Page 3 of C*cky Best Friend

My ultimate demise.

I bend and turn and float with a lifetime of training making it appear and feel, effortless. My heart expands as I dance, his invisible touch flipping my world into something extraordinary.

The song comes to an end on the slowest of twirls, my arms gracefully bent in front of my disciplined body. They fall like evaporating clouds. Although I am facing the judges, my gaze is locked on him as he leaves before his parents find him gone.

Goodbye is in my soul and in tears that hover.

I know this feeling well.

My brother taught it to me.

The room is silent.

Piano resting.

No one speaks.

And then…

“Thank you, Samantha,” Ms. Galloway blandly says. “Will you send the last girl in on your way out?”

I nod, force a smile, and silently exit.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

In a colorful waiting room my competition hears my approach and releases her leg from a long stretch above her beautiful head while standing on pointe.

“You’re up, Marion.”

“How’d it go?”

“Great,” I lie, “Knock ‘em dead.”

Gliding by, she throws me a distracted, “Thanks,” but her superior focus is already in the game.

I snatch my cherry-red dance bag from where I left it by the window, look over my shoulder to watch the door close behind her.

Sigh.

Checking my phone, I see a myriad of texts from family wondering where I am. My sister will spread the word.

I have to get cleaned up.

Lexi texts back:

We’re packing. Who cares if you’re sweaty?

She doesn’t realize I need to hide an ugly-cry in our shower. There’s no strength left in me to argue.

A quick elevator ride down and I step into a beautiful foyer. There it is to my right, the Alliance Theater, just across the street.

Turning left, I slam into my best friend.

We grab our faces—my nose, his forehead.

He grunts, cobalt-blue eyes closing as his muscles flex.