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I feel ridiculously weightless as I return to school much too late, get ready, and then head to class with Katie.

“You weren’t at breakfast this morning.” Katie gives me a questioning look. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” I reply quickly, realizing what she’s getting at. “You don’t have to be.”

“So you’ve eaten something?”

“Yes.” I give her a reassuring smile, but a queasy feeling spreads through my stomach. “I have. I’m fine.”

“That’s what Susannah always said.”

“But I’m not Susannah. I just wasn’t at breakfast because . . .” I pause. Damn. That was a little too much information.

“Because what?”

Damn it. Maybe I should just tell her the truth. Or at least part of it. After all, that’s our plan, eventually. To tell the truth. To be honest and then hope for the best. Whatever that may be.

“I didn’t sleep here. That’s why I didn’t come to breakfast,” I explain so she’ll stop worrying.

“Where were you?” She looks confused, and I can’t blame her. Even when I was still with Archie, I spent most nights in my own room and only slept at his place on weekends, if at all.

“Somewhere else?” It sounds like a question, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Wow.” Katie laughs, and for a brief moment, things are easy between us for once. For the first time in months. “Do you have something to tell me, Lia?”

“Maybe. But not yet.”

“Not yet?” She grins smugly.

“It’s too complicated right now.”

“Does it look like it could get any less complicated?”

My thoughts wander to last night, to Phoenix. His eyes. His voice. His hands on my skin.

So we’re really going through with this, right?

Yes.

“I think so.”

Katie is silent, but she reaches for my hand and squeezes it briefly, and somehow that says more than anything else.

The lightheartedness between us disappears when Francesca enters the studio half an hour later with a serious expression on her face. Phoenix is just a few steps behind her. His eyes find me immediately, and a warm, happy feeling rises up in me.

But only for a few seconds, until Francesca steps into the middle of the room and asks for everyone’s attention.

“Good morning,” she greets us, but it’s immediately clear to everyone that it’s not a good morning. It sounds more like it’s going to be a lousy day.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions after yesterday.”

“What happens now?” asks Celéste, voicing what we’re all thinking. “Is Susannah okay?”

Every muscle in my body tenses, my pulse is racing. For the last twelve hours, I’ve been desperately trying not to think about the performance.

“Susannah is doing quite well so far, but she needs to take it easy for a few days.” Francesca presses her lips together, but no one seems convinced. She’s been teaching us for more than three years, and by now we know her almost as well as she knows us.

“So she can dance in the performance?” Charlie asks.