Winning Moves (Stepping Up 3)

Kat headed out of the dressing room and double-timed it down the narrow hallway, pausing to the shout of her name at least four times in a short distance. Finally, Kat managed to make it to a small private bathroom just off the stage door, and she knocked on the wooden door.

“Marissa?”

“Yes,” she said immediately and Kat could hear the stuffy nose and gravely voice that could be from sickness, as easily as they could be a product of tears. “I’m here.”

“Can you open the door?” Kat asked.

“No. No. I’m sick and I don’t want to make you get sick. Opening night is coming.”

Kat frowned. “Marissa, what’s going on? You weren’t sick an hour ago.”

“I was,” she said. “I was hiding it. I tried so hard to hide it.”

Kat didn’t believe her. She just didn’t. “If you’re sick then let’s get you to your room. Open up, Marissa. I can’t go deal with the show knowing you might pass out in there and be seriously ill.”

“Kat, I’m fine. I am. Please go do the show.”

“I can’t do that, Marissa,” Kat said, testing the theory bouncing around in her head. “I know Tabitha has something to do with this.”

There was a telling silence before Marissa said, “I’m sick. I really am sick.”

Oh, man, Kat thought. Marissa wasn’t sick. Kat had been right