Harper
One breath, one step.
“Harper, watch your frame.”
It was just a dream.
“Harper!” I’m tanking. I’ve never backed down from a challenge in the entirety of my dancing career, but I can’t seem to mold myself to fit this woman’s demands. She’s freaking Cruella de Vil, plain and simple. I’m sure the rug in her 2nd Avenue penthouse is what’s made of the puppy fur because she’s sporting nothing now but an outdated nude leotard and raging camel toe. Camel toe everyone sees, but no one ever discusses. In this company and most circles, she’s considered the Madam of Dance, and because I’ve just landed the first solo of my career in her new show, Retro, I’m glutton for this punishment until the final curtain drops.
In the last couple of years, I’ve traveled the world, having been fortunate enough to dance in numerous shows with the troupe. It’s been the best two years of my career, a living dream, aside from the regret that gnaws at me most nights I lay in bed. The last few days he’s been on my mind because of a different dream, one that felt so real, I woke up crying. He was inches away, but I couldn’t touch him. I kept calling his name, begging for him to see me, but he couldn’t hear me. It was one of those agonizing dreams that seemed to last forever. Even though my heart has never forgiven me, my head sometimes decides to join in the war while I sleep.
Since that morning, I’ve been battling myself just to reach out, but the coward in me always wins. It’s been too long to strike up a casual conversation, to check in, in a friendly way. At the time, leaving Grand was undoubtedly, the best decision for me, maybe for us both, so why can’t I live with it?
I guess I never thought moving on would be so debilitating.
Although moving is all I seem to do, the ache of missing him still lingers. It’s days like today when I’m failing that I wonder just how far I’ll go. Or how far I would already be with the man who made me feel everything with a single look.
So movement it is, until I can escape any lingering doubt that I’m where I should be.
“Again.” The dreaded word has my body aching. My toes are bleeding, I can feel the wetness between the tape.
One breath, one step at a time.
I’ve been dancing since I was two. Ballet, tap, jazz, modern dance, sway, I’ve even signed up for a summer of ballroom. I can still remember the exact movements to the ‘hop, shuffle-foot, step’ routine I memorized for my very first recital. My first memory is dancing in that lineup of snot-faced babies wearing a pound of tulle.
Dancing never made me cry, then.
This is what it takes, Harper. This is what it takes.
And I’ll take it, to keep the dream alive. Dancing is in my blood, my bones, it should never stop being fun. Especially not because of Camel Toe Cruella.
“Jesus, Harper, I picked you, I chose you, this better be your only off day, and it better be due to that period bloat.”
Face reddening, I throw myself into the routine and manage to get out of rehearsal intact.
“Jesus, she’s gunning for you. You must have stared at the camel toe too long.” Grinning, I turn to see Casey catching up with me as I exit the building and welcome the cold slap of New York winter on my face.
“I can take it.”
He regrips the duffle on his shoulder. “Yeah, well, she’s miserable, and the only reason she’s got any say is because she owns the center and is on the board of directors. Her time is almost up, and she knows it. You were fine.”
“Fine?”
He smirks, giving me a side-eye. “You want a compliment?”
At twenty-eight, Casey is one of the youngest and best choreographers in the business. I’ve worked with him on other shows, and he’s been helping me with my number for Retro. My pointe is rusty, and he’s been conditioning me. Although my confidence could use a lift, I don’t want false compliments. It does nothing to help me. “Fine will do. I know I was off today.”
“Not by much, and shit happens. She’s drilling hard. You still have plenty of time.”
“Thank God we’re on break for a few days.”
“I’m surprised she’s letting us have it. And I’d be even more so if that bitch knows a thing about Jesus.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You make a fortune off her, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like her.” He smiles down at me. “You going home for Christmas?”
“To Texas?” Inwardly, I cringe at the thought. That place is now a ghost town of my former life. “No. My nana lives here, so I’ll be celebrating Hanukkah with her. How about you? Do your parents live here?”