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I considered telling Spencer about my sexuality and swearing him to secrecy. But wouldn’t that just make him my secret keeper? How was that fair? If the situation were reversed, I would’ve done the same because that’s what friendship was all about. Wasn’t it?
“Spence, I…I’m just starting to figure stuff out about myself.” There, I said something at least.
“Okay. It’s cool, man. You don’t need to offer an explanation—to me or anyone else. They’ll move on to gossip about something else soon enough,” he said, still seeming bummed he’d brought it up in the first place. “And don’t worry, you’re the perfect team captain, and if all goes well, you’ll be taking us to the playoffs.”
But would I be, if they knew about me and Lark? Or would we become the butt of someone’s joke?
Did it really matter that much if I had a fall from grace? Maybe that was the best thing for me. But damn, how sad was it that it would even be considered that? No, we definitely had not evolved as a society as much as we thought we had. My sexuality would matter to some people and to my parents—and they were paying my tuition, after all. Goddamn it, why did everything always feel on the line?
“Thanks, Spence,” I said, and we fist-bumped.
“Besides, you know my secrets too,” he said, referring to his major and the dispute with his parents.
I offered a sad smile.
“Two more years and we’ll be out of here and leading our own lives.”
“Can’t fucking wait,” I said.
“Tell me about it.”
“Thanks for being such a good friend.”
“Of course.”
“Hey, gonna grab some breakfast after laundry,” I said. “You coming?”
“Nah, I want to lie here a bit longer.” He slid back under his sheets.
I smiled as I went out the door, glad not to run into anyone for the remainder of the morning. It was too early for those jokers anyway.
31
LARK
It wasthe night of the dance recital, and I was nervous about performing in front of a live audience. Not that I hadn’t been part of plenty of productions over the years, but this seemed to weigh more. The others had been for fun and to show Mom she wasn’t wasting her hard-earned money on lessons. This was not only for a grade in tap and ballet, but about my future. Did I have what it took to do this for a living? If not, I would always be involved somehow, I’d decided, either as a teacher or behind the scenes.
The dance department dean gathered the students and professors in a large circle, which was practically impossible because there were so many of us, so I stayed just far enough back to be able to listen.
“You’ve all worked hard this semester, have practiced these routines dozens of times, and have taken the opportunities given you,” she said. “So let’s go out there and make our parents proud.”
We all cheered, then broke apart to begin lining up according to the order of the stage numbers. I was involved in four routines—two ballet and two tap—and I definitely knew the steps like the back of my hand. Still, nerves and mistakes could ruin everything.
The first lively number was performed by all the instructors. This was a Roosevelt tradition and pretty fucking cool to witness. They were all so talented, and the purposely upbeat routine with a contemporary arrangement got the audience energized. It also made me look forward to my Modern Dance class next semester.
My mom and Star were in the audience, along with all the other parents and families who would scrutinize every routine and dancer. At least that was how it always went down in the recitals I’d participated in. The mothers and some fathers would appear backstage to try and “help,” only to be kicked out by the instructors because they were getting in the way or making their child nervous with over-the-top reminders to smile or remember certain steps. Maybe they were living vicariously through their children or had missed their own calling. Mom never had that sort of interest and always gave me the space to breathe, and damn, I was grateful for that. She’d been in the audience for all my performances and had given me a big hug and plenty of encouragement when it was all over.
I watched from the wings as the act before us was performing onstage, waiting anxiously for ours to be announced. Our number was a version of “Black Swan” from the iconicSwan Lakeproduction, and the costumes of the two female leads were so kickass I was a bit envious. The guys were wearing dark footless tights with black sequined shirts to match the mood of the piece, but not so blingy as to detract from the girls.
Our dance moves weren’t as complicated as the leads’, especially since we were used to performing plenty of lifts to showcase them. Still, it was rigorous, and I needed to be on my game. Any wrong move could throw everyone off. My stomach fluttered with nerves, but the second I stepped foot onstage and got into position, I felt electrified. Almost like an out-of-body experience.
When the curtain went up and the crowd grew silent with anticipation, I refused to look in the audience for my family. I stared at a fixed point above the spotlight in the back of the room, a trick I’d taught myself over the years.
The routine went off without a hitch, and the crowd clapped vigorously.
“We rocked it,” Emil said as he followed me backstage.
We high-fived, then went our separate ways to focus on different things. After my second ballet number, I jogged to the changing room to prepare for my tap number. It required a change of clothes from tights to black tuxedo pants and shiny shoes I’d made sure to polish for tonight. Then I strode back toward the stage and got in line behind Justin.
