Two Years Later

The tapping on my bedroom window woke me from a deep sleep. This was the fourth time this week that Ethan was seeking escape from his father and my heart was breaking for him. It had been two years since the first time he climbed into my room.

My fingers held the white wood frame and slid it up the track. “You okay?” I mumbled when he was inside. Things had gotten worse since I witnessed the whole garage incident, and my heart constantly raced, wondering if he was alright.

“Yeah.” He spoke softly, and I knew from the sadness in his eyes that he was lying. But at least he was safe.

Tossing him my extra pillow and the quilt that rested at the bottom of my bed, I crawled back under the blankets. “Do you think it will ever stop?” I asked, looking up at the glowing stars my dad and I had stuck to my ceiling on my eighth birthday.

“Probably not.” He exhaled, briefly I closed my eyes praying that I could take away his pain. The pain I assumed was rooted deep in his chest.

“Why don’t you call the cops?”

“We’ve been over this, Les. What are they gonna do?” I heard him shuffling on the floor.

Rolling toward him, I tucked my hands under my cheek. “You can tell them the truth. We can tell them what we saw; we can make them look for Joey.”

“My dad is a bad man, Leslie. Even if they did believe us, he would buy his way out of trouble and then me, my mom, and my brother would pay for betraying him.” Ethan lifted his hands and tucked them under his head.

“I’m sorry, Ethan.”

He didn’t respond. The hatred he felt for Jerry didn’t allow him to say it was okay anymore. We all knew it wasn’t okay.

At an age when you need your old man to show you the ropes, his father opened Ethan’s eyes to abuse. Each night Jerry laid a finger on Joyce was another nail slammed into Ethan’s coffin.

“It will be okay,” I still whispered in the darkness of the room.

“Yeah.” He paused. “When I get the hell out of this town.”

Ethan and I had the same discussion for two consecutive years.

* * *

The banging on my bedroom door startled me. I sprang from bed with my fist clenched to my chest. The sun was bright in my room. I was late.

“Leslie?” My mother rattled the bedroom doorknob. “Why is your door locked?”

I glanced around my bedroom and took in my surroundings. Ethan was on the floor fast asleep.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll be right there,” I said and tossed my pillow on Ethan.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Why is there a lock on your door?”

“Mom, I’m fine! Give me a minute.” Ethan jumped up from the floor. His eyes were as confused as mine. I yanked the quilt off the floor and tossed it on my bed. “Hide in the closet,” I mouthed to him. His long legs sprinted across the room and he ducked inside the closet. I brushed my hair back and gently opened the door.

“What are you doing?” My mother pushed open the door, her arms crossed at her chest.

“I was sleeping.” It was the truth.

“Why was your door locked?” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “When did you buy a lock for your bedroom?”

“It’s always had a lock.” I lied hoping she never noticed that I had Ethan install a new one and walked over to grab my tights and leotard.

“I don’t want you locking this door. Do you understand me?”

“Mom, that’s not fair. This is my room. Sometimes I need privacy.”

My mother’s stare cut through me. In any other circumstance I wouldn’t fight her, but if I didn’t lock my door, I would never sleep when Ethan was in my room. The fear of her barging through my door would keep me awake all night.

He needed me.

And I needed him.

“Don’t you sass me, young lady! Your father will hear about this. Get dressed. I’ll be downstairs.”

I nodded and rushed to the bathroom once she began to walk down the stairs. I wasted no time as I brushed my teeth, changed, and pulled my hair up into a bun. I ran back to my room as fast as I could. I needed to tell Ethan not to leave until the coast was clear, but when I swung the closet door open it was empty. He had left without saying goodbye.

The horn honked in the garage and I knew my mother’s patience was wilting. Grabbing my flats from the closet, I ran down the stairs, through the house and into the garage.

“Sorry,” I muttered when I closed the car door.

“This is unacceptable, Leslie,” she said as she pulled the car out of the garage. “How do you plan on getting into Juilliard if you can’t even wake up on time?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear my alarm. It won’t happen again.” I bowed my head. I knew there wasn’t a thing I could say that would justify not being on time. Her lecture lasted the entire ride from our house to the studio. She never mentioned anything about Ethan climbing out of my room, so I figured we were in the clear.

Once at the studio, my mother turned the lights on and I dropped my bag on the chair. The sleek wood floors ran across the studio and a floor to ceiling mirror lined the wall. The studio wouldn’t open for another hour, but this was my time to warm up and rehearse. After fifteen minutes of stretching, I was ready for my routine. My mother turned the music on and scrutinized me from her chair. It was a seven-minute performance that she made me repeat over and over.

