Breaking the Ice (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

The dance studio is really
just a storefront in a strip mall. It doesn't look like much, but I'm sure Mom read every review that exists on the Internet before choosing this place. So I'm betting it's more than just pretty good.

I stand behind a clump of women who are Mom's age, while Mom takes a spot in one of the chairs that line the far side of the room. There's only one other person in the chairs, so of course Mom sits right next to her and immediately starts talking. I'm the youngest one here, which feels a little weird. There are a couple of older teenagers, a girl who's standing right up front and talking to the instructor, and a boy in a
baseball cap who looks like he'd rather be playing dolls with his little sister than be stuck here.

“Can I have everyone's attention, please?” The instructor raises her voice, and everyone quiets down. “This is the beginners' tango class. I'm Jill, and this is my studio. My partner Fernando will be helping us out tonight.” She points to a tall, lean, dark-haired man propped against the mirrored wall.

“I am Fernando,” he says with a Spanish accent, like Jill hadn't already told everyone his name. The women in front of me giggle, and Fernando shoots them a smile.

I turn back to Mom. She makes a walking motion with her fingers at me. I shake my head. No way am I moving up front. I'd rather learn to tango without anyone watching me. Besides, the women in front of me might get mad if I block their view of Fernando.

Jill raps her knuckles on the wall, and everyone looks back at her. “We will start with—”

The studio door opens, and in walks Addison and her mother. What in the world are they doing here? I shoot a glance at Mom, but she's just watching them with her eyebrows raised.

“Sorry I'm late,” Addison says as she brushes past me to stand right in front of the giggling women.

Mrs. Thomas perches on a chair at the end of the row, far away from Mom and the other woman. She pulls out her notebook and pen and her phone.

Jill gives Addison a curt nod. “As I was saying, we will start with the tango hold.” She snaps her fingers at Fernando, who oozes across the floor to meet her. “The lady places her arms like this, and the man like Fernando.”

I stand on my tiptoes to see. The women in front of me giggle again, and Addison's already imitating Jill. I raise my arms and try to crook my left elbow the way Jill is.

Jill and Fernando move through the group, adjusting everyone's arms. Mine are starting to ache when Jill finally gets to me.

“No, no. Your left elbow needs to be down more. And your palm like this.” She pulls on my arm until I'm practically wincing.

Okay, if I knew this was going to hurt, I wouldn't have signed up for it. This is way worse than crashing to the ice on a jump.

“All right, now we're going to partner up and work on the hold together. And since our ladies clearly outnumber our men, we'll have to take turns playing each role.” Jill waits while everyone pairs off.

The women in front of me all pair with one another. The older girl snags the red-faced boy in the baseball cap.

Addison looks back at me and then says, “Can I partner with Fernando?”

Jill shakes her head. “Why don't you go with . . .” She points at me.

“Kaitlin,” I fill in. Great. Tangoing with Addison.

Addison makes a face and slowly moves toward me. “No way am I being the guy.”

“I think we're supposed to switch off,” I say.

“Whatever. I'm going first, then.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and holds up her arms.

I try to imitate Fernando, but I really wasn't paying attention to what the guy is supposed to do.

“You're doing it wrong.” Addison takes my left hand and moves it onto her back.

“Sorry.”

We stand there for a minute waiting, while Jill helps the older women and Fernando demonstrates the correct hold for the boy in the baseball cap.

“So . . . um . . . why are you here?” I finally ask Addison.

“I wanted to learn how to dance. You know, for my skating.”

“But your program is to
Phantom of the Opera
.” And last time I checked, there's nothing tango-y about
Phantom
, but I don't say that.

Addison shrugs, which is kind of hard to do when you're standing in an awkward tango hold. “Maybe I'll do a tango program next year.”

“Okay,” I say. But I'm pretty sure I've figured out the real reason she's here—to make sure I'm not learning anything that'll make me a better skater than she is. Her mom prob­ably overheard Greg talking about it, and immediately signed Addison up.

Fernando finally glides over to us. He gives us a once-over and clucks his tongue.

“No, no. Like this.” He takes Addison's hands and almost lifts her off the floor as he shows me exactly how it should look.

Addison's face goes a little red as Fernando stares her down with this super-intense expression.

“Excuse me.” Mrs. Thomas nudges me aside and starts clicking away with the camera on her phone.

“Mom!” Addison drops her arms and clenches her hands into fists at her sides.

“Good work, honey. You're a natural.” Her mom pats her on the shoulder before she strolls back to the chairs.

Addison looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole. Fernando moves on to the next pair, and I glance back at Mom. She's busy pecking away at her phone—and probably not the camera app. Mrs. Thomas starts writing in her notebook again.

“What's your mom always writing?” I ask Addison.

“None of your business.” She crosses her arms and turns to listen to Jill, who's rapping on the wall again.

Oookay. I try to forget about Addison and pay attention to what Jill's saying about posture. The rest of the class time is spent practicing the hold while adding some steps. Everything is really quick and snappy. I can see exactly why Greg created the footwork sequence the way he did. It completely fits the whole tango mood.

“Good. Very good,” Fernando says as he passes me testing out steps in front of the mirrors.

