The Right Moves - The Game Book 3 (5 page)

“Abbi.”

Her smile twitches into a smirk. “Yes. Both of you have a quality about you I can’t put my finger on. I’ve seen hundreds, maybe even thousands of dancers, yet you two are something completely different. It’s almost as if you’re both meant to dance, alone and together.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“I am.” She crosses the room, her bare feet silent against the floor. “Every year I kick off my classes with a
grand pas de deux.
I’m pairing you with Abbi for three reasons. One; you’re the only person she’s spoken to, and that’s important for her. Two; your builds match each other. And three …” Bianca looks up, tilting her head to the side. “… The romantic ballerina inside me is too curious to see what you two will come up with.”

I frown. “Why is it so important for her to have spoken to someone?”

“Because it is.”

I remember the shadows in her eyes. The ones that captured my attention from the first second I looked into those baby blues. The ones that echo my sister’s.

“She dances for more than just the love of ballet, doesn’t she?” I question softly.

Bianca takes some papers from the top of the piano. “You’re asking me questions I cannot answer, Blake. Abbi’s reasoning for dancing is hers and hers alone, and the only person with any right to share that is her.” Her eyes meet mine as she walks back toward her office. “Perhaps, in time, she’ll share it with you herself. I sincerely hope she does.”

She disappears through the doors, leaving me staring after her and hoping for the same thing.

I barely have a chance to comprehend the auburn hair flying at me before my best friend’s arms wrap around me. Maddie squeezes me tightly, and as I hug her back, breathing in her familiar smell, my eyes begin to burn with tears. I never realize how much I’ve missed her until I get to see her. It’s only been four months, but so much has happened since her last trip home
, it feels like so much longer.

“God! Your hair! You!” She squeezes me again. “You’re
at home! You’re okay.”

I pull back and look at her. “I’m okay. Of course I’m okay.”

Her green eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and she nods. “I just … I wanted you to get better so bad, and now you are.”

“Well, sort of. I’m getting better. Slowly.”

Maddie finally lets me go and wipes under her eyes. “I’m gonna grab coffee, okay?”

I nod, and she turns
toward the counter in Starbucks. I sit back down at the small table – our table – and wait for her to return. Saturday mornings at Starbucks are always crazy, and it’s hard to be here. It’s hard to be so exposed to so many different people.

It feels like every pair of eyes that looks my way is scrutinizing me. Every look is a judgment. Every laugh is about me. Every conversation is about the girl in the corner.

And the funny thing is, no one in here knows me. They have no idea who I am or what I’ve been through. But it doesn’t stop me feeling naked.

“Phew.” Maddie drops opposite me and places two coffees and two muffins in front of me. “Don’t tell Braden. He thinks I eat too many of these things
…” She waves her blueberry muffin. “… So I have to eat them when he’s not around. I think I’m gonna scoff down like one hundred this weekend.”

I smile wryly. “Maddie, under the thumb?”

“Psssh. The only thing about him I’m ever under is his whole body – because he’s the one under the thumb the rest of the time. Believe me.”

“I believe you.” And I do – Maddie is the kind of
person that could wrap a plank of wood round her finger. “Where is he, anyway? I thought he was coming with you.”

She sighs. “He was. His n
an died last weekend so he’s gone home to see his mom and help her sort some stuff. I told him I’d go, but he practically frog marched me to the freakin’ airport and threw me on the plane. Her funeral is next weekend, and I’m going back with him then.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you’d gone with him!”

“I know, but he wasn’t having it. He told me to, and I quote, ‘Go and have a girly weekend and eat those fuckin’ muffins you adore so much.’” She smiles.

“Hate to say it, Mads, but he has you worked out.” I tilt my coffee
toward her.

“Yeah, he does, but I just bribe him and it works.”

“I don’t want to know.” I shake my head.

“Anyway, enough about my caveman. I want to know about you. There’s only so much we can talk about on the phone, and it’s not the same as sitting here with you, so tell me everything. How are you really doing?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Okay, I guess. Some days are harder than others. I feel pretty good today, but that could change later.”

She chews the inside of her lip. “Do you still
…” She pauses. “I hate asking this. God!”

