Chapter Two
Once the last dancer left the room, Isabelle Oster flipped off the lights in Studio Six and headed for the staff room. She flopped onto the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. Though she had more summer reading to finish before school started, she wasn’t ready to head home yet.
The door opened and Lauren Sanborn, the ballet company director, swept in. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you, Izzy.”
“How bad?” she asked, trying to imagine the worst thing Lauren could say. Maybe they hadn’t raised enough to pay the deposit for the fall production. Though she hated to ask her father for money, she’d do it if it was absolutely necessary.
She blew out a deep breath. “Texas Northern has an out-of-town performance in November. On the weekend we’re performing Sleeping Beauty. So they can’t provide us with a prince to dance with you.”
Izzy’s stomach dropped and she jumped off the couch. She’d made it through the preliminary steps to join Ballet Americana, and the fall production was supposed to be her final tryout. “What? No. Everyone is going?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“We’ll just have to change the date, then.”
Just like that, all of her plans for the future fell apart. Her one chance to show them how well she could dance with a partner. She’d already sent them recordings of her solos, which had gotten her through the first round of cuts. Ballet Americana was unique with their company tryouts. Instead of making the dancers come to them to audition, they preferred to attend a production and watch them in action.
Lauren put her hand under Izzy’s chin and met her eyes. “Izzy, we’ve already put down the deposit for the auditorium. We can’t change the date.”
Crap!
She blinked back tears. Why did she have to live in the middle of nowhere? Oh yeah, because her father had needed uncontested territory to get elected to the state senate.
“I know you’re upset, but surely we can get one of the other girls to dance the prince’s part.”
Izzy shook her head. “But we won’t be able to do the lifts.” Lauren knew as well as she did how important the lifts were. Especially for someone like her, who was taller than the usual ballerina. She flopped back onto the couch.
They’d been planning the fall production for months. They’d agonized over the choreography all summer and had done their best to show off Izzy’s strengths and minimize her weaknesses. And it had all been for nothing.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve still got plenty of time to make some changes to the choreography. We’ll make it work.” Lauren patted her shoulder and stretched. “I’m outta here. You should head home, too.”
Izzy didn’t move from her place on the cushions.
She could probably talk her father into paying to fly someone in to dance with her, but she didn’t want to have to resort to that. The whole point of being invited to audition for Ballet Americana was that it wasn’t something her father could buy for her. She had earned it herself, and she would not give that victory to him.
Somehow, she’d find another partner. There was no other option.
She took a few deep breaths to push back the nausea in her stomach then stood and flipped off the light and headed toward the front exit.
That’s weird. Light shone around the closed curtains, but there weren’t any classes scheduled in Studio Three this late at night. That’s where they usually taught the preschool classes and private lessons, because it was the smallest studio. She stopped and moved back in front of the window. There was a small space between the curtain and the edge of the frame on the right side. After glancing around the hallway to make sure no one was around, she looked through the gap. Jenny was in there with…
No freakin’ way. Garret Mitchell. What was Mr. Football doing in her dance studio?
His light brown hair was short, like most of the football team wore it, and he was tall. Well over six feet. She’d reached her current height in seventh grade, and it had been a long, painful wait for the boys at school to catch up to her five foot, seven inch height. Still, she was relieved when she stopped growing, because if she was any taller she probably wouldn’t ever be a principal dancer with a premier ballet company.
Jenny manipulated his legs and feet into something approximating fifth position. He’s taking ballet lessons?
Once he—sort of—mastered that, Jenny had him go back to first position, but he tried to force his toes too far out and lost his balance, nearly falling over. Izzy slapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a laugh from escaping. For a moment, she thought about getting out her phone and recording him, but that would be too…
On second thought… Maybe, just maybe, it could work. Yanking her phone out of her purse, she crept closer to the window and clicked record.
OMG. This was too good to be true. She could make a ton of money selling this to the highest bidder at school. Sliding the phone inside her bra, she waited for them to finish. The door started to open and she took a step back against the wall so he wouldn’t see her right away.
“So you’ll practice at home every day, right?” Jenny said as she entered the hallway with Garret right behind her. “Especially the stretches.”
“Yes, Miss Jenny.” He looked up and caught Izzy’s eye and stopped as if he’d crashed into an invisible wall. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. “Do I know you?”
They didn’t exactly run in the same crowd, but she’d thought he’d at least recognize her. They’d attended the same school since kindergarten.
“Probably not, but we go to school together.”
He studied her closely, then recognition showed on his face. “What happened to the purple hair and makeup?”
