The Prologue (3 page)

The door chimes sound, and I look up, wondering who has the audacity to be late to the dance lesson. Madame Bella will not be pleased. Cindy’s teacher and the owner of the studio is a hardass, but again, she treats my sister well and has been more than fair with us, so she’s one of the few people in the world I actually respect.

Speak of the devil—or at least, the devil’s daughter. Evie Parker is pushing through the tinted glass door of the studio. I watch as she flips her Ray Bans up to the top of her head, pushing her long dark hair away from her face. Her shapely legs are encased in some kind of expensive jeans, which could probably buy Cindy about a month’s worth of dance lessons. Some kind of strappy silver sandals with a slight heel are on her feet, and my eyes zoom in her neon pink toes. I wouldn’t have figured Evie for a neon pink kind of girl.

She’s wearing a simple white v-neck that provides just a hint of cleavage and shows off just how tiny her waist is. Her only adornments are diamond ear studs even bigger than mine, and some kind of bangle bracelet on her slim wrist. Evie isn’t the kind of girl who needs to wear a lot of jewelry though. She’s got amazing hair, which I’ve had the pleasure of staring at all year in anatomy class, and several other times throughout the years due to the alphabetical misfortune of our last names, Parker and Quain.

Evie’s hair is long, down to her elbows and a rich dark chocolate color. Sometimes it’s in a perfectly straight river down her back, and sometimes it’s this weird crinkly-curly way that I think is from a bunch of little braids. She’s got the kind of hair that can only be described as a lot. She just has a
lot
of it, thick and shiny and beautiful. Right now it’s in big, giant curls, falling all over her shoulders, heavy bangs pushed behind her right ear, curling around her face. I even spot one curl hugging the curve of a breast. Damn. I love long hair on girls, and I know from all the times she’s flipped it during class that it smells amazing. Fruity and flowery, the way I imagine a Caribbean beach would smell.

I shift in my chair and pretend not to watch as she waves to Jenny and waits to one side. I suddenly notice the big Panera bag in one of her hands, and realize she’s probably brought Jenny dinner. As the girls finish warming up and Madame Bella takes over, Jenny grabs a water bottle and circles around the wall to greet her friend.

They head over to one of the few tables in the corner of the waiting room, and I’m still watching as they sit down. I tell myself it’s due to lack of anything else to do, and mostly, I’m not lying to myself. I definitely don’t have any interest in Evie Parker; the idea actually kind of makes me want to laugh. But I’ll openly admit to having a love affair with her hair, and just her hair alone.

Evie sits down much more slowly than Jenny, and I raise an eyebrow as I watch her carefully lower herself in the chair, and then wrap a hand around her waist, as though her stomach is hurting her. But then Jenny says something, and Evie is smiling and the way she eats tells me there’s definitely nothing wrong with her digestive tract.

My phone suddenly buzzes, and I reach into my pocket and pull it out, glad for the distraction. It’s from my other good friend, Koby.

You @ dance with Cindy? Jenny there?

I roll my eyes. Koby has had a crush on Jenny Hunt since about the third grade, and sometimes he comes to the studio with me for the sole purpose of stalking and staring at her.

Yup. But Evie Parker already brought her dinner, so I guess you’ll have to pass on wining and dining her.

His reply is almost instantaneous.
Evie AND Jenny? Be there in ten.

I shake my head, but even I am appreciating two beautiful females sitting only twenty feet from me.

Evangeline

3

“Thank you so much, I was about to die of starvation,” Jenny says, practically inhaling the pasta I brought her.

“No problem.” I take a sip of my iced tea, my eyes sliding to my left before I can stop them. It’s probably just as well that my ribs are on fire, because at least they’re preventing me from turning and openly staring. Finally, I can hold back my curiosity no longer and I ask, “Isn’t that Zeke Quain over there?”

An elite dance studio is the very last place I ever expected to see someone like Zeke, and yet there he was when I walked in, sitting huddled in a chair, hands deep in the pockets of his worn jeans, eyes focused the dance floor. I didn’t miss the onceover he gave me when I walked in though, and I was careful not to look in his direction. He’d winked at me today at school, and the end results hadn’t been good. My ribs burn at the thought.

