No One's Watching (23 page)
Authors: Sandy Green
My head was about to pop off. “Shut up. Will you two just shut up?” I slapped my wet feet on the stone floor and stood behind Candace, watching over her head.
“Where is he?” Candace strained to see out the window.
Mrs. Sykes stood at the open door yelling Blake's name. I screamed to him in my head and clutched my hands.
Lightning sparked, like the flash of a thousand cameras. Suddenly, the lights in the room popped and went out. Everyone gasped. The dark room only made the jagged strikes brighter.
Fire and smoke seared the trunk of a pine near the cabana. It cracked and toppled onto the tent-like roof. The striped fabric collapsed and pulled the support poles out of the ground and onto itself.
“A tree's been hit,” Jupiter called. “We can't leave him out there.” He motioned to Ryan and Danilo. “Let's go.”
I burst out of the building before they had a chance.
“Come back here,” Mrs. Sykes called.
Sparks peppered the space above the cabana and singed its tent covering. “Blake, Blake,” I called. The rain poured down the steps like a waterfall. I skidded to the deflated cabana desperate to figure out which lump was Blake. As I yanked up the heavy edge of the canvas, Blake's hand lay lifelessly on the pavement. “Help me get him out.”
Jupiter pulled back the thick canvas like a sheet. Blake sprawled on his side, moaning.
I grasped his hand. “We'll help you.”
Mrs. Sykes appeared next to us. “Be careful moving him.”
Wind whipped across the pool deck, stripping towels off chairs and upturning them. I wiped my face and shielded Blake from the stinging rain. Jupiter moved around me and lifted Blake under his arms, while Ryan and Danilo each took one of Blake's legs. They carried his limp body to the steps. Lightning blinded me, and I crumpled to my feet. Here I was in the middle of a thunderstorm, my greatest fear, and I couldn't stand to run to safety. I crouched, hiding my face.
“Let's go,” Mrs. Sykes demanded, cowering next to me.
My body shrunk into a tiny seed as I shook, clinging to the pavement. Thunder boomed and crashed around me. The top of another tree cracked and smashed into a line of umbrellas. Mrs. Sykes pulled on my shoulder. “It's dangerous out here. Come on. We're going to be killed.”
Killed? But I had my first kiss with Blake not an hour ago.
I couldn't die now. Besides, what about my ballet career? Plus I hadn't finished with Irish dance yet. Or Blake.
Mrs. Sykes yanked me to my feet and my legs unfolded. “Pull yourself together.”
Thunder roared around me, but my inner voice was louder. This wasn't the last act for me. There were things I had to do. Energy surged into my body. “I'm okay.”
We clutched each other and bolted up the steps.
Candace flung open the door for us. “We need to call nine-one-one. Blake needs an ambulance.”
Mrs. Sykes left me by Candace while she checked her cell phone from her pocket. She rushed to Mrs. Ricardo. “My phone won't turn on. Where's yours?”
“Outside in my bag. The one Blake went to get.” Mrs. Ricardo patted Blake's face with a towel. A cut scored his forehead.
Mrs. Sykes searched the room as the lightning flashed like a strobe light. “Where's the park ranger?”
“Somewhere by the river. He told me he feeds the swans everyday at two o'clock.”
“Ridiculous.” Mrs. Sykes cut through the clumps of dancers about the room. “Mr. Jarenko. Ms. Jen. Has anyone seen them? We need a cell phone.”
Blake moaned and reached for his leg. I knelt by him and clutched his hand to my throat, while the air continued to rumble and light exploded around the building. My stare shifted from Blake's pale face, his hair plastered on his forehead, to Shelly's.
“He needs to go to the hospital. We have to call an ambulance.” My voice shook. “We need a phone.”
Shelly lifted her head to the windows at the other side of the lobby and backed deeper into the shadows.
Blake moaned as he squinted at me.
“You're going to be okay.” I had no idea what I was saying, but my positive tone of voice surprised even me. I bit my lip to keep from blubbering all over him.
When he squeezed my hand and groaned, a lump lodged in my throat.
Mr. Jarenko and Ms. Jen stumbled in the room from an entrance on the parking lot side of the building.
“Is everyone okay?” Ms. Jen wrung her hands as she ran up to Mrs. Ricardo. “I've never seen such an awful storm.” She wiped her brow.
Mrs. Ricardo drew herself to her feet. “We need a cell phone. One of our dancers is injured.”
Mr. Jarenko patted his pockets and shook his head. “Sorry.” He pointed outside. “Maybe I can find someone in the parking lot?”
