On Tuesday, we take the silver car and head to Dreamcatcher. Blitz has had mustaches delivered and wears one stuck to his face as we pull into the parking lot. I’m wearing a big hat and sunglasses.
“I don’t think the mustache is necessary,” I tell him as we approach the academy.
“I just wanted to look dashing for your ex,” he says.
“Oh, Blitz.” Despite my anxiety, I have to laugh.
Denham’s green truck is still parked on the curb.
“I wonder what he does in there all day,” I say.
“Watches Dance Blitz with his hand down his pants,” Blitz says. “I’ve heard I’m pretty handsome.”
“Blitz!”
We pull into the lot and drive through to the side of the building. I don’t know if the back entrance will be unlocked, but I can call Danika if I need to and ask her to let us in.
Of course, then we’ll have to explain why. But it’s worth a shot.
Blitz looks at himself in the rearview mirror and smooths his mustache. “I just might grow one myself,” he says.
We get out of the car. There’s no one near us, and the green truck isn’t visible from this far back. We hurry to the metal door near the delivery platform.
Blitz tugs on the handle, and thankfully, it opens. We step into the backstage area still crowded with Christmas recital props.
“I have you in the dark again,” Blitz says, pulling me against him. “Will you fall for the exotic mustachioed man?” He turns my face to his and kisses me.
“Ick!” I say, pulling away. “Your fake mustache is prickly!”
Blitz runs his fingers along it. “It’s soft as a baby’s butt!”
“A baby porcupine, maybe!”
Blitz laughs and pulls it off. “I guess if it’s going to get in the way, I don’t want it.” He tosses it toward an open trash can near the door.
“We need to get to class,” I say.
“Slave driver!” Blitz says, but takes my hand and leads me through a side door to the storage room.
I squeeze his fingers as we pass through the racks of costumes. Blitz kissed me for the first time here, and we have a lot of fond memories in this space. I spot the top hat he wore once and smile. Blitz has always made my life easier and more fun. If the public really knew him, they would never have tried to burn him at the stake for one terrible Tweet.
Even though it had been a bad one, an image of a naked show contestant in his bed and a very disparaging message. But Blitz has worked hard to apologize and get his public image repaired. With Dance Blitz behind us, we could fade into obscurity if we wanted.
The exit of the storage room comes out at the end of the hall where all the dance studios hold classes. The corridor is bustling with young dancers, mostly preschool children since it’s a Tuesday morning.
We head into Studio 3, where Janel teaches the wheelchair ballerinas. I’ve assisted this class for over a year and lobbied for its existence shortly after Gabriella’s accident. It’s the first place I got to know my daughter.
And I will not let Denham know about her if I can help it.
Two of the girls have already arrived and are warming up with arm lifts.
Another comes in right after us. Janel asks Blitz to grab the sparkle batons. She’s looking for new ideas for the girls to dance with.
I love how he instantly goes to the corner to grab them. He’s no diva, despite his incredible popularity and fame from his show. Once again, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
Gabriella rolls in, and Gwen waves at us. I wonder if I should warn her about Denham. What if he sees Gabriella in the parking lot and thinks she looks like me? Would he go up to them and ask about her?
But he can’t know she’s here. He’s stalking me, not her. Nobody knows. What is he doing, exactly? Intimidating us, I guess. He thinks we will snap. Maybe once I would have. But with Blitz, I feel strong. I won’t give in.
Despite our anxiety and the green truck outside, class goes on as usual. We work on the girls’ turns and arm positions. As much as I loved dancing with the Nutcracker music, it’s nice to move on to other things now that the recital is past.
Blitz’s phone buzzes nonstop during class and he finally shuts it off. I look at him quizzically from the other side of the room where I’m working with one of the girls. He shrugs and shakes his head like it’s nothing.
When we’ve finally escorted all the girls out, including Gabriella, Blitz takes my arm and leads me to a bench in the hall. “I got a bunch of info from the lawyer,” he says.
His finger swipes through message after message. “Your sweet boyfriend has built up quite the rap sheet in his meager twenty-one years.” He pauses at one of the miniaturized document scans and zooms in. “Three counts of assault, two burglaries, three check frauds. Done some time, about eighteen months. Just dumb luck he saw the show between stints in the slammer.”
He scrolls some more. “And this is all just since he started getting tried as an adult. Sounds like he had more as a juvenile that’s probably still sealed.”
“He was always pretty troubled,” I say. “But he didn’t do any of that stuff when I knew him.”