“Yup,” Jenny mumbles through her pasta. She swallows her last bite and washes it down with her own tea. “That’s his little sister, Cindy. Right… there.” She turns slightly and finally points out a girl on the dance floor behind her, one with the same café au lait skin as Zeke. She’s younger than the rest of the girls in the class, but as I watch her step and glide, it’s clear she has a grace they could never hope for.

“She’s really good,” Jenny continues, swishing her drink around. “And I mean
really
good. She was in the Nutcracker with me last Christmas, and I’ve started giving her private lessons since then.”

“Better than you?” I tease, because Jenny carries herself with the same grace as Cindy does.

“She might be someday,” Jenny replies seriously, but without jealousy. Jenny is one of the most innocent, nicest people I’ve ever met. She’s blonde and freckled, with brilliant green eyes and a kind smile. “Madame and I have been entering her in every competition we can find and coaching her every second we can. We’re hoping she’ll get a scholarship to a performing arts high school in two years. She’s way too good to be stuck at Grandview Heights with the rest of us, but the Quains can’t afford to pay for it.” She leans forward over the table whispers confidentially, “Zeke actually pays her dance tuition and stuff. All of it.”

I can’t keep the shock off my face, and glance over at Zeke before I can stop myself. To my surprise, our eyes meet, my own jarring with his green ones, which are startlingly bright against his dark skin. We look away at the same time.

“He doesn’t seem like the type,” I murmur.

“Oh, he isn’t,” Jenny assures me. “He’s tough as nails, but where his little sister is concerned, he’s a softie. Well, not a softie. I mean, he’d kick anyone’s ass if they tried to get in her way. But he’d do anything for her. That’s why he works at the country club. I don’t think his mom is around, and his dad doesn’t make enough, I guess. So Zeke took up the slack. He’s actually kind of nice, in like, a scary way. We’ve talked a few times.”

I understand what Jenny means by ‘in a scary way’. Zeke
looks
tough as nails. His eyes may be a pretty forest green, but they’re hard, and smiles don’t come easily to his full lips. He’s also built intimidatingly big, with the big shouldered, thin-hipped look of an athlete, even though I know he doesn’t play any sports. He’s at least six foot two, and what his height and commanding presence lack is made up by his multitude of tattoos and the two ear piercings.

Even now, I can see the stars trailing down from his right ear, down behind the collar of his grey hoodie. He doesn’t have the black tear like his friend Dominic, but all combined, with the hard set to his face, Zeke Quain sends out the message loud and clear,
leave me alone!
I am more than happy to comply, and turn back to my food.

“Your toes are cute, by the way. I like that color better than the dark ones you usually wear,” Jenny comments, switching up the conversation. “Did you go last night?”

“Yeah, I had some free time after Key Club and before dinner.” My ribs give a painful twinge. For once, I’d picked a color I liked instead of the more neutral ones Tony favored. I should have known better, especially after all this time. That, combined with Zeke’s wink in the school hallway, had sent him over the edge. He’d seen the nail polish color when I’d changed my shoes after school, and I hadn’t even seen the punch coming.

My whole face flushes as I remember, and a sick feeling enters my stomach. Only with the ease of long practice do I manage to push away all the memories, and focus on the present. Now isn’t the time to reminisce. As soon as I go home, I’ll have to take off the nail polish, but I allow myself this one compliment, this one outing in rebellion, seize the flash of pleasure it gives to allow me to do something for myself. Even if I have to pay dearly for it, I reflect as I shift and my ribs twinge again.

I’m worried they might be cracked, but now that tennis is over, I don’t know if there’s any kind of excuse I can use to get my dad to look at them. I’ve had more courtside accidents than any other player in the history of the world, and I’ve learned to pick and choose which injuries to actually take to my dad. I can’t afford to raise any suspicion. I’m hoping they are only bruised, and decide to wait and see how they are after the weekend before making any kind of decision.

