Clint sat down at the end of the judges’ table. Lindy leaned over to touch his arm and say something inaudible, smiling like she hadn’t seen him in months, even though she’d been backstage with him for who knew how long. That was show business for you.
My nerves were starting to tingle, and my stomach was a hot pit of terror. It was almost time to take the stage. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to be up there right now. It felt like I was pulling myself in two different directions at the same time, and it couldn’t help but be an awkward sensation.
Brenna stepped up onto the stage, standing on the edge as she smiled at the judges, and said, “It’s so nice to have us all back together again. It’s like a big family reunion for me. Adrian? How do you feel right now?”
“Well, Brenna, I’ve got to be honest with you, I’m as excited as you are,” he said. “Every dancer we’ve ever had on the show has been magnificent in their own style—they wouldn’t have made it through the audition process if they weren’t—but there’s always a bit of sadness at the end of the season, because we’ve seen these wonderful dancers leave us one after the other, and then we have to start all over again. The idea of being able to begin with the sort of technique and strength that we normally see at the end of the season . . . it’s really exciting.”
“Lindy?” Brenna turned her body slightly, so no one could accuse her of slighting the judging panel’s only female member. She was a consummate professional in that regard.
“I’m so excited I could scream,” said Lindy, her surgical smile not budging a bit. “I love all our dancers, you know I do, but some of the best ballroom people we’ve ever had are going to get a second shot at our stage, and I’m hoping there won’t be any slippage in their footwork or their partnering. I’m expecting a whole new level out of this group of dancers. They know what we expect of them. We know what they’re capable of. Put it together and it’s going to be . . .” She sighed theatrically. She did everything theatrically. Since she’d frozen her face, her voice was all she had left to work with, and she made it do as much as she could. “Magical.”
“I like a little magic,” said Brenna, and turned to Clint. “All right, Mr. Goldfein. Sprinkle some of your magic dust on us, and let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
Next to me, Lyra snorted. I whapped her on the arm as a signal to be still. Out of the three judges currently seated at the podium, Clint was the least likely to go shoving foreign substances up his nose for fun. He wasn’t an angel—he worked in Hollywood for a reason—but he’d always struck me as someone who genuinely enjoyed being alive, and didn’t see any cause to complicate life with illegal pharmaceuticals. My kind of man, in other words, even if he was way too old for me and my particular code of ethics wouldn’t have allowed me to sleep with a judge even if I hadn’t been married.
“I don’t have anything fancy to say about any of this,” said Clint, grinning his wide, disarming grin. “I’m just thrilled to have everybody back with us.”
“And so am I,” said Brenna. “Let’s bring them out now, shall we?” She turned to beckon us forward.
That was our cue. In a carefully rehearsed mob, we surged forward and took our places on the stage, settling with our butts on the pieces of tape staged for our benefit. We were supposed to sit, so that we’d look like the eager, earnest students of dance we were meant to be. Some of us knelt; others settled cross-legged, or tucked their ankles like they were posing for a pinup calendar. I was in the front row between a dancer I didn’t recognize and a dancer I vaguely thought had been on the season after mine. Lyra and Anders were somewhere behind me. They’d only been back in my life for a few minutes, and I already missed their presence desperately.
“Well, well, well, look at you all,” said Adrian, beaming a toothy smile in our direction. “I can’t believe we were able to get all twenty of you back again.”
I tensed. I wasn’t the only one. The show normally opened each season with auditions, milking them for every bit of artificial tension they possibly could. If you auditioned with a best friend or a sibling, for example, you’d both make it as far as the producers could justify, before one of you would be eliminated in the most vicious way possible. This season, by bringing back the twenty of us, they were missing out on all that drama . . . unless, of course, they were planning to eliminate one or more of us right now, when we were completely off guard.