Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter One

Sheridan University

Montana, USA

The Day Before…

I
roll up onto the balls of my bare feet, perched on the edge of the playing
space. Across the stage stands my dance partner, Danny
—
a quintessential all-American boy. He
’
s got wheat blonde hair, a toothpaste ad smile, and an
ego so big he
’
ll have to check it when he flies
off to New York City and becomes an instant Broadway sensation someday. I
’
m allowed to say as much, as one of his closest
friends
—
and because he
’
d be the first to tell you the exact same thing. We
’
ve been rehearsing like crazy people these past few
weeks, working to perfect our final dance performance piece of the year. This
is our last rehearsal before we show it to our classmates and teachers
tomorrow, and our movement teacher Gary has agreed to watch and offer feedback.

Gary,
a somewhat fluffy fifty-something man with wispy gray hair, watches from the
audience as Danny and I face off across the proscenium stage. He
’
s a tough cookie, our teacher, and isn
’
t one to mince words. I
’
ve
learned so much from him in the three years that he
’
s been my movement teacher; but above all, I
’
ve learned to cultivate an alligator-thick skin. And
as someone who plans to pursue a career in the performing arts, that
’
s about the most valuable thing I could ever attain.

The
song
“
Lebanese Blonde
”
by Thievery Corporation starts playing over the
auditorium
’
s sound system, and our dance piece
begins. I let my rational mind go quiet as my body moves into the space. Danny
and I advance toward each other as the song
’
s
trippy, abstract introduction goes on. Our choreography was carefully crafted
to strike a balance between the styles of modern and jazz, but I
’
m not thinking about all that now. I
’
m not thinking about anything.

I
’
m simply moving.

Danny
and I meet at center stage, mirroring each other
’
s
movements precisely as we mark time with the music. As I roll my body around to
face the audience, I catch a glimpse of Gary
’
s
face. It
’
s pulled into an exasperated scowl.
I stumble to a halt as my teacher waves his hand dismissively, signaling our
resident sound technician to cut the music. He does, and Danny straightens up
with a start.

“
Is something wrong with the track?
”
my friend murmurs in my ear.

“
No,
”
I
tell him,
“
I think something
’
s wrong with
us
.
”

“
Impossible,
”
Danny scoffs,
“
We were flawless. Obviously.
”

“
I think Gary may have a slightly
different opinion,
”
I reply, plastering a phony
smile onto my face as our teacher appraises us.

My
friend and I stand side-by-side in front of our teacher. My long blonde hair is
arranged in a loose braid that hangs down my back, and my body is clad in a
tight black body suit. My full breasts and ass swell beneath the black fabric,
held up by thin straps that crisscross my toned back. I
’
m no gym rat, but years of dance and yoga (plus the
metabolism of a rabbit) have landed me in pretty great shape. Though it doesn
’
t seem to be my figure that has Gary looking so
aggrieved.

“
Can one of you please tell me what
the assignment was for this piece?
”
he asks in his slightly nasal
voice.

Danny
and I exchange a quick glance, each daring the other to speak first.

“
We were supposed to choreograph a
dance piece,
”
Danny starts,
“
In the tradition of
—”

“
What
kind
of dance piece,
specifically?
”
Gary presses.

“
A
…
good
one?
”
Danny offers vaguely.

“
Good lord
…”
Gary mutters.

“
A
partnered
dance piece,
”
I venture.

Gary
gives me a good old slow clap, and I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I was
expecting this performance to go perfectly. More than anything, I wanted to end
this year on a positive note. But it looks like my teacher has other ideas.

“
A partnered dance piece. Very good,
Sophie,
”
Gary says,
“
So then tell me
…
If this was supposed to be a dance
between partners, why were you following your own lead the entire time?
”

I
clench my teeth to keep my jaw from falling open.

“
I wasn
’
t
…
I didn
’
t
—”
I stammer.

“
You were, and you did,
”
Gary cuts in.
“
I could see Danny trying to engage
with you, but you were off in your own little world the whole time. It was
completely distracting. If anything, Danny should have been taking the lead.
”

“
Because I
’
m the better dancer, you mean?
”
Danny asks hopefully.

“
Because you
’
re the man,
”
Gary says.

