We’re only halfway through the song when Blitz arrives.
I’m lifting Marissa’s arm for her, keeping her in time with the others, when I see the movement in the mirror.
Janel spots him too. She stops, momentarily shocked into stillness. “Is that Blitz Craven?” she asks. “In my dance class?”
I gently lower Marissa’s arm. I can’t say anything. My voice seems to be stuck.
He’s wearing black jazz pants and another white sleeveless shirt. Every muscle in his body is defined.
He hesitates when he catches sight of the wheelchairs. He steps back outside the door and glances at the painted placard outside that reads Studio 3.
Janel breaks out of whatever paralysis she’s in and asks, “Are you lost?” The music plays on, but the girls all falter without prompting from their teacher.
Blitz realizes he’s interrupting. “Danika told me Studio 3. Beginner ballet.”
“Well, this is it,” she says. “Do you have a dancer to enroll?”
He steps back inside the room, his grin sheepish. “I don’t have any kids.”
“He’s from Dance Blitz,” I hiss. At least my voice is back.
Blitz snaps to me, seeming to just now notice I’m there. He looks disappointed. “You know?” he asks.
“I do now,” I say. “I’m sorry I’ve never seen your show.”
This amuses him. His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Even the young girls turn toward it, as if they are flowers seeking light.
Danika, the owner of Dreamcatcher, swishes inside, her skirt fluttering behind her. The lights overhead brighten her short buzzed blue hair, a style she’s kept since fighting cancer a few years ago.
“Ah, you found it,” she says and claps her hands for attention. “Janel, Livia, girls,” she gazes fondly at all the dancers in their chairs. “This is Benjamin.”
I realize Blitz must just be a stage name. Of course. Nobody names their baby Blitz.
The girls chorus a hello.
“Benjamin will assist as you prepare for the holiday recital. He’s a professional dancer, and very excited to help you all with your performance.”
The girls giggle. Blitz looks at each of them, his expression carefully neutral. I don’t know what he’s thinking. If they are a waste of his time, or if Danika is out to make him miserable.
Fire burns in my belly. In my book, this is the most important class at Dreamcatcher Academy. He better not upset these girls, most of all Gabriella. I resist the urge to move closer to her. Nobody knows she is my daughter. No one in the entire world, not even my best friend Mindy, knows I found her and set up this class just to be near her.
No one can know. It’s the only way I get to have her in my life at all.
My throat is so tight that I can barely swallow.
Blitz takes in all the girls, and then his gaze rests on me. Something ticks in his jaw. I have that naked feeling all over again as he scrutinizes my white leotard, pale yellow skirt, and white tights. Now I understand why my father forced me into baggy clothes for so long. He anticipated a moment like this.
He’s ignored Janel, who is way more beautiful than me, so I guess I’m more his type. He’s bound to be very experienced if he’s on television. Women probably fall at his feet.
But I don’t feel alarmed or concerned. I’m not totally naive. I might have been fifteen when Gabriella was born, way too young for all that transpired, but her conception did not come about by anything traumatic or painful. Wrong, perhaps, the worst kind of wrong by most books, but I still hold those memories close.
And they are coming forward now. Skin. Heat. That buzz of attraction and need in my belly. Blitz’s interest burns into me, heating up key places I was forced to forget about.
But now there is Blitz. Apparently he’s staying.
Danika moves forward. “I’ll be here today as we get started.” She takes Blitz by the arm and turns him, as if he’s a child in need of guidance. I can see in her expression that she might be questioning her decision to bring him close to me, possibly thinking of my father and his overbearing protectiveness.
“These are some of our most prized pupils, Benjamin,” Danika says. She introduces each girl. When she gets to Gabriella, my heart squeezes. “Little Gabby is our newest ballerina. She’s a quick study and already knows all the basic positions.”
Gabriella beams up at Blitz. Little sprigs of black hair frame her face, tiny curls that escaped the sequin-wrapped bun. Sometimes I’m shocked other people don’t recognize how much she looks like me, but maybe it’s only because I know. Everyone else assumes Gwen is her biological mother. She never mentions the adoption and Gwen’s dark brown hair seems close enough.
But Blitz looks down at Gabriella and back to me and back again. I see him noting something and I wonder if he’s guessed. Panic rises in my belly, but then he moves on and I shake it off. Nobody would guess that someone as young as I am could have a four-year-old child.
I flash for a moment to the hospital, the ripping pain, the fear, the clucking disapproving nurses, and my parents’ embarrassment and shame. I have to shove it from my thoughts.
