CHAPTER 10
Lex
Saved by the skin of my teeth. My name wasn’t called in the first cut of the day or the second. When they’d dwindled the group down to the top twenty-five, I was still in. Though other than when our line was called out to perform, Theo hadn’t looked at me again.
I hated that it bothered me. That I wanted Theo’s eyes on me. To take me in. Hell, to critique me as he’d done with a few others. I wanted that attention so badly it shook me to the core.
We’d just gotten back from one of our longer breaks when Winter trailed through the door behind us. She looked every bit as amazing as she did on screen, with her long white hair pulled back into a high ponytail and her makeup drawing attention to her ridiculously long eyelashes and pouty red lips. She wore tight light-wash jeans, ankle-high heeled boots, and a see-through white button-down top that revealed a red lace bra.
Loud cheers and applause burst from the lot of us. My heart must have performed an entire gymnastics floor show by the time she made it to the front of the room. She stood in the center, waving, smiling, and laughing at our reaction until, finally, Janelle handed her a microphone.
“This is the best reception ever. Thank you all so much.” She beamed at the next round of cheers in reaction to her welcome. “I just want to say congratulations for making it this far, and I cannot wait to see you all in action.” Her eyes shot to the front of the room. “Theo’s been treating you well, I hope.”
A mixture of laughter, hoots, and claps erupted from our group. I hardly believed the other dancers thought Theo had treated us well, but it was the right reaction under the circumstances.
Winter squealed. “Great. Let’s get started.”
Amie and I made shocked faces at each other from across the room. We’d been chatting it up on our breaks, and I hadn’t had the balls to admit who I thought the artist might be, because then I would have had to explain why I thought that, and I definitely wasn’t going to confess to my run-in with Theo weeks ago. Shane was the only one who knew that embarrassing story, and it would remain that way. For life.
“All right, all right.” Janelle spoke into the table mic, but my eyes were on Winter, who took a seat beside Theo.
I watched her lean in and hug him, a flirtatious smile on her face, and my stomach lurched. There was something too familiar about their embrace. It was public knowledge that they’d worked with each other before. But when she leaned into his shoulder and reached under the table to touch his leg, I knew something was off.
“Now that the guest of honor has arrived,” Janelle continued, “and you all have the gist of the routine, we’re going to switch up the music to something a little more”—she wiggled her eyebrows at Winter then turned to the rest of us and deepened her voice—“appropriate.”
The entire room lit up with shocked gasps and excited chatter. But before Janelle hit Play on her phone, I knew what song she was going for—the same one Theo had on repeat in the theater when he finally began to let go. The same one he was dancing to when my ringing phone turned his attention to the voyeur in the audience and he proceeded to kick me out. I flushed just thinking of it.
As if he could read my mind, Theo’s eyes dashed to mine, freezing me in my spot. Everything about him was so hard. His narrowed eyes, his jaw set like stone. But those lips—full, tinted pink against his lightly tanned skin—released a new feeling in me, one that didn’t belong on the dance floor.
I shifted my gaze to Winter, but that wasn’t any better. She was staring at Theo adoringly, clearly waiting for him to return the glance. I swallowed and looked away, this time to face Janelle, who was smiling through a familiar tune. Everyone around me was marking the steps, so I did too. We were instructed to perform the routine a few times as we rotated lines, giving everyone a chance to be up front for Winter to see.
She wasn’t ready to make cuts until we started to perform in small groups. As I watched other dancers go before me, I paid attention to Winter’s responses, her expressions, and those moments when she jotted something down. She was easy to read. When she liked something, she’d raise her brow, give a little nod, and take her pen to paper. I figured if I got that same reaction from her, I’d be set.
It was my turn, along with two male dancers I hadn’t had a chance to talk to. Thank God my nerves weren’t what they used to be when I was younger. Back then, they’d get so bad I’d feel as if I were sinking in quicksand.
I learned at a young age how to harness that anxiety and turn it into something powerful. Well, Shane had taught me that.
It was my first performance ever, and I was eight. In a theater of two thousand bodies, including peers and family, the lights were turned down, and the music was off. We were seconds from the start of our number, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember the first step. I totally froze.
“How does it start?” I had whispered to Shane, who was standing beside me.
He shook his head as he always did when I said something ridiculous. “Focus on the music. Your body already knows what to do.”
I would never forget that moment when the music started. It had to have been only a second before the stage lights switched on and the first beat of music pumped through the system. I didn’t have to think of that first move, because my body already knew it. Shane was right. The dance flowed from me like magic. As if it had come straight from my soul.
That was the day I learned an important lesson I would always carry with me. Choreography is 100 percent of the battle. The rest comes naturally.
I didn’t know how many times over the next half hour I performed in large groups, small groups, then finally a solo before Janelle made an announcement that they were getting ready to choose the final twelve.
