Voilà.
A dash of mascara and lip-gloss and I’m ready. Amy Winehouse is playing on the stereo, and I swing to the slow rhythm of “Rehab” as I gather my stuff and grab my purse and a denim jacket.
As I grab an umbrella from behind the door, I think of the rain and Seth. Hopefully Cassie will manage to get me his number today. I wonder if he’ll be glad to hear from me, how he’ll sound.
And… maybe I should focus more on my meeting with Fred, instead of Seth? Gah. What’s wrong with me? I’ve been waiting for days to see Fred, and I should be overjoyed.
Which I am. Definitely.
I hurry outside, feeling unaccountably angry with myself. Thinking of Seth isn’t a bad thing, is it? I only want to check on him.
Then why do I feel guilty?
The day is cool, and I shrug on my jacket as I think about this one. Tricky. I mean, I’m not attracted to Seth, like I am to Fred.
Of course I’m not. No doubt about that. I’ve been crushing on Fred for so long it’d be ridiculous. And I don’t want Seth.
So that’s settled.
Good. Cleared things up in my mind. Maybe that’s what I needed—some tidying up after the mess left by the news that I have to rethink my future.
Telling myself to stop overthinking, I stomp to the coffee shop to wait for Fred.
***
Fred arrives ten minutes later, and he waves at me from the door. I wave back, then fiddle with my mug until he orders and comes to join me with his espresso.
“Looking pretty,” he says and grins the grin that has melted hearts all over campus. His blue eyes twinkle behind the lenses of his glasses. “You should do your hair up more often. It suits you.”
Vowing to permanently glue my hair up in a bun, I take a sip from my coffee to hide my blush. “Thank you.”
“How have you been? Training day and night, like always?”
My smile falls. “About that…” I put down my coffee as sadness swamps me. “I’m out, Fred.”
“What do you mean?” He’s still smiling, still uncomprehending.
“The director talked to me yesterday. Said the external committee decided I should stop. Stop going to dance school.”
“Oh, Madeline.” His big blue eyes fill with concern. He reaches over the table to take my hand. His firm fingers callused from playing the cello, and warm. “I’m so sorry. Did something happen leading to this? Didn’t see it coming.”
“Neither did I.” I sniffle. God, I hate this. “Remember a few months ago, when I fell during a rehearsal and sprained my ankle?”
“Yes. But that sort of thing happens all the time, right? You said so.”
“It does. But that was the ankle I broke two years ago. I missed the show because of it. I thought nothing of it, but it seems it’s been on the committee’s mind.”
“Maybe they’re afraid you could break it again. Bad publicity for the school.”
“Yeah. But they also said it’s a bad idea for me. In any case… they should have said something earlier.”
“Would you have taken that time back?”
I think about it. “No. I wouldn’t. I loved training and dancing.”
“There you go, then. Dancing is what you love.” He smiles, and I smile back. He lets go of my hand and reaches for his coffee. “You should talk to them some more. Maybe there’s a way around this.”
“They seemed set on their decision,” I tell him. “Not sure how I could convince them.”
“I’ll think about it. We’ll figure it out.”
I love that he said “we.” Is it bad I love it so much?
“How about you? How was your week?”
“Good. The usual, you know. Lots of classes and practice.” He pulls out his cell, checks something. Frowns. “Are you coming to the party this Saturday night?”
“Party?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you about it? A new shop opening, or something like that. A friend of Brandon’s knows the owners and told him to bring more people. There’ll be a punk rock band playing. Deathmoth. Heard of it?”
“It rings a bell.” I think.
“So are you coming?”
“Could be interesting,” I concede. “Though you know my taste in music.”
“Classical. Ballet dancer through and through.” He grins.
I wince. “And jazz. I’ll go,” I decide, because hey, Fred will be there. What more excuse do I need?
“Awesome.” He types something quickly on his cell and puts it down. His blond hair is standing up like the spines of a porcupine. He looks adorable. “Hey, have you seen the video of our rehearsal on YouTube? You know Gerry, our pianist? He totally lost it after the third try, and started playing whatever.”
He pulls his chair close to mine, and we bend our heads together, giggling as we watch the video. It feels comfortable, familiar, nice. He smells of apples and aftershave, kinda sweet. His mouth is so close to mine as he tells me about the fit their teacher pitched when she saw the video online, and his shoulders shake with laughter.
Will he kiss me? Will he let me kiss him?
I think he will, right after he says he has to go and turns to smile at me. I tip my head up, waiting, my heart racing.
“Oh, Madeline, you’re the sweetest girl,” he says and kisses my cheek. “Gotta run. We’ll talk, okay?”
“Okay,” I mumble as I watch him grab his jacket and lope away, cell phone clutched in his hand.
Why won’t he kiss me? Does my inexperience show so much? Do I look like a wide-eyed girl with a crush, a girl nobody will touch with a ten-mile-long pole? Does he think I’m so innocent and naïve I need to be protected somehow from anything sexual?
Sometimes I wish I was world savvy like Cassie…
Need to fix that. Fix my image. But where to start if the guy I like won’t even let me try?
Chapter Five
Seth
Some days take a sudden turn for the worse.
And some days are bad right off the bat. Like today.
I made it back from Manon’s place in one piece. So far so good, right? Took a cab, even had enough cash on me to pay. Made it up the two flights of stairs and dragged myself into the living room where I proceeded to drop in a sweaty heap on the couch and moan pathetically at the pain in my knee, the ache in my head and the burn of all the scrapes on my elbows and hands.
Still good. Nothing too bad.
But that doesn’t last, because I suddenly remember I have a physiotherapy appointment this morning.
Had. Ten minutes ago.
I struggle back to my feet and limp into the kitchen, cursing all the way, to grab a glass of water before I haul my sorry ass back down and…
How do I pay the cab? Fuck. I don’t have any more cash, which means I need to pass by an ATM first.
If there’s any money left in my account.
I grab a glass, fill it with water from the tap and take a long swallow.
Need to see if I can reschedule the appointment, I’ll never make it in time. I pull out my cell from my back pocket to call the hospital, but before I even pull up the number, it starts ringing.
“Christ.” I barely manage not to drop the damn thing and juggle the glass until it’s safely set on the counter. I don’t recognize the number. I prop my walking stick and lean back against the sink as I connect the call. “Yeah, who is it?”
“Mr. Seth Tucker?”
“That’d be me. Who the hell are you?”
So I’m a surly bastard this morning. So sue me. Manon’s magical painkillers have long worn off, and I’ve got nothing to take off the edge. Maybe at the hospital I can get something off the nurses.
“Your mother would like to talk to you.”
I jerk, a reflex movement, and make a grab for the edge of the counter. I hit the glass, because not hitting it would be too much of a lucky stroke, and knock it off.
It crashes to the ground with a sound like a gunshot and Fuck. Me. This isn’t happening.
She’s alive.
Fuck.
Fuck!
“Mr. Tucker, are you there?”