway wall, my heart pounding out of my chest, and grin like a maniac.

There’s no way I’ll get the part. But the fact that I blew away Stephen McMillan, makes today a hard win in my book. If I gave a good showing on my first go round I think I have a pretty decent chance of landing it next year.

I  deserve coffee!

“So how’d it go?” Lisa calls as she and Nick Alvarez walk up. Nick is scrolling through his phone, continuing his sacred duty of ignoring the first years. He’s the closest thing to a friend she seems to have. He’s the only person she seems to more than simply tolerate but I think it has more to do with his unabashed self-absorption that makes the friendship work more than anything.

That’s officially two times today the queen has needlessly acknowledged me.

Am I getting punked?

“Uh... okay I guess? I mean, I’m sure I’m in the chorus.” I shrug, hoping it comes off nonchalant. “But I did seem to impress McMillan for Arabian so I’m hoping I can snag it next year.”

“McMillan was in there?” Nick’s head snaps up from his deeply important IG scrolling to speak to me for the first time ever.

“Told ya.” Lisa mumbles.

“Yeah, I thought it was weird to see him in there—"

The door swings open as the devil himself breezes by. He catches sight of us and smiles politely, keeping his keen gaze on me as he passes. Lisa and Nick share a look once he’s gone but neither of them say anything.

“C’mon,” Nick throws an arm around his bestie’s shoulders and sets off without so much as a farewell to me. “I want carbs today. We earned them.” 

That was weird.

**********

Jamie

I’m a dumbass.

The whoosh from the train zips by just as I finish a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Songbird to a couple of halfhearted claps. They echo pathetically around the subway platform serving as the perfect garnish to this shit heap of an idea. 

I don’t know what I was thinking coming down here to play for extra cash. I had some time before my Friday night shift and I’d emptied my meager bank account this week so Luke could use it for the buy-in. It probably won’t even cover one payment but I need to feel like I’m contributing something. I should be giving more. I look in my guitar case to see it  holding a few stray bills and a handful of change. 

Fuck, this was stupid.

I’m about to pack my shit when a small hand comes into view, placing a twenty in the case. I look up into huge green eyes and bite back a curse. Of all the people to see me doing this it had to be Eva. 

I ended up spending the better part of last Saturday afternoon fantasizing about carting her angry ass back to my apartment and spanking the shit out of it. She was practically rabid with anger and I’d be lying through my damn teeth if I said it wasn’t a turn on. Her green eyes were boiling like a witch’s potion… Christ I was not prepared for how hot she looked all untethered like that. 

Today she seems to have reigned it in. The wild spark in her eyes has been properly extinguished, leaving them irritatingly timid and friendly. She’s dressed in a sleeveless long zip hoodie and leggings with UGGs on her feet and her hair thrown into a tight ass bun. She’s clutching her coffee cup like it’s a lifeline, which knowing her it probably is. At least she’s not staring at me with shrill enthusiasm anymore so I guess it could be worse.

“I owe you twenty anyway,” she says quietly.

“You don’t owe me shit,” I reach over and toss the bill out letting it flutter to the cement floor.

She stands there, making no effort to pick it up. I guess a rich girl like her doesn’t need it. She’s too busy watching me like always to care about the Jackson on the ground. I can feel her trying to pry past my surface to figure me out and it makes me fucking itchy.

“What?”

“You’re here for Luke?” Her astute gaze glides around, studying my guitar and the open case. She’s putting the scene together in her head. Everyone knows she and Luke have shit all set up and Declan is supposed to be in town this weekend to officially sell his piece. The timing of my subway performance won’t be lost on her. 

“Is that a fucking question, Doe Eyes?”

“It is,” she answers easily, still keeping that creepy gaze fixed to my case. “Are you going to answer or just sit there looking constipated?”

She’s getting quick with the comebacks, I’ll give her that. 

“Well?” She presses, warily raising her small voice above a passing express train.

“I may not have daddy’s money to throw around but I try.” 

Eva distractedly rolls her eyes, continuing to evaluate the surroundings. It seems like each time I’m forced to interact with my neurotic little neighbor she gets just a bit bolder. 

“So, you are here for Luke...” Eva murmurs more to herself than me. She takes one more calculating look around the platform turning left, then right as she debates something in her head. For just a second, she hesitates as her delicate brows pinch with indecision, before her features smooth; letting a crazy look of determination take over. 

Her shoulders rolling back is my only warning.

Then she’s marching towards me. 

The sound of her bag hitting the floor echoes through the platform followed by the ruffle of her rummaging through it. 

“Jesus. What the hell are you doing?” I’m trying to turn around but her hand shoots out stopping me. She holds it against the side of my jaw, keeping my head in place. I’m so shocked she’s touching me that I don’t immediately move away. Her palm is soft and warm against my skin as she stays like that for a moment to make some kind of point.

I don’t hate it.

“Do not turn around.” She says wryly. “You can never unsee a ballet dancer’s feet.” A second later her hand is gone and she returns to digging through her bag.

“Why the fuck would I see your feet?” 

“Because,” She chirps as I hear her boots hit the floor. “I’m about to help you load that nice guitar case with lots of cash.”

I liked her better when she was scared of me. I run a frustrated hand down my face. I need her to move the hell along so I can go back to hating my life in peace. “I don’t want your goddamn help.”

She hums a dismissive little noise over the incessant ping of what I’m assuming are her hair pins hitting the floor one by one. Then she hands me a Bluetooth speaker. 

“When the vocals kick in, just sing and play over it.” She instructs.

“To what?” I demand fucking fed up with this whole situation.

