I dress carefully the next day in a loose T-shirt and baggy cropped sweatpants, like I’m going to be doing hard physical work. Beneath them, I have on my favorite red shirt, casual but with a little shine to it, and a simple black skirt. I’ve carefully folded it flat against my belly and hips so it won’t be too crumpled when I change out of the pants.
I sling a clearly almost-empty dance bag on my shoulder. I need it to put the old clothes in, but I couldn’t risk a change of nice things in there in case Mom checked. It only holds a pair of flats so I don’t have to wear my work sneakers with my skirt later. She should assume my ballet slippers are in there.
This has to work. If she says no, I have to walk out anyway. My heart is pounding fiercely in my chest. I’m going to lie. Big-time lie. I haven’t lied since the time before, when I got pregnant.
But I don’t feel guilty. This is too important. I’m nineteen. I should be allowed to date. I can’t live with my parents forever. I can’t be punished all my life.
Mom folds towels on the living room sofa. Andy is having recess time in the backyard. Good. I don’t want any witnesses, and Andy has an uncanny ability to notice when I’m trying to get away with something.
“Your hair sure looks pretty,” Mom says, and I lift my hand to it self-consciously. I’ve plaited a single braid around my crown. The rest flows black and shiny to my shoulders.
“Thanks. Just trying something new.”
“What’s the bag for?”
“Today is the day at Dreamcatcher when all the staff and helpers unearth all the holiday decorations from the storage room. It’s a big job and Danika will have lunch for us brought in.”
Mom frowns. “I don’t remember this from last year,” she says.
I’m ready for this. “I wasn’t assisting with the wheelchair class last year.”
She nods. “Well, I guess that is okay.” She glances out the back window at Andy digging in the sandbox. “He’ll miss you today.”
“He’ll be fine,” I say. “Have you thought about enrolling him in school? I think he’s lonely.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not ready to let him go yet.”
I don’t get why. He’s only eight. And it’s not like he can get pregnant. But now is not the time to get into this argument.
“I’ll see you later this afternoon. I’ll be home way before Dad.”
“Make sure of it,” she says.
I wave and head for the front door. As soon as I’m a block away, I want to start skipping. I’m out! I’m going on a date!
It’s only 10:45. I’m early so I can duck into the public bathroom to shed the outer layer of my clothes and change shoes. I have a panicky moment, picturing myself going home and forgetting to put the sweatpants back on. But I can’t make that mistake. I won’t.
When I get to the park, it’s mostly empty, just a few moms and small children. It’s not a popular place, rundown and in dire need of new equipment.
The trees shed leaves on my path as I head toward the bathroom. The weather still hasn’t broken for autumn yet, although it’s cooler than the ninety degrees of summer. The walk is bright and pleasant, the sort of day when anything seems possible.
The inside of this outdoor bathroom is about as romantic as a sewer tank. I wrinkle my nose and quickly remove the sweatpants and T-shirt, carefully rolling them so they won’t look oddly scrunched when I wear them later.
Then I switch shoes. There’s no mirror here, but I doubt I look any different than I did at home. Simple, a little plain, no makeup, but with a pretty hairstyle, like a princess. He calls me that. I have no idea why. I should hate it. A lot of people would find it condescending.
But I can’t. It makes me think of us dancing across a ballroom, him in a uniform and me in a ball gown, finding that happily ever after.
I’m such a wreck! Reality, Livia!
My bag is packed. I check my watch as I exit the bathroom. Straight-up eleven. He’ll be here before long, however much time it takes him to extricate himself from the grandmas and put his shirt back on.
The thought makes me laugh. At times like this, I still struggle to align the man I’ve gotten to know with the larger-than-life personality of his show. It’s as if there are two people — Blitz from television, and Benjamin the charmer.
I walk along the path to a bench near the street, so he can spot me easily.
I know intellectually that Blitz and Benjamin are the same person. And in the footage I saw with Mindy over the weekend, him with all those different sophisticated women on his arm, the two versions definitely collided.
But none of that is what he is like at the dance academy. He shies away from the women who come on too strong. He delights in the children.
He worries about me. Me. A plain naive girl who can barely pirouette and hasn’t earned her toe shoes.
But maybe I am more than that. There’s this power in me now, the strength and determination I once felt, before my family hid me in shame. I am a survivor. I can be brave. I can reach for what I want.
I can love someone again.
The crunch of leaves makes my head pop up expectantly. It’s just an elderly man walking his dog. He nods at me.
I sit on the bench, looking up the sidewalk. There is a car coming down the street. The fanciest car I’ve seen in my life. Cherry red. Sleek. The hood is low and long. It looks like it could scoop you up and sweep you away all on its own.
This is a pretty poor part of town, mostly families. We don’t see cars like that around here. There is only one person who could be driving that car.
Blitz.
I squint at the windshield, but I can’t see inside. There’s a glare from the sun and the rolling reflection of leaves from the trees overhead.
So I wait, sitting primly on the bench. The car slows down as it nears and sidles up next to the curb.
And stops.
