The Storm Before the Calm (8 page)

All the students piled out of the class, chatting about what they were going to do with their weekend. I knew what I was going to do. It involved Epsom salts, a hot bath, and my bed. I didn’t plan on getting out of it for the next two days. I picked up my water bottle and trudged toward the door, visions of my fluffy duvet foremost in my mind.

“Charlie!” Max called. “Hang on a sec, okay?”

I paused near the door and waited as he bounded over to me. I had no idea how he had so much energy. I was ready to fall over dead on the spot, and he was actually
bouncing
.

“I wanna talk to you about something really quick. You don’t have to answer right away, but I was wondering if you wanted to work with me on a piece for OutShine.”

I looked at him, not sure what to say. I didn’t know what OutShine was, but a chance to work with him on something sounded amazing. I didn’t know what I could do for him, but I wanted to agree right then and there, even without all the details.

“FRDC does a group number or two for the end of the festival every year, but I wanted to do something on my own this year. Initially I thought a solo, but… well… I saw you dance, and I thought we would work well together.”

I was dumbfounded. He wanted to duo with me? That seemed insane to me, but I nodded. I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity like that.

“I’ve talked to Grace,” he continued, “and she’s said that we can use the studio space after hours. I could choreograph it, or we could do the choreo together, but I think it’s going to be great. Like I said, I don’t want you to answer now. You can take the weekend to think about it. It would be a lot of extra work, and I’ve never choreographed something professionally before. I mean, it’s not for a competition or anything, so way less pressure… and I’m rambling.”

He pushed a crumpled piece of paper into the palm of my hand.

“This is my number. Text me this weekend if you want, or if you have any questions or anything. But really, take as long as you want to decide. No pressure at all.”

If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought he was nervous. But a guy like Max didn’t get nervous. I’d seen the way he walked into a room, like he commanded the attention of every person there, but in a way that wasn’t as douchey as some of the people in the dance world.

He gave me one last lopsided smile and then ducked past me, leaving me alone in the room, still trying to compute what had just happened. I pocketed the number and grabbed my things before heading back down to the locker room. I hoped Max was still there. I’d been momentarily dumbfounded by the prospect of dancing with him, but I’d be an idiot if I said no. I wanted to tell him right away.

The locker room was vacant by the time I descended the stairs, though. Disappointment fell on me, and I grabbed my bag and headed out into the sunlight and toward the train.

F
RIDAY
AFTERNOON
on the subway was busier than I’d seen yet. There was barely enough room to squeeze in, and I hit the guy behind me with my bag more than once. I smiled over my shoulder, trying to look sheepish enough that he would know it’d been an accident. Apparently it didn’t matter if it was accidental or not, and I was rewarded with a glare of epic proportions.

I shrugged it off, feeling more like a New Yorker than ever, even if I’d only been there a week. Hooking my arm around the metal pole that served as a stabilization bar, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Holding it in my left hand, I transferred Max’s number from the piece of paper into my contact list. When I was finished, I shoved the slip of paper back into my pocket. I wanted to keep it, to study his handwriting in the privacy of my room. Apparently I was a fourteen-year-old girl. Rolling my eyes at myself, I mentally made a note to get a grip before I pulled up my messages and composed a new one.

Charlie: Yes

By the time I made it to Lincoln Center, I realized Max probably had no idea who the message had come from. I lifted my phone up to write another text when I saw that he had replied.

Max: You made my whole weekend. I can’t wait to get started.

My heart leaped a little in my chest.

I paused for a moment, thinking about whether I should respond or not. Really, it would be rude not to. I started typing, then changed my mind and deleted the words before starting again. I must have typed up at least eight or nine messages before I came up with one I didn’t think sounded too asinine.

Charlie: Me neither.

Okay, so maybe not the most intelligent response, but the fewer words, the less likely Max was to think I was an idiot. Straightforward and to the point. And true. I was itching to get started. A part of me was terrified I wouldn’t be able to keep up. Max danced with such strength and confidence. It was something I had never managed to learn.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, alerting me to another text.

Max: Wanna start tomorrow?

I stared at the words, trying to process the thought of giving up the Epsom salts and forty-eight glorious hours sitting on my ass, but in the end, there wasn’t a choice to be made.

Charlie: Definitely.

Max: Ten? Sleep in a little?

Charlie: Perfect.

I crammed my phone back into my pants and leaned more heavily on the metal bar, resigned to the fact that my body wasn’t going to get a rest.

The train arrived at my stop, and I pushed my way through the mass of passengers to step out onto the platform before the doors closed and trapped me inside. Taking a trip up into Harlem wasn’t on my to-do list for the evening. As I walked the last few blocks to Aunt Ginny’s, I stared at my phone screen again, rereading Max’s message over and over.
You made my whole weekend. I can’t wait to get started.
I tried to contain my smile so I didn’t look like one of the crazy people roaming the streets of Manhattan.

T
HAT
NIGHT
I crawled into bed, still high on the thought of Max asking me to dance with him and even higher on the messages he’d sent. I pulled my phone out again, checking for the thirty-seventh time that I hadn’t imagined everything.

I was staring at the message when my phone starting ringing. I tapped the screen to answer. My stomach knotted. Max maybe? I hesitated. I knew it was insane, but somehow talking to him on the phone seemed scarier than talking to him in person. I took a breath and tapped the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Charlie?”

“Ems! Hey! How’s San Francisco?”

“It’s amazing. Words can’t even. I’m never leaving here. The ballet class is insane. Seriously, I think they were trying to rip my legs right outta the sockets with some of the stretches, but I can already tell it’s going to make me a better dancer. How’s New York? I want to know everything.”

I smiled. She’d always spoken a mile a minute, but when she got excited, there was no stopping her… or understanding everything that came tumbling out of her mouth. I was pretty sure I’d pieced together most of it, though. “So far it’s good. So much different than back home, but a good different.”

