Swiping at her nose, she smiled and took the phone from me. “Say first date,” and she snapped the photo.
After we’d made our purchases, we went for dinner at a nearby restaurant and the remainder of the evening was more like the way things used to be between us—before Dad left. I knew we could return to normal if he would only come home.
At the apartment later that night, I pulled up some homework and tried to catch up on lessons I’d let slide during the week. But I kept daydreaming of Raoul, his defending me before his coarse teammate, his reaction to my unusual life-style, and his kiss. I tried to keep a straight head, to not be naïve and over romanticize everything, but still, he seemed perfect.
In the middle of my musings, Mom knocked on the door and entered the room. She circled around a few times, straightening and tidying up. Then eventually, she perched on the edge of my bed to address the real reason she was there.
“We need to talk.” Her spine was rigid and her features tense. “I’m still concerned about this boy. I would feel much better if we knew Raoul’s parents.”
“Mom, please don’t get parental.”
She smirked and knit her brow. “Asking a parent not to be a parent is like asking the sun not to be hot or snow not to be cold.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m being serious,” she said.
“Okay, okay.”
“You’re—well—”
“Mom, we’ve had this talk, and I’ve had sex-ed.”
“Yes, but you weren’t actually dating then. Now that you are, I need to know you understand the consequences of the choices you make.”
Then she pulled something from her pocket and tossed it on my desk next to the laptop. It was a condom.
“Crap, Mom, I just met this guy. I don’t think—”
“Nobody ever thinks, Christine. That’s my point. Don’t stick your head in the sand and ignore this, only to end up like Jenna last year.”
I sucked in a breath. She knew about Jenna’s pregnancy scare.
“And with the strain ballet already puts on your body,” she continued, “I don’t want you on birth control. I don’t think the hormones would be good for you.”
“Mom—” I stood, hoping to put an end to the sticky conversation, “—I’m not going to do anything stupid. As far as Jenna is concerned, well, I don’t know why Jenna does what she does; sometimes I think it’s for the shock value. But I’m not Jenna, and I don’t plan on ending up in that situation.”
Taking the hint, she rose to her feet. “Promise me you will keep this in mind.”
“I promise.”
Moving closer to me, she pulled several strands of my hair through her fingers and sighed. “I love you, Tina Ballerina. Don’t ever forget it.” Then she hugged me to her and kissed the top of my head.
Chapter Twenty Three
Seated before my laptop at nine the next morning, I was ready for my weekly video chat with Dad.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he said when he appeared on screen.
“Afternoon, Dad,” I replied, since it was four p.m. where he was.
“So tell me about this boy. I want every detail.”
I made a puny attempt not to sound too girly, but before I knew it, I’d completely gone off the deep end and gushed over how fabulous Raoul Chaney is. Dad let me prattle, and when I finally allowed him a turn to talk, he told me about his week and a trip to a restaurant where he’d sampled reindeer.
“Eww, reindeer. That’s disgusting.” This brought us to a lull in the conversation, and I thought it a good place to bring up the subject of his return. “Dad, when are you coming home? We miss you.”
Exhaling audibly, he dragged a hand across his stylish, close-cut beard—something he’d added after his move to Norway—and said, “Baby girl, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated? You pack, get on a plane, and come home. How complicated is that?”
“It’s not that simple, sweetheart. Your mother and I—” he averted his gaze, tussling a hand through his wavy, brown hair. “We haven’t exactly—” his cell phone rang then and he raised a finger, extracted it from his coat pocket to look at the screen, and said, “I need to take this. It’s work.”
“How convenient,” I muttered.
“Christine, please don’t be like that. I can’t help the way things are right now. Please smile. Don’t let this ruin your big day.” His phone continued to ring. “Now I really do need to take this. I love you. We’ll talk later.” Then the screen went blank.
“I love you, too, Dad,” I mumbled to the unresponsive monitor.
In spite of my father’s well wishes, a shadow had been cast over my day. I lay around the rest of the morning, watching television and fretting about the two of them. What had driven them apart? Dad’s job? Mom’s job? The move to Houston?
Around three, Jenna called which finally got my mind off it.
“So, I have some fabulous ideas for your hair tonight.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’ll come over and help you with it.”
“Your mom will let you drive over?”
Jenna had only had her license for a couple of weeks.
“She went shopping with a friend. I plan to harass Dad until he gives in.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied.
A short time later, Jenna arrived and I showed her my outfit, of which she thoroughly approved.
“We need to do something to accentuate the earrings and your long neck. What have you got over here?”
She walked to my desk to pick through my hair accessories. After sifting through various clips and bows, she paused. “Hey, what’s this?” Turning to face me, she held up the condom Mom had left behind. “You plan on gettin’ busy tonight?”
My face warmed, and I stood to snatch it away from her. “No. That’s my mother’s version of the talk.”
“Well, trust me,” she said as she maneuvered me into the chair and began brushing my hair, “it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What? But you do it all the time.”
“Not all the time,” she said defensively.
“Sorry. That came out wrong.”
Silence.
“Look, sometimes it’s just what you have to do. You know, to get a guy.”