“Tough life, looks like,” Blitz says. “But the lawyer says even if he does find a way to challenge the adoption, which would be a significant expense just in getting a judge to order the DNA test, lover boy would have to do all sorts of service plans to convince anybody he could be a fit father.”
“I don’t want them to take Gabriella from Gwen.” I realize I’ve said her name out loud and glance around us in a panic. Fortunately, only Aurora’s toddler class is running, and the parents tend to sit inside the studio for that. The hall is quiet.
“We will do everything we can to prevent that,” Blitz says. “Jeff says we can do all sorts of delays and changes of venue to make hiring a lawyer too expensive for him.”
“Did you send him my shots of the adoption papers?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s got them.”
One of the jazz instructors, Jacob, pops out of Studio 2. “Hey, Blitz, I’ve got a kid here who’s showing some serious potential in contemporary. Can you take a look at his moves and give us some pointers?”
“Sure,” Blitz says. “You okay, Livia? You want to come in with us?”
“No,” I say. I really want to just sit and think. Dreamcatcher is my happy place. “Maybe I’ll dance a bit in an empty room.”
“Sounds good.” Blitz pops up and heads into the studio.
But I don’t go into a room to practice, even though I should. I’ve only had my pointe shoes for a month, and I really need to work.
Instead, I think about Denham. I knew he had a criminal history, but I told Blitz the truth. He was fine when he was with us. But he did tell me about his life before us and the things he’d had to do.
When we had that conversation, nothing had happened between us yet. He’d ogled me in a bathing suit, and I’d obsessed over sweat trickling down his back. We’d had a lot of meals together and recently Mom had taken us both shopping for school supplies.
I found myself wanting to be around Denham all the time. So when Mom took Andy to the park for a playdate, I stayed home in hopes of talking to him.
He stayed put in his room, though, and didn’t answer when I knocked.
I gave up. None of my friends were available to come over, so to pass the time, I put on my bathing suit to get some sun.
But looking at myself in the mirror, thinking of Denham watching me, gave me a hot feeling that made me feel more alive than I had ever been. I experimented with the tankini, rolling the top up until it exposed my pale belly. It could use a little color, I reasoned, even though I could picture Denham staring. Another thrill zipped through me.
I picked up a beach towel and a pair of sunglasses and opened the door to my bedroom with as much noise as I could, hoping Denham would come out of his room.
Except he was already out. He was in the kitchen, pouring water in a glass. He wore shorts, and had been doing so more and more since the day he worked in the yard. He was facing away, so I passed behind him silently and reached for the back doorknob.
When he turned and saw me, his eyes locked on my body. I froze, my hand on the cool metal, trying to stay nonchalant as his gaze traveled along my legs, belly, and rested on the top of my suit. Something happened and I glanced down, seeing my nipples puckered like it was cold, even though it wasn’t at all. Without thinking, I pressed my hand to one, and Denham let out a little strangled sound.
When I looked up at him, he had forgotten the glass, and water was overflowing into the sink from the faucet.
“Your glass is full,” I said, and he didn’t respond for a moment. Then he realized his hand was wet and he reached to shut off the flow.
I managed to open the door. “I’m going outside,” I said.
He nodded and brought the glass to his lips. But he forgot how full it was and splashed water on his chin. I laughed a little and headed to the yard.
When I glanced back at the house, I saw he was standing by the window over the sink. My body felt on fire. There was this drumbeat inside me now and I needed him to look at me. I felt desperate for it.
Even as I sat in the chair and adjusted the back so I was angled to the sun, I imagined him sitting next to me, his eyes devouring my skin. Then he wouldn’t be able to resist and would lean over, his lips gently kissing mine. It would be the most incredible thing in the world.
Every kiss I’d ever seen in any movie had looked fantastic. There was more, but the steps to sliding into a bed together were fuzzy to me. That didn’t matter. If Denham kissing me felt as incredible as I knew it would, that would be enough.
I arranged myself in the sun, leaning back, dropping the sunglasses over my eyes. I couldn’t tell anymore if he was watching me, but I imagined that he was, leaning against the kitchen counter, desperately wishing to kiss me.
Then the back door slammed.
He was here.
I kept my eyes closed, as if his arrival wasn’t anything I should pay attention to. But as the moments unfolded, I got curious. I opened one eye, and inhaled sharply to see him sitting in the grass near my feet, just inches away.
“Anybody told you how beautiful you are?” Denham said.
