The Storm Before the Calm (7 page)

“You’re not a morning person, are you?”

A familiar voice floated into the room. I knew it was Max before I turned to look at him.

“Not usually,” I replied.

“Good,” he said. “I can’t stand morning people. It’s unnatural. I keep telling Grace we should shift the schedule and have classes start at noon, but she doesn’t see my brilliance.”

He walked over and plopped himself down in front of me, a lot closer than I would have liked. I’d been about to stretch my legs out, but somehow sitting in the near splits, crotch facing him, seemed weird. I pulled my right foot into my lap instead, digging my thumbs into the arch.

“Feet sore?” he asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I admitted.

“Oh, I would. I remember my first day of the summer intensive. I think I cried. Trust me. It doesn’t seem like it today, but your body will adjust. The bad news is today will feel worse than yesterday. You gotta push through it.”

“I think I can do that.” He wasn’t as intimidating as I’d first thought. I still felt mildly flustered talking to him, but when Grace had introduced the junior instructors, I’d assumed they’d be a lot more unapproachable than they were. Talking to Max felt like talking to any of the other students. Still nerve-racking, but that was normal for me.

“Here,” he said, pulling my foot into his lap.

My heart ceased beating temporarily the moment his hand grazed my skin. “What are you—?”

Max quirked one eyebrow. “I learned a trick when I first started. If you squeeze your heel and then kind of roll your fingers like this, it helps alleviate some of the pain. At least while you’re doing it anyway.”

At least, I think that’s what he said. The moment he put pressure on that spot, I think my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I’d never felt anything so good. I was torn between being horrified he was massaging my foot and begging him never to stop.

“Gimme the other one,” he said. I did as I was told, switching feet and letting him slide his fingers around my ankle and down to work at my Achilles tendon. “Good?”

“
So
good,” I said, nodding. “Thank you.”

“No problem. The sore feet suck, and I want you on your A game today. If I’m right about you, and I’m usually right about most things, you’re going to have a very promising career… hopefully with FRDC.”

I smiled, not wanting to tell him this was likely my last foray into the dance world. Real life called, and the summer for me was like Cinderella’s ball. August was midnight, and when the intensive was done, my tap shoes would turn back into pumpkins. Or something. Okay, so it wasn’t a perfect simile, but the truth of it was my mom had thrown me the best going-away party ever. Max didn’t need me to unload all my family drama on him, though, so I smiled and thanked him.

“Have you been dancing here long?” I asked, trying to turn the subject away from me.

“I did my first summer intensive the year I graduated from high school. I was asked to stay on at the end, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“How long ago was that?” I blurted, feeling my cheeks heat as I realized how that sounded. “I didn’t mean you look old… I mean…. No. I was just wondering how long—”

“Charlie, relax.” Max interrupted me before I could ramble on for too long. “I’m twenty-one, so three years.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said brightly. I don’t know why a small gap between our ages made me feel so happy. It felt good to be talking to him, though. I mean, besides the fact that I felt like I might throw up with nerves from being this close to him, I was having a good time.

Two girls I hadn’t seen before stepped into the room then, their heads together, giggling as they walked. They were both brunette, with matching dark purple knit shorts and light purple body suits that crisscrossed in the back. They could have passed for twins, save for the fact that they were slightly different heights, and the taller of the two had green eyes and a flower tucked next to her perfectly styled bun.

The shorter girl shot Max and me a disdainful look as they passed, while the other narrowed her eyes at me as though judging whether or not I was scum. So much for everyone being nice.

“Welcome back, Genevieve,” Max said.

“Max,” Genevieve, who turned out to be the shorter of the two, said.

Her voice was dripping with condescension. I was almost surprised Max hadn’t burst into flames with the hateful look she was giving him. She and her friend sat down at the front of the class, Genevieve in the very center.

“What was that about?” I whispered.

“Long story,” Max said, rolling his eyes.

Slowly, more and more students filtered into the class until the clock struck nine and Sean arrived.

