Page 81 of June First
“It’s grueling. Took me months to fine-tune, but I think we’re really going to stand out.”
The water bottle crinkles in my grip as I twist the cap back on, ignoring the hum of warning that prickles my skin. I’ve been losing my breath more often, to the point that it’s getting harder to disguise. Episodes have come and gone over the last few years, ramping up in frequency and urgency since summer training began.
I’ve brushed it off, thinking I’ve simply been overdoing it, and too afraid to see a doctor due to the off chance that it could be something serious—something that could hinder my dance career.
I want to perform on Broadway.
New York City.
I want the bright lights, the costumes, the treasure trove of opportunity.
And I’m so close. I’ve been practicing for years, mastering my craft to the point that there’s no other option for me.
Only dance.
Having just entered my final year of high school, I’ve found the future on my mind a lot lately. Mom says I need to narrow down my college selections. I’ve already been accepted into three—Columbia being my top contender—but…the truth is I’m not sure I want to go to college. Celeste managed to secure a one-way ticket to New York after graduation and will be staying with her aunt while she gets a jump start on her career with a company who hires background dancers.
I want that, too.
I’m just not sure how I’m going to do it yet.
My arms lift into a stretch as I respond, sweat still sheening my skin. “I can’t wait. I’m going to spend every waking moment practicing,” I tell her.
Camilla’s mocha eyes twinkle, her dark brows lifting as her smile grows. She has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. “No doubt in my mind you’ll be the star,” she says. “You truly have a gift, June.”
A shot of conviction floods me.
I want this so bad.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“I only speak the truth. Just don’t overdo it, you hear?” Camilla sends me a smile that teeters on the line between worry and warmth. “See you next week.”
I watch her go as my fellow teammates chat idly, sifting through their duffel bags for outfit changes. Celeste makes a beeline toward me after Camilla disappears, her golden hair swept up into a big knot. She’s grown so much taller than me, by nearly a foot, and while her body is all athletic trim and defined muscle, I’m more soft curves and petite bone structure, needing to work extra hard to maintain my lithe physique.
My ample breasts, especially, are a huge deterrent in the world of dance, acting as more of an inconvenience than an asset—despite what all my girlfriends say.
“Starbucks?” Celeste suggests, throwing her bag over her shoulder. A cropped jersey hangs low off her fit frame, showcasing a black sports bra underneath. “I need my Saturday frappé fix. And maybe a lemon loaf. God, I haven’t had carbs all week.”
I toss the towel draped around my neck into the hamper, then pull a pair of leggings up over my leotard. “Can’t. My brother is picking me up for some bonding time.”
“Ooh.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively. “I’d kill for some bonding time with that man.”
“What? Gross.” I laugh a little awkwardly while reaching for my own duffel. “Theo has a girlfriend, but I’ll pass along the compliment.”
“No, girl, I was talking about Brant.” She chuckles, linking her arm with mine and leading me toward the front exit. “I mean, Theo is cute, but he’s more all-American cute. Brant is…oof. The other kind of cute, you know? The dirty-thoughts kind.”
Flush creeps into my ears. When someone comments about “my brother,” my brain automatically assumes they’re talking about Theo. I suppose I have two brothers, technically, even though one of them likes to reject the idea.
My thoughts scatter as we dally in the front lobby, waiting for our rides. Brant has been on my mind a lot lately, ever since the emotional night we shared together almost a month ago—the night I startled awake from a nightmare, and instinct pulled me to his bedroom for solace. I know I’m not a little girl anymore, but grown girls still have nightmares. Grown girls still crave childhood comforts, such as precious stuffed elephants, rainbow lullabies, and strong arms attached to white knights.
He told me once, in a hospital bed as I struggled through deadly pneumonia, that he’d brought me Aggie for comfort and my custom pink sword for courage.
Little did he know I already had both.
I had him.
And up until that night last month, I thought I still had him—but something happened, something shifted, and it’s something I haven’t been able to unravel just yet. Brant has been distant and moody, far from the easygoing man who suffocated me with bear hugs and didn’t shy away from piggyback rides, even though I’m far too old.