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Chapter 1
TherewerefewplacesI loved more than the dance studio. Sure, it smelled like sweat and feet, but it buzzed with life and passion.
Thump, thump, thump.The loud music pumped through the speakers and into my chest. My class kicked and jumped to the beat, trying to follow the instructions I shouted over the music. “Five, six, seven, eight! Point your toes! Straighten your knees! Shake, shake, shake . . . and pose!”
This was the recreational Jazz 2 class, so while they had some technical training, they weren’t as advanced as the top competitive teams. Still, they were enthusiastic, which made them so much fun to teach.
I shut off the Rivera hit from a few years back. “Great job today, girls!” I called, clapping my hands in applause. The girls followed along and applauded. “Bow to your classmates, bow to your teacher. I’ll see you next week for the official start of the season. Have a great night, and be safe!” A few of the girls gave me hugs on their way out and squealed a, “Thank you, Ms. Ivy!” And then I was alone in the empty studio.
The quiet that greeted me was a welcome relief. After five hours of teaching this Friday afternoon, I was exhausted. Not only did dance teachers have to demonstrate the steps and routines, but we had to be enthusiastic and motivational. I was a circus monkey, the ringleader, and the acrobats on the trapeze. It was the best job in the world, but I was always spent after a day at the studio.
I turned off the speakers, wiped down the barre, then gathered my things and headed out for the night. I passed the front desk on my way out and waved at Clara.
“Bye, Ivy!” she called. With her youthful enthusiasm, Clara was the perfect greeter at the studio. She had trained here throughout her childhood and was the poster child for the type of talent we could foster. As a young adult, she now worked at the studio on the business side and taught a few classes while going to school for her degree in dance.
“Bye, Clara. Have a great night!” I waved and headed to my car. I was grateful that it was late August and the sun was still out at seven-thirty in the evening. I hated walking to my car in the dark in December, but the seasons would change again before I knew it. School was starting next week for the students, even though it still felt like summer with the warm evening air wrapped around me.
I switched my phone off of “Do Not Disturb” mode and checked for any notifications as I climbed into my car. A text from my mom, another from my best friend Amy . . . and one from “the Prince.” My heart rate picked up as I checked his text.
Can we hang out after your classes tonight?
I looked around, not sure why I worried anyone was watching me. I had watched too many Lifetime thriller movies now that I lived back at home with my parents. My mom had a weird obsession with those, and—spoiler alert—those movies always made me paranoid. I could be so silly. I quickly typed out a reply.Sure! Let’s grab coffee at the beach.
A second later, I got back a winky face and a message that saidCan’t wait.I grinned from ear to ear and dialed my mom’s number as I turned on my car.
“Hey, my love!” My mom’s voice rang through my Bluetooth speakers. “All done for the night?”
“Almost,” I said. “I have a couple more things to finish up and then I’ll be home. Don’t wait for me.”
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yep!” I replied enthusiastically. “Classes were great today. But you know how crazy those girls can be. How’s Dad?” I changed the subject to get her off my trail.
“He’s all right. Trying to play some video games for fun.”
I laughed. “At least he can still do that.”
“Yeah, it keeps him young, even if he can’t do most of the other things he loves.” After the car accident two months ago that left him paralyzed from the waist down, my dad’s life drastically changed. No more skateboarding, snowboarding, or running. Even gardening had to be seriously modified. It was the most difficult thing I’d seen him endure, and I had a front-row seat now that I moved back home to help.
“Tell him I’ll watch TV with him when I get home. And tell Katy I’ll be home in time for her bedtime story tonight.”
“You got it. Love you,” she said.
“Love you too.” I hung up. I hated being dishonest with my mom. To be fair, I wasn’t exactlylying,per se. But, as Amy would have pointed out, I wasn’t speaking my truth, either. Not that she knew what was going on. If anyone was going to have a heart attack over my secret friend, it would be Amy. But with her living in Georgia with her husband, Lucas, for the last two months, I didn’t have to worry about keeping this secret from her.
Shaking the thoughts out of my mind, I drove over to the coffee shop near the beach, all while munching on the last of the salad I brought with me to the studio. I always brought food to eat in-between classes, becausehello,teaching dance burns a zillion calories. I parked my car in the tiny parking lot that screamed accident zone, then checked my reflection in the mirror. A sweaty mess looked back at me. My blonde hair, piled up high in its signature bun, had tons of loose pieces straggling all over the place, and nearly all the makeup around my bright blue eyes had dripped off with my sweat. I smoothed down my hair as best as I could, applied some extra mascara and lipstick that I kept in my car, and swiped my emergency deodorant on my underarms. I headed into the coffee shop. He’d seen me worse than this before, so it wasn’t the end of the world.
I hurried toward the coffee shop, heart racing with anticipation. I always felt this way about him, ever since I was twelve years old and went over to Amy’s house for the first time. He wasn’t just anyone. He wastheone. But I had done a pretty decent job covering up my feelings for him for the last fifteen years, so I could handle hanging out as friends, right? Our secret meetups had been happening for a couple months now. So far, so good.
And as soon as I walked into the shop, there was Scott King, Amy’s brother, sitting at one of the tiny tables waiting for me. I sucked in my breath at the sight of him. Dark, wavy hair with deep brown eyes and a jawline that looked like it was cut from stone. He looked like he was stepping off the runway wearing the suit he must have worn to work that day. I immediately felt even worse about my appearance. He stood up, gave me a sideways hug, and said, “Don’t say anything about how stinky you are. You’re fine.”
Acting unaffected, I rolled my eyes at him as the barista called his name. “I ordered for us,” he said, his eyes darting between me and the barista. “I . . . hope that was okay.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It all depends on what you ordered for me.”
“Caramel macchiato. Extra caramel.”
“Perfect.” I gave him another hug, then realized we were in public and pulled away, scanning the other customers.