“Jenna—” I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what because in truth, I feared she might be right. I caught her reflection in the mirror. She was chewing her bottom lip, and for the first time since I’d known her, Jenna Newsom had a crack in her armor.
“If it’s how you get one, then how do you keep one?” I regretted the question instantly because everyone at school knew Jenna kept a pair of pointe shoes longer than she kept a boyfriend.
Unable to make eye contact with me, she said, “Boyfriends are highly overrated. Besides, we have to get you one before we worry about how you keep him.”
She stayed for about an hour after she’d done my hair, and when she’d gone, I watched the clock and paced the floor because I didn’t want to sit down and wrinkle my dress. Certain the anticipation was going to kill me, I almost jumped out of my skin when the doorbell finally rang. But when I opened it and saw Raoul’s face, my apprehension dissolved. Dressed in a pair of straight-leg trousers, he wore a black leather jacket over a button-down shirt that was open at the collar. Very hot.
A smile spread across his face as he removed his sunshades and stuffed them into a pocket. “Wow you look—”
Mom entered the foyer then and interrupted his compliment.
I motioned for him to come in. “Mom, this is Raoul Chaney.”
“We’ve already met,” Raoul said and stepped forward to shake her hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Dadey.”
I held my breath as they exchanged a few words. When she asked about his parents, what his father did, where his mother lived, I worried she might scare him away. But if he was uncomfortable he never let on.
When it came time to leave, Mom smiled at me
and admitted in my ear. “Okay, so he’s a nice guy.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Raoul was right about the Mexican Cantina. It was charming. The atmosphere made me feel as if I’d stepped into an impromptu party, with festive colors, rustic hardwood furniture, and live mariachi music playing in the background.
Throughout the meal, we compared battle wounds. I told him about my blisters and sprained ankles, while he shared the after-effects of a quarterback sack. We ate tons of chips and salsa, followed by fajitas with beans and rice—heavy foods I normally avoided, but I felt so light I almost needed the weighty dishes to keep my feet on the ground.
“You don’t eat like a girl, much less a ballerina,” Raoul observed.
“Umm, thanks?”
“No offense,” he stammered.
“None taken.” I shrugged. “I’m fortunate in that I can eat whatever I want and not have a weight issue. A lot of dancers struggle with it, though.”
“Tell me about your dancing. Is it what you plan to do? I mean, will you go to college?”
There was a time when dancing was the only career option I even considered. But after what had happened at the audition my first year here, and Mrs. Hahn pressuring me, doubts had crept in. On the one hand I didn’t know if I was cut out for it, while on the other I didn’t know what else I would do.
“It’s all I’ve ever known,” I said. “I got my first pair of ballet slippers when I started beginners’ classes, and I haven’t stoped dancing since. So, yeah, it’s what I plan to do. If I can, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not that easy. Ballerinas reach a certain phase where they advance only if the instructor or choreographer wants them to. If you’re not good enough, well, you don’t advance. A person could spend years training and still not make it into a recognized company. And it’s highly competitive. Often, there are more dancers than there are positions.
“What about you? Do you plan on pursuing professional football?”
“Nah, I started playing when I was in elementary, and it sort of stuck. But I don’t care to keep it up after high school.”
“But you must be good if you’re a quarterback.”
“Not to brag,” he said with a cocky grin, “but it comes naturally to me. Coach is after me to pursue it, and I’ve had a few colleges approach me, but it’s not what I want to do. My old man is a lawyer, so he wants me to get into law, but I don’t know if it’s for me. To be honest, I think I might like architecture. I enjoy building things.”
I knew right then I liked Raoul Chaney, really liked him. He wasn’t shallow and it made me respect him.
We had walked to the restaurant, so after dinner we strolled down the block toward the park. A breeze ruffled strands of my hair free from its clip, and when I’d tucked them behind my ear and let my hand fall to my side again, Raoul took it in his. I smiled so big I had to look away for fear of appearing downright goofy.
Cars lined the streets and people carrying folding chairs and portable coolers filled the sidewalks. The closer we got the more the music beckoned. A small crowd had gathered on the green in front of the raised platform, and the group of dancers I’d seen in the alley was on the stage performing. The speakers blared, their hair and limbs flailed, and energy, tons of energy radiated from the dais.
“So how do you know these people?” Raoul shouted. “They don’t exactly look like the ballet type.”
“I met them at a street practice,” I yelled over the clamor of the music.
“They’re good,” he observed.
I was glad he appreciated their style of dance and I hoped he wouldn’t regret our coming here.
Up on stage, I spotted Magdalena among the group at the same time she glanced out and saw me. She smiled and waved, made her way to the edge of the stage, and motioned for me to come near. I couldn’t have imagined what she was about to do.
Chapter Twenty Five
Taking Raoul by the hand, I made my way to the front. When we were a few feet from the platform, Magdalena leaped down and said, “You made it!”
“Yeah, I got your invite from that guy—umm—”
“Barney,” she supplied.
“Right, Barney.”
“Well, I’m glad you came. Who’s this?”
Raoul stood quietly beside me.
“This is Raoul. Raoul, this is Magdalena.”
“What’s up?” he responded.