“Let me start the music again,” Janel says. “Girls! Back to your starting positions!”
I help settle the dancers. Danika and Blitz stand near the mirror, watching. We run through the entire routine. I rush from girl to girl, having to let go of Marissa to make sure Daisy moves aside before she blocks Gabriella’s turn.
When the song is done, Blitz claps heartily. “That’s great,” he says. He approaches the girls. “You’re Daisy, right?” he asks.
Daisy beams that he knows her. “Yes,” she says. “Whose daddy are you?”
“Well, if you ask my lawyers, they’ll tell you I have defended fifteen paternity lawsuits,” Blitz says.
“Benjamin,” Danika says, a warning note in her tone.
“Right, right,” he says. “I am no one’s daddy. May I take your arm and show you something?”
Daisy holds out her arm.
Blitz encircles her wrist with his fingers and shakes her arm gently. “Wiggle your sillies out,” he says with more goofiness than any of us expected. “Turn your arm into a noodle, and then you will get a beautiful curve.” He lifts her arm into fourth position.
I wonder if he knows more ballet than he let on, or if he’s just picked up some form from his show. I’ll have to find a way to watch it. I’m desperately curious.
When Daisy makes her arm go straight, he grasps her wrist and jiggles it again. “Beautiful relaxed curve,” he reminds her.
His voice is like a drug. The girls are all rapt, just listening and watching, even though this is the sort of correction we’ve all done a thousand times to beginning ballerinas.
Daisy’s arm bends slightly, this time too angular. Blitz shakes her arm out one more time.
The curve falls more naturally.
“That’s it!” Blitz says. “Now drop your arm.”
Daisy lowers her hand to her lap.
“Now back,” Blitz says.
Her arm isn’t quite right, but after a quick shake, she’s in position again. They do this several times until her arm goes into a nice curve straightaway.
“Keep practicing,” he says. “Your arms are your superpower, so make them shine.”
He turns to Gabriella and my breath catches. “You next?” he asks her and she nods.
Behind me, Janel asks, “Is he in charge now?”
Danika says, “Only as much as you want him to be.”
Janel steps forward. “We’ll have individual ballerinas work with Blitz — Benjamin — while the rest of us continue practicing our timing with the music,” she says.
The other girls turn back to Janel. I come up behind Gabriella. “You want to move over near the barre?” I ask her. I can’t manage to frame a direct question to Blitz. I’m running hot and cold, torn between protecting her and my secret, and the memory of the charming boy he was yesterday.
It’s a lot to manage.
“Great idea,” Blitz says. He moves as if to push Gabriella by the handles, but she snatches her wheels and darts forward.
He straightens, surprised, and catches my eye.
“She’s a zoomer,” I say with a shrug.
We walk toward her, away from the group, as alone as you can get in a room full of girls. He quietly asks, “So none of these girls can walk?”
“That’s why they are in wheelchairs,” I say.
“But they can use their arms.”
“Each girl has a different level of movement and control,” I explain. “We choreograph around it, same as you’d play to the strengths and weaknesses of any dancer.”
He stops walking and waits for me to pause and turn back to him.
“This is a really special class,” he says.
“Of course it is,” I say, maybe a little more haughtily than I intend, and head toward Gabriella.
He rushes to catch up. “Is this one your sister?”
That panic rushes through me again. Behind us, the music restarts and Janel begins talking the girls through their movements. I take this as my cue to ignore his question.
When we get to Gabriella, Blitz says, “Show me the arm movements, and I’ll stop you when I see something we can work on.”
“Okay,” Gabriella says shyly. She maneuvers her chair so she can see Janel and picks up the dance in the middle. I’m proud of how she can just pop in and still fall into the flow of the dance. She’s smart.
Her arms sway left and right, and she reaches down to turn her chair at the right moment, then lifts her arm again.
Blitz watches, his hand on his chin, rubbing his cheek with his fingers. I find myself staring, wondering about the feel of that stubble, when he stops Gabriella.
“Okay, I see a couple places where you can choose a slightly different moment to reach for your chair in the turn, and get a little more arm movement in.”
I step away, realizing I can be better used with the main group. But I feel a little in awe of him. He’s actually saying things that make sense, and the dance will be better with his close attention, whether he really knows ballet or not.
Even as I walk toward the other girls, I watch the two of them in the mirror. Seeing my daughter with this man does something to my heart that makes it feel like it’s only just now started to beat again.