The Standout (21 page)

“What? No. Fine. Bad day. How are you? Are you looking for Julie? I think she left already. Did you miss her?”

Yuri’s glowing face dims. “I am not sure which question I answer first.”

“I. . . ummm. . . sorry. Where’s Julie?”

Yuri bites his lip. “Julie is very mad. She and I dance last night, after we return from club?” I nod, showing my understanding, urging him to go on. “We do lift,” he holds his hands out, as if to demonstrate, “and she jump into my arms but I am not ready, and my hands, they slip.” His arms drift sadly to his side. “Julie fall, and land bad on her ankle. Now she will not return my texts so I look for her here.”

“Oh.” I am careful in my reply. “Julie knows how to stay angry. I’d just give her some time to miss you.”

He steps close. “Julie is not talking to me. I have no other choice.”

“Okay.” I run my fingers through my hair, contemplating my next move. I don’t want to go home, and Julie didn’t wait for me, so what’s next? “What are you doing now?” I ask Yuri.

He gives me a dangerous smile of encouragement. “We could eat? And after, I take you for walk?”

It’s the worst decision ever, to spend the evening with Yuri, but the day I’ve had calls for a little bit of bad judgment. “That sounds perfect.” I tell him.

We find a diner and order cheeseburgers and fries. I could never eat this way in front of my fellow ballerinas, but I’m completely comfortable devouring my food while Yuri bears witness. After I finish, he scoots the rest of his fries towards me. “You eat these.”

“No, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just stress-eating at this point. I should stop.”

“What is ‘stress eating’?”

“You know, when you’ve had a bad day and you just want to stuff your face and forget about it? Don’t boys do that?”

Yuri draws his eyebrows together and rubs his chin with a single finger, contemplating. “When I have bad day I do things to forget. But not usually eat.”

He’s clearly a physical creature. Yuri probably dances, or works out, or finds a willing sex partner to relieve his stress. Maybe he does all three at once. I picture Yuri twirling around with a barbell in one hand and a naked girl straddling him in the other, and it’s both funny and sort of hot. I try to shake it off.

“Do you have bad days very often?” I ask.

He nods. “Da. I get sad for home. I miss sometimes my family.”

“So are you planning on going back soon?”

He swirls a fry in ketchup. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I stay and become big star.”

“Really? Is that what you want, to be famous, like the next Baryshnikov?”

“Is time for a new one, yes?” Yuri laughs but his face goes serious. “I wish to work hard and make big progress. I will practice and be success and bring my mother here when I have fame and money.”

Under the bright lights of the diner Yuri’s face is in clear focus and without guile. “That sounds nice,” I tell him. “You must love your mother a lot.”

His grey eyes grow dreamy. “Do we not all love our mother?”

I catch myself thinking something ugly and exhale a pint of guilt.

“Do you not love your mother?” He asks.

“No, of course I do. But it’s complicated. She wants me to be what she once was, and I don’t think I can, so then she gets angry and invents some new drama to make me feel bad, usually about my father. Seriously, they’re always flirting and fighting, even though they’re like, late middle age. When he comes home they make up, but that’s the worst, because of the disgusting sounds that come from their bedroom.” I tap my fingers against the Formica table and let myself ramble. “I should be feeling bad for her but I don’t. All I feel is resentment.” I take a breath, and see that Yuri’s head is cocked and his jaw is crooked, again like he’s contemplating. “Sorry, I’m not making much sense, am I?”

He rises from his chair and extends a hand to me. “We go for walk now. I show you what I do when day is bad.”

“Why don’t you just tell me instead?”

He flicks his head back, knocking his bangs out of his eyes. “In Moscow we find tall buildings and we climb. Is fun, to tempt death and win.”

I imagine him scaling a building like Spiderman, and this seems as natural as if he told me that he likes to skateboard or play video games.

“I’m sure it is fun to win,” I say airily. “But it’s probably not so fun to lose.”

I’m aware that I’m flirting, but as long as we don’t touch, it’s okay. I’m not Julie or any of the other girls at Ballet Institute East who have fallen for Yuri. We are just friends. “I’ve never been afraid of heights so that sounds cool.”

“Then we go.”

