Before You Go (20 page)

No, but it’s time.

My face burns a little and my teeth chatter as I surprisingly say, “Okay. Where should I start?”

“At the beginning,” she says quietly. “Why are you here with us, Tabby?”

I gulp down some air, let it out, and begin at the beginning. “Well,” I say, wringing my hands.

“
I…I had a really hard time at my old school.” I stop and take a drink of my coffee. I’m not sure I can let Jules into all of this, but I don’t know how I can avoid it.

I try again. “I slipped into major depression
last year, after I lost everything—my friends, my boyfriend, my dance career. I became the biggest loser in school. After…I was sexually assaulted at a hockey party.”

And there it is, as simple and as complex as that. I just say it, finally ripping off the Band-Aid. I wait for the sting. I wait for the gasps and stares. There are none. There are only concerned faces encouraging me to go on. So I do.

“My friend talked me into performing this dance for my boyfriend at the party. It was just this innocent routine we were doing to be funny, but someone slipped something in my drink and the innocent dance turned into a strip show. At least that’s what I pieced together after.”

Reece nods and Jules leans in. I drink more coffee.

My voice starts to waver and Jules puts her hand on mine. She wills me her courage, I can feel it.

“Some of the guys touched me and made me dance for them. They took pictures and circulated them all over campus. I tried to press charges, but it looked like I was just a slutty girl who got out of control and wanted somebody to blame. Everyone found out about it, my family and the entire school. I was kicked out of the dance show. Everyone dumped me, all my friends, the other dancers, even my mom. I guess I dumped myself too.”

The more I talk, the lighter I feel, but the sadness is still there. So I cry big, fat, ugly tears. The kind that makes your face swell up and get all blotchy. The shame kicks in and I can’t handle the way they are looking at me. The way Jules, my only friend, is looking at me.

What if I can’t trust her? What if she tells Noah?

Panic takes over.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them. “This is too hard. God, I need to go.”

Before they can protest, I rush out of the backroom, through the hall, and into the coffee shop. A row of cabs waits outside the door.

I go out
into the bitter air and jump in.

###

Later that
night, I recover in my room. I read some of Maya Angelou’s poems and come across one that couldn’t be more perfect.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

Or course, I know nothing of racism or slavery or poverty. But I know what it’s like to be abused and treated like trash. I know what it’s like to be silenced. I know what it is like to be broken and forgotten. I also know, thankfully, how to rise. So I don’t think Maya would mind me taking her poem as mine.

I read it again and again,
like a prayer, and let the words fill the last of the holes in my heart.

THIRTY-FIVE

The holiday break continues and, surprisingly, I’m okay. Better than okay. I talk to Noah each night and for once, I begin concentrating on me. My feelings, my therapy, my studies, my workouts and…my family. What’s that old saying, “You can’t love someone else until you learn to love yourself?” Well, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.

Jules has called a few times. I don’t talk to her. Despite her gossiping ways, I do trust her and know she’ll keep my secret. I’m just not ready to face her yet.

What I am ready to face, though, is my dancing career. Michael’s been sending me links to local auditions and I’ve been following the Minneapolis dance scene on my own. There is a small company hosting auditions today and at the very last possible moment, I decide to go.

###

Inside t
he theater is a mass of lithe bodies wearing numbers on their chests. I pin mine on and take a spot on the floor, blocking out the chatter all around me.

I can do this.

“Ladies,”
the choreographer calls out from the wings. “I am Kevin and I’ll be teaching the steps today.”

Kevin is small, rail thin, and
dressed in all black. He doesn’t walk; he glides as he makes his way downstage.

“Let’s begin,” he says
.

And when the music fills the room,
we follow Kevin through our warm up.

After flowing through all the positions, he shows
us the combinations. I’m a little rusty at first, but settle into a decent groove. Not great, but pretty solid. Some of the girls let their nerves get the best of them and I know from experience, they won’t make the next cut. The instructors in the audience frantically take notes on our progress.

Next
up is the floor work. The dancers make six lines on stage right and start turning and leaping across the floor while Kevin claps the beat. One of the assistants begins pulling dancers out of the lineup. Their time is done, and our group is shrinking.

The rest of us get back in line while Kevin
puts us into groups of three for the next combination. I’m with a tall brunette and tiny redhead. They are both amazing.

We work our way through all of the
drills, no problem.

The assistant begins pulling dancers again. But I’m still alive.

The next sequence is for a solo performance, so we split up and wish each other luck before we do our final dance.

I am home
.