“
That
’
s
even worse,
”
I mutter, before I can stop myself.

“
Not this again Sophie,
”
Gary groans, resting his head in his hand.

“
What?
”
I
reply, unable to keep my voice from getting heated,
“
I
’
m not allowed to take issue with
the totally outdated practice of a male dance partner leading at all costs? It
’
s 2015, for Christ
’
s
sake
—”

“
I am trying to prepare you for a
life in the arts, Sophie,
”
Gary cuts me off,
“
A life that will, if you
’
re
lucky, include getting paid to perform. If you want to be out of a job because
you can
’
t follow traditional dance protocol
without getting a hive of bees in your bonnet, be my guest.
”

“
Maybe I
’
m not interested in tradition,
”
I reply, folding my arms.

“
Fine,
”
Gary
huffs,
“
Screw tradition, if you must. But I
didn
’
t stop your performance just now
because you weren
’
t letting the man lead. I stopped
your performance because you still haven
’
t figured out how to work with a
partner at
all
.
”

I
suddenly find myself without any snappy comebacks to dispense. He
’
s got me there. Since arriving at Sheridan University
to study dance and drama, collaboration has been my Achilles heel. My work has
improved by leaps and bounds when I
’
m working solo. I can deliver a
monologue, belt out a tune, or dance a solo piece with the best of them. But
when it comes to working with a partner, listening to someone else
…
I fall short every time.

“
Sophie, you know I love you,
”
Gary goes on, hoisting himself onto the stage and
taking my hands gently in his,
“
I know why trusting people, letting
yourself care about people, is so hard for you. But it is something you
’
re going to have to deal with if you want to be a
truly great performer.
”

Sudden
tears well up in my eyes as my teacher zeroes in on what
’
s really been holding me back. Just before I started
college here at Sheridan, my family was dealt a huge blow. My father Archie was
killed in a car crash with a drunk driver back in our home state of Vermont.
The loss devastated my family, rendering my mother, Robin, nearly catatonic
with grief. My older sister, Madeleine, was already off at college in Washington,
and my younger sister, Annabel, was back at home with my mom. I was on my own
for the first time in my life, just when I most needed support.

Mere
months after the accident, I found myself arriving here at school for freshman
orientation. I was closed off, hostile, and so,
so
angry. I
’
ve spent the past three years tearing down those
defenses, working through my grief in my acting, voice, and movement classes.
My classmates and professors have helped me more than I could ever have
imagined possible. That
’
s why it
’
s so goddamn frustrating to run up against my same old
habits after all this time, to be called out on a difficulty that I want to put
behind me. Really, what I want is for the wound of my father
’
s passing to heal. But of course, it
’
s not the sort of thing you can wish away. If I live
to be one hundred, not a day will go by when I don
’
t feel his absence.

If
only my baggage didn
’
t come crashing down on others
quite so often.

“
I
’
m
sorry Danny,
”
I say to my friend, swallowing down
my tears.

“
It
’
s
fine Soph,
”
he says, laying a hand on my back.

“
You can
’
t rush progress, Sophie,
”
Gary
says,
“
I know you
’
ll find a way around this stumbling block. You just
need to give yourself some time.
”

“
Summer classes start in a few weeks
…
Do you think that
’
ll be time enough?
”
I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“
You
’
re
incorrigible,
”
Gary sighs,
“
But hard-headed stubbornness aside, I
’
m glad you
’
ll be doing the summer session this
year. There are some excellent people coming in from New York
—
they may be able to offer you a fresh perspective.
Since I, apparently, am far too
traditional
…”

“
You know I didn
’
t mean it like that,
”
I
laugh as Gary pulls a melodramatic face.

“
As the youths say,
‘
whatevs
’
,
”
he
shoots back flippantly, hopping off the stage with more agility than seems
possible, given his paunch.
“
On that note, enjoy your summer.
See you urchins in the fall.
”

“
What a charmer,
”
I mutter, as Gary takes his leave of us.

“
That
’
s
one word for it,
”
Danny replies, shaking his
head.
“
I can
’
t
believe he cut us off like that.
”

“
Let me buy you a drink to make up
for it,
”
I suggest, grabbing my bag from
backstage.