I smile at myself. Maybe I can do this tango thing after all.

Or maybe not.

“What are you doing with your arms?” Greg asks as I finish the last turn in the footwork during my lesson on Saturday morning. “You look so stiff.”

“Um, it's the tango hold I learned at dance class.” I twist
my hands together. I thought I was doing a good job of adding in what I'd learned to my program.

A corner of Greg's mouth tilts up, like he wants to smile. “I see. What you want to take from those classes is more of the
feel
of tango. The emotion of it,” he says. “Not necessarily the actual dance. And relax your arms a little.”

I thought I was getting the feel of the tango. I mean, I was trying to do the quick feet thing and the arms.

“I think a lesson with Svetlana will help you connect the dance with your skating,” Greg says. “I'll schedule one with her this coming week. Good work today. I'll see you on Monday.”

I glide to the boards to collect my stuff, and Braedon scrapes to a stop next to me. “Hey, what are you doing now?”

Is he asking me to hang out with him? I swallow hard and pay close attention to pulling off my gloves as we walk through the doors from the ice. “Just hanging out in the lobby until stretching class.”

He pushes his hair out of his eyes, and I try not to stare. His eyes are really, really blue.

“We've got some time. Want to walk down to the convenience store? I need a Coke, but the snack bar's closed,” he says.

“Sure, I guess.” My heart leaps around in my chest. “Let me tell my mom.”

“Not enough time, Double Axel. Besides, she looks busy. She'll never even notice.” He sits on a chair and yanks his skates off.

I glance at Mom. She's deep in conversation with a couple of other parents. She didn't even see me get off the ice. I pull my skates off too and stuff my feet into my sneakers.

“C'mon, let's go.” Braedon leads the way to the front door.

I jog after him, feeling like I'm sneaking out or something. As we walk quickly down the sidewalk toward the corner, I can't shake the feeling that I'm doing something wrong. I really should've talked to Mom. What if she's looking for me? She'll freak out when she can't find me, and I'll never hear the end of it. I should've at least grabbed my phone from my skate bag.

The bell over the door jingles as Braedon pushes it open. He pulls two Cokes from the shelf, and we make our way to the checkout counter.

“Hey, man!” A kid about our age with stringy blond hair is paying for a bag of chips.

A smile slides across Braedon's face. And I can't breathe. He's so cute, with those dimples that only come out when he smiles. I'd noticed how good-looking he was before, but now I'm really seeing it. His bright blue eyes. The dark brown hair that's just a little too long.

“Will? Hey, what's going on?” Braedon says to the stringy-haired guy.

“I heard you got kicked out of school last spring,” Will says.

“Not kicked out, really. Just asked to leave,” Braedon says with a grin.

I'm dying to ask what Braedon did to get kicked out.

“Now what? Homeschool?” Will asks.

“Nah. Mom knows I'm no good at that. I think she's lined up some private school over in East Washington. St. Benedict's or something.”

“Wonder how long that'll last?” Will says with a laugh.

“Wanna place your bet?” Braedon replies. “At least I've only got one year till high school.”

Just how many schools has Braedon been kicked out of? I tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, we've got to go. Class starts—”

Braedon wraps an arm around my shoulders. I freeze. No guy has ever done that before. It's uncomfortable and sweet at the same time. I can't figure out if I want him to move his arm or leave it where it is.

“Sorry. Forgot to introduce Kaitlin here. New girl at the rink.” He gestures at Will. “This is my friend from school.”

“Hey,” Will says. “What's up with you?”

“Um . . . I skate. . . .”

Will and Braedon crack up like I just told the best joke ever.

“What's so funny?”

Braedon just smiles at me. He lets go of my shoulders and starts talking to Will about some other friends.

I glance at the clock behind the checkout counter. Stretching class starts in four minutes. I didn't time the trip to the store, but it had to be at least that long. I shift my weight from foot to foot, but Braedon doesn't look ready to go anytime soon.

“So, hey, I'm going to head back,” I finally say as I put my Coke on the nearest shelf.

Braedon doesn't hear me. He and Will keep talking.

I look at the clock again. Eleven o'clock exactly. I can picture everyone lined up for class. And Mom wondering where in the world I am. I take a step toward the door, hoping to hint to Braedon that we have to go,
now.

“Just a sec, Kaitlin. Gotta pay for my Coke.” Braedon fishes some change from the pocket of the hoodie he's carrying and hands it to the clerk.

I push the door open, the little bell jingling through the store.

“Catch you later, B,” Will says. They slap hands, and Braedon finally follows me.

I sprint down the sidewalk, hoping to make up for lost time. The late-summer breeze hits me from behind, as if it's pushing me along.

“Wait up.” Braedon jogs a little to catch up, then takes a swig of his Coke. “What's the hurry?”

I slow to a fast walk. “We're going to be late.”

“To stretching class?” He laughs. “Who cares? It's not actual ice time.”

My mom cares, but I don't say that to Braedon. It sounds so . . . babyish. Plus, I kind of want to go to stretching class. I was hoping it would help me get a higher spiral.

As we turn to enter the parking lot of the rink, Braedon stops me.