“Again,” she demanded.

“Point your toes,” she ordered.

“Tight arms,” she barked.

“From the top!” she yelled.

I wasn’t allowed to complain. Or grunt. If she said I needed to point my toes, I made sure my toes were as stretched as humanly possible. At the top of the hour she turned the stereo down. My muscles ached but with a good pain. They were warm and ready to push through the classes.

Cracking my neck, I walked over to my duffle bag and pulled out my water bottle, my towel, and a protein bar. My stomach was growling with hunger.

“Don’t you dare eat that,” my mother barked from the other side of the room.

“But I’m hungry.”

“You are a dancer,” she reminded me. “That’s three hundred and fifty calories of junk that will go straight to your hips. You’re not allowed to gain a single ounce.”

“Mom,” I couldn’t help but whine. “I didn’t get to eat breakfast.”

“Go in my office. There’s a banana on my desk, and some almonds in a bag.”

I tossed the chocolaty bar in my bag and walked over to her office. “Oh, and Leslie?” I looked back at her. “Make sure you only eat twenty almonds.”

I sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

By one in the afternoon all of the classes were finished and I’d danced with all of them. For the beginners, I was an instructor. I spent the entire hour demonstrating proper form. My mother insisted I hone my craft, even if I spent the hour practicing a plie with a bunch of five-year-olds.

My mother was busy in her office catching up on paperwork while she ate her salad. The front door jingled when it opened. “We’re closed,” I called out before I turned to face the front entry. To my surprise Ethan stood at the door. My eyes widened and I ran to him. “What are you doing here?” I asked in a low voice.

“I wanted to see where you run off to every night and weekend.” He looked around the room. My eyes locked with his in the mirror and I watched as he glanced down my body. Though it was a subtle glance it didn’t go unnoticed. “This is a nice place. I’ve never seen you like this.” His gaze pulled away from my legs and met my eyes once again.

A shiver ran up my spine and I felt my face grow warm. “It’s no big deal.”

“Will you show me your routine?” I looked away from the mirror to face him and was met with his sad eyes. Slowly, I watched his mouth curl up in a perfect smile.

“It’s not perfect yet.” I tried to hide my insecurities.

“I won’t know the difference.” Ethan shifted on the balls of his feet. “Please?” How could I say no when he begged.

Without a word I walked over to the stereo and skipped over the tracks till I found my song. My legs felt like Jell-O as I took the center of the dance floor. Ethan’s eyes were on me and I needed it to be perfect. I inhaled and exhaled slowly before the music began. My eyes closed and I let the movements pour out of my body. Each step was delicate. Every movement crisp and defined. I used the entire dance floor. My heart raced in my chest because I knew Ethan was watching me dance for the first time. With one last pirouette, I crumbled to the ground on the final note as the song ended.

Ethan clapped. “That was amazing!”

I glanced up at him and laughed. I opened my mouth to speak, but my mother stopped me.

“That was your best performance today.” Her voice bellowed through the quiet room.

“Mom.” I rushed to my feet.

“It’s still not perfect but definitely better than this morning.” She walked over to Ethan. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. Darlene Sutton.” She extended her hand to him.

“Ethan Prescott.” He placed his hand in hers and bowed.

“You’re the boy Leslie walks home with, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what can I do for you?” Her lips pursed as she eyed him. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in ballet classes for yourself?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.” He scratched the back of his head. “Um, Leslie and I have a project due for science. I went by the house to see when she wanted to go to the library and start the research, but since she wasn’t there I figured I would try here.” I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Science project?” She looked away from Ethan and over to me. “Why is it not on the calendar at home?” I opened my mouth to explain but she lifted her hand and stopped me. “Juilliard needs you to have good grades too, Leslie. Go to the library and get it done quickly. I expect you home by six.”

I nodded, then walked over to my bag and yanked out an oversized shirt to put on.

Ethan wore a wide grin. “It was a pleasure meeting you in person, Mrs. Sutton.”

“Good-bye.” My mother waved him away, her face puckered in distaste.

When we were outside and around the corner, I looked over at Ethan. “Can I ask you two things?”

Amusement was plastered on his face. “That was one already.”

I shook my head, annoyed. “One, did you really bow when you met my mother? And two, what science project? We’re not even in the same class.”