While the judges deliberated, I met Amie in the hall, and we crouched against the wall. We pulled out our snack bags and chatted about what brought us to LA. Turned out Amie’s parents were part of the Hollywood scene, though she wouldn’t give up in what capacity. And she’d lived in Malibu most of her life, so driving to Gravity to take class was a short trip for her.
“You made a new friend, Amie. How cute.” A guy sat down in front of us, leaning back on his palms, knees up. His eyes caught mine. “What’s your name?”
Before I could respond, Amie jumped in. “Her name is Lex, and she’s off limits to you.” Amie’s eyes twinkled when she looked at me. “This is Reggie. I’d say he’s harmless, but I don’t lie to my friends.”
Reggie reached his foot out and nudged her leg. “Not nice. Not nice at all.”
I smiled and flipped the cap open on my water. “I didn’t realize Amie was the possessive type when we first started talking. I might need to reevaluate this friendship.”
She gasped in mock horror as another figure approached. “Hi,” the woman said. “We’re asking the remaining dancers to fill this out. It’s a commitment application, saying that if you’re selected today, you accept the job based on the terms mentioned here. If you have an agent, please put down their name and phone number. We’ll be contacting them shortly. It’s the same salary for everyone, so feel free to discuss whatever you’d like among yourselves.”
Agent? Am I supposed to have one of those?
“Wait, no tiered pay for veterans?” Reggie asked, looking slightly perturbed.
The woman frowned and shook her head. “I’m afraid not. It’s an equal share. Everyone auditioned under those terms.” Reggie opened his mouth as if to respond, but she continued talking to the group. “I’ve been asked to remind you that you’re about to enter the final callback. We request that you’re fully on board prior to returning to the studio. Please read over the terms carefully and hand the application to Polly on your way in if you choose to stay.”
Polly was one of the assistants for the day and tended to the judges.
The woman whose name I’d never learned walked away, leaving the three of us to peruse our commitment applications. I was still stuck on the agent thing, so I tapped a quick message to Shane before flipping through a few pages of the document. I realized quickly it was like a contract. It was eight pages, with brief summaries of the terms we’d be committing to if we were selected to join the crew.
“Shouldn’t they give us more time to review something like this?” I wanted to know what I was getting myself into. They still hadn’t given us many details of what we were agreeing to other than the fact it was for Winter and that it was an eight-month contract.
Does it matter? I asked myself. For an opportunity like that, there wasn’t much I would have said no to.
“Don’t worry about it.” Reggie took his pen to paper. “The pay is shit, but the food and housing are free, so if you’re smart, you can walk away with a good savings in the end.”
“I wasn’t talking about the pay.” I pointed at a line of text. “Like this, it says we’re on a strict schedule, including curfews. And all my social media posts need to be approved? They stalk our social media?”
Amie chuckled and shrugged. “Reg and I are used to this, I guess. Yeah, they don’t want you posting anything Winter wouldn’t want out there in the public eye. You can take whatever pictures you want, but you need approval to post it if it involves anything to do with the show.”
Reggie looked up as he placed the cap on the pen. “And the curfew isn’t a big deal, honestly. It’s only enforced on the eve of the shows. You’ll be so tired most nights, you won’t want to go out much, anyway.”
My eyes traveled down to the next paragraph, section four. My pulse picked up at the words. “Really? No fraternizing with the choreographer?” I cocked an amused brow at both of them. “Who would want to fraternize with Theo, anyway? He’s kind of an asshole.”
Amie burst into laughter, and Reggie grinned wide. “You’re going to fit in here just fine.” He winked, and even though he was agreeing with me, something about it felt off.
Back in the studio, I looked around at the expectant faces, their eyes wide and hopeful. I’d always loved the energy in a dance studio. The buzz of the overhead fluorescents. The wall-to-wall mirrors where introverts came out of hiding. And while the competition was fiercer than I’d ever experienced, there was also an unspoken level of synchronicity, because we weren’t just being judged on our individual performances but on our chemistry as a group.
“Welcome back, welcome back.” We all joined in a collective cheer as Janelle spoke into the mic. “Before we get started on the final selection, we do need to see a few of you one last time. When I call your name, please come to the front of the room.” The room grew silent. “Alexandra ‘Lex’ Quinn.”
My heart leapt before I did. I didn’t know if this was good or bad. It could go either way. Every emotion in me was wound up tight, ready to unleash at the start of the number. I’d never sensed such a fire in me before.
As I waited for the other dancers to join me, I looked up. Theo and Winter’s heads were bent together. It seemed as if they were in deep discussion when he shook his head and leaned back in his seat, as if he’d given up on whatever war was brewing between them. I remembered then what Janelle had told me. It was the artist who had the final say.
Winter was the one I needed to impress.
That was all it took for the fire I’d sensed before to turn into a full-blown blaze.