The driver-side door opens, and a familiar black head of hair pops above the roof. He’s wearing sunglasses that obscure his eyes, but I’d know him anywhere.
“I think I’m having a dream,” he calls out. “About rescuing a princess from a dystopian land.”
I glance around. It’s true. The park is mostly broken concrete and the paint on the bench is peeling. The grass hasn’t survived the summer.
“Are you a white knight or a black one?” I call out.
“The blackest,” he says as he comes around the car. “But I’ll scrub myself clean for you.”
Then he’s in front of me, tall and strong. He’s changed into jeans and a loose button-down shirt, pale yellow and expensive looking.
“Well, I guess I’ll take my chances,” I say and lift my hand.
He pulls me up from the bench, then brings my fingers to his lips. “At least my chariot is fancy.”
We turn to it.
“I’m afraid of getting it dirty,” I say. “Should I take my shoes off?”
He opens the passenger door. “Uh, you haven’t seen the inside yet.”
I peer in. “Oh!” I exclaim. The interior is fancy, black leather and a dash that looks like an airplane cockpit. But, wow! There are cups and papers and crumpled clothes and wrappers everywhere.
I sit down and try to make room for my feet. “You need an intervention,” I say. “Or a maid.”
He bends down and peers in. “It’s really bad, isn’t it? I should have stopped somewhere to have it cleared out.”
His face is very close to mine. I could turn my head and kiss his cheek.
“I guess you need to have some sort of flaw,” I say.
This makes him laugh. “Oh, I have plenty,” he says. He stands up and closes the door. A moment later, he appears on the other side and slides in.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“My private helicopter to fly to Mexico for lunch,” he says.
My heart hammers. “What?”
He laughs again. “I’m kidding. I’m not that crazy.” He fastens his seat belt. “I was thinking the San José Mission. I haven’t seen it in years. It was my favorite.”
“It’s my favorite too,” I say. My father had us visit all the missions, including the Alamo, as part of our homeschooling.
“There’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant nearby, owned by the most amazing lady. She’s a friend of my family.”
The car zooms forward, and I resist the urge to clutch the door handle. “That sounds good,” I say.
We drive toward the freeway. I glance around at the debris in the car, trying to get a feel for what Blitz likes.
“How do you stay fit eating McDonald’s all the time?” I ask.
He glances down at the cups and bags. “Busted,” he says. “That was mostly on the drive from LA.”
“You drove?”
“Yeah. I avoid airports and other places with tons of people,” he says. “I think you underestimate how hated I am right now.”
“But you kissed a pig!”
He laughs again. “I’m going to have to do a lot more to get past this.” He signals and speeds up to enter the highway.
I screw up my courage and ask, “So why did you do it?”
“Do what?” he asks.
“The terrible thing,” I say. I really don’t want to say it out loud.
He sighs. “It wasn’t supposed to be a Tweet. I was tired. And sick of that girl. She was making my life hell. How that was supposed to make me pick her as the winner, I don’t know. She wanted to go somewhere off camera, so I took her to a hotel.”
His expression is dark. It’s as hard for him to say this as it is for me to hear about this girl he slept with.
“Are there usually cameras around?” I ask.
“Yes and no. The show makes it appear that they follow us everywhere, but they don’t really. Now, my house in LA is definitely rigged. You never know when they are going to activate something or where one might have been moved that you don’t know about.”
“That’s a crazy life,” I say.
“Yeah, well, we were avoiding it. I’ve been under some pressure since I didn’t pick anyone last season. The producers said I had to choose a girl this time, even if I didn’t propose.” He glances over at me. “I have no plans to propose, by the way. I might have danced with one of them for a while. They were all good. But there was no real love affair happening.”
I figure he has to say that. He’s on a date with me, after all.
“So you posted the picture without paying attention where it went?”
“That’s the thing. I just sent the picture to my friend Duke. It was a joke between us. A terrible, horrible joke. But meant to be private.”
“Still, sending a picture of a girl like that.”
He nods. “I know. I freely admit to being a bastard. I guess I just sent it to the wrong account. And screwed myself. I was going to throw this deal at some point anyway. Nobody could get through that lifestyle unscathed.”
My stomach sinks. What am I doing here? It’s so hard to talk to him. He looks like Benjamin. Acts like Benjamin. But this discussion is all about Blitz. That decadent life. And even if he didn’t mean to share that picture with the world, he still took it. And said what he said. Even if it was just to a friend.
I look at his car. His life as Blitz is just like this. Fancy on the outside. Trash on the inside.
“You think you’ll get your show back?” I ask. “Will kissing a pig and dancing with girls in wheelchairs really do it?”
“I adore those girls,” he says. “Don’t think for a minute I don’t.”
“Okay,” I say. I’m not sure I believe him right now, but I’ll go along.
“I’d rather leave them out of it, but it looks like we’re filming them on Tuesday.”
“I gathered.”
“I don’t know about the show. I’m not sure I even want it back at this point.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “I had forgotten what normal life was like.”