“No,” I said. “I’m actually sort of awkward. My knees are weird and my hip bones stick out and —”
“Stop it,” he said. “You’re perfect.” He shifted closer, so he was next to my knees. “I can’t stop looking at you. Does it bother you?”
My throat got all tight, so I just shook my head no.
“Good,” he said. “I won’t lay a hand on you. That wouldn’t be right, living here and all, but I’m glad you’re all right with me looking.”
My belly sank. Did this mean he wouldn’t kiss me either? I had already imagined us walking down the halls of my new high school, holding hands. The other girls would be all jealous, this cool, confident boy in his jeans and black jacket and chains belonging to me.
But he was right. We lived together. Something about our closeness made the whole thing feel wrong, although I wasn’t sure how.
I shut my eyes again, my skin prickly with him so near. I heard him shift on the ground next to me but forced myself not to look.
After a while, the sun got to me, sweat trickling in uncomfortable places. When I turned to look, Denham was still there, his gaze fixed on my legs. He sensed me watching, and his eyes met mine.
I could actually hear the thunder of my heart. How could we stay so close to each other and not do anything? I was desperate to have him touch me, press his lips against mine. Anything to ease this terrible ache I felt.
My voice shook a little when I asked, “You getting used to being here?”
He kicked back a little, resting on his elbows, facing opposite me in the grass. I stared at the fading restaurant logo on his white T-shirt.
“It’s all right. Not looking forward to school starting.”
“It’s hard to be the new kid, I guess.”
He shrugged. “I won’t go any more than I want to.”
“You’ll skip class?”
He turned to his side and plucked a blade of grass, examining it between his fingers. “I do pretty much what I want.”
“Won’t that keep you from graduating?”
“Don’t care. I can make more money selling stolen car parts or doing deliveries for people than anything I’d do with a diploma.”
I sucked in a breath. “You steal car parts?”
He laughed. “It’s easy. Especially pricy accessories like custom wheels and light runners. There’s a whole market for those things.”
“You’re not afraid of getting caught?”
“I’ve been caught. My friends bail me out. I act all sorry to my juvie officer. I walk.”
I sat up. “You have a juvie officer?” Now I was prickly for different reasons. This boy was a criminal! “Does Dad know?”
“Of course he knows. They contacted him and approved the move.” His grin was deadly. “I’m allegedly going all straight now that I have a proper male role model.”
I settled back down on the chair. “What is it like to steal something?”
He quirked an eyebrow and my heart sped up again. “It’s a rush,” he said. “The idea of doing it is a tickle, sort of like this.”
He ran the blade of grass along my shin, and I shivered.
“And you want to scratch it, to do something really risky and get away with it.” He slid the tendril across my knee. “It’s intense, like riding a wave.”
The grass moved up my thigh. I was feeling it, for sure, the tiny tender blade sending a prickly charge over my skin, his hand so close I could almost feel it. That heat unfurled in me again, but not in my belly this time. Lower. It was unsettling and strong.
Denham wasn’t looking at me now, but at the slender piece of grass making its way along my leg. This was crazy, the heat, this boy, his closeness, the caress as he skimmed my body.
It moved up my thigh, daringly close to dangerous places. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. No one had ever acted like this. Not even in movies. Who was this boy?
The gravel crunched on the side of the house. Mom’s minivan pulling in. Denham looked up at me, his face devilishly charming. He pulled the blade of grass away. “To be continued,” he said.
As he walked back into the house, I yanked my swimsuit top back into place, covering my belly. I wanted to go in, but couldn’t yet, rooted to the chair. I closed my eyes and pictured all sorts of things, remembering Denham’s words about the rush, riding the wave, the itch that needed a really intense scratch.
And his promise. To be continued.
I shake my head to chase away those thoughts. In the hall of Dreamcatcher Dance Academy, a door opens and a mom comes out with a small crying girl in her arms. She holds the little dancer close. “I’m sorry you fell down,” the mom says and kisses the girl’s knee.
“I got hurted,” the girl says between gulping sobs.
“I’m right here,” the mom says. “You’ll be all right.”
I imagine all the hurts Gwen has kissed away for Gabriella in her four years. Then I picture Denham trying to take her away. What would he teach her, exactly? How to jack up a car and steal its tires? How to get parole?
I stand up and head over to Studio 2, where Jacob teaches his class. Blitz is inside, doing a dramatic spin for the kids. They try to follow his example, and Blitz instructs them in how to adjust. He’s good. Good with the little girls, the energetic boys.
Good with me.
I turn to head into one of the empty studios. There’s always one thing I can do to help me through my anxiety and fear.
Dance.