Slowly, she removed the pins and clip from her hair and let it cascade over her shoulders and down her back, revealing the purple streaks her thick black hair hid when she put it into a bun.
He raised a brow. “I’m impressed you’re able to hide it like that. Clever.”
Garret Mitchell, star of the football team, was being…nice to her. His deep brown eyes were warm, almost hypnotic. She shifted her gaze, reminding herself that he hadn’t spoken a word to her since they were in third grade. She shoved down the guilt rising in her throat, or else she’d never be able to go through with her plan.
“It’s not that difficult. The color is only on the top, so it disappears when I put it into a bun. Goth hasn’t really taken off in the ballet world yet.”
While they talked, Jenny had gone back into the studio to grab her purse. She came out the door and shot Izzy a smile. “I can see that you two want to catch up, so I’m going to head out. Can you lock up, Izzy?”
“Sure.”
Jenny had completely misinterpreted her exchange with Garret, but it was probably better that there weren’t any witnesses to what she was about to do.
Garret watched Jenny as if she was paddling the last lifeboat away from the Titanic as she went out the front door, but then he manned up and turned to her. “So you work here?”
“I guess so. I mean, they don’t pay me, but I teach some classes.” Awkward much?
He nodded. “Look. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anybody you saw me here.”
She held his gaze but didn’t say anything, raising her brows slightly. It was a tactic she’d learned from her father. If you stayed quiet, the other person would usually get uncomfortable and keep talking. And it worked.
“Um, you might have noticed that I had an injury last year, and after the surgery and all…well, Coach suggested that I come here and take ballet lessons to improve my flexibility, and… You won’t tell anybody, right?”
She had to give him credit. He had the balls to look her in the eyes and ask her not to tell. But he was counting too much on her being nice and doing what he wanted. Being popular, he was used to always getting his way. Not this time.
“Well, that depends.”
He shifted his weight away from her and crossed his arms. “Depends on what?”
She tapped her foot. “Whether you’ll do a little favor for me.”
“What kind of favor?”
Ignoring her jumpy stomach, she sucked in a deep breath and said, “If you dance with me in our fall ballet production, I won’t tell anyone.”
He jerked his head back and his brows lowered. “What? No! No way. That would definitely defeat the purpose of keeping my ballet lessons a secret.”
Maybe trying to soften his response, he smiled at her, not realizing his tactics would get him nowhere. After all, she lived with a politician.
“No one from school ever comes here. Except for me, all of the students are from St. Mary’s. Besides which, we’re holding the show over at the Performing Arts Center in Mansfield.”
He continued to glare at her in suspicion. “Why aren’t there any actual ballet dancers willing to dance with you?”
Because I’m The Untouchable.
But she wasn’t. At least not here. They only called her that at school. “Because I’m such a tyrant.”
He nodded. “That I can believe.”
She crossed her arms. “Very funny. We don’t have any boys on our ballet company, so we usually hire someone from Northern, but their entire company will be out of town that weekend.”
“Then just change the date.”
“Thanks, Sherlock. I already thought of that, but we can’t because we’ve paid the deposit for the auditorium and it’s nonrefundable.”
He took a step toward her, getting up in her face. “Then just get your daddy to pay for it. Or have him pay a professional dancer from somewhere else to come.”
That hurt, especially since it was something she had considered for a moment. Whipping her phone out of her bra, she found the video and pressed play. “Maybe this will convince you.” She turned the screen so he could see.
Once he realized what he was watching, his eyes widened. “You…you…have a lot of nerve.”
“It’s okay, you can call me whatever you want. I don’t care.”
He stared at her like she was the devil, which was kind of understandable, but she was desperate. Besides, she happened to know he had once screwed over her friend Jeremy, so she didn’t feel as guilty as she might have if it had been someone else.
“I can’t believe you recorded me. Doesn’t this place have some sort of privacy rules?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just agree to dance with me, and I promise I won’t tell anyone or show them the video. If you don’t, I’ll have it played on the big screen during the first pep rally for the football team.”
His face colored and he made a grab for her phone. “Or I could just smash your phone and never come back here again.”
She stuffed the phone back in her bra. “I can tell you’re thinking about it.” She pointed her chin toward her chest. “Even if you can make the grab, I already uploaded it. I’m not stupid.”
“Yeah. I get that.” He glared at her. “But why would you want me to dance with you? I’ve had one lesson, and I can assure you I’m not that good.”
