Bunheads (19 page)

“I’m cutting back a little,” I allow.

“I hope Otto doesn’t know about this,” he says.

Involuntarily, I shudder a little. What would Otto or Annabelle say to me?
You look like cooked asparagus in class, and you want to cut back on your workouts?
“I hope not, too. But it’s not like I’m skipping class or rehearsal. I’m just bailing on Pilates and the gym.”
Because why kill myself if no one notices?
“I tried to find you at that party, you know,” I go on.
And I was hoping to somehow catch sight of you the other night when I was at NYU
, I think. I pause while I work up the nerve to say what I already said in the e-mail. “So, do you want to hang out sometime?”

It takes Jacob a little while to reply, and in those moments
I imagine a parade of pretty NYU girls, each one of them more than willing to make time for him.

Eventually he says, “Yeah, but under one condition.”

“What?”

“I want to see what it is that keeps you so busy,” Jacob says. “I want to see you dance.”

My stomach does a somersault of nervousness, but what can I say? I dance for strangers every night—I ought to be able to do it for a guy I’ve got a crush on. “Um—all right,” I say.

“Great,” he says firmly. “When?”

“I’ll get you a comp ticket,” I say. Then I picture him alone in the audience, too far back in the vast, ornate theater to even see which one of the corps girls is me. “Or no, never mind that,” I say. “Come on Saturday night. Are you free?”

There’s another pause. In my imagination, a lovely brunette slips Jacob her number in the library. “Uh, yeah,” Jacob finally says. “I am free, actually.”

“Great,” I say, erasing the brunette from my mind. “You can stand backstage.”

“That sounds awesome,” Jacob says. “I can’t wait.”

Half an hour before the Saturday evening performance, I have all my makeup on. My hair is up in a high bun, with a silk flower pinned to it. But I’m still wearing my sweats and a loose-fitting T-shirt.

I take the elevator down to the stage door at street level.
Arden, the security guard on duty tonight, gives me a smile. Thank goodness it’s not Frank working tonight. He won’t even let delivery guys come into the building, much less allow guests backstage.

“Hey, Arden.” I smile sweetly at her.

Arden looks up from her sudoku book and tosses her braids off her shoulder. “Hi, Hannah-girl.”

“Hey, is it cool if my friend comes back for a sec?” I point to Jacob, who’s sitting on a bench by her desk, waiting to get buzzed in. He looks up and waves.

Arden inspects him, a slight smile on her face. “He looks trustworthy,” she says after a moment. “No problem.”

I motion to Jacob, who rises. As he comes closer, he looks at me carefully, sort of like he’s not really sure who I am.

“Hey, bunhead.” He turns his head slowly from side to side. “Wow, you really shellac that stuff on.” He reaches up and touches my eyelashes gently with his finger.

“They’re fake,” I say, fluttering them at him.

Jacob laughs. “Yeah, I thought they looked a little longer than usual.”

As we walk up the stairs to the stage level, Jacob reaches out and takes my hand. “I’m kind of nervous,” he whispers.

I smile at him. “
You’re
nervous? You’re not the one who has to go onstage!”

“True,” he acknowledges. “But you gotta admit, I stick out a little.” He points to his sneakers and jeans. “I would have worn my leotard, but it’s at the cleaner’s.”

I wrap my fingers tighter around his. I’m so glad to see him,
even if I’m too shy to show it. And having him here makes me feel better about everything—even the terrible rehearsals I’ve had. “So, I’m not really supposed to do this, but you’re going to watch from the wing.”

His brow furrows with concern. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“You won’t. Just stay out of people’s way. And don’t make a sound.” I realize that sounds a little harsh, so I smile and squeeze his hand again. “You’ll be fine. If anyone gives you a problem, just say you’re my brother.”

He shoots me a doubtful look. “Maybe we should stop holding hands if we’re related,” he teases.

“No one’s going to notice you. Just make sure to turn your phone off,” I tell him, and watch as he slips his phone from his pocket and switches it to vibrate.

We take the back hallway to stage right in order to avoid Christine, who’s jabbering into her headset as she tries to deal with a loose scrim.

Backstage, Adriana is stretching her near-skeletal limbs at the barre, Julie is running her solo, her dark eyes fierce with concentration, and Daisy is putting on her shoes by the rosin box. Jacob’s eyes grow wider as he takes it all in. I want to stay with him, but I’m anxious to get my shoes and costume on, so I place him in the front wing, nestled between the black velvet curtain and the scaffolding that holds up the lights.

I slip on my shoes and sew in, and then I hurry to the Green Room to put on my costume. I’m jittery as Laura helps me into my flesh-tone chiffon dress.

“What’s with you tonight?” she asks. “Days of moping around, and now you’re bouncing like a Mexican jumping bean.”

“I had a big coffee,” I lie.

I hurry backstage again to find Jacob watching intently as Julie marks through her pas de deux with Sam. I sneak up behind him and tap his shoulder. He whirls around, a look of near panic on his face. Then, when he sees it’s me, he smiles.

“Wow, I thought I was busted,” he says.

“Nope, just me,” I say, poking him.

“You look…” He pauses as he steps back to get the full ballerina effect. “Well, Hannah Ward, you look amazing.” Then he leans close to me again and whispers, “I’d give you a kiss, but I don’t think your lip gloss would look that great on me.”

Beneath my pancake makeup I can feel myself blushing.

“Places!” Christine calls, clapping her hands together.

“Whoa—gotta go.” I flash Jacob a smile and then dash off to find my opening position onstage next to Daisy and Adriana.