His fingers are warm and strong. I feel that glow again. I’m running hot and cold. I don’t know what is real and what is acting. It’s so confusing.
I glance around the car. “Did they put cameras in here too?”
He shakes his head. “No. This car is brand new. I bought it on my way out of town.”
“But your old one had them?”
“Yes. And I didn’t feel confident that they weren’t still turning them on even after the show was suspended. Some of the camera work was done remotely, and footage of me is easy to sell to tabloids and gossip shows.”
“Wow. That’s quite a life.”
“It is no life at all.”
We’re already near the exit that leads to the mission. It’s a beautiful day to go, warm and breezy. And midday during the week with school in session means it should be quiet.
“Do people recognize you around town?” I ask.
“Not as much as you’d think,” he says. “Generally I can walk around fine until somebody does spot me. If they start taking pictures, others figure there must be a reason, and before I know it, I’m mobbed.”
We drive down Southcross. The houses here are large and historic looking with wide flat lawns. The trees grow more numerous. I feel happy about my city, full of pride that I live here, and that Blitz was born here. I aim to have a good time today. Nobody’s giving him a chance anymore. But I will.
We park in the near-empty lot. In the distance, the round-topped church and the stone tower are visible. It’s always breathtaking to see the old buildings after the modern drive on a highway surrounded by cars. I feel settled here, like I’m walking a path that has been paved by people braver than I am.
“I love this view,” he says. “It’s like nowhere else.”
We peer out the window, then seem to simultaneously realize how silly that is when we could be walking around. Within seconds, we’re out of the car and flying down the path toward the mission.
Entering through the stone arch is like walking into another world. The mission grounds are large and surrounded by a stone wall. The modern city is erased, invisible from inside.
“I’ve forgotten how peaceful it is here,” Blitz says. He takes my hand, and I let him. We’ve escaped everything that plagues us in our lives. His Blitz Burns. My overbearing father. We’re not affected by those people right now.
We wander down a path, heading toward the towering church with its round roof. The tiny cross on top seems almost an afterthought. Only a few other people wander the grass, which is still green, even if patchy with dirt.
Instead of aiming for the church doors, though, Blitz leads us up to the long row of double archways, two stories that were supposed to be reconstructed but never were.
We duck inside the roofless enclosure. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, just as breathtaking as the first time I saw it.
But now, with me feeling so happy with Blitz, it’s beyond beauty and into the magical. The light and shadows of a dozen arches cast patterns across the ground.
“Fit for a princess,” Blitz says, and his hand position changes on mine. I recognize it, and without him having to cue me at all, I twirl into him until I rest against his body, chest to chest.
He whirls me out again, and soon we’re waltzing, one-two-three, music not necessary, just the beats of our hearts. My shoes slide along the rough floor, keeping time with him.
Blitz brings me back to him and we cross through one of the archways in big sweeping steps. Then we’re inside again, through the next arch, turning as we go. The light flashes bright and dark, and the stone walls rush past.
He turns me again, and this time when he reels me back, he holds me close, leaning me back on his arm.
I’m breathing hard, staring up into his face. His eyes are on me, happy, light. I wait, expectant, so happy, for his kiss.
When it comes, I feel sparks, honest-to-goodness fireworks all throughout my body. The breeze rushes through the arches and tousles my hair. His lips are warm and seeking.
I open for him, drawing him in. He breathes into me, and it’s like life itself has caught hold of me. I’m so alive, feeling everything. The heaviness and misery fall away. I release his hand and bring my arm up around his neck.
My fingers memorize his skin. The muscles that lead up to his head. The bristle of the short hairs behind his ear. I want to know everything, touch it all.
The ground crunches as someone else enters the archways. I hear “Did you know this used to be a convent?”
Then an abrupt stop and a startled “Oh!”
Blitz smiles against my mouth and breaks this kiss. “It doesn’t feel like a convent right now,” he says against my ear.
He stands me upright and we dash away from the tourist couple with their cameras and information book. We run along the path, past the stone water well and the spartan trees. We fly to the farthest corner of the mission, away from anything interesting enough to draw probing eyes.
And he kisses me again, thirsty, hungry, longing. He leans against the stone, drawing me against him, our bodies pressed tightly together.
I never want this moment to end. The warm air, the cool stone, his lean muscled body against mine. His hands roam my back and waist and shoulders. I long for more privacy, to release myself into his possession. But I know I can’t do that. I’m glad we’re here, this beautiful place, but also public, and outdoors. We can’t be tempted.
My traitorous stomach rumbles against his. He breaks the kiss and his mouth nibbles along my jaw. “Hungry?” he asks.
I want to shout, “No!” but I can’t deny the noises of my belly. When it happens again, he laughs.
“Come on, then, let’s eat something.” He takes my hand.
We walk slowly along the path. The world is so bright, green and blue and beautiful. I can’t remember feeling quite this high, even in the time before. Maybe because I was young then. Maybe because we were so wrong.
Today feels right. I’ve lied to get here. I’ve taken risks. But walking here with Blitz is absolutely worth whatever the cost.