“I need someone who can lift me, and you’re strong enough to do it, and obviously athletic. I can teach you the rest.” It wasn’t that she was heavy, but with her height, it was hard for smaller guys to balance her on the lifts. She’d gone to one football game last year to help run a charity booth, and she’d seen him play a little bit. He was a receiver, and he’d jumped pretty high to catch the ball. She might even be able to teach him a few simple leaps.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have time for more lessons. I barely have time now, and school starts in a few weeks.”
He was making excuses, starting to weaken. He was kind of cute when he got flustered…
She shook her head. Focus. “No problem. I can take over your lessons with Jenny, and we can combine the two. I’ll work with you on the basics and help you with flexibility, and then we can move on to the lifts.”
“I still can’t believe it. The Untouchable is a blackmailer.”
Her face filled with heat. The purple hair and Goth look were mostly to piss off her father, but her appearance, along with Daddy’s money and background, had led to the despised nickname.
“Don’t call me that.”
The words slipped out before she could stop herself. Now that she’d let him know how much she hated that nickname, he’d use it to his advantage.
He leaned against the wall, as still as a statue.
She took a few deep breaths to slow her racing pulse. “You’re paying Jenny the standard thirty an hour for the lessons, right? I’ll do them for free.”
His eyes narrowed, and he turned and walked away from her then looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t. I had more respect for you when you were just blackmailing me.”
He smacked the door open and stalked out into the dark.
She was counting on his ego to convince him to come back, because otherwise she was screwed.
…
Garret stormed across the parking lot toward his car.
That girl was something else. Clearly no one had ever taught her how to ask for a favor from someone. If she’d approached him differently, he might have agreed to it. Well, probably not, but he would’ve at least been nicer about it.
After whipping the door to his car open, he dropped into the driver’s seat. The locks were broken on his 1965 Mustang. The only place that was secure was the trunk. He’d rescued it from the salvage yard, and it was a work in progress.
Since he’d parked at the back of the lot, he was able to watch Isabelle as she got into her brand new Volvo sedan and turned out onto the road. He still couldn’t believe she was the same girl from school. They didn’t really have any friends in common, so he’d never paid much attention to her before, but she was beautiful, like the kind of beautiful you only saw on a movie screen.
He gave himself a mental head slap. Of course. He knew her father had been an actor, but he’d forgotten about her mother. He grabbed his phone and had a picture of her up in seconds. They could be twins. So the black hair at least was probably real, as were her remarkable lavender-gray eyes. He’d figured both were part of Isabelle’s Goth disguise. Scrolling down, he found her mother’s biography and skimmed it.
Catherine Oster was found unresponsive by her husband and rushed to the hospital, but was pronounced dead on arrival.
He counted backwards from the date of her death. That meant Isabelle couldn’t have been more than a few months old when her mother had died.
A car drove past the studio, reminding him that he needed to head home before someone got nervous about him being there this late at night. Or worse, someone who recognized his car might see him here. He didn’t trust Isabelle at all, but he could tell she was desperate to find someone to dance with, so he figured she’d stay quiet for now.
The one advantage to this place was that it sat on the edge of the wrong side of town, the poor side, so it was close to home for him.
He parked his car to the side of the driveway and entered through the kitchen door.
“Mom, aren’t you home early?” He gave her a hug and snatched a tomato off the plate she was preparing.
“No, honey, you’re late. Where have you been?”
He was so used to coming home in the dark after his second practice that he’d forgotten it was later than usual. He cleared his throat while he debated sharing everything with her.
“Well, I was taking a ballet lesson.”
A deep laugh rose from her throat. “Surely you can come up with a better excuse than that.”
He leaned against the counter. “No, really. Coach suggested it and hooked me up with a teacher.”
She handed him a plate with a BLT on it, and he told her the rest of the story while they ate, including Isabelle’s demands.
“But if you agree, you’d get the lessons for free, right?”
He nodded.
“Then you should do it. You already spend too much time working at the salvage yard as it is, and it’ll only get harder once school starts. Getting a scholarship won’t matter if you don’t graduate.”
Of course his mother would give Isabelle the benefit of the doubt, but he knew better. “Yeah, but then I’d be letting her win. Everything would be on her terms.”
“So make new terms. You know your sister has always wanted to take ballet classes. Maybe you could get her to teach Hannah for free. Then you’re not following her demands. You’re making a counteroffer.”
He grinned. He liked that idea, but it aggravated him that Isabelle thought she could trap him so easily. Besides, he didn’t want to make a deal with her. No matter what she offered, he was not going to dance with her in public.