Magdalena acknowledged his greeting and directed her attention to me again. “I don’t even know your name,” she said, leaning in for me to hear her.
“Oh, right. I’m Christine.”
“Well, Christine, you ready to dance?”
“What?”
“We’re about to crank this thing up.” She turned to the stage and motioned to the others, who then responded to her mimed commands and several left the stage to scatter throughout the crowd.
Suddenly, the music transitioned and the dancers from the troupe selected partners from the crowd and began to dance. In some cases, it was a bit awkward, as the onlookers were hesitant. But by degrees, movement spread through the crowd as spectators became participators.
Before he could protest, Magdalena grabbed Raoul, intent on dancing with him. I half expected him to balk, but was surprised as I watched him slip into the moves as if he did it all the time. Tapping his foot and nodding with the music, he let Magdalena whip around him. Gradually, he added motion, sliding side to side and popping his shoulders. It was incredibly hot, and when he came up behind her, placed his hands on her hips, and began to grind, I actually whooped aloud.
“So, ballerina, you come to dance, or you jus’ gonna stand there?”
I pivoted to see Dionte behind me. He was grinning with his hands outstretched in an open dare. Instantly, I regretted coming here. I thought the crew would be performing and we’d merely watch. The idea of attempting the type of moves they were executing in front of strangers terrified me, made me feel vulnerable, exposed. To discourage him, I wrinkled my nose and shook my head.
Dionte threw his head back and laughed. “C’mon, momma, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Not giving me a chance to decline, he drew me to a spot near Magdalena and Raoul.
Following his lead, I warmed up and the more I moved, well, the more I moved. Observing others around me, I relaxed and pushed my inhibitions aside. A couple of times, I saw Raoul watching me. Once, he playfully arched his brows and pursed his lips to say oooh.
When Dionte tried to teach me how to grind, though, I was embarrassed and became clumsy and ungainly again. In ballet, every move is specific, even has its own name. It’s ordered and complex and you know the next move you’re going to make before you make it. Hip-hop’s free-style is the opposite, and I didn’t know how to transition.
“I’ll take it from here,” someone said, and I spun to see Raoul behind me.
“You got it, man,” Dionte said and bowed out.
Suddenly, every nerve in my body tingled and a peculiar fear seized me. What if I stepped on his toes or elbowed him in the face? Back in El Paso, I’d busted a male dancer’s nose as we’d practiced for a recital. He’d taken it well, it did come with the territory, but this was different. I wanted Raoul to like me. In that split second, I tried to come up with a way to decline, change the subject, run like crazy, anything to get out of dancing so closely with him. Then he took me by the hand and I knew there was no backing out.
Spinning me about to stand behind me as he had Magdalena, he nestled his hands into the folds of my skirt to rest low on my hips. Snuggling up close, he whispered into my ear, “Excellent turnout.” And his simple parody of Ms. Zaborov made me relax. We moved together naturally then, and I realized the guy really had skills. I was having so much fun I never wanted it to end. Unfortunately, the group had the stage for an allotted time, and when it was up, the dancing was over.
While the troupe prepared to leave, bundling wires and packing their gear, Magdalena sauntered o
ver to me.
“I’m glad you came, Christine.”
“Yeah, me, too. Thanks for inviting me.”
“We have some other events around the city; they’re posted on our website, if you’d like to attend.”
“Ballerina!” someone hollered and I glanced up on stage to see Dionte hovering close to the edge not far from Magdalena and me. “If you ever wanna dance on the wild side, we can always find a place for you.”
I chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then Raoul and I watched them load their things onto wheeled carts and leave.
Still breathing hard, Raoul swiped a wayward lock of hair from his eyes. “You want something to drink?”
“That would be great.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
The crowd lingered, still energized and unwilling to leave. Frenetic energy filled the air, and Raoul had to press his way through the tightly woven horde toward the food court.
With him gone, I remembered I was supposed to call Mom, so I took my phone from the pocket of my dress and dialed home. The phone on the other end rang a few times, and Mom picked up. I was about to say hello when someone bumped into me, throwing me off balance and knocking the phone from my hand.
“Hey!” I cried and went to my knees to retrieve the phone before someone stepped on it.
A male voice said, “Pardon me,” as I scrambled to snatch the phone from the ground.
I struggled to my feet to accept the apology only to realize I didn’t know who’d said it. A woman stood before me, a baby in a knapsack on her chest. It obviously wasn’t her. Next to me, a couple of middle school boys pushed and shoved one another, as an old woman attempted to break them apart. But there was no man standing there and it had definitely been a male voice. Surveying the crowd an odd sensation passed over me, like something familiar, something I couldn’t put my finger on. There were tons of people around, so I shook it off. Whoever it was had moved on.
“Hello? Christine?” I heard Mom’s voice tiny and distant, so I placed the phone to my ear again.
“We have a bad connection. I can’t hear you,” she said.
“No, it’s all right. I dropped my phone.”
“Oh, okay. That’s better. I can hear you now.”
“I’m calling to check in like I promised.”
“Are you having fun? You sound out of breath. Why are you out of breath?” Her voice raised slightly in alarm.