Ethan chuckled and raised his hands. “Yes, I bowed. Your mother is seriously intimidating. Worse than my father, and that’s saying a lot because my father is a piece of shit.” I nodded, agreeing with his last statement. “And as for the science project, I figured it was a long shot, but now we have the afternoon to ourselves. What do you want to do?”

I couldn’t hide the smile on my face. I didn’t remember a time when I was free to do whatever I wanted with a friend. The options were endless. We could go to the movies, to the mall, or simply walk around. But my stomach growled so loudly it made the decision pretty obvious.

“I guess we’re going to grab something to eat first.” Ethan laughed.

“Sorry, I woke up late.” I glanced at the cement floor.

“Come on,” Ethan grabbed me by my hand. “I know the perfect place.” The butterflies in my stomach flapped their wings as I followed him to a pizzeria in the center of our town. It was a popular spot since it was hard to find great New York-style pizza so close to the Mexican border.

“For here or to go?” the host asked as we walked in. Frankie’s was owned by Isabella and Marcus. They had lived on the east coast most of their lives, but after retiring to Arizona they realized what they missed the most from the Big Apple was pizza and decided to open up a pizzeria.

“For here,” Ethan said, pulling me out of my trance. Glancing around the room, I noticed a few kids we went to school with hanging out together. Yet another thing I never got to experience, thanks to my mother.

Worried that someone would spot me and report back to my mother, I kept my head low as we followed the host to our booth. That constant feeling that everyone was always watching my every move.

“What can I get you kids?” an older lady asked.

“Two Cokes and a large pie,” Ethan stated.

“Coming right up.”

“Actually,” I said in a low voice. “Can I please have a water with lemon? And do you have any salads?” I kept my eyes glued to Isabella, but I could feel Ethan’s gaze burn into me.

“Um, we don’t usually make salads, but let me see what we have in the back.” She walked away from our table.

From across the table I could see that Ethan had his hands crossed at his chest. When I finally mustered the courage from deep inside, I glanced up.

“Why did you order a salad? Your stomach was growling a few minutes ago. I thought you would have loved a slice of greasy heaven.”

“My mother doesn’t want me to gain any weight, and pizza is very fattening. On average, one slice of regular pizza has about two hundred and eighty-five calories. Two slices of pizza are equivalent to swallowing three spoonful’s of oil. Have you ever seen a fat ballerina?” I tried to defend my mother’s need for me to be thin.

Ethan cracked his neck and looked over at me. Never had his stare been so prominent. His nostrils flared and for a split second he looked identical to his father, rage and all. “I’m going to say something you may not like, but I feel you need to hear it. Your mother is stupid. I can count your ribs, for crying out loud. And before you try to argue with me, I saw your body when you were dancing in that ballerina jumpsuit thing.” My face warmed because of his words. “There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. You need the fatty pizza.” He threw his hands up in the air. “As a matter of fact, I think we need two pies,” he said in a louder tone.

I laughed at his dramatics but then crouched down when I spotted a few other classmates looking our way. “Fine, we can order pizza, but only one.”

“Deal.” Ethan slapped the table in triumph.

“But no Coke.” His excitement wavered a little but he didn’t push me.

“Excuse me.” He waved down our waitress. “I’m sorry, but due to her lack of sleep she’s a bit off today. You see, she thought this place was known for their salads. She was mistaken. We’ll have one pie, a Coke, and a water.”

She looked over at me and I nodded enthusiastically. When she was a few feet away, I looked over at Ethan. A wide smile covered his face. “You’re in a happy mood. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so chipper.”

“It’s not every Saturday that I get to spend the afternoon with you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the rapid beat of my heart made it impossible to breathe.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Ethan said after a few minutes. “I know how determined you are to be great, but don’t miss out on living your life because of it.”

“Extraordinary,” I muttered and Ethan gave me a puzzled look. ‘‘My mom doesn’t want me to just be great. She wants me to be extraordinary.”

“And you are, trust me when I say that. But you also shouldn’t starve yourself. I think you might be the skinniest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Unable to determine if his comment was an insult or a compliment, I sat quietly.

“Are you angry?” I shook my head. “Don’t be mad. I think you’re perfect.” Ethan stopped himself from continuing, scratching the back of his head. I found he did this when he was nervous. I wasn’t mad. Not when he said I was perfect.

The waitress placed the pizza between us, and the awkwardness that threatened to ruin our afternoon subsided at the sight of the bubbling cheesy goodness. I took my time eating my slice. The cheese felt warm and velvety in my mouth, and the crust had a perfect crunch to it. I savored every bite. Ethan was on this third slice by the time I finished my first. Unlike I intended, I wound up eating two slices while Ethan polished off the rest.