“Just a minute, Mr. Jarenko.” Ms. Jen fumbled with the zipper on her camera case. “My bag is waterproof.” She handed her cell phone to Mrs. Sykes. “Here.”
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Sykes stabbed her finger on the number pad and held it to her ear.
Electricity sizzled in the air, and it wasn't only between Blake and me. Mr. Jarenko joined Mrs. Ricardo. My face warmed as I avoided either of them.
He squeezed his hat, and water dribbled on the floor. “Darling, it was terrible. I went for a health walk and a dreadful storm came upon me so suddenly. I found Ms. Jen who had gotten lost taking pictures of the swans.”
Mrs. Sykes rushed back to us. “An ambulance will be here in a few minutes. How are you doing?”
Blake nodded and licked his lips.
I leaned over him. “Are you thirsty?”
“Yeah,” he rasped and reached his free hand to rub his head.
Mrs. Sykes held up her hand to block me. “We can't give him anything until the ambulance comes, in case of internal injury.”
Blake blanched.
Way to go, Mrs. Sykes.
Mrs. Ricardo shot Mrs. Sykes a warning glance while patting Blake's arm. “Just a precaution, dear.”
The lights flickered and turned on. At the same time, the sun brightened. Steam rose from the pavement.
“The storm's over,” Danilo announced.
A shrill horn pierced the strange silence.
“And the ambulance is here.” Jupiter jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Can I go with Blake to the hospital?”
That'd be my job. When I opened my mouth to ask, Mrs. Ricardo told us Mrs. Sykes would go with him. End of story.
Mrs. Sykes clapped her hands for attention. “I called the bus company, and they're sending the buses in a few minutes. I suggest you gather anything you may have left outside. Do be careful in case of broken glass.”
No one moved as two emergency technicians burst into the building with a wheeled stretcher.
“Over here, gentlemen.” Mr. Jarenko stood.
Before I left Blake's side, I whispered to him, “No way are you getting out of partnering me. I'll see you back at the studio soon.”
His crooked smile pierced my heart. I moved aside to stand by Candace, and she held my arm. Shelly hovered in the darkest part of the building. I wanted to shake her, but instead I ignored her and called her nasty things in my mind.
The bubble in my throat burst as the techs fussed over Blake. They strapped him on the gurney, stuck plastic air tubes up his nose and an IV tube in his arm and wheeled him off with Mrs. Sykes. He struggled to raise his hand. A thumbs-up sign, or was he reaching for me?
“He'll be fine.” Candace patted me. “He's strong.”
“I know.” I held myself and trembled.
The bus rumbled back to the college in a soothing way, making me drowsy. Tiffany sat beside me, posing silently as if grieving. She was one dramatic drama queen. Was this her way of comforting me? Kind of sweet.
I propped my arm on the slim windowsill and tapped my nose. I stole a glance at Tiffany and put my hands in my lap. Would Blake be okay? Had he broken any bones? Damaged his insides? Would he be able to dance again? Would he die? I shifted in my seat. I needed to take my mind off poor Blake, or I'd go crazy. I needed to worry about something else.
I closed my eyes and pictured our Irish dance class, complete with munchkins, as Blake and I tiptoed, twirled, and bounced across the studio. In the bus seat, my feet couldn't help marking steps to a combination Mr. Sean had taught us. Why did Mom hate Irish dance so much? Would she totally freak out at the performance? Which was more important to her â a ballet solo, or me not doing Irish dance? There were two weeks until the performance. If Blake weren't able to dance with me, would that change the whole Irish dance thing? He had to be there with me in class and on stage. We'd been through so much together, from learning this crazy and wonderful dance form as newbies to surviving Shelly's attack to lure him away as her partner.
A raw, burning ache filled my mind. I erased it with happy scenes from the park before the storm. Blake. The elegant swans. Blake. The kiss.
The ache returned, all hollow with flaky, dark edges like a burnt piece of paper. I had almost died out there in the storm. Mrs. Sykes said so. But I'd made it to the shelter. I didn't give up and wait to get electrocuted. I ran back on my two dancer's legs.
I shivered then sat up straight. Thoughts like lightning bolts shot across my mind. Nothing like a near death experience to put your life in perspective. I couldn't wait to get back to the studio to practice Irish dance and have Blake join me. He'd have to be okay.
Blake. Blake. Can you hear me? Get well. Please get well. I have to see you again.
****
The next morning when I woke, the knuckles on my right hand hung on the floor beside my bed. Blake and Grandma were the first things I thought of. Would they be okay? I mentally sent them good wishes.
