Chapter Twenty-Four

Faith

Faith leaned against the kitchen counter, hands over her face. Her cheeks were hot to the touch and she laughed so hard, she had to wheeze to draw breath. Kyle watched Oklahoma! for her? That was hard enough to believe, but she could get used to the whole shirtless-lawn-guy thing.

Maybe Vi was right—maybe it was time to let go and enjoy herself. Kyle would most certainly be a good time, and the more she saw of him—which was a lot—the more she found herself wanting something more. Whatever had come up between them probably wouldn’t last forever, but forever was a long time, and right now sounded pretty good.

She flew upstairs to take a shower and throw on nicer shorts, then ran back downstairs to make lunch. He’d surprised her with dinner. She’d return the favor and see what happened. Her parents would be gone all day. Plenty of time to cook up some trouble.

At exactly noon, Kyle knocked at the back door. He knocked. God, he could be really adorable sometimes. She drifted across the porch and faced him through the screen. His hair was damp, but his shirt was on. His hands were clean, too. He caught her looking. “I borrowed the hose. I didn’t want to come inside wearing most of the backyard.”

“I wouldn’t have cared, but thanks.” She took a deep breath and opened the door. “I made us some lunch. It’s just sandwiches…”

“That sounds great.”

Despite all the flirting earlier, Faith’s middle fluttered with nerves. She wasn’t sure where she was going with all this, but if they were going to put on a show at Dolly’s, they probably should give the whole kissing thing another try beforehand. “Um, you want something to drink? We have lemonade.”

Kyle took a seat at the table. “Yes, please.”

”You, uh, ready for this afternoon?” she asked. “Cameron might be there.”

Kyle’s shoulders hunched briefly, then they relaxed, but it looked forced. “That’s good, right?”

Faith put her sandwich down. “Kyle, can I ask you something?”

He set his down, too, looking worried. “Of course.”

“What’s the problem with you and Cameron? You know my reasons. Before I…” She swallowed and made herself go on. “Before we make out in front of everybody. I’m trusting you with a lot.”

“Faith, I’m trusting you, too.” He met her gaze. “You’re right, though, you have a right to know.” He paused. “You ever been bullied? Not just the petty stuff, but bad enough to wish you could leave town? To…”

Faith heard what he didn’t say. She put her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do.” He flexed his hand, and his arm muscles tightened in her grip. “Cameron has a set of friends. A pack of four.”

She nodded. “Cam, Jake, Braden, and Andrew.”

“Right.” He was staring at a point beyond her shoulder. “Those four made my life miserable, and they roped a lot of people into it. Most of it was stupid bullshit—tripping me in the hall, whispering crap behind my back. Stealing my homework. I told you I’m dyslexic, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so it takes hours to do my homework, and I was making Ds in science in the spring of my seventh-grade year. Some of Cameron’s friends were in my class and caught sight of one of my tests. I misspelled every other word, reversed stuff, and missed most of the multiple-choice stuff because I couldn’t read the questions right. Anyway, they told Cameron, and he broke into my locker.

“I couldn’t find my binder anywhere. All my homework, all the stuff Grandpa had notated for me, all my tests—gone. Next day, my graded work was taped up all over the school. All those Ds. Worse, those assholes had highlighted all the places where I spelled mammal ‘lamal’ and shit like that. I started tearing it down, but the damage was done. For the rest of seventh grade, I was the class idiot.”

Faith blinked, unsurprised when an angry tear ran down her cheek. “I knew he could be petty, but that’s outright cruel. I should slap his face.”

But Kyle was shaking his head. “Don’t. I can fight my own battles now, and I’d rather not have all that come up again. Most people have forgotten about it, even if I can’t.”

It seemed so unfair, though. Still, awful as that prank had been, Kyle’s anger ran deeper than what she’d expect. She could tell there was more to the story, but she wouldn’t pry. If he wanted to tell her everything, she could wait until he was ready. “I’m sorry it happened. And I’m glad we’re doing this. Cameron deserves to be shown up.”

He gave her a tight smile. “Maybe a little.”

They sat in awkward silence, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted to lighten the mood, to drag Kyle out of the memories she could see were eating him alive. She wanted to make him forget Cameron and focus on her.

Which led to her blurting out, “Want to watch me dance?”

That earned her a soft smile that evaporated all the awkward the kitchen could hold. “I’d like that.”

She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. Why did she suggest that? Dancing in a production was one thing. Dancing for one guy, alone together? That was a whole other thing. A thing her parents might have a completely different word for: inappropriate.

Then again, maybe a little inappropriate was exactly what she needed.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Kyle’s voice was kind. “I wasn’t suggesting a talent show when I roamed the yard half naked. That was just to get your attention.”

