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“Will do!” She batted her eyes at me as she left, and I immediately emailed Aubrey.
Subject: Super Glue.
I no longer drink your f**king coffee, but since you’ve once again proven how much of a novice you are when it comes to the law, I’ll be saving your handwritten note so my friends will know who to charge with my murder.
Grow up.
—Andrew
Subject: Re: Super Glue.
You don’t have any friends. I was your only one. And I don’t care if you save my handwritten note because I’ve saved all of your EMAILS—especially the ones that say, “Come to my office so I can eat your pu**y on my lunch break,” or “I love the way your mouth looks when you wrap it around my cock.”
You first.
—Aubrey.
I started typing my response—not willing to give her the last word, but I heard Jessica clearing her throat.
>“I’m sorry.” I froze my eyeballs to their sockets and held back tears.
“I didn’t see your parents’ names on the guest list for today. Are they coming to the second run through on Saturday?”
“No.”
“I guess they just want to see the full on show with no stops then, huh?” She laughed. “My parents are the same way. I told them about the number of run-throughs we have to do and they said they’ll see it when it’s finished. They’re all about perfection.”
“Unfortunately, I can relate…”
She laughed and blabbered on and on, making me silently count the seconds until she was done.
When she pressed my face with the last puff of powder, she spun me around to face the mirror on the other side of the room.
“Wow…” I whispered. “Seriously, wow…”
I didn’t look like I’d been crying at all. Although my eyelids were covered in dark eye shadow, and she’d dabbed a fake tear trail past my right eye, I looked as if I was the happiest woman on earth.
“Miss Everhart?” Mr. Petrova asked, stepping behind me. “May I borrow you for a second?”
“Yes, sir.” I followed him through the backstage doors and outside to the empty stretching area.
“Have a seat on the bench, Miss Everhart.” He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.
The smoke unfurled in spirals between us and he looked me up and down. For some odd reason, he looked more upset than usual, like he was about to yell at me.
“Mr. Petrova…” I said softly. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I brought you out here alone because I want you to know that you looked fat during practice yesterday. Too fat.”
“What?”
“Even though you danced the part of the black swan beautifully, capturing the right degree of anger and sadness, you failed—fucking failed, with the white swan.” He coughed. “You looked like your mind was elsewhere. Like it was killing you to be happy for five minutes, and to top it off, you’ve gotten fat.”
I rolled my eyes and tuned him out, focusing on the cars whirring down the street. I wasn’t disturbed by his insults anymore. Him calling me fat was nothing compared to the things he said to me last week.
“Miss Everhart?” His voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Yes?”
