A few counting exercises are the last part of my process, a way to clear my mind of everything but dance. I’m not sure it will work today, not when something as big as my relationship with Aidan is weighing on my mind, but it’s worth a try.As soon as the music starts, I feel my attention snap into place.
Amber, my partner for this scene, steps into the space next to me and loops her arm through mine. “Ready?” she asks.
I nod my agreement, and we wait for the right moment in the music for our entrance, stepping onto the stage together, big smiles on our faces. As we hit the lights, the nerves in my body loosen, as they usually do, and the feeling of belonging sinks in. This is where I’m meant to be, what I’m meant to be doing.
AIDAN
This is such a bad idea.
That’s what I told myself when I logged on to the Green Mountain Ballet website and discovered there were a handful of unsold tickets for tonight’s production.
It’s what I told myself as I entered my credit card information.
It’s even what I told myself on the drive over. But, right now, sitting in a balcony seat, watching Covey dance for the first time in years, I’m pretty sure it was a stroke of genius.
He’s… incredible. Even from this far away, I can tell how much of himself he throws into his roles. The little program they handed me has him listed in three different roles: one in the party scene, one in the fight scene, and one in the Land of Sweets. While it’s somewhat like deciphering Latin to understand the program, it’s enough to help me spot him on stage at the beginning.
From then on, if he’s onstage, my eyes are glued to him. The way he interacts with others is as if they’re at a fancy cocktail party. The way he lights up as he dances, his face beaming, in a way, I never see it off stage. Even in the fight scene, when his face is serious and his movements still like a toy soldier, I can see how he shines. I’ve known it forever, but seeing it in person is something else.
After what seems like only a few minutes, the house lights come up, and they announce a twenty-minute intermission. All around me, parents are bragging about how well their children did, their utter joy in seeing their child perform on a big stage.
I get it. Covey makes me proud, being out there like that. Maybe it’s weird to be that proud of a friend, but I can’t stop the way my chest practically explodes from seeing him on stage. I’m tempted to turn around and tell them that I’m friends with one of the professionals.
Friends. Friends-with-benefits.
Things between us are a bit odd. While Thanksgiving was a bit of a trainwreck, the real aftermath seems to be in our relationship. Or lack of a relationship.
When we left his parents’ house, my mind was reeling, trying to sort through which parts were genuine and which were part of the act. Honestly, I’m not sure I know anymore, which is terrifying.
Worse? Silas was right. My heart is involved, and it doesn’t think any of this is fake.
Waiting for the next act, I distract myself by scrolling through my phone, checking messages on various apps.I got the usual slew ofHappy Thanksgivingtexts from folks, full of emojis that barely have any meaning. I already replied to most of them, but there are a few buried in there that I missed in all the action.
Silas
Fake boyfriend still fake?
That’s the last question I want to answer. I decide to be at least half-honest with him.
Me
Mostly.
I try to imagine the situation if Silas were performing in something, instead of Covey. He’s a good friend, and I’d support him. I’d come, but I wouldn’t sneak in the back like some weirdo. I’d tell Silas I was going to be there and meet him after.
I’m still undecided about whether to tell Covey I was here tonight. If I tell him about tonight, he’ll have questions. Ones I can’t answer at the moment.
Luckily, the blinking lights signal they’re ready to begin Act Two. Instead of overthinking, I focus on following along in my program to make sure I don’t miss Covey’s role.
As soon as I see him, I realize what a ridiculous concern that was.
I don’t have words. The whole thing is too much, and I’m grateful the lights are out because my cheeks are so hot they must be bright purple. Where in the previous act he was part of a crowd, now he’s front and center.
Did I know Covey wore tights? I knew in theory, but I don’t know if I’ve seen him in them recently. Now, they fit him like… actually, there’s nothing to compare it to. He’s always hiding under his sweatpants or joggers, but here, in a pair of white tights, I swear I can see every single muscle in his legs. And they’re something to behold.
As are, uh, other things that are visible, too.
No wonder he covers up so much. If people saw my body on display like this… well, I’d probably curl up in the fetal position and die. Then again, my muscles don’t look likethat.
