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bsp; "Why don't you see if you can talk poor Evan into going to a movie this afternoon?" Charlotte suggested. She turned to Grover. "The child either has his nose in a book or his eyes glued to a computer screen. He doesn't get out of the house."

"Oh?" He turned to me and smiled. "If anyone can get him out. I'll bet it's you. Rose," he said and laughed a tight, small laugh that made my nerves tremble. Mommy looked like she enjoyed every breath he took.

Couldn't she see how smooth he was? He slid around the room with his eyes, his gestures, and his smile like some eel, titillating both Charlotte and Mommy. He used his good looks well, with confidence, even arrogance,

"Don't worry about us," Charlotte continued. "We're going to a dinner party."

"Another dinner party?" I blurted, looking at Mommy.

"Yes," she said, exploding with excitement. "Isn't it wonderful?"

I looked at Grover, whose eyes were on me, darker, more expectant and analytical, waiting for my reaction. Charlotte was her usual smug self.

"I don't know, Monica," I said with words sharp enough to cut ears, is it.

I turned and left the room. Charlotte and Drover's laughter felt like small rocks thrown at my back. Evan took one look at me when I returned to the patio and simply said. "Uh-oh."

I didn't respond. I kept marching off the patio and down the path, my head down, my heart thumping.

Evan wheeled himself behind me and caught up when I reached his tree. He didn't speak. He watched me sulk for a few long moments.

"I like being with you," I finally said, and I wanted to get to know you very much. but I think living here is a big mistake."

"It's hard. I guess, to see your mother with some other man. You keep thinking about your father. I didn't have that problem," he added. "but I didn't like her being with anyone anyway. I guess I had the old Oedipus complex, huh?"

"I don't mind her finding someone else. I don't want her pining away in some attic, dying like an old, frustrated widow," I said sharply. "That's not it. but...

"But what?"

"I don't know." I shook my head. I didn't know exactly. I looked down at him. His eyes were intense, glued to my face.

"There's something not right." He smiled.

"Something's rotten in the state of Denmark," he said, quoting one of the lines from Hamlet we had just discussed.

"Exactly." I said. I looked back at the house. "Exactly."

9 Dancing

In the months that followed. Mommy's social life continued to grow. There were strings of days when we didn't even see each other, and if there were some dead spots, some days or nights when it appeared there were no dinners to attend, no shows to see, no art galleries and openings to appear at. Charlotte always managed to come up with something for them to do, some additional shopping, some elaborate lunch. She bought Mammy more clothes, more costume jewelry, more shoes. They traded outfits. They became almost inseparable.

Maybe out of anger or out of frustration and nervousness. I devoted myself to my studies and to the dance lessons Miss Anderson conducted, Soon, it was just the two of us remaining after school. She told me she was a frustrated choreographer and loved the idea that she now had a student with whom or on whom she could experiment. Her idol was Bob Fosse. She had videotapes of his work that we watched together. When she explained and demonstrated something and I tried it, she was always pleased.

"You've got something. Rose." she said. "You pick all of it up so easily, and you've got the looks and the legs. Think seriously about this." she advised.

Evan was very supportive and very excited for me. He decided we should create a dance studio and had Nancy Sue and Ames clear everything out of the guest bedroom down the hall from his room. He even ordered some large wall mirrors to be installed. Charlotte didn't oppose it or even acknowledge it with much more than a simple. "How delightful. Rose. You're getting him interested in something other than himself and his dreary computer."

When Mommy learned about it, she recited almost the exact words, but she rarely stopped by to see me practice. Evan would spend hours with me, sitting in his wheelchair and watching me run through the warm-up exercises and routines.

"Doesn't all this repetition bore you, Evan?" I asked him. He shook his head vigorously.

"No. It's like I'm moving through you, with you. You're my legs. I love it," he declared.

That made me feel good about it, and soon I was able to forget that he was there, that his eyes were fixed on every muscle movement clearly visible in my tights.

Barry returned every Saturday he could to take me to a movie or to dinner, sometimes just to enjoy a picnic on the grounds, but he still hadn't met Charlotte, nor had Mommy been around when he had arrived. Their weekends were always filled with social activities in and around Atlanta.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Shooting Stars Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net