Emmy
En l’air [ahn / lahr] a—In the air
“It comes down to two possibilities, and unfortunately, neither is good for you,” Evie says, analyzing why Rhys hasn’t returned any of my texts this past weekend.
“I was afraid of that.”
We continue our walk down the second-floor catwalk in the RB early Monday morning.
“The first possibility is that he has a girlfriend,” she says. “And given the fact that he got a text and beelined the heck away from you, that makes the most sense.” She stops in front of a large viewing window and stares at Q, where he’s playing basketball below.
Ugh. I hoped Evie would’ve lost interest by now.
“Possibility two,” Evie continues. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he had some kind of emergency—family, work, school? Doesn’t matter what the emergency was since he was kind of cold after seeing your fantabulous car.”
Hmm. “There is that, but he freaked out before he saw my car.”
“Do you think it’s the dyslexia thing? Fake text to give him a valid excuse to leave?”
I chew the question over. “No. He wouldn’t have been relieved in the library when I told him I have dyslexia.”
“You’re right. And didn’t he say some philosophical quote about not feeling sorry for yourself?”
I nod. “He said I shouldn’t have to hide who I am.”
“Yeah, that.” She pauses for a moment. “It’s definitely the text, then. Did he look guilty or worried after reading it?”
“Is it bad if I say I’d rather he looked worried than guilty?”
“It’s bad for whoever he was hypothetically worried about, I guess,” Evie says and then turns her attention back to Q. “Yes! Go, baby!”
Q looks up after shooting a three-pointer, his fingers shaped like a gun that he fires at Evie in celebration.
“How are things going with Q?” I ask, hating the fact that I have to be so aware of how I divide our conversation time now that it’s been reduced to sporadic five-minute increments.
“So good, Em. He’s different from other guys I’ve dated. He has goals. Like real goals. He’s studying to be a lawyer like Dad—but not a corporate one who files papers for famous clients all day. No. A real courtroom, put-the-bad-guys-in-jail kind of lawyer. And he’s so valiant. He’s always talking about how important it is for us to follow the rules.”
I look down at Q swaggering across the court and try to see what Evie sees in him. Goals are a good thing, and I’m glad he’s apparently so valiant. But how much does he really know about Evie? Does he know how smart she is? That she was accepted into every school she applied to, including Ivy Leagues, but chose to come to BYU because we didn’t want to be apart? Does he know how far behind she is in school? That she’s changed her major so many times because she loves learning and wants to study everything? Or how much she used to love ballet? Somehow, I don’t think so.
“He asked me to be his girlfriend last night,” Evie says, whiplashing me out of my thoughts.
“It’s only been a week. You’re exclusive? Already?”
Evie’s eyes stay glued on Q. “Yep.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask, thinking about our sister Lucy.
“Relax, Em. We’re taking it slow. I mean, it’s not like he asked me to marry him.”
“I know, but isn’t that where dating leads?”
“I could only hope.” She smiles down at Q with a dreamy, far-off look in her eyes. “Well, it looks like he’s done. I should get going.” She gives me a quick hug and jogs to the stairwell in the middle of the long hall.
“Want to get dinner tonight?” I call after her.
“Actually, Q doesn’t have class the rest of the day, so I’m cutting, and we’re heading up to Salt Lake. Next week, okay?” She kisses the air between us in good-bye.
I turn back to the viewing window and look down at the basketball courts. My eyes lock with Q’s. His lazy gaze skims over me, and then he winks. The gesture catches me so off guard I stumble away from the window, then speed walk down the hall to the ballet studio to get away.
When I reach the end of the hallway, hushed voices whisper in the stairwell to my right. I look over and see David, my pas-de-deux partner, with his long-term girlfriend, Hailey. A glint on her left hand catches my eye, and I hurry into the rehearsal studio to give them privacy.
A few girls sit on the Marley, the gray dance floor, preparing their feet and shoes for class. I sit next to them and take out my pointe shoes and kit. I tape the hot spots on my toes, then wrap my feet with strips of cotton and slip on my ballet shoes. The pink ribbon is soft against my skin as I wrap the silk around my ankles. David walks in with a goofball smile.