We leave the warmth of the diner and go into the chilly spring night. I don’t tell him that my mom expects me home and I force Julie from my mind. She doesn’t have to know about this.

“This way,” he commands. We take a subway to the financial district, talking very little, which isn’t as awkward as you would think. He leads me to an un-extraordinary skyscraper.

It’s not hard to sneak past the security guard and through the locked door that Yuri knows how to open. We climb up steps, along railings, higher and higher, up the side of the building and I think,
I could be home, eating egg whites and salad, watching
America’s Next Top Model.

Then we’re up as high as we can go. I look down. The street is a mile below and it might as well be a world away. The difference between life and death is in the balls of my feet.

“This is your idea of fun?” I ask. The impossibly thin air is rushing through my ears.

“You feel alive now, yes?” he yells over the wind.

Sunday morning low-carb brunches, hollow holiday dinners, and false smiles from false friends instant-replay in my mind.

“I do,” I tell him.

We break the no touching rule when his warm, strong hands clench mine, and we walk along the narrowest of beams. I could skim an airplane if it happened to fly by. I dare to look down and the city is a swarm of movement and light, safer at this distance than it’s ever been before.

I forget that my dad is having an affair, that my mom doesn’t accept me, that nothing I do pleases them. It’s just light, air, and adrenaline. It’s just Yuri’s hand holding mine, in a place I never thought I’d be.

“Is even better than dancing,” he says.

“Yeah,” I answer.

One false step could send me to my death, which isn’t unlike any other day. It’s like executing a quadruple pirouette while airborne, like having wings, like defying gravity.

Yuri takes out his phone and points it at me. “Now smile.”

Right now, that’s easy to do.

The next morning I wake to the buzzing of my phone. A text from Yuri:
When can I see you again?

I put my phone back on my nightstand and turn off my alarm. It was about to go off anyway. In the shower, I let hot water course over my head and down my back as I try to form coherent thoughts.

Seeing Yuri again is out of the question.

Too bad I’m not more experienced. Dancing fulltime and not attending high school doesn’t help me meet guys, not straight ones anyway. It’s kind of embarrassing that I haven’t even had my first kiss yet, unless you count the one from my cousin, Powell. We were at his Bar Mitzvah, he was drunk, and we never spoke of it again.

The worst part is I can’t talk to Julie. As I rub conditioner into my hair, images of last night come rushing back, and I feel how much I want to be with Yuri. But I know I should go to Julie as if we’re all good, and never mention or think about last night again.

I get out of the shower, dry off, and get dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Nothing fancy, but I don’t have dance class today until 3:00 and I don’t need to be at
The Standout
until tomorrow. All I need is some coffee and a protein bar and I’ll be on my way.

In the kitchen I’m rooting around for the instant coffee and the Nature’s Valley box, when I hear a shuffle and a cough. There’s Mom, looking like death warmed over, like maybe she patted white talc on her face just to enhance the effect.

But that’s a terrible thing to think.

“Where were you last night?”

The lie slips out quick and easy. “I went out with some girls from the show.”

“Didn’t you get my texts?’

“Sorry, Mom. But when I got home you were asleep. I checked your forehead and you didn’t seem feverish.” Maybe she won’t notice I didn’t actually answer her question.

“I’m not well, Zelda.” Her glazed eyes bug out. “And I need you to spend some time with me. I was thinking we could have a spa day. I really need a massage.”

“Why can’t you go alone?”

Mom’s mouth goes slack and wounded. “Because nobody should have to be alone when their marriage is falling apart!”

This is true. She’s right. I’m selfish.

But I’d rather get an ear infection than a massage with my mother. “I need to go see Julie! She hurt her ankle and I didn’t even realize it and she struggled through modeling yesterday.”

“But I need you!” Mom wraps her bathrobe tightly across herself as if she’s trying to hide. “I’ll get dressed and then we’ll go, and we’ll discuss your involvement in
The Standout
too. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Mom heads down the hall, to her bedroom to get dressed. That’s when I do something unspeakable. I leave before she can hear me go, before she can command me to stay.

