"Not the worst. You simply have some work to do. I would say if you had started when everyone else did, and you didn't have to take the time to learn the aerial stuff, you would have been fine. I think forAn American in Parisin a few weeks, you'll be fine. The ballet technique is second nature to you, while a lot of the ensemble will have to work harder at that. So remember that when we get there." I sit down at the piano.
She nods at me to start.
"When you go for that belt on 'possible,' really pull from your diaphragm. That's where your power is coming from."
We run through her harmonies and belts, and she nails them. Of course, she's standing here, and not flipping and spinning. "You've got this. You can totally sing. You do have the chops. It's just the dancing and aerial work that's tripping you up."
"Someone once told me that anyone can be taught to sing."
"Yes, but not everyone ends up sounding like you. You must have had a very skilled teacher."
She slides onto the piano bench next to me. "He was so incredibly skilled, in so many ways."
I look at her, trying to suppress my grin. Why does it have to be so easy between us? "He wasn't working with a blank canvas, you know. His pupil was—is—talented."
We both break the eye contact that's getting a little too strong. Leslie rests her head on my shoulder. "When—if—I get through this, can you give me another chance?"
Tilting my head to rest on her, I close my eyes and feel as if she punched me in the gut. It would be so easy to say yes. So much of me wants to give her that chance.
But at the end of it all, I still don't think I'll ever be able to trust her again.
I stand up. "I'm sorry, but we can't go back. And even if we could, I don't want to."
I'm a liar. I want to.
I just can't.
Chapter 17: Leslie
Alittle heartbreak never hurt anyone, right? I mean I already feel as if I'm dying, but so much hurts physically and mentally that a little emotional anguish is just like sprinkles on my pain sundae.
Mmm … sundae.
When this is all over, I'm going to bury my feelings in a big huge ice cream sundae, complete with all the toppings and plenty of whipped cream. I haven't had one in years, and I'm done depriving myself.
Who am I kidding? We all know I'll probably get a kiddie-size frozen yogurt and pretend it's the same.
I'm good at pretending. Like right now, as I smile wistfully at Levi. Of course, I'm imagining him as Josh, and feeling all the things I feel knowing that we can't be together.
At least in the show, there's a good reason, like systemic racism and prejudice. In real life, it's a complete and total personal rejection. Still, I do what I've always done. Stuff my feelings way deep down and plow ahead.
Try to be the best.
Man, I really do need to get some help. As soon as this show is up and running, I'm going to contact Gloria's therapist. I can't continue on this way.
On the other hand, if I didn't have this foolish drive to be the best—to do my best—there's no way this show would come together. The Edison needs my drive right now. We've finished our first dress rehearsal and the rest of the cast has dispersed. We're down to the last twenty-four hours before the show, and I still need to work on my stuff. So work away I will.
Plus, when I'm pushing myself on the lyra and the silks, I don't have room to think about Josh. Upside down and spinning, I'm not thinking about that adorable eyebrow thing he does while he's playing the piano and conducting all at the same time. It's like he's giving you this secret message with them.
I also don't have to think about his variety of smiles, including the wide smile, the half-grin, and my personal favorite, the lower lip bite.
Nope, not thinking about that one at all.
Even though it's evening, it's hot and humid and the sweat pours off me. I wipe my hands on my leggings and try again. I know I'm on the lyra the right way when my bruised spots are bearing all my weight. It doesn't matter.
The only thing worse than thinking about Josh is thinking about what parts of my body hurt. I'm not sure that there's anything that isn't screaming at me right now. I flip down off the lyra to get a drink of water.
I'm sweating so much that I haven't had to use the bathroom, despite the two liters of water I've packed away this afternoon. My phone rings.
