The Right Moves (The Game #3)(11)
Author: Emma Hart

And he’s about as interesting as a one hundred meter race being run by a group of slugs.

I make a non-committal sort of noise I hope she’ll take as an agreement. Occasionally it’s easier to just say nothing.

“So, my news!”

Spit it out, woman.

“My shoes are moving Stateside!”

Oh God no.

“They are?” I ask hesitantly.

“Yes! I have a long weekend of meetings in New York in two weeks’ time, and I wanted to let you know now so you can make sure your schedule is clear. It would be nice to have dinner one night and catch up. You can tell me all about your fair- er, dancing.”

I fall sideways, burying my face in a cushion. “That’s great, Mum. I’m really happy for you. I know you’ve waited for this.” Okay, so I’m a half-hearted happy for her. At least the half of me that’s happy is beyond ecstatic… If only because now Dad doesn’t have to hear her bitching about American fashion chains and their rejection of her British designs any longer.

“It’s been a long time coming. So, about dinner. I land on Thursday morning, so Thursday night would be best for me. I can’t be late though, as I have a meeting at eight am on Friday and the jet lag will be a killer as it is.”

“I have dance class on Thursdays.”

“Well, you’ll have to miss a class.”

“No can do, Mum. I could be dying and Bianca would expect me to be there, shoes on and ready to perform to a world class standard.”

“Well, when do you leave your class?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“I suppose we can have dinner at eight.” She sighs. “Really, I can’t wait for the day you’ll give up on this silly dream of dancing.”

I bite my tongue as she carries on her all-familiar tirade about my choice to dance. As always, Tori doesn’t factor into it. And it makes me even more determined to succeed.

And even more pissed that Mum’s shoes finally cross the Atlantic mere days after I do.

~

I head into Bianca’s studio for an afternoon dance session. There isn’t really enough room to practice in my apartment, so I pulled her aside after our last class and asked to use the space this weekend. She readily agreed, telling me she’ll be doing paperwork anyway.

The large room is eerily silent without anyone else here. The only time it’s been this quiet is on Thursday when I watched Abbi dance to a melody only she could hear. Even then, I was too enthralled by her graceful movements to notice the lack of background noise.

I slip off my joggers and hoodie and swap my socks for ballet shoes. My eyes trawl around the studio, and I can’t remember the last time I had this much room to dance alone. A part of me doesn’t want to remember. So I don’t.

I dance instead.

I throw myself into it with everything I have. All the rising emotion inside me – the uncertainty about moving here, the hesitance of living alone, the fear of failure – comes pouring out through the tips of my fingers and my toes. I dance unconsciously, aware of my feet touching the floor and lifting off but not aware of anything else. My posture, positions, steps… I don’t know anything about them.

They’re just there.

I stop, my breathing heavy. Emotion and ballet has always been a heady mixture for me, both a blessing and a curse. Today, it seems to be the latter, and I blame Mum’s phone call. She always brings out the worst in me.

I cross the floor toward my bag, ready to go sooner than I expected, but Bianca’s voice stops me.

“I don’t see people like you often.”

“I’m not quite sure how I’m meant to take that.” I turn to her, my hand hovering over my hoodie.

She smiles. “It’s a compliment. Usually, the people that dance as well as you do don’t need me. They’re already at Juilliard. Teaching someone of your skill is a rare treat for me, and this year I have two of you.”

“Abbi.”

Her smile twitches into a smirk. “Yes. Both of you have a quality about you I can’t put my finger on. I’ve seen hundreds, maybe even thousands, of dancers, yet you two are something completely different. It’s almost as if you’re both meant to dance, alone and together.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“I am.” She crosses the room, her bare feet silent against the floor. “Every year I kick off my classes with a grand pas de deux. I’m pairing you with Abbi for three reasons. One; you’re the only person she’s spoken to, and that’s important for her. Two; your builds match each other. And three…” Bianca looks up, tilting her head to the side. “…The romantic ballerina inside me is too curious to see what you two will come up with.”

I frown. “Why is it so important for her to have spoken to someone?”

“Because it is.”

I remember the shadows in her eyes. The ones that captured my attention from the first second I looked into those baby blues. The ones that echo my sister’s.

“She dances for more than just the love of ballet, doesn’t she?” I question softly.

Bianca takes some papers from the top of the piano. “You’re asking me questions I cannot answer, Blake. Abbi’s reasoning for dancing is hers and hers alone, and the only person with any right to share that is her.” Her eyes meet mine as she walks back toward her office. “Perhaps, in time, she’ll share it with you herself. I sincerely hope she does.”

She disappears through the doors, leaving me staring after her and hoping for the same thing.

Chapter Seven – Abbi

I barely have a chance to comprehend the auburn hair flying at me before my best friend’s arms wrap around me. Maddie squeezes me tightly, and as I hug her back, breathing in her familiar smell, my eyes begin to burn with tears. I never realize how much I’ve missed her until I get to see her. It’s only been four months, but so much has happened since her last trip home it feels like so much longer.

“God! Your hair! You!” She squeezes me again. “You’re at home! You’re okay.”

I pull back and look at her. “I’m okay. Of course I’m okay.”

Her green eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and she nods. “I just… I wanted you to get better so bad, and now you are.”

“Well, sort of. I’m getting better. Slowly.”

Maddie finally lets me go and wipes under her eyes. “I’m gonna grab coffee, okay?”