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On the way to his house, I give him a hard time because that’s what I do best. Sometimes, when I’m anxious, making jokes helps to take my mind off things. Unfortunately for Liam, he’ll bear the brunt of it all weekend. Plus, I enjoy riding his ass and watching him squirm. I’ve been waiting three years for him to confess how he truly feels, but he’s locked up as tight as Alcatraz. Unfortunately for him, I’m determined to break in.
After Liam gives me his babysitting speech, one I’ve heard from him time and again, I make my way toward Sophie’s room that’s off the living room. I crack open the door and see it’s as tidy as can be. It looks as if she hasn’t stepped foot in here in weeks. Wanting to change out of my dance clothes, I rummage through my duffel bag, then head upstairs to the bathroom. I practiced my ass off today, something I like to do during my long school breaks, and my muscles are sore. After I shimmy out of my tights and leotard, I step into the shower and hope the hot water washes away all the stress and anxiety that quickly built when I smelled the smoke.
Though I’m still unnerved, I’m safe and have a bed to sleep in for the rest of the weekend. The two girls who lived next door to me went home for Thanksgiving, but I can’t even imagine being told that all my belongings were destroyed. If I were home visiting my parents, they’d try to coax me into staying in Utah. They mean well and love me and my sisters with all their hearts, but I need my freedom. Moving to Sacramento was one of the best decisions I ever made. While it hasn’t always been easy to live on campus, I have zero regrets. Liam being here is just a bonus.
After I wash my hair and step out of the shower, I dry off, then get dressed. When my foot hits the last step of the stairs, Liam’s staring at me with wide eyes, which only causes me to smile. His reaction says more than it should, and his attention only encourages me more. Booty shorts and crop tops will be worn all weekend.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”
He nearly chokes on his beer when I plop down next to him. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Tilting my head at him, I narrow my eyes. “This is what we call clothes.”
I hurry and grab the remote, and while I’m flipping through the channels, I notice Save the Last Dance is on. The movie’s almost over, but it’s at the best scene, the one where Sara auditions for Juilliard. I remember memorizing the choreography in my bedroom until I nailed it when I was a kid. Standing up, I bust out a few moves, and Liam glares at me.
“You know the entire dance, don’t you?”
I step up on the coffee table in sync with Julia Stiles as she pops up on the chair. “You know it.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he says with a grin. I’m half-tempted to do the handless cartwheel just to show off but don’t push my luck because the last thing I need to do is break an ankle with my winter recital coming up in a few weeks. So I sit and hold back the urge to finish the routine.
“You make it look so easy,” he says, still mesmerized. I’ve noticed my dancing seems to put Liam in a trance.
Regardless, I’ve never really been able to take compliments when it comes to my craft because, like most art, it’s subjective. Everyone tells me how good I am, but I only notice the mistakes. I’m my biggest critic, which is why I practice so damn much. My childhood dance instructor used to say the only way to be a better dancer is to keep dancing, and it’s true.
“Anyone can do it if they apply themselves.”
Hefty laughter releases from Liam. “Doubtful.”
“It’s true. Anyone can be taught. Some are just better than others, more coordinated and such.”
“Maddie, you don’t just dance. You breathe it in and let it out, allowing the music to stream through your body. I’ve never witnessed anything like it before. Even when you’re just playing around.”
His words leave me speechless. I turn back to the TV and try to drown myself in the movie, though my heart is ready to beat out of my chest. Not often do I lose my train of thought, but when Liam is so fucking nice to me, it throws me off. I just wish he’d give me a damn chance—a real one. Sometimes when he looks at me, it’s like he’s contemplating us, but then he catches himself and puts on his macho act again. I’ll eventually break through or die single trying, but regardless of how frustrating it really is, I’m not giving up. Clearing my throat, I break the silence.
