The Last Dance (2 page)

“Ivy, look out!” Mira squealed.

I looked up just in time to see the pointy end of the football coming straight at my face. This was not going to be pretty. Before I could react, a large hand reached in front of my nose and snatched the ball out of the air.

The owner of the hand stepped in front of me just in time to see my mouth drop open in a horror-stricken expression. With an effortless swivel, he turned and flicked his wrist, sending the ball sailing back across the parking lot in a perfect spiral without spilling a drop of the open can of cherry coke he held in his other hand.

“Sorry about that,” Q the Fabulous said as he looked over his shoulder at me. The mischievous grin that quirked the corner of his gorgeous mouth, however, negated his apology. It was obvious he’d enjoyed scaring the shit out of a complete stranger. He jogged away without a second glance.

“Oh my God, he saved your life,” Mira breathed in my ear. “Isn’t he fabulous?”

“Saved? I was almost maimed for life,” I muttered, still wondering what he found so humorous about that near-death experience. “And he looked like he enjoyed it.”

“But still—he was close enough to touch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please Mira. Don’t make me barf.”

We threw our backpacks into the back seat of Mira’s vintage orange Volkswagen Beetle. It was some European model her father had driven back in the day, with silver sections over the tires. The wheels even had matching orange rims. We climbed in, slamming the doors shut behind us.

“Come on, Jefferson,” Mira said to the car as she turned the key and pumped the accelerator. Mira’s license plate started with JCB so we’d named the bug Jefferson Christopher Beetle. “Fire that engine up, baby.” The car rumbled to a start. Mira ground the clutch and we jerked our way into the line of cars to exit. Mira was a bit stick-shift challenged, even though Jefferson was the only car she’d ever driven.

Neither of us lived far from the school and it was only a few minutes later that she was dropping me off at my house. “Be a good girl and get all your chores done so your Mom’s not p.o.’d, okay?” she called as I climbed out of the car.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’ll pick you up at four-thirty to go to the game.”

“IVY! HAVE YOU practiced yet?”

I ignored the yelling from downstairs and flipped the page of the People magazine.

“Ivy.” I jumped as my mom suddenly appeared in the doorway to my room. I hadn’t heard her come up the stairs. She could be sneaky like that. “I asked you if you’d practiced yet?” Her dark, shoulder-length hair was just beginning to show streaks of gray.

“I practiced this morning, Ma. Before breakfast.” I flipped another page and eyed the spread of gowns for some award show, wishing she would go away. But I knew better.

“You practiced your violin this morning. I’m asking about the piano.” Her voice was firm, with just a hint of an accent. Nineteen years in America was not long enough to erase the threads of Vietnamese that clung to her English. “You’ve got an orchestra concert in a few weeks and Mr. Flynn wants you to play the showcase piano piece. You need to practice so you don’t embarrass yourself. Plus, it will look good on your application when you apply to medical school.” She moved down the hall. “And it wouldn’t hurt to practice your violin again too. Is your math done?”

My mother’s voice faded and I slapped the magazine down on my legs. What my mother really meant was ‘don’t embarrass your parents.’ Practice piano, practice violin, AP classes, homework, excel, excel, excel. My parents were unrelenting in their efforts to give me a better life and more opportunities than they’d had. My uncle was a well-known surgeon in New York and they’d decided in pursuit of
their
American dream that both my brother and I would follow in his footsteps. What I wished I could tell them was that in the process, however, they would probably kill me.

I stared at the poster of The Eiffel Tower that hung on the wall across from my bed. Mira and I had cut out a picture of Jefferson and taped it to the poster. Paris. Some days I wanted to ride a vapor trail there. Away from the pressure to be me—future Dr. Ly.

I returned to my magazine and eyed a picture of Nicole Kidman and her husband, Keith Urban, posing at some gala. Sleek and beautiful. My gaze shifted over to the shimmery pale lavender gown that hung from my closet door. My dress for the dance tonight. It would have been fun if I’d been asked to my last Homecoming dance, but I hadn’t so I was going with Mira and two other girlfriends. In four years of high school I still hadn’t had a real boyfriend. Not that I had time for one. Not that I’d met anyone who I wanted to be my boyfriend. Not that my mother would let me have a boyfriend. But
still
.

