Your lips barely moved. You kept your eyes focused straight ahead. But I heard the words clearly. “I love you back.”
I lifted you then, just like Mr. D had taught me. I held on, and then—before I could think about it—I let go. The orchestra punctuated the moment with a dramatic crescendo, and when I dipped you into the fish dive, the applause started rolling like thunder. I spun you into me and we locked eyes, both breathless but beaming; we had destroyed the performance and we both knew it. It was glorious. The clapping didn’t stop until after five curtain calls.
It was the best moment of my life.
? ? ?
We got swarmed backstage—Mom and Miggy and Emilio, your parents, Mr. D, who looked like he’d actually been crying, and even Ms. Adair, who kissed us both on the cheeks, double-French-style, and called us “exquisite.”
“You know, you might be onto something with this dance thing,” your dad said, handing you a bouquet of roses.
“Say what now?” you asked, laughing and hugging him. I’d never seen you look so proud.
“That jump when you slid on the floor was badass,” Miggy said. “Can you teach me to do that?”
“If you’re anything like your brother, I’ll teach you myself,” Mr. D laughed.
It was a crazy whirlwind of congratulations and thank-yous and high-fiving. Everywhere I looked, someone was clamoring for someone’s attention, holding up their phones and cameras, balancing flowers and balloons, pushing through the packed crowd. So when a skinny older dude in a blazer stopped in front of me, I figured he was trying to get past, and moved aside.
“Diego, right?” he asked, holding out his hand.
“Um, yeah.” I shifted the teddy bear with the CONGRATULATIONS! heart that Mom had forced on me into my left arm and shook.
“My name is Jefferson Bloom. I represent the Miami City Ballet, and I was just blown away by your performance.”
“Um.” I elbowed Mom away, who had straight-up turned her back on a conversation she was having with your mom to eavesdrop. “Thank you.”
“Listen,” he said, “we’re always looking for strong male dancers, and I think you’d be an incredible fit for our company. We take a couple of apprentices every fall, and we’d like you to be one of them.” He handed me a sleek business card. His name was printed in silver letters, raised up off the shiny surface. “I hope you reach out once you’ve had the chance to think it over.”
“Wow,” I said, instinctively searching the room for my constant. I found you about ten feet away, standing next to a tall, willowy woman with glasses and a waterfall of braids. While she looked for something in her bag, you turned to me and excitedly mouthed, “Alvin Ailey!”
“All travel expenses paid, of course,” my guy said.
“Of course,” I repeated, dumbstruck.
It happened twice more, with reps from Atlanta and San Francisco. They came over, told me they’d like to have me as an apprentice, handed me a card, congratulated Mom, and talked a big game about how I was gonna go far. I wish I could say I enjoyed it, but after the initial euphoria of the actual performance, I’d gone kind of numb. The words floated over my head, hanging there like sky writing. The Atlanta rep had wanted you, too, so at least for that one, we were together. You broke away from your own fan club and hobbled over, your expression hovering between a grimace of pain and a grin of relief.
“I landed kind of hard out there,” you whispered apologetically. “I didn’t even feel it till I got offstage.”
“Well I hope you can rest it now,” the Atlanta rep said. “I have a feeling you’ll be dancing on that foot for a good long time.”
You grabbed my hand and I squeezed it.
We were so close to our happy ending. We got so close.
? ? ?
After the Atlanta rep said goodbye, we just stood holding hands, looking at each other like, What just happened? while our parents loudly debated in the background about combining parties and changing dinner reservations. That was when Dave Roth made his untimely entrance through the backstage curtain.
“Hey,” he said, walking up to us with a tight smile. “You guys were great.”
“Did Liv come with you?” you asked hopefully.
“No,” Dave said. “Actually that’s kind of why I came in the first place—no offense.”
“You didn’t find her?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“What’s going on?” You dropped my hand and turned to Dave. “You don’t know where she is, either?”
“Her parents say she didn’t come home last night,” Dave said.
“Oh no,” you whispered, your hands flying to your face. Real guilt hit me then, like a baseball bat to the stomach. I’d been the last one to see her, and all I’d managed to do was make her run.
“Could we have all non-dance department guests wait in the lobby?” Ms. Adair called out over the din. “We’re getting ready for a group photo.”
“I’ll wait, I guess,” Dave said, looking miserable. “I’ll keep trying her.”