The nerves I thought I had just gotten under control return. Why is he inviting me to go hiking with him?
“I don’t know,” I say. “I have a lot of studying I need to get done.” This is my go-to excuse when I want to back out of something. But I notice him staring at me with a look that screams I know you’re lying.
“Well, if you change your mind, we are heading out in the morning around eight.”
Nodding my head, I take another sip of my tea.
“How did you know I would be here today?” I ask.
He grins at me before replying, “I didn’t. I just thought I would stop by, and if you weren’t here, I was just going to leave your scarf with whomever was working.”
“I didn’t mean for that to come out rude,” I apologize.
“It didn’t.”
As we sit there in awkward silence sipping our hot drinks, he finally speaks and asks, “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I have class in a couple hours, then I go to studio until five o’clock.”
“Studio?”
“It’s dance class,” I explain.
Nodding his head, he asks, “You do that every day?”
“Yep. Two hours a day except for Tuesdays and Thursdays, which are three hours. But I tend to go in on the weekends as well for extra practice.”
“That’s a lot. When do you have time for anything else?”
Pressing my lips together and shaking my head, I say, “I don’t”
“That bother you?”
“No . . . Why?” I ask.
“I don’t know. When do you ever get down time?”
Down time isn’t an option for me. The more occupied my time is, the less my mind tends to drift. “I don’t. But I love dance, so I consider that my down time. It relaxes me.”
Ryan continues to ask questions about dance and school as time begins to pass gently by. When I finish my tea, he notices and offers to get me another. I decline, knowing that I need to head home and clean up before going back to campus. He walks me out to where my car is parked and reminds me to think about the hiking trip the guys have planned. I tell him I will before getting into my car.
?????
Storming out of the double doors of the studio, I head straight to my car, slide in, and slam the door shut. Frustrated, I grab the steering wheel and lay my head against my hands. My heart pounds fast, and I can still here the echoing of Ms. Emerson’s hasty remarks in my head: Get it together, Candace! Where is your head at? CLAP! CLAP! Feel it! Come on!
I am so humiliated. I have never been yelled at like that in class before, but I feel like what she is asking for is outside of my control. My feet are flawless, I have no doubts about that, but I know what she’s wanting, and I just can’t give it to her. Inside that studio is the one place, the only place, where my head is free—where I am free. I don’t want to lose that, lose the escape, the freedom, the nothingness.
She hammered me for nearly the entire two hours. I kept my eyes focused, but I could hear the sneers from a few of the other girls.
As I’m driving home, my phone rings from inside my dance bag. Digging through it, I grab my cell and look at the screen that reads: MOM CALLING. Ugh! I decline the call and let it go to voicemail then toss it back into my bag. That woman is the last person I want to talk to right now. Who am I kidding? She is the last person I want to talk to most of the time.
I haven’t spoken with either one of my parents in over a month. Thanksgiving is a week away, and I’m certain that’s why she’s calling me. I’m dreading having to go home and spend time with them. For now, I’ll just avoid her, because with the mood I’m in, there will be no way to avoid a fight with her.
Pulling up to my house, I see Kimber’s car and Seth’s jeep parked out front. I was hoping she wouldn’t be here. I really just want to be alone right now instead of having another awkward and tense interaction with the girl who used to be my best friend—who I wish still was.
When I walk through the door, the house is quiet, and I assume they are in Kimber’s room. I walk back to my room and begin powdering my pointes. I hang them up in my closet to air-dry before hopping into the shower.
As I am rinsing the last of the shampoo out of my hair, I hear the sounds that are becoming all too familiar from Kimber’s room. “Are you kidding me?” I mumble in frustration. All I want is some peace and quiet to ease the stress I’m feeling.
Shutting off the water, I step out of the shower and quickly dry myself off. I throw on some underwear and a white tank top then walk into my closet to grab my black velour sport pants and matching zip-up hoodie. Standing in front of my mirror at my dresser, I shake out as much water as I can from my hair before throwing it up into a messy, loose bun on top of my head. I quickly apply some powder and swipe on my lip-gloss before sliding into my Uggs.