THIRTY-SIX

The New Year comes in with a blizzard while I’m at Dad and Amy’s. Two feet of snow pours down over three days—which creates quite the extended holiday vacation. We are totally homebound and there is a whole lot of togetherness going on. Dad spends the day helping neighbors by using his snowblower to clear driveways and sidewalks, while Amy and I cook up recipes a la Cuba.

“We need some spice up in here,” she tells me. I help her make her grandmother’s tamales and some corn stew thingy. It’s to die for.

We play
Scrabble and read books during the times our cable is out, watch bad TV when the cable is working, and eat like it’s our job. By the third day, we all have cabin fever and when school finally resumes, it’s a welcome change to get out of the house and back to normal activity.

The first day back, I’m
bursting at the seams to see Noah. He got home yesterday, but is on deadline with a huge story for the newspaper—one he said could put him on the map—so we didn’t have the romantic
welcome back
night I was hoping for. My body is literally in pain, aching for him.

When I get to the commons,
Noah is waiting for me. His lip twitches, but he tries to cover it with a smile. He doesn’t have gloves on and is rubbing his hands together so fierce I think he’s going to start a fire. I watch him and melt. I cover his hands with my gloves. “You are not dressed appropriately for this weather, Mr. Adler,” I scold.

“I know
,” he says as he moves in, resting his head on my shoulders. He whispers in

my ear,
“I was running late and didn’t want to miss you. I barely remembered my shoes.” He

smile
s his Noah smile, a dimple sinking deep in his cheek. “Shit, you are even more beautiful

than I remembered.”

I plant a loud kiss on his lips because I can’t help myself.

He, in turn, takes the glove off my hand and kisses each finger. His thoughtful motion stirs something deep inside, something in me that I thought was lost for good. Something I wasn’t sure I had the right to claim. Then
the devil slides one of my fingers into his mouth and my stomach turns ten somersaults.

“How was your vacation?” I ask, trying to pull myself together.

“Terrible,” he answers. “I missed you.
”

“I missed
you, too,” I admit.

We huddle together and walk to class. Actually,
Noah walks me to each and every class.

I’m sure he’s late all day.
And when he walks me to poly sci, the look Jenna gives both of us is deadly. And when she hovers over my desk inside the classroom, it’s downright frightening.

“You know, I don’t care one iota
about you and Noah,” she says when I get to my desk. Her voice is sweet and scathing all at the same time.

“You shouldn’t,” I interrupt. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh rea
lly?” she asks. “Then why was Noah forced to tell you all about me, our past, and the fact that we’re no longer involved?”

She answers her own question, “To keep you from getting psycho jealous, that’s why. But let me tell you something, Tabby
. If you think your little fuck fest is going to change how he feels about me, you’re even more stupid than you look.” She leans in close but keeps the smile on her face. “It’s not like he hasn’t tried before. It’s funny though, the girls never seem to stick.”

“Jenna,” I say, knowing I have to do something to calm her to prevent a scene. “I don’t expect Noah to change his relationship with you.”

Okay, so I lie to do it.

“I’m not the enemy,” I tell her.

But Jenna
is,
and I know it’s best to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

“
Right, you’re just another charity case Noah’s trying to save,” she snaps. “It’s pathetic.”

“It seems to me that you’re the charity case, Jenna,” I blurt. So much for preventing a scene. I get in her face and don’t back down. “Why can’t you just let Noah go?”

“We have a history that you’ll never understand,” she stutters, lacing her fingers in an effort to steady her shaking hands. “You can’t change that. He would never let that happen.” She seems unconvinced by her own words.

“You mean
you
would never let that happen,” I say.

“
I don’t really care who he fucks, Tabby. It will be over soon enough. In the meantime, just stay out of my way.”

“Done.” I nod at the request, hoping she isn’t right.

THIRTY-SEVEN

After class,
Noah insists I meet him at the paper. When I get there, he’s at his desk wearing his black-rimmed glasses, looking all Clark Kent sexy, but something isn’t right. His face is strained.

I know just how to fix that.

“How’s is going?” I ask him when I come into his office, pushing his papers aside to settle in between him and the desk. “You look like you could use a stress reliever.”

I grab his belt buckle and wiggle my eyebrows. I’m dying to get my hands on him.

“Tabby,” he grabs my fingers, his face is ashen.

“What?” I’m suddenly worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” He exhales.

“Is it the article?”

He swallows and nods, unable to meet my eyes.

“Why have you been so secretive? What’s the article about?”

“I didn’t mean to be secretive, Tab,” he begins. “The article is about sexual assault and college athletes. Pretty disturbing stuff. Not exactly something I wanted to talk about during our…
time
together.”