I stop and buy Julie a pack of Twizzlers,
The National Enquirer
, and a bottle of bath soap. There is no problem so big that it can’t be cured by soaking in a bubble bath, eating Twizzlers and reading about the screwed up lives of celebrities. Those magic three items have been our consolation gift to each other for years.

But Julie barely cracks a smile when I hand her my bag of presents. “Thanks,” she mumbles, and she adjusts her ankle, which is propped up on a pillow.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your ankle yesterday?”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” she replies.

“It must have been hard for you, walking in high heels.”

She smirks. “Not as hard as it was for you.”

I let her comment roll off me. “I’d feel even worse if Robin had been kicked out. I bet they’re going to fire me today.” I scoot closer to her on the couch. “Seriously, it’s for the best. Now Mom and I won’t have to fight about it. She’s already going to be furious . . .”

I trail off because Julie’s not listening. She blinks back tears. “Are you okay, Julie? I mean, other than your ankle?”

She shakes her head. “He hasn’t even called to see how I’m doing. What an asshole, right?”

Obviously she means Yuri. “Maybe he thinks you blame him and that you need some space.”

“Maybe I do! But he’s my boyfriend! He ought to call!”

I should tell her about last night. I should tell her about what Yuri said the other day. I should tell her and I’m an ugly coward for keeping my mouth shut. But Julie will get angry, call me a liar, and accuse me of stealing him away. I love her like a sister but I know how flawed she is. She can be intensely loyal but if you cross her she’ll rip you to shreds.

“Hey, forget about Yuri. Let’s watch
Sound of Music
with the volume turned down, and make up dirty song lyrics. Okay?”

Watching musicals while singing our own, twisted lyrics has been another mainstay in our friendship, but I guess not anymore. “God, Zelda. I’m not twelve, okay? I need more than candy and stupid games to cheer me up.”

It’s like I’m some fungus growing in her pointe shoe. “We’re the same age, Jules.”

“Whatever,” she responds.

My cell phone vibrates. I’m sure it’s Mom, but no. Yuri has texted me again.
Please meet me today
.

My decision comes so easily it doesn’t even feel like a choice at all. “I have to go, Julie. It’s Mom. She’s sick and I need to take care of her.”

“Whatever,” she says again.

Yuri and I spend the day walking around Brooklyn, exploring parks and eating fresh-baked scones from a bakery, until it’s time to go to class. Julie isn’t there; she must be resting her ankle, so Yuri and I dance, side by side. When class is over he doesn’t walk off to the dressing room, but taps my elbow instead. “I must rehearse now, but we go out tomorrow, yes?”

Every part of my brain is saying no. “Yes,” I tell him.

When I get home Mom is waiting for me, all reproachful eyes and grimacing lips. “Did you get a massage?” I ask.

She says nothing. So I’m getting the silent treatment. Guilt tightens my chest and it hurts to swallow. “Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m doing the show. You can kick me out, but I’m eighteen now and I can do what I want.”

I just need to figure out what, exactly, that is.

Giselle is a peasant girl who is head over heels for her boyfriend. He’s actually a nobleman disguised as a peasant. He doesn’t reveal his true self to Giselle because she doesn’t trust guys with money. Giselle’s mother warns her that dancing with him will turn her into a “Wili” – a maiden who dies before her wedding night.

Of course, Giselle doesn’t listen.

When she finds out that her boyfriend has betrayed her, her mother gets to say “I told you so.” Giselle dies of a broken heart and she joins the ghostly gang of the Wilis, just like her mom said she would.

Eternal dancing is her fate. She will dance every night, alone, but with a group of other brokenhearted brides. If she ever finds a real partner, she must make him dance until he collapses from exhaustion, and dies.

You don’t want that,
she tells me.

But I’m tired of being told what I want.

The next day Robin fits me into her latest design. I try to thank her for giving me this unexpected second chance, but my brain is so muddy, it weighs down my tongue. But when she demands that I do a pirouette, my execution is perfect and I feel my confidence return. However, the moment is short-lived.

I see Julie and give her a smile and a wave. She waves back but her grin is false and I’m now certain that Julie is mad at me. That guilt-induced sore throat from last night comes back, and it’s even worse than having strep. What if Julie knows about Yuri and me?