“I’m so glad you’re liking it. I just wish you were closer. Why’d we have to go to programs on opposite sides of the continent? No one here is as cool as you are. I’ve met a few people, but they all kinda suck. They’re uptight and serious, and no one knows how to laugh at me like you do.”

“I miss you too, Ems.”

“What are the people like there? Have you met anyone cool?”

I thought about everything that had happened in the last week, about the connections I’d made and the people I’d met. Mostly I thought about Max, and for a moment, I wanted to spill my guts about everything to her. But instead I went with, “Kinda. A guy named Max and a girl named Andy.”

“This Andy chick had better not replace me. I’ll have to come down there and shank a bitch. And you know an orange jumpsuit would totally wash me out. I can’t pull off autumn hues with my coloring.”

I laughed. “I promise she’s not replacing you. We’ve just had lunch a couple of times. Our classes coincide most days.”

“Oooh… do you like her? Like, like her like her?” Emily’s voice had suddenly taken on a Disney Princess quality.

“No, it’s not like that.” Not with her, at least. “But what are you, in the sixth grade? Should I pass her a note with checkboxes to see if she’d go out with me?”

“I thought you said you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t. That’s not the point.”

“Okay. Whatever, Charlie.” And then she launched into a fully detailed, down to the freckle, account of every guy in her program. I didn’t hear most of it, my mind having been sidetracked into thinking about Max again. Eventually Emily wound down and we said our good-byes.

I was exhausted. I put the phone down and turned off my light, and I was asleep minutes later.

I
WOKE
up the next morning before my alarm went off, which was in itself a small miracle, being that I’d likely gotten less than three hours of sleep the night before. It was worse than Christmas. It was worse than my birthday. Although, truth be told, I hadn’t been excited for either of those events in a very long time. My mom nearly always had to work, and something about celebrating by yourself took some of the fun out of special occasions.

I was up, showered, shaved, and dressed within a matter of minutes, and I headed to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast before I left. I checked my watch again as I pushed the lever down on the toaster. Quarter to nine. I had plenty of time, but I wanted to work it out perfectly. I would be mortified if I was late, but getting there too early, standing and waiting by the door, would make me look like an overeager puppy—which I was—but I didn’t want Max to know that.

“You’re up early on a Saturday,” Ginny said, walking into the kitchen and filling the kettle with water.

“I’m heading to the studio in a few minutes,” I replied as my toast popped. I grabbed it gingerly so as not to burn my fingertips and set it on my plate before I buttered it.

“I thought you had weekends off.”

“Well, I do, but one of the junior instructors asked me if I wanted to work on a special project with him.”

“Oh?” The tone of Ginny’s voice made the tips of my ears feel hot. There was nothing going on with Max and me, but the way she spoke made me feel momentarily guilty.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. Just something fun.”

“All right, then. Will you be home for supper?”

Relieved the subject had changed, I replied, “I should be. I don’t know if my feet could take it if I wasn’t.”

“Okay. I’m actually off tonight. Maybe we can order in from the barbeque place down the block?”

“That sounds perfect.” I scarfed down my toast, washing it down with a glass of orange juice. “I should get going.”

I still had lots of time, but I didn’t want Ginny to question me about Max. The way she’d looked at me made me think she knew something was up. I didn’t know if there was anything up for her to know about, but the way my insides felt melty when Max looked at me wasn’t something I wanted to share with my aunt—or anyone for that matter. Some things were best kept to myself.

“Have a good day, then,” Ginny said, standing up and pressing a kiss to my cheek before she grabbed a mug and filled it with hot water for her tea.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I said. I grabbed an apple for later and ducked out of the kitchen back to my room to get my stuff before I left. I was going to be early, but I would take my time getting there. Besides, the first day I’d gone down to scope out the studio with Ginny, I hadn’t had a chance to explore very much. To be honest, I hadn’t wanted to, but the more time I spent in the city, the more the colors and sights of the place sank into me, branding me and making me theirs. I wanted to belong here.

I stepped out the front door, waving hello to Henry the doorman as I did, and walked down toward Broadway. Rather than hopping on the train at the nearest subway station, I chose to walk south along the street for a while, taking in the sights and exploring the neighborhood. There was so much to see, and everyone I walked past seemed so diverse. It wasn’t like Beacon. My hometown was a wash of sameness—the houses were the same, the people were the same—if you stood out, you were cut down and beaten until you were exactly like everyone else.

When I was about eight years old, one of our neighbors painted her garage door purple. A few weeks later, I walked by on my way home from school and saw her on her ladder, painting it back to a crisp white. I asked my mom why she’d painted her door twice, and she told me there were some people on our street who thought houses looked best when they all matched. She explained many people in our town didn’t like things that were different or things they thought were strange. My eight-year-old mind was beginning to understand the implications of those thought patterns. Somehow, though, New York seemed different. Here, I didn’t think anyone would have minded a purple garage door.

I checked my cell phone once I’d reached the massive church on the corner of Seventy-Ninth and Broadway and saw it was slowly creeping toward ten o’clock. I looked around and saw an “M” sign next to one of the green staircases that were becoming so familiar.

I ducked down and navigated in the proper direction for the train I wanted. It arrived as I set foot on the platform, so I picked up the pace and jumped on as the doors closed behind me. It was much less busy on a Saturday morning, and I easily found a spot to sit down for the short trip between Seventy-Ninth Street and Fourteenth.

Chapter Nine

I
ARRIVED
at the studio at the same time as Max. I saw him walking toward me as I approached the building, two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Needed a caffeine jolt?” I joked, pleased with myself for constructing a somewhat intelligent question right off the bat, despite the jump my stomach took when I saw him.