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When I reached for a cup at the same time as someone else, I apologized as we bumped shoulders. “Sorry.”
It was Emil, who had shown up with others from the marching band. At least I thought so because they looked familiar.
“No worries,” Emil replied. “Good game.”
“Thanks. Good halftime show. Not that I’m ever able to watch it.”
When Emil laughed, I joined him. We poured ourselves some soda and stood side by side, sipping from the red cups.
“You should invite Lark to a game sometime,” I told Emil.
Ugh, why had I said that?
Emil arched a brow. “Why not invite him yourself? For two people who were supposedly friends, you sure do ask a lot of questions about each other.”
Lark asked questions about me?
I was considering what to say when Emil clapped excitedly. “This is my jam!”
I watched as he went off to dance with his friends, trying to picture Lark doing the same. Bet he had some wicked moves.
Unfortunately, I’d have to wait until Monday to ask him.
9
LARK
“And now a pirouette in demi-pointe,”Mrs. Leigh instructed as she led the routine. She had been a member of a travelingNutcrackerproduction for years. Pretty darn cool.
She was coaching the ballerinas, who were wearing their skirts and pointe shoes so they could lift onto the box of their toes while the guys—or danseurs, as we were called—performed thetour en l’air, which was also a spin move.
We were practicing one of the classical numbers for the upcoming fall recital, which would be part of our grade, and my thigh muscles were already burning from the repeated lifts—something male dancers were used to in these productions.
To be honest, I sometimes dreamed I was the one wearing the pretty tulle skirt so I could lift onto my toes and spin in the air as the soft fabric swished across my ankles. Their feet took a beating, though, so it was really more about the aesthetic.
As a kid, I’d begged my mom to let me try on a ballerina skirt in a dance store dressing room. Afterward, she’d bought it for me but swore me to secrecy from my stepdad, who wouldn’t understand. It was the one point of contention between them—that Mom indulged me. He didn’t think boys should participate in ballet, his disapproval showing in the deep grooves of his frown whenever she drove me to classes.
He could be fun and kind, and I knew he cared about me, but Mom had found out she was pregnant with Star after he left, and he’d never wanted anything to do with her. Asshole. I’d admit, I was relieved when he left us, but sad and angry too. I hated hearing Mom crying in her room. But even though neither Star nor I ever knew our fathers, we could always count on Mom’s love and support, and that was more than some kids had.
Mrs. Leigh had us practice the newest section one more time without the music, which would come later. I came down off my toes, panting softly as I walked to the mirror where I kept my towel. I resisted the urge to look toward the open doorway to see if we had an audience. Ever since Henry had confessed he’d watched the class, I got a little thrill to think he might be there.
I flipped the cap on my water bottle and took a big swig before wiping my brow.
“Damn,” Emil said. “Today was a bear.”
“It was.”
He frowned. “And now I have to make it through band practice.”
“You’re obviously an overachiever,” I said, and Emil laughed. “How did you end up on the marching band?”
“I played the trumpet in the high school band too, so it was a natural progression.”
“It would be cool to have musical talent,” I mused.
I followed him to the locker room down the hall, where I slipped on my sweats, then sat down on the wooden bench to change into sneakers for the trek home.
“You should come to a game sometime,” Emil said once he’d changed out of his tank top.