I stare at her, knowing what she’s asking, but wanting her to actually say it. She doesn’t. Instead, her hand creeps across the table and wraps around my wrist. Her thumb strokes along the inside of my wrist, and I breathe in sharply.

“Do you?”

I shake my head, taking my hand away. “It’s hard, but I dance instead. That and Mom decid
ed to hide anything with even half a sharp edge. If Dad’s to be believed, she even tried to hide the forks.” I smirk at Maddie, and she responds kindly.

“Typical. But I’m glad, Abbi. I’m glad you found something other than that to help. And it seems fitting that the thing that helps you is the one thing you refused to give up when I did.” Maddie’s smirk changes to a wide grin.

“Hey, I loved ballet. I still do. It’s what keeps me going.”

She nods slowly, and I know where our conversation is about to g
o. I can feel it descending on us, a heavy storm cloud weighed down with inches upon inches of torrential rain.

“Do you
… Do you know about Pearce?”

I nod.

“Shit.” She smacks the table. “How did you find out?”

“Jake. I saw him a few days ago and he told me.”

“Asshole!” She snaps her jaw together. “I told him to keep his sorry ass out of it. Shit, Abbi. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you what happened. I didn’t want to say it over the phone, and then you were leaving that place and I didn’t want to push you back. I was gonna tell you this weekend.”

I shrug. “Hey, it’s okay. I had to find out sometime, right?
I don’t think I care, if I’m honest. I was scared to see him again, so finding out I won’t be kind of makes it better. Makes it easier to be home. Last week I was scared I’d run into him every time I turned a corner or walked into a store, but now I’m not. I feel kind of … freer. Like I honestly know he can’t hurt me anymore. I knew it before, but I really do believe it now.”

Maddie picks
at her cupcake and chews, deep in her thoughts. “I don’t know if I care. I mean, okay, obviously I care a bit. He is my brother; an asshole brother, but my brother all the same. I don’t want him to be there, but a part of me can’t help but think he deserves it. After what he did to you, and then deciding to deal … How fucking stupid could he be?” She shakes her hair out. “He made those choices and now it’s costing him fifteen years of his life. After everything Mom taught us, he went and did it all anyway. She’d be so disappointed if she could see him now, and I’m damn glad she can’t.”

I lean forward and take her hand. She squeezes my fingers.

“I’m okay,” she says with a sniff.

“Mads, it’s okay to be upset he’s in prison. He’s still your brother, and he wasn’t an asshole until he got to high school.”

“The problem is, that’s the Pearce I remember. The non-dickhead one.”

“You know what?” I look from my coffee to her. “I think that’s the same problem I had. I think I fell in love with the Pearce that threw water balloons at us, that stole your mom’s freshly baked cookies from the cooling rack and threw roc
ks at the boys that bullied us.” My eyes travel to the window, and my heart clenches with the realization that what I’m saying is completely true. “I think I fell in love with the idea of the person he could be, not the person he is, and because of that I never truly saw him for what he was. I was wrapped up in a fairytale, but everyone knows fairytales aren’t real.”

“My brother will always be an asshole, but that doesn’t mean fairytales don’t exist. Remember, every fairytale has a bad guy and a bad patch, b
ut they all have a happy ending too. You had your bad patch, now you just have to wait for your happy ending.”

I smile sadly at her hopeful face. “I don’t believe in happy endings, Maddie. Not anymore. I’m alive. That in itself is enough of a happy ending for me.”

~

“Mom? Mom!”

“Your leotard is in the dryer, your tights are on the back of your chair, and the new can of hairspray you asked for is in the bathroom.”

I blink at my dad, hidden behind his newspaper. “Well, damn, Dad. When did you get a sex change?”

He drops the paper an inch so I can see his eyes. “Funny, Abigail. Your mother gave me those instructions before she left for some coffee date with her friends.”

“And you remembered? I’m impressed. Maybe you’re not as old as I thought you were.”

The paper falls onto his lap, and he peers at me over the rims of his reading glasses. His lips are twitching, and I don’t try to hide the wide grin on my face as I pass into the kitchen.

“She made me repeat it to her near twenty times
. I thought I should say it as soon as I heard you, so I wouldn’t forget to tell you I had something to tell you,” he calls.