“
Merde
,” I say to Daisy, and I give her butt a little pat.

The lights go down as the orchestra tune their instruments. Then the strings begin the overture. I smooth my costume and wait for the curtain to rise.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Daisy whispers, grinning.

I glance over toward the first wing. It’s almost pitch-black, but as the lights illuminate the stage, I can make out Jacob’s profile from behind the boom.

“Yes,” I hiss.

“
Merde
,” she says, winking at me.

Then the curtain rises, and the cool air from the house is
released like a billow of wind over the stage. I’m aware that Jacob’s watching, but instead of being distracted, I’m fueled by his presence. I piqué arabesque, tombé toward the wing, and soutenu opposite Daisy. I look over to the front wing to see Jacob smiling broadly.

When the violins begin the adagio section, we bourrée and pose in a semicircle around Julie as she executes her first solo. We sauté, chassé, tour jeté, and kneel as Sam enters for the pas de deux, and then we turn and bourrée into the wing.

I catch my breath and take a quick sip from my water bottle. I have a few moments before my next entrance, so I walk over to Jacob. The expression on his face is one of amazement.

I touch his shoulder lightly. “So, what do you think?”

“This is the coolest thing ever,” he whispers. “I love being back here—it feels like I’m right onstage with you guys.”

I smile as I dab the beads of sweat from my brow. “I should have gotten you up in the flies. The view’s even better from up there.”

“The what?”

I point up to where Harry is sitting at his desk. “Way up there,” I say. “Well, maybe you can try that next time. I’ve got to go. See you in a few!”

I jog to the last wing, feeling his eyes on me. I like knowing he’s there, and I want to impress him.

I reenter for the coda with Emma and Daisy, and I push myself as the music reaches a crescendo and we near the finale. My lungs feel like they’re going to explode, but I make it to the final pose without a single misstep.

Moments later, during the bows, I glance over to see Jacob clapping with such enthusiasm that I’m afraid Christine’s going to yell at him. As the curtain comes down, I go over to him, breathless but energized. He holds his arms out as if I should step right into them, but I don’t, because I’m dripping with sweat.

“You’re incredible, Hannah,” he says.

“All in a day’s work,” I say. I’m so glad he saw a good performance—the way I’ve been feeling lately, I wasn’t sure I had it in me.

“Don’t be so modest.”

“It’s a fun ballet,” I say. “Some of them I don’t like as much.” I bend over. “Ooph, I have got to get these shoes off.”

“Do they hurt?”

I stand up and look him in the eye. “
Everything
hurts.”

He takes my arm as I walk back to the Green Room. “Let me buy you a drink. I need to toast your amazingness.”

“Stop flattering me, will you?” I say, laughing.

“Flattery implies insincerity, and I’m completely sincere when I tell you that you blew my mind,” he says.

“Enough! If I agree to one drink, will you stop talking about it? You’re embarrassing me.”

“Fine,” he says. “It’s a deal.”

Jacob waits outside the theater while I shower and change. He gives me grief for coming outside with wet hair, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder protectively as we walk up Broadway in the chilly night.

We head toward Kelly’s Pub, which is sort of a dive, but it’s
close and they don’t card. Once inside, we seat ourselves on stools at the bar. I’m relieved that no other dancers are here. It’s not that I want to keep Jacob a secret, but I don’t want to be interrogated in company class tomorrow, which I would be if, say, Jonathan were somewhere in the room. I order a glass of merlot, and Jacob orders a beer. We swivel on our stools, and our knees keep touching.

“It was so cool to see you in your element,” Jacob says. “I mean, I pictured what you did, but this is really on a whole other level. You’re a total pro.”

I elbow him. “You said you’d stop talking about it.”

“You’re blushing.” Jacob grins. “Fine. What should we talk about instead?”

I search my mind for an appropriate topic. The thing is, I’m so tired by now that my brain hardly works. “I have absolutely no idea,” I say.

“Well, I played at this new place last week,” Jacob offers. “It’s called Satyricon; have you heard of it? No? What a shock! Well, this drunk guy kept trying to sing along with my set. At first I tried to harmonize with him, but I had to give up because he was terrible. After a while he just passed out, and the bouncers carried him out to a cab.” Then Jacob spins around on his stool. “Voilà,” he says. “There’s a little anecdote from my life. Now it’s your turn.”

I try to spin around, too, and I almost knock over my wine. “That makes me think of last year when a guy climbed onstage during intermission,” I say. “He was trying to find the split in the curtain so he could get backstage. They had to delay the show,
and Christine called the cops and everything. I was stretching back there when they brought him through in handcuffs.”

Jacob peers at me over his beer. “You guys must have all sorts of crazed fans, right?”

I think about Matt and how he sent me all those balloons and gourmet lunches.
Not
all
crazed fans are bad
, I want to say. “I read about this ballerina in the eighteen hundreds, and supposedly her fans would cook her slippers and eat them with, like, pasta sauce.”

“You’re joking.”

I hold up my hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“I must say, that is truly disgusting.”

“I know!” I say, laughing. “Not even pesto could make that taste good.”

Jacob laughs, too, and then he motions for me to lean close. “You were really beautiful out there,” he whispers.

I can feel his breath on my cheek, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “Thanks,” I whisper back.

Then Jacob sits up straight again and takes my hand in his. “And since you introduced me to something new,” he says, “I think that the day after tomorrow I should do the same for you. It’s only fair. And since the day after tomorrow is a Monday, you can’t possibly tell me that you have rehearsal.”