I turn my attention back to my tablet and thepas de deux. When life doesn’t make sense to me, this is always what I do. Bury myself in my craft and hope that it allows me to work out the issue.
This section of The Nutcracker, as the audience is taken on a trip through the Land of Sweets, is my favorite. All the pairs dance together, showcasing a diverse range of choreographyand costuming. I’m not quite ready to practice with my partner, Krisztina, yet. That’s a whole other level of nervousness. The dancers need to mesh together seamlessly, and we’re still finding our footing.
After two more complete watches, it’s time to get to work. There’s only so much I can do without getting a sense for how the steps feel and flow together.
At the edge of the room, I use the mini remote to hit play on the music. It takes me a few times before I find the right entrance, stopping and starting the music until I can feel the right moment to enter. It’s a quick start and fast dance the whole way through.
Ninety minutes later, I’m exhausted, but the first half is starting to come together. It still needs work, especially on the jumps and turns, but the steps are all there and in the correct order. Thankfully, this is a short dance—quick, but short at less than two minutes. Still, it’s a step up from the usual background roles I get at this stage in my career.
I meet with Krisztina tomorrow, hoping to have enough muscle memory to start pulling the piece together.
I avoid checking my phone for as long as possible. Picking up stray pieces of clothing I’ve pulled off, closing my laptop, and wiping down surfaces. When I finally do check, it’s nothing but disappointment. There are plenty of social media notifications, but nothing from Aidan. He’s busy changing lives and whatever, but I wish he’d check in occasionally.
I shake my head. No, that’s something a real boyfriend would do. Fake ones don’t have to do shit like that. They only worry about attending social events. It did feel like we were becoming friends again—at least a little bit. I know we aren’t ten anymore, and having one special best friend isn’t a thing.
But maybe it could be?
AIDAN
“So, there’s one more thing we should probably talk about. And I should have brought it up before now, but it’s a little weird.” Having Covey in my house at the end of a long week is comforting in a way I can’t describe. This time, I didn’t bother to clean. Much. I only put a few small things away.
“Oooo… what kind of deep dark secrets do you have?” He leans forward, his face full of excitement.
“There are no secrets.” I could’ve introduced this a little better. Now he’s expecting something juicy and interesting, rather than a boring discussion of logistics.
“Wait, let me guess.” He taps his finger against the side of his head. “Did you murder one of your students and bury them in the backyard?”
“That’s awful.” I might occasionally fantasize about having a student transfer mid-year, but nothing dark. This is what I’ve missed so much about my friendship with Covey. He’s the sweetest person I know, but he’s also full of energy and chaos. That comes with challenges, but it also brings so much joy into my life.
“Okay, wait.” He holds up his hand to stop me from saying anything. “Are you a secret agent who’s pretending to be a teacher to get dirt on a parent?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the plot of a movie, and no.” The whole week dragged, and by the time I finished today, I had a pile of text messages, emails, and DMs to respond to. I ignored all of them, except the ones from Covey.
Trust me, I’ll hear about that from my mom later.
“You’re making this tough, but is it that you?—”
“Covey, be serious for a minute.”
His shoulders drop, and I immediately regret my words. “I mean, it’s getting late, and we do need to talk about it.” I forgot how carried away he gets. It’s one of the things I always loved about him as a kid, though even then I could tell how much it annoyed the adults around us. I shudder thinking that I’ve somehow become one of those adults, the ones who shut down his creativity.
“What is it?” His voice is different, lost without the thrill that was there a moment ago. It’s easy to forget that underneath the carefree exterior, Covey’s a deeply sensitive person.
“Um, well…” I wish I’d let him continue now. “If we were dating, we’d… maybe touch each other.” Wow, I’m bad at this.
“Are we back to the fucking discussion?” The muscle at the edge of his lips twitches.
“No.” I put a hand up. The last thing I need is to go back to that ridiculous conversation. Even if itiswhat prompted these thoughts. Silas—and I hate to say this—might have a bit of a point, not about us having sex, but about people expecting a physical relationship. “I’m talking about little things. Holding hands, hugging… kissing.” I don’t know why I’m embarrassed. It’s not like I’m some blushing virgin or something. Far from it. It’s just weird to bring it up. Despite our easy affection for each other as kids and teens, it’s a bit different now, especially with the implications of our relationship status.
“Oh, we can do that.”
“Which part?” I need him to be clear. The last thing I want is to overstep any lines accidentally.
“All of it, I guess. I mean, we don’t need to get carried away. It’s around our families, so a heavy make-out session isn’t called for, but a little peck would help sell it.”
Is it hot in here? I glance toward the thermostat,wondering if it’s on the fritz again. “Okay, so basically keep it PG.”
“I can work with that.” Covey takes a deep breath. “You don’t… have a boyfriend, do you? Or girlfriend?”