Something was wrong with Candace's clock. It read two-seventeen. It couldn't be the middle of the night. Gray light struggled around the window blinds. Candace snored softly on her bed. Doors slammed in the hallway. Voices called. Laughter. The top ten hits blared.
“Candace.” I sat up, rubbing my head. My raw toe hurt worse than wearing
pointe
shoes with no protective tape on my toe knuckles. It must've gotten sunburned.
She mumbled and opened her eyes, brushing hair away from her face. “What time is it?” She reached for her glasses. “Wow. That late?”
“Is your clock right?”
She yawned. “Yeah. What a week.”
“At least we're not late for an audition.” I pulled out a pair of stretchy pink and yellow swirly patterned shorts and a teddy bear T-shirt.
She laughed.
I picked up my clothes hamper and squeezed it. “I hope Blake is okay. And Grandma.” I chewed my lip.
“Don't worry. He'll be fine. And so will your granny. She's too spunky to let something like an operation get her down. My granny had the same thing done. She was home from the hospital in three days and threw away her cane after two weeks. And she was never a famous ballerina like yours.”
“Thanks. I'm glad to hear about your grandmother.” I exhaled. “I'll be back to pick up some things.” I dashed down the hall to the laundry room and stuffed my clothes into a washing machine. Candace promised to dry them.
By three I was in the studio. Alone. No Megan. No Lindy. And, sadly, no Blake. Was he strung up with tubes like when he left in the ambulance? I blotted tears with my towel. He was going to get better. He had to. He was the only partner for me.
I'd made up my mind. I wanted to do Irish dance. It was hard but so much fun. The footwork, the cool jumps, the fact my arms didn't spin like windmills. I sat on the floor of the studio and took out my flute. Not waiting until something stupendous happened so I could celebrate, I played all the Irish tunes in my songbook. Even one called
The Swan
. Not the one from the ballet, instead a beautiful Irish song. For Blake.
I was in a Celtic mood, so I fished the Irish dance magazine from my dance bag Megan loaned me. The pages were crinkly and stuck together from getting soaked, but I'd let it dry on the windowsill overnight. I pried the pages apart and studied the pictures of the dancers â their posture, the lines of their legs and bodies, their proud attitude. I ignored the curls.
Mr. Sean had left a box of Irish dance CDs in the studio because we â make that Megan â had complained she was bored with the same CD we used at evening practice. I picked one that had a selection of reels, slip jigs, hornpipes, and jigs. I chose the slip jig section because Mr. Sean had told us we were going to perform one.
At the
barre
, I warmed up like we always did. Sweat formed on my forehead and cheeks. I moved to the center of the room and practiced under-overs, butterfly jumps, beats and everything else I could think of.
Panting, I grabbed my water bottle and took a sip, pacing the room. What did Mr. Sean have in mind for our performance piece? I pictured the curtain opening and Blake and me posed next to each other center stage toward the back. Our heads tilted toward each other. His arm was barely around my waist.
I frowned. Was Blake okay? I shouldn't have missed breakfast or lunch so I could've seen one of the directors and asked them for news. After practice, I'd go up to the ninth floor where the teachers and directors stayed and see if anyone had an update.
Back in my imagination, Blake and I stood at the back of the stage with three girls posed on each side of us. There were seven of the munchkins, so one girl â probably Megan, would have to be somewhere else. Like in front of us. I wandered around the studio, sipping from my water bottle. On her knees? Could she recline on her side? Where had I seen that before? I capped the bottle and laughed. The opening scene from
Les Sylphides
. Of course, the ballet dancers wore long fluffy tutus, but the arrangement was similar. The poet stood with one nymphs on either side of him while the
corps de ballet
arranged themselves in a semi-circle.
Would Mr. Sean go for it? An Irish version of
Les Sylphides
? That would rock my world.
I turned up the volume on the CD player, shook my hair out of my ponytail and danced. I had no limits, as if I were dancing on the open patio at Chester Park before the horrible storm. I spun, hurdled, and skittered across the floor. My hair flounced like it was underwater.
I hugged my arms to the sides of my body. My neck lengthened on my straight back. I closed my eyes, channeling the swans â elegant, calm, and strong. I'd never felt so free. On and on I danced, slicing the air with my legs and whipping it with my feet. Thrilled with the Gaelic movement and yet agonizing about Blake. The fiddle, flute, and Irish
bodhrán
drum filled the room with their lovely song.
Finally, the music ended and the CD player stopped, hurtling the final notes into space. I panted as I finished, standing on my left leg with my right toe pointing to the front left corner of the room. A single tear clung to my cheek.
One person clapped from the hall. A rough accented voice froze me to the floor. “Could you dance like that on stage if you thought no one was watching?”