“That’s my cue,” Max said, standing up and walking over to Sean.

Just like the day before, Max led us through a quick warm-up, and then we split off into smaller groups, Sean taking one and Max taking the other. I ended up in Max’s group with Andy and Genevieve’s friend, Kristie. We worked on back handsprings, stalling them midturn into a handstand.

Max demonstrated the technique, starting off low instead of high and swinging his arms up and over his head as he propelled his body backward, landing on his hands and tightening his muscles to stay in a flawlessly held handstand. As he flipped, his shirt pulled up, offering an unobstructed view of his torso as his muscles bunched and tightened, holding him in place. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. My fingers itched to reach out and touch, just to see if he really was that perfect.

He bent at the waist, piking out of it and setting his feet back down on the ground.

“Who wants to go first?” he asked.

No one volunteered. Back handsprings were nothing new for me, but I was used to the heavy momentum that came from propelling my body backward onto my hands. It took a different set of muscles and a new technique to stop halfway and balance upside down.

Andy ended up going first, completing the first part of the handspring but falling sideways out of the handstand.

“Not bad for your first effort,” Max praised. When she had righted herself, her face was red, but there was pride written there.

“Thanks. I’ll do better next time.”

“You’re up, Kristie,” Max said.

Without a word, she gave him a little smirk and stepped forward, turning around and launching herself backward into a perfectly controlled handstand. She held it for a few seconds, opening her legs into the splits and then pressing them back up together.

“Show-off,” Andy muttered, quietly enough that I was the only one who heard her.

“Well done,” Max said.

It was subtle, but I noticed the warmth in his words was missing this time around. He hid it well, but I didn’t think he liked Kristie too much.

“Your turn, Charlie,” he said.

I stepped forward, aligning my toes with the edge of the mat. I knew the basic concept. My body knew how it was supposed to feel. Still, I felt flustered and off-center. The feeling was compounded when Max approached, his feet in a wide stance as he pressed the palm of one hand against my back and the other against my hamstring. I could feel the heat from his touch through the fabric of my clothes, and the simple contact made my head swim. I’d never had someone affect me that way before. Sure, I’d noticed other guys, but I’d hoped it was a passing phase. But here I stood, my blood heating by degrees the longer Max touched me.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

I bent low, swung my arms up above my head, and threw my body backward. My hands collided with the mat, and I felt Max’s grip on my leg tighten as he held me upright for a moment. He let go, and I stepped out of the handstand, righting myself once more.

“Awesome job,” he said. The warmth was back.

Three and a half hours flew by unbelievably fast, and before I knew it, my first full class had ended. I had tap in the afternoon and knew I wouldn’t be seeing Max again until the next day. The thought didn’t sit well with me. I liked his company. He made me feel comfortable, and my nervousness around him was a sort of warm tingle rather than the cold dread I was used to feeling. It was a welcome change.

“Great work today, everyone,” Sean said as we all clapped. Andy bounded over to me and threw her arm over my shoulders.

“Wanna go get some lunch with me?” she asked.

I thought about the anemic-looking sandwich I had stashed in the fridge downstairs. It didn’t take long for me to come up with an answer for her. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure what’s around here. We have an hour, though, and I’m sure there are restaurants all over. Maybe we could walk around and take a look?”

“If you guys like pho, there’s a great place a couple of blocks down. Best pho in the city, in my opinion,” Max said, joining in the conversation.

“Ooh, I haven’t had good pho in ages!” Andy said.

I had no idea what pho was, but Andy and Max clearly did. I felt like an idiot. “Oh yeah. Me too,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing and keeping my fingers crossed it didn’t turn out to be anything too weird. I was already out of my comfort zone, and a small-town boy from South Dakota can only take so much adventure in one day.

“Is it okay if I tag along with you guys?” Max asked.

“Of course,” Andy said, practically giggling.