I shut the fridge door and lean against the kitchen doorframe. “Wait, is it too late to take back that age thing? ‘Cause forgetting about forg
etting about something is real bad, Dad.”

“This conversation is starting to confuse me. It’s far too early on a Sunday morning.”

“It’s eleven a.m.”

“Is it?”

“Yup. Not exactly the crack of dawn.” I give his pajama pants a meaningful look.

He glances down at them and back up at me. “Don’t you have a dance class to be getting ready for?”

“Going. Going!” I turn around, then stop and look over my shoulder. “Maddie will be here soon. She’s coming to class with me.”

Dad groans. “Oh God. I’ve seen Maddie dance once – it wasn’t pretty.”

I laugh. “She’s watching. Something about wanting to see the Hot British Guy.”

“And how would she know there’s a British guy that’s hot in your class?”

I really wasn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Perhaps she bugged the dance studio? Who knows?” I try, smiling sweetly.

“You know, Abbi, I’m pretty sure I should be rolling up my sleeves–”

“After changing out of your pajama pants, preferably.”

“Well, okay. As I was saying, darling, I think I should be rolling up my sleeves and marching to this class with you to check out this hot British guy for myself.”

“That could be kinda embarrassing.” I flinch. “And totally unnecessary, I might add.”

“But I don’t feel the need to. I find myself quite liking the fact you’ve described a guy as ‘hot’.”

I turn
back to him. “I never said I did that.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Well, no. But.” I fidget. “I. Yeah.”

“Like I said, I quite like it.”

“That’s not normal, Dad.”

“Perhaps not, but the fact you’ve described someone that way after what you went through makes me feel like a part of my baby girl is still in there. And the fact you’ve said it to Maddie, she’s going to class with you, and you’ll no doubt spend your next ten phone calls running up my phone bill by talking about him, makes me insanely happy.”

“Dad, I’m depressed, not blind. And is that permission to run up the phone bill?”

“What? No. I didn’t say you could. I said you would.”

I laugh, cross the room and bend down to hug him. He rubs my back gently, and I press my lips to his cheek. “Love you, Daddy.”

“And I love you, Princess. Now go and get ready to torment the hot British guy
, and I’ll send the firecracker up when she gets here.”

He pats my arm and smiles.
I leave the living room to the shuffle of his paper, grab my leotard from the dryer in the utility room, and head upstairs to find my tights. Just as Dad said, on the back of my chair in my room.

I change into my ballet clothes and sweep my hair into a slick bun.
My eyes are clearer and brighter than I’ve seen in a long time. There’s more color in my cheeks and my hair is shinier. I glance at the scales, wondering whether or not I want to step on them. After all the weight I lost when I was first in St. Morris’s, it’s been a battle to put it back on, and even though my curves are slowly reappearing, it’s still daunting.

I pull off my pants and step on the glass surface before I can think any more into it. The red numbers on the digital screen fluctuate slightly, and
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth as I wait for them to stop. Then they do. And I smile. I’ve avoided the scales for two weeks and it was worth it, because I’ve gained three pounds.

Those three pounds are everything to me.

Maddie’s laughter drifts up the stairs, and I step back into my sweatpants and go down to meet her.

“Oh good. You’re rea
dy. Let’s go. I want to see Hot British Guy,” she says as soon as my feet hit the bottom stair.

“He has a name, y’know,” I mutter, grabbing my bag.

“Really? You never mentioned it,” she teases me.

“Oh, ha.”
I open the door. “You do realize my Sunday class is three hours long, right?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Then you, Abigail Jenkins, are very damn lucky I enjoy watching you dance.”

I smile at her, and we get into the taxi waiting outside to take us across the bridge to Bianca’s studio. The journey is quick, and when we get there, Maddie stops and stares at the small building housing the studio.

“It’s
… Different than I expected,” she hedges.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “What? Did you expect Juilliard?”

“Not exactly. But Juilliard is so … Pretty. And this is, well, not.”

I back against the door and push it open, a small, knowing smile on my face. “You haven’t seen the inside yet.”

She wordlessly follows me down the small corridor leading to the main studio. I glance back to see her eyes widen and her jaw drop open. I know she’s experiencing what I did when I walked into Bianca’s studio for the first time – complete and utter disbelief that a studio so professional and perfect could be in such a bland-looking building.