I offered to split the bill with him but he took the check and paid it all. Once we were outside Frankie’s, Ethan began to walk away from the center of town and toward the back streets where it was less crowded.

“It’s nicer to walk through town, you know?” I said when we rounded a corner.

“I know.” Ethan looked over at me. “But my father owns most of it and I don’t want him to see us.”

“What does your father do?” I asked. I had no idea what his dad did other than intimidate people. I was afraid of what Ethan’s response would be.

“A little bit of everything. My great grandfather moved here when there wasn’t much of anything. Over the years, he became involved in the community and built businesses. My family owns most of the storefronts in the square, and my dad personally runs a few businesses himself.”

“Why do you say he owns the cops, too?”

“The sheriff in town is my uncle. Or a distant cousin that I call my uncle. He and my dad are childhood friends. When he first started off on the force he got into some really bad gambling trouble, which my father eagerly bailed him out of with the assumption that he would help my father out when required. Not to mention, my father donates a considerable amount of money to the police department when needed.”

“Wow.”

When another block passed and we were closer to the downtown square, Ethan glanced over at me. “You look beautiful . . . when you dance,” he stated.

My feet felt like they were glued to the ground. I tucked my hair behind my ears and tried not to read into his comment. “Thanks.” My voice was shaky with nerves. Being around him made me giddy. “It's not perfect yet, but I still have some time.” 

“What more can you do to it? It looked perfect to me. I knew you danced, and ballet was what you lived and breathed, but when I saw you dance . . . I never expected it to be like that.” Happiness pinched at my heart. For once in a very long time someone other than my father thought I was great.

“I wanted a partner for my audition to Juilliard,” I said, referring back to his question. “It's not for a few years, but it's hard to find someone around here who is willing to take the trip with me to New York for the audition and actually knows a thing or two about ballet.” 

“What does your partner have to do?” We approached the downtown square and sat on a bench to watch a few toddlers running around as their mother’s chatted.

“Throw me around and whatnot,” I responded. 

“I can be your partner,” Ethan said matter-of-factly.  

I turned to face him. “Have you ever danced before?”

“No.” He shrugged. “But if it's a few years away, I can start practicing now.” 

“Really?”

“Of course.” A wide smile grew on his face and my stomach flipped with excitement. “I’d do anything for you, Les.”

I leaned in and bumped my shoulder to his. It was an odd movement, but I figured it was better than hugging him in front of all these people.

“Plus, how hard can it be? You weigh less than a feather.” He threw his arms around my shoulder and brought me closer to him.

My stomach turned and the butterflies were flapping their wings in my belly. Ethan had his arms on me. An inferno coursed through my body. Slowly, I pulled away from him at the fear of breaking out in complete hyperventilation. I was dizzy. Being around Ethan made it impossible to consume all the oxygen my body needed.

“It’s not so easy.” My voice was unsteady. I stood and turned to face him. “Every move has to be calculated, finessed with attitude and balance.” I threw my hands in the air demonstrating port de bras and lifted onto my toes in relevé. “We would have to dance in perfect harmony where the audience simply sees a performance and the judges see the technique.”

Ethan stood. He threw his hands in the air and I laughed. His posture was wrong, and his arms were forced over his head. “I can’t stand on my toes.” He chuckled when he tried and fell back on the balls of his feet.

Shaking my head at his attempt, I leaned forward, bending at the waist. I pushed my leg straight in the air.

“Wow.” Ethan said. I inhaled to hold the position longer when Ethan laced his hands around my waist and lifted me off the ground. My posture faltered and I laughed with both fear and excitement due to his unexpected lift. But when I was almost six feet in the air, I realized that Ethan was stronger than I thought. He grunted. “Am I doing it right?”

“You can put me down.” When both of my feet were safely on the ground, I slapped him on the shoulder.

“What was that for?” he complained.

“For starters, you could have hurt yourself.” I tried to keep a straight face. “Also, you can’t just lift me without telling me.”

“Sorry.” I knew from the sneer on his face he wasn’t sorry. “I was online looking at a few ballet dances and I saw how the men just lift the girls up.”

“You looked up ballet?”

“Yeah.” He shifted his weight to the back of his feet. “I wanted to learn more about you.”

“Thanks,” I said, my glance locked on the ground.

“You’re pretty interesting, Leslie.” He threw his arm over my shoulders. “Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want your mother to be upset with you.”