I looked between them, trying to figure out the dynamic. Her eyes were trained on him, the apples of her cheeks pink. She was twisting her body from side to side, her hands clasped in front of her. I wasn’t great at social cues, but if I had to guess, I would say Andy had a thing for Max.

I turned my gaze to him, studying his body language, and in the back of my mind desperately hoping he didn’t return her feelings. It shouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t know Max. We’d only met the day before, and I had no claim on him. Not that I would have had a shot even if I had called dibs. He was older, more sophisticated. I was a pathetic newbie who lacked the grace and strength that poured off him. There was no way he’d ever be interested in someone like me.

My self-deprecating inner monologue complete, we headed down the stairs and out onto the street, not bothering to change into our street clothes. I thought Andy would be bothered, but I guess no one looks twice at a girl in a leotard and booty shorts walking down the street in New York.

T
HE
PHO
restaurant was a block away, toward the water, tucked into a little space between a dry cleaner and a clothing store. There was a line of people out the door, but Max assured us it was worth the wait. If the scent floating out was anything to go by, he was right.

Diners were fired through the line at lightning speed, and within a few minutes we were at the front. There were no tables or chairs inside, just a cooler with drinks and a counter to order at. The menu was printed on a large board that hung on the wall, and as I looked it over, I realized I was going to make a complete fool out of myself trying to order. I had no idea how to pronounce anything on it.

We got to the counter, and Max went first. “I’ll have the
pho tai, nam
please,” he said.

Andy stepped up next to him. “Same for me please.”

Oh, what the hell. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I stood next to Max. “Make that three please,” I said. How bad could it be, really?

The woman produced three takeout containers a few moments later. We paid for our meals, left, and walked back toward the studio.

“Want to eat up on the High Line?” Max asked.

I didn’t know what that was either, but apparently it was a day for discovery. He led us to a set of stairs that opened out onto a pathway raised in the air. Green space decorated the sides and every so often there were benches to sit on. We found an empty one and sat down. Between the tall grasses and the short trees we had a view of the Hudson River. On the bench next to us two businessmen were eating lunch, and moms with strollers walked past. Every so often someone would run past, the music blaring from their headphones providing a temporary soundtrack for our meal.

I opened my container, and the mouthwatering smell from the restaurant was back. The soup was colorful and looked delicious. It had noodles, vegetables, and super thin strips of beef, with a flavorful broth that everything had cooked in. It tasted as good as it smelled.

We sat in silence, save for the quiet slurping sounds that accompanied eating soup, enjoying the view and one another’s company. Our friendship was in its infancy, but somehow the quiet wasn’t awkward between us. We finished eating and placed our garbage in a trash can on the way back to the studio. Andy walked between Max and me, although she was much closer to Max than she was to me. I tried to tamp down the little flare-up of jealousy, berating myself internally for being so stupid.

We arrived back at the studio in plenty of time for our afternoon classes. I bid my new friends good-bye as I retreated into the locker room to grab my tap shoes, then headed up to class.

Chapter Eight

I
T
WAS
already Friday of my first week. Part of me couldn’t believe how quickly the week had passed, each class blinking by at lightning speed, and part of me couldn’t believe my body was still in one piece. Everything hurt. My blisters had blisters. I’d never known pain like the pain I felt as the clock clicked over to five.

I loved every bit of it.

We clapped as we finished the last class—contemporary—which was the best way to end my week. Not only was it my favorite style of dance, and I loved the instructor, but if I was being honest, Max had a lot to do with my renewed appreciation for it.

We’d grown closer as the week had progressed. He’d somehow run into Andy and me at the start of each lunch break and tagged along with us to wherever we were going. Most of the time we’d taken our lunches back to the High Line and eaten up there, looking out over the Hudson River.

I’d stopped feeling like I was going to swallow my tongue every time I tried to talk to him, but the electric feeling in my hands and the fluttering in my belly hadn’t subsided in the least. I caught myself staring at him more often than was easily explained away. Andy had caught me a couple of times and shot me a look I couldn’t decipher. It didn’t look like a happy one though.