“I see you popped the question—only took you, what? Seven semesters?” I say jokingly.
He chuckles as he sits next to me. “Actually, no. She asked me.”
That is so like David. He’s an amazing dance partner, but as a boyfriend, he would drive me nuts. “I knew I liked Hailey.”
David tugs on his ballet slippers, and then we walk to the barre against the far wall, our usual spot close to the windows. Other dancers file in around us until the barre is nearly full.
“I probably should have said this earlier, but I’m sorry about the solo,” David says.
“It’s okay.” I did want the solo, but part of me is relieved I didn’t get it. I’ve never had to dance without Evie before. “Being in the corps will give me a chance to settle back into ballet without Evie and really work on my technique.”
David frowns. “That solo should have been yours, and you know it. You’re by far the best dancer here.”
I look around, hoping no one heard that. “It’s not about that,” I whisper. “I’m not sure I’ll be as good a dancer without Evie. You know I struggle to learn new choreography. What if now that she’s gone, I can’t do it? What then? Ballet isn’t only my career goal; it’s my life.” It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I go to bed. I’ve worked too hard for my life to fall apart as quickly as a pair of pointe shoes.
David arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You have a little trouble learning choreography. Who cares? Lots of dancers do. You don’t need Evie. I’ll help you. We’ve got this.” David is quiet as he rolls out each of his ankles, but I can tell by the way his eyebrows pinch together that he’s still chewing something over. “Why’d she quit anyway?” he finally asks. “You two were the unstoppable ballet twins.”
“The unstoppable ballet twins?” I repeat with a laugh, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
“She’s always been a little impulsive, but walking away from ballet after so many years is extreme even for her.”
I nod. Evie has joined and quit so many activities over the years I can’t even remember them all. But somehow, after thirteen years of dancing together, I thought ballet was the one thing she wouldn’t abandon. Clearly, I was wrong. “I guess she decided she couldn’t do it anymore.”
“That makes no sense.” David balks. “She loves ballet.”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” I whisper.
David’s eyebrows rise and then fall in one smooth motion. “I love your sister, but . . .” He shakes his head. “She’s going to get herself into trouble one of these days.”
“Tell me about it,” I mumble.
Ballet Master Miller walks into the studio, cutting off our conversation, and we begin the formal warm-up as a class. Twenty minutes later, we move on to center work.
Rehearsal goes by in an unending blur, and by the time class is over, my head is spinning, but David stays after to help me drill the new choreography. I’m lucky to have him as a partner. He’s the best male dancer at BYU, and working with him has made me better.
David’s fiancée pops in to watch us rehearse a little after 9:30 a.m. By ten, the next class starts to trickle into the studio, and we’re forced out.
When I peel my point shoes off my swollen feet, I find several of the hot-spots on my toes have turned into full-blown blisters.
“You okay?” Hailey grimaces.
I follow her gaze to my feet. “You should have seen my feet after a month of rehearsing for my first Nutcracker. This is nothing.” I take out a pair of scissors and moleskin from my dance bag and cut several pieces to patch up my feet. The skin underneath my big toenail is already black and blue. To anyone else, my feet are ugly. But to me, they’re my most cherished part of my body. Evidence of a life well spent.
I say good-bye to David and Hailey and head to the locker room. After changing out of my leotard and tights into a breezy sundress, I look in the full-length mirror and find that my snow-white legs are dotted with angry bruises. Normally I wouldn’t care about hiding them, but BOM class is next, and I don’t want to look like an albino dalmatian in front of Rhys. I shouldn’t care what he thinks since he didn’t bother to answer any of my texts about getting together to study again last weekend, but I do. As I wiggle back into my pink tights, I can’t help feeling silly—liking a guy who doesn’t like me back is beyond dumb. This has got to end.
I pull out my phone and send Rhys a text, asking him to meet me before class, where I’ll suggest we “meet” via e-mail to study.
There. Problem solved.