She stands, still behind me, and I can hear a smile in her voice. “Moments Passed. So don’t try to act like you don’t know it.” She releases a playful laugh, the same lilting wind chime sound from the supermarket and fuck if it doesn’t make me pause to listen closer. 

“Now,” she places her hands on my shoulders. There’s a tiny tremble in her touch but her voice is strong and steady as she whispers in my ear. “Hit play and just try to trust me.” 

Against my better judgment (I blame her damn laugh), I do as she says.

As soon as the warped opening vocals filter through the speaker I know fucked up.

Eva slinks around me, setting her pace to the music. She lets her fingertips trail across my shoulders as she moves, leaving light chills in their wake. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she comes into view and my blood runs warmer the second I catch sight of her. 

Goddamn…

She’s in her pointe shoes, and she’s ditched the hoodie, leaving only a red high cropped tank over a black sports bra with her tight midriff exposed. Her black leggings are cut out all along the sides of her toned legs. As I suspected, she’s freed her hair from the bun and it’s tumbling down her back in thick soft waves stopping just above her perfect heart shaped ass. But it’s the way she’s suddenly carrying herself that’s got my attention more than anything.

Doe Eyes looks confident.

“Maybe it's all down to the thought of her…”

Eva effortlessly rises on to her toes the moment I begin to sing and glides across the platform. She keeps those impossibly green eyes on mine the whole time as she weaves this story, becoming the personification of the song. 

This girl dancing in front of me is a far cry from the pitiful nervous wreck I met weeks ago. 

This girl I could get to know. 

“‘Cause I loved ya…”

I belt out the first chorus, finding myself singing the words with more power than I ever have before. I play this cover pretty often, it’s one of those songs that just fits well. Singing it is like putting on an old T-shirt that’s been softened from years of wear; but today it feels new. She’s bringing the fucking music to life as she twirls and leaps across the platform with her hair flying behind her in dark ribbons.

“‘Cause I loved ya…”

As I begin the second chorus, her movements grow dramatic. She slips quickly into one step only to slowly pull her body into the next as she mimics the tempo. She makes her way to me placing her hands on my shoulders once again, then serpentines her hips emphatically in that quick/slow/quick pace. 

I can’t look away.

When the bridge comes she takes flight across the platform, her body soaring through the air like it’s being carried off by my voice. I hear cheers as she lands from some crazy contorted jump only to seamlessly rise on to her toes, bringing one leg up high behind her as she gracefully bends backwards, almost touching her head to her raised knee. Moving like vapor, she releases the pose,  dipping right into yet another equally impressive one. 

“‘Cause I loved ya…”

I belt the lyrics to the final chorus loud enough for my voice to echo off the tile walls as my heart hammers like . Something builds as Eva’s steps bring her closer and closer to me. An energy surges with every step. Despite her stoic expression a shot of adrenaline rips through my body. I don’t know what is coming but some sixth sense tells me that whatever is about to happen is going to fuck me up.

And it does.

Eva rushes forward, closing the last of the distance between us.

She comes down hard on her knees mere inches from me. 

She pauses for a heavy beat, eye’s locked with mine. I fight for breath.

  Then…

She crawls backwards,  staring with a crazy intensity as she slowly slinks away, keeping time to my voice as I watch her retreat. 

Fuck...

Me...

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as consuming as the look on Eva’s face at this moment. It’s like she’s lit a match and her soul is on fire. She’s beautiful. She breaks the connection and continues on, never losing her stride while I struggle not to drown in the aftermath of the last ten seconds. 

When those same warped vocals come in to close the song I stop singing and just stare at her flawless form as her movements once again slow and she tips into her final pose. She’s glowing from the light sheen of sweat on her skin and her chest is heaving as she catches her breath. 

A crowd that I didn’t realize had gathered, erupts in cheers, their whoops and whistles creating a deafening cacophony throughout the platform that drowns out the roar of a passing express train. But I barely notice. I’m stuck in place still under the spell she’s weaved. 

She rolls out of the last pose pushing her hair back as her face splits into a fucking smile that I can only describe as radiant. She gives a wave to the crowd and a little bow, then she gestures over to me sending the applause into a crescendo. 

But I’m still only watching Eva.

I don’t think I could look away if I tired.

Five minutes ago I couldn’t wait to be rid of her and now I’m devouring the sight of that tiny ass body like a starved man before a feast. She’s fucking stunning as she soaks up their applause. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks almost feverish when she turns that smile to me with witch potion eyes.

Strutting over, she throws me a little wink. I can’t tell if it’s conspiratorial or taunting but either way it seems to pull my mouth into a smile against my will. She ducks behind me to gather her things. The scent of her wildflower shampoo mingling with her sweat as she moves around in my space.

I bet she tastes sweet. 

I bet that bow shaped mouth would fit perfectly against mine.

I’m so fucking tempted to look back but resist. My thoughts have taken a nosedive into the gutter and  I don’t trust myself not to do something stupid like act on them right now. So I just sit there like a dumbass waiting for her to finish. 

She emerges from behind me and halts with her cup against her mouth as she looks down at my guitar case. I watch as the side of her mouth floats up behind the cardboard into a cheeky triumphant grin, her giant eyes sliding up to mine. It’s the same bratty smile she gave me when she dressed my knuckles with fucking princess bandages. 

 Well today is obviously shit-ass backwards because it’s turning me on even more.

“Now would ya look at all that,” she murmurs against the rim before taking a sip from her coffee. Dazed, I glance down to my case and see it’s now piled with bills. My head snaps back up but she’s heading for the exit. 

“See you at work!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs up the subway stairs. 

Leaving me speechless.