She nodded, flushing. “It worked. But no, I’d like to.” And suddenly, she really did. “Go to the porch. I need to change and grab my shoes.”

Plus going upstairs would give her a moment to breathe, which she most definitely needed to do. Once upstairs, she picked out a plain black leotard, a pink dance skirt, and tights. If she was going to do this, she had to do it right. Hair up in a bun, lip gloss, and all. And if her hands shook while tying her pointe shoes, so be it.

When she found him on the porch, he was sitting in one of the chairs across from the barre—and had moved all the other furniture against the walls. “How did you know?”

“About the furniture? I thought you might need room.”

This guy was trying to steal her heart, wasn’t he? He was doing a damn good job of it, too. Trembling all over, she went to the stereo, plugged in her phone. She found Tchaikovsky’s Fifth, the second movement, and scrolled to the last three minutes. “This is something we did for recital last fall.”

She didn’t tell him she’d been the prima of the company. That didn’t seem to matter much, not with the way he watched her as she took her place, standing in fourth position until the section of the piece she wanted started.

Relevé, arms up, turn. Madame’s voice in her head, “Float, Faith. Like a flower petal.”

And she did. The music poured through her, lifting her up. The Tchaikovsky was both powerful and delicate, making her feel strong, light. Balanced. All the sadness from the kitchen, the anger, the confusion, disappeared. In its place, she let all the happiness and contentment dancing could give settle into her bones.

After all her hours of practice, the moves were instinctive, and she forgot Kyle was there. Her mind was occupied with controlling her limbs, moderating her breathing, and ignoring the pain that came with each relevé, but that wasn’t important. Only the dance was. She moved through it, letting the joy pulse in her veins.

The music hit its crescendo, and she spun, before landing in her final position, arms extended and chest heaving.

Then she remembered she had an audience.

Kyle was staring at her, his eyes dark and intense. Nothing mocking, nothing cocky. “That was beautiful, Faith.”

She dropped her pose and stared at her pointe shoes. “Thank you.”

The chair creaked, and she watched his feet close the distance between them as the third movement of the Tchaikovsky began. He put a finger under chin and tilted her face up to his. “I mean it. You have a lot of talent. NYU would be stupid not to let you in.”

“And yet,” she said in a shaking voice, “you still haven’t heard me sing.”

He smiled. “Sing our song, and I’ll whistle along.”

She stared at him, still breathless. That song from Oklahoma!? Surely that’s not what he meant. “Now I know you’re teasing me.”

“Not really.” His hands slid down her arms and encircled her waist. “Maybe not at all.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I’m ready to sing.” A fleeting look of disappointment crossed his face, and she said, “Not the song, just in general. I’m a little out of breath.”

“How about dancing, then?” He started turning them in a slow circle. “That okay?”

“Always,” she murmured.

His body was tight against hers, his thin T-shirt and her leotard concealing almost nothing between them. Goose bumps rose along her arms when he leaned in to press his forehead to hers.

“What are we doing, Kyle?” she asked, almost afraid to hear his answer if it was going to be “having a good time,” or “just messing around.” Because this didn’t feel like just messing around. This felt too big for just a quick hookup.

“Dancing.” He pulled away to look into her eyes. “Because it’s your favorite thing to do.”

Oh God. He had her now. All in, whole heart. Being hurt would be worth it if this wasn’t meant to last. “It is. But, um…” She gulped down a breath. “I like kissing a lot, too.”

Those must’ve been magic words, because before she could take another breath, his lips were pressed against hers. One hand circled her waist, and the other was busily pulling the pins out of her bun, so that her hair spilled down her back.

She ran her hands down his arms and up to rest on his chest. He was all hard planes and angles. He gasped and pressed closer, pushing her back against the barre, and she stumbled.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He wouldn’t meet her eye. “Did I hurt you?”

She looked at him, astonished. He’d been so eager, and a little clumsy, not at all like a guy with a ton of moves. “I’m fine, but maybe we should take this party inside. Oh, and maybe I should lose the pointe shoes.”

“I don’t know. Ballet shoes are pretty hot.”

Laughing, she took his hand and led him through the kitchen to the family room. “You won’t say that when you see my awful feet.”

“Won’t change a thing.”

“You’ve been warned, then.” She pointed at the couch. “Have a seat. I won’t bite.”

“That’s disappointing.”

She bent to untie her shoes so he wouldn’t see her blush for the nineteenth time that day. When she finished and stood, he was staring at her again, looking rapt simply by the act of untying her shoes. She dropped them on the floor and glided over the hardwoods in her tights. “Should I go change?”

“No.”

That simple word was delivered with force. Hmm, someone liked ballerinas, didn’t he? She slid onto the couch next to him. “How long until you have to leave for practice?”

“About an hour.”

His voice was hoarse. This was it, then. Time to jump off the high dive. “Perfect.”