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33
Ifind it easier to breathe when the air is stabbing me.
It should be more challenging, but I welcome every slice of pain that enters my lungs.
It makes me feel alive in a way Lochkelvin has dulled me, muted me, turned me into a meek little mouse in a uniform.
What was it Finlay had called me? A tim’rous beastie?
Yeah… I feel that in my soul.
The way I dance is impressionistic. I let the air guide me, the currents and the hidden world. Nature is my energy, my elemental inspiration. I harness it, shackling myself to the swoop and drift of the air. I’m happy to be carried away by a larger force. Besides, that’s what art should be, right? Submission to larger forces. Large concepts made small. Reality understood.
I let time lead me away from Lochkelvin. I dance to a music that isn’t obvious, butisthere if you pay enough attention to the howls of the wind and the crinkle of a leaf.
It’s not ballet but it’s something like it. My back arches, stretching my muscles gloriously. I drop my body then roll it slowly back up, the knots in my spine beginning to straighten. With every movement exaggerated, I take time just to enjoy the sensation of dance, of my body submitting to the Zen-like control of artistic force.
The dance builds to something explosive until I’m on my knees with my arms spread wide, panting from the sheer adrenaline like I’ve just undergone an exorcism. All my pain, all my worries, cast aside like the uselessness it is.
My ragged breath is the only sound in the silence, until—
A single applause.
The hair on my neck stands on end.
I don’t move.
But even then, it can only be one person. It’salwaysonly one person.
“Bravo,” Rory says, so much curiosity packed into those two syllables.
I drag my blazer sleeve across my forehead, refusing to even look at him. My skin is a weird mix of clammy and cold, heated but not. I slowly rise to my feet, keeping my eyes downcast, not wanting him to see me so exposed.
I’ve never had sex or anything, but dancing is always how I imagine it. The same kind of private energy, the frisson, the oneness with the universe…
So to have Rory juststaringat me from the stump of a tree, watching me at my most vulnerable… It takes a while for my guard to reassemble, like a creaky drawbridge slowly being dragged upright with the little strength that remains in my body. It’s the strength I keep in reserve, never letting go of it during a performance, because there’s a difference between being weakened and being destroyed. The last time I performed in public showed me that.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is so quiet, a breath in the wind.
“I followed you,” Rory says easily, like stalking is perfectly normal and acceptable behavior. “Saw you leaving school and thought that was strange since normally you’re at the library by now—”
My spine stiffens.
I’m sorry, butwhat? He knows my timetable by heart? He knows where I am at every moment of the day?
“—and I just knew you’d be dancing, since it’s the only reason you ever come out here. So I thought, hey, I may as well treat myself to a free show.”
I pick up my bag from the side of the tree.
“Finlay told me about the ritual.”
I stop moving.
“Theactualritual. Not the ones you lied about.”
My heart is pounding.
Finlaywouldn’thave told him… not about me… in the branches…
