I walked around the square dance floor, marked by my sandpaper stickers still there, worn and dulled, after years of holidays and visits home when I practiced. When my parents had large dinners, there would be tables and chairs brought in and placed around the dance floor, but the room was all but empty at the moment. I could probably make my rehearsal space larger, given that there was no furniture to bump into.
The music started, and I walked the perimeter, counting my steps and bobbing my head to the strum of the cello. The beat teased one, two, three, four, and five, and I matched my steps to it as the other instruments kicked in, and I vaulted up onto my toes and swung around in a circle.
My arms shot out, my wrists bent and my fingers splayed, as I bowed my head and moved, just going with it as I let the music crawl inside and take over.
Yes.
The familiar flip hit my stomach, and I spun and stepped, swayed and dipped around the dance floor, feeling the energy of the music course under my skin.
And I smiled.
What I was doing wasn’t classical, and I probably would never perform it, but it was my fun time, and my parents weren’t home. My dad hated loud music, so may as well have a party of my own up here while I could.
I moved around the floor, my back cooling with sweat and my ponytail flying in my face as I spun, and I let my hands glide down my face and neck, the blare of the music flooding my veins and making me want to go wild. I bit my bottom lip as I dipped my head back and moved and moved and moved, swinging my arms and raising them up before running my hand sexily over my head and pushing my hair over to the side.
My brow ached with how hard I squeezed my eyes shut and…
Do you have the reflex anymore to squeeze them shut? Like when you’re in pain or…when you’re excited?
I faltered in my step, Damon’s words from the other day in the cafeteria coming back to me. Son of a bitch.
I pressed on, tossing him out of my head. I matched my body to the beat, and, as the song ended, I slowed my movements, breathing hard and feeling a trickle of sweat glide down my back.
Jerk.
I heaved breath after breath as I landed on my feet again and put my hands on my hips.
Why had he just popped in my head like that?
I’d actually been able to avoid him this week after our initial encounters the first day. That didn’t mean I hadn’t been aware of him, though. In every hallway I walked down. In the lunchroom where I knew he ate the same period as me. In the parking lot where I could hear the loud exhaust from the truck of Will Grayson III—his best friend, I’d learned.
I was very aware of him in such proximity at school. And when we weren’t at school, my mind still drifted to him way more often than necessary. Rika and her friends had definitely filled me in on what an enigma Damon Torrance had become since we were kids. Popular with a really bad reputation. And not bad in a way people envied, either. It made people want to avoid him, but not want to be caught avoiding him.
But still, rumor had it, girls were enamored. They thought he was a challenge, and they thought they could tame him. So I was warned—don’t be stupid enough to put yourself in his path. He has no heart.
Well, no one had to worry about that. He’d already done irreparable damage. The couple of hours I knew him as a kid wasn’t worth any more harm he could do. I’d steer clear.
Using the remote, I clicked through the tracks, counting until I found number fifteen, and then I raised my arms over my head, straining the sore muscles in my back.
But after a moment, no music came from the stereo.
I picked up the remote and clicked Play again—and then again.
I waited and nothing.
“Come on,” I mumbled a whine and headed over to the wall.
Hitting the door frame, I followed the wall to the left and scaled down to where the system was plugged in. But when my hand grazed over the socket, the cord wasn’t there. I fumbled over the socket with both hands. What?
I dropped my hands to the floor and found the plug laying on the floor. How the hell did that happen?
I plugged it back in and stood up, puzzled, as I trained my ears on any sound. Was someone messing with me?
I turned around, my back to the wall. “Is there someone here? Hello?”
Something felt off.
Holding my hands out, I felt for the door and left the room, heading to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Maybe I should call Mr. Ferguson up here. He was one of the security guards who patrolled the community at night.