And Brandon Chang didn’t count. Maybe he
was
super cute and had a 4.0 GPA to match mine, but I’d known him since fourth grade. He was like the male version of me. I swear he’d been in every orchestra, advanced placement math and science class I’d ever taken. We even got our braces off on the same day.

It didn’t matter that he used to like me. He got the same pressure at home to excel that I did. Nothing good could come of a relationship where both parties were neurotic over-achievers. Besides, he was going out with Jenny McNamara now. And I was counting the minutes until I could escape to college.

Mira hadn’t had a real boyfriend either. But that didn’t stop her from crushing over them constantly. Though she’d been hung up on Kellen Peterson for a record-breaking amount of time, I wasn’t convinced Q the Fabulous even knew she was alive.

“Ivy!”

With a groan, I slid off my bed and headed down the stairs. The truth was, I didn’t mind the music practice. It was all the nagging that went with it that bothered me. The invitation to play the showcase piece for our symphony concert was quite an honor. It made me nervous and excited at the same time to think of performing the complicated music for others to hear.

As I sat down at the piano my father poked his head into the room. “Be a good daughter and do as your mother asks, Ivy.” He softened his words with a smile. “Besides, I always enjoy listening to you play.”

“I know, Pop.” I smiled at him as I ran my fingers over the keys, enjoying the ripple of notes that flowed like a river of music. I loved the piano. That was my dream. To make music my career. I’d said something like that to my mom once. Her response? ‘Ivy, music is entertaining but medicine is a higher calling. You study music now to better comprehend medical school later.’ It didn’t do any good to talk to my father because he always went along with my mother. I’d never brought it up again.

I lost track of time as I played, concentrating on an intricate passage until my fingers knew the notes better than my brain. The music soared through the room and filled me. It was more than an hour later when I stopped.

“Was that an hour?” My mother called from the other end of the house where she was cooking chicken curry with coconut milk. The aroma made my mouth water.

“I have to get ready to go, Ma,” I yelled back. “Mira’s picking me up at four-thirty. It’s the game and dance tonight, remember?” I took the stairs two at a time, trying to escape before she brandished a spoon at me to make me practice longer.

I pulled on a maroon scooped-neck t-shirt over my white lace cami and ran a brush through my long dark hair. I scrubbed my teeth and checked for anything green that might be stuck between them. It still surprised me how perfect and straight they were, even though I’d had my braces off for almost two years. The same old Ivy stared back at me: Large brown eyes, a tiny nose, surprisingly high cheekbones, a good jaw. It would have to do. Some things practice couldn’t improve.

My journal was sitting on my headboard. Had I left it out? I grabbed the bound pages and looked at what I’d written this morning:
Homecoming tonight.
I stared at the words for the longest time, a weird jumble of emotions running through me. Nine more months and I’d be done with high school forever. No more Homecomings. No more classes with Mira. A pang pierced my chest. What did my future hold? Was it my parent’s plan for me—to be a pre-med student at an Ivy League college—or was it something different?

I ran my finger over the words I’d written. It seemed like my journal entry needed something more—sort of like my life—but I couldn’t think of anything to add so I slammed the book shut and hid it under my mattress.

I lifted the skirt of my gown as I walked by and let it float back into place. The embellishments glittered in the light and something inside me felt glittery and excited.

I wondered if Brandon would be at the dance.

Chapter Two

Kellen

“K
ellen!”

Charlie Jackson, my favorite wide receiver, jogged toward me in the hallway. He was wearing the same blue and white football jersey that I was, in a show of team spirit for the game tonight. He raised a tattooed arm and knuckle-bumped my fist as he fell in alongside me.

“You got your mojo workin’ for tonight, bro?” His eyes were level with mine, one of the few guys in high school tall enough to claim that perspective, as he slapped me on the back. “We’re countin’ on you to work your magic for the big dance.”

I grinned at him. The whole team called our games ‘dances’—it was a tradition borne from baseball and the big show. “CJ, we haven’t lost a Homecoming dance in eight years. It isn’t gonna happen tonight either.” I flexed my chest and arms. “The Griffin Eagles gonna soar, baby.” There was a beautiful vision of glory on replay in my mind. I was hoping there’d be some college scouts in the stands tonight. Since I’d started playing youth football at eight years old my dream had been to play quarterback in the Pac-12. I was so close to making that dream reality.