The bell above the door to the studio chimes, and Jenny and I both look over and see another tall, dark skinned boy walk in. For a moment, the sunshine behind him blocks out all his features, and then I see that it’s Koby Phillips, a friend of Zeke’s. I find it odd that the two of them hang out at a dance studio in their spare time after school. It seems incredibly out of character for two boys who hang out with people like Dominic Alverson and Cameron Fuller.

I watch discreetly as Koby plops into a seat next to Zeke and they start talking in hushed voices, so as not to disturb the dance lesson. Then, as one, they turn and look at Jenny and me. I quickly look away, not wanting to be caught staring.

As Jenny and I make short work of the pastries I bought, I notice Koby staring at us, particularly at Jenny. He’s a lot less intimidating than Zeke; no tattoos, no patterns buzzed into his dark hair, though his skin is a few shades lighter than Zeke’s. He dresses less…
hood
than Zeke too, although Zeke isn’t nearly as bad as Cameron or Dominic.

Koby actually wears khaki pants and button down shirts every once in a while, and I think he only hangs with that crowd because of where he lives. He’s on the basketball team and even in some honors classes, and I think he could be more popular if he wanted to, but maybe he’s more comfortable with people like Zeke and Dominic. I know I don’t particularly care for the popular crowd myself, and I’m one of them.

I lean forward across the table to whisper, “I think Koby Phillips has a crush on you.”

Before she can stop herself, Jenny looks over at Koby, and their eyes meet. I begin to giggle, then have to stop because of the pain in my ribs, but I’m still smiling nonetheless.

“Told you,” I say.

“Shut up, he so does not. We’re as different as night and day, and I in no way mean our skin tone,” she argues, but she’s blushing and I wonder if this is something I should have picked up on sooner.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” I demand, casing Koby out with my peripheral vision. After the hell I’ve been through today, it’s so nice to focus on something so menial and typical of a seventeen year old girl.

Koby really is cute, with chocolate brown eyes that are much warmer than Zeke’s, and strong brows. While Koby is softer, with rounder cheeks and not as tall, I find myself preferring the high cheekbones and strong lines of Zeke’s face; Koby is cute, Zeke is beautiful. I’ve always though boys with dark skin are gorgeous, and the light eyes against his brown skin are absolutely stunning. I pull my attention back to Koby and Jenny, because somehow it’s turned to admiring Zeke.

“He’s all right,” Jenny is saying, still blushing furiously. “He’s in my honors English class and we partner together a lot. But he wouldn’t like me. I’m too… white.”

I scowl at her. “What does that matter? I’m pretty sure this is the twenty-first century and skin color isn’t important.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jenny says, scowling right back. “What I mean is, would you ever date Zeke? Do you think your dad or Clarissa would ever approve of it?”

“I don’t think it’s their business, if they disapprove just because he isn’t wealthy,” I argue. My dad wouldn’t care, I know that for sure. My stepmom, Clarissa, is a helpless snob who looks down on anybody who doesn’t have a silver spoon sprouting from their mouth. “Besides, Koby isn’t scary like Zeke. He’s actually smart and has basketball going for him. He’s not just gonna drop out of high school or something.”

“I doubt Zeke will drop out of school either,” Jenny said dryly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we are
members
of the country club, and Zeke and Koby
work
at it. We’re from different worlds, and I’m pretty sure that they look down on us just as much as we do at them.”

“I don’t look
down
on them,” I say indignantly.

“Well, neither do I, but everyone else does,” Jenny says firmly. “Even Tony and our parents.”

My gut clenches at Tony’s name, and as panic infuses me, I take a quick glance at my watch. Luckily, I see I have plenty of time before I have to leave to be at the club tonight for dinner with him and his parents. I can’t be late, not ever. The thought of what would happen if I was makes my fingers tremble for a moment, and then I take a deep breath, even though it hurts, and force myself to calm down.
You’ll be fine
. I repeat the mantra five times, and feel my heartbeat return to normal.