“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. I’ll catch you later, man.” Charlie flashed his pearly whites at me, almost as bright as the diamond studs in each of his ears, before he jogged off in an easy lope. Kids smiled as I walked down the hallway.

“Good luck tonight, Kellen.”

“Show ‘em how to play ball.”

“Take no prisoners, dude.”

I nodded at the well-wishers, slapping a few hands in high-fives, enjoying the attention. I was the quarterback of the football team. I dated Laurel Simmons. Life was good.

“We’ll be cheering for you, Kellen.” Emma Jacobson gave me a flirtatious smile, shaking her hips in her little cheerleading skirt as she walked by. I grinned as I looked over my shoulder to catch the backside of that action. Emma had ‘matured’ in the last few years, if you know what I mean. That’s when I saw Laurel at the other end of the hall. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail with a blue ribbon to match her cheerleading outfit. We’d been dating for a year and even though things had been rocky between us the last six months, I had big plans for the homecoming dance after the game.

She had her back to me as she pulled a book out of her locker. I sneaked up and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her off balance against me.

“Hey baby,” I whispered in her ear.

She let out a shriek of surprise before she whipped around to face me. Never shy, her lips locked on mine with a vengeance. Part of me wondered if her response was for Hailey and Caroline, who stood watching. Laurel liked to be the center of attention now. But I didn’t care.

“Ahem.” Somebody cleared their throat behind me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Peterson, but I believe you should be in third period right now.” I straightened up at the sound of Mr. Decker’s voice. “Please release Miss Simmons and proceed to class.”

Short and thin, with a receding hairline and glasses, our principal was actually a pretty cool dude. He definitely went easy on the football team so I didn’t want to rock the boat. I let go of Laurel and looked over my shoulder to smile down at the older man.

“I was just leaving, sir.”

His lips stretched in an indulging smile. “Good plan.” He made a shooing motion at Laurel. “You too, Miss Simmons. I’m sure you two will see each other later.” The principal continued past me. “Good luck tonight, Mr. Peterson. Make Griffin proud.”

“I plan to, Mr. Decker,” I said, as I sauntered down the hall. I was livin’ the dream.

Little did I know, that night was going to be my last dance.

THE AIR IN the locker room was electric, like a mini-thunderstorm brewing in that small, sweat-filled room. There was always a lot of excitement before a game but the one against Bellevue was the biggest of the year. Twenty years ago, due to over-crowding, the school district had split Griffin High School into two schools. Half of the students had gone to Bellevue High, a new school on the other side of town. With that one move, the district had created an insane cross-town rivalry. It was almost like they’d split the family in half. But it made for good football.

The pent-up tension was enough to power the lights in the stadium as the team got their game face on. Coach Branson was tough, a grizzled ex-pro defensive back, and he worked his players hard. He was old-school, but he was fair. Part of the Never-Say-Die club. He wasn’t a man of a lot of words but what he said meant something and he had our respect.

“How many of you want to win tonight?” Coach looked around the room. vzyl The short parts of his salt and pepper hair that stuck out from beneath his Griffin Eagles hat were mostly salt now.

A roar went up in the locker room.

He pointed a crooked finger at each of us, one at a time. “Do you want to win, Oliver?”

Ollie clenched his fist in front of his chest and gave it a pump. “Yes sir, coach!”

“And you, Kellen?”

Coach had pulled me aside after fourth period to let me know that he expected several college scouts in the stands tonight and made it clear they were there to see me. One step closer to the dream.

I knuckle-bumped Ollie. “Absolutely, coach.”

He went around the entire room. “If each of you gives it your all tonight—we’ll win.” Coach Branson shook his head. His nose looked as if it had been smashed against his face more than once. “We won’t score with every play. We won’t stop them every time.” He tapped two fingers on the table. “But if each of you tries your best,
every
time—we’ll be winners. Whether our score is higher than theirs or not.” He held out both his stubby hands toward us. “Because the difference, gentlemen, between winning and
being
a winner is in never giving up. Try again, give it your best every time—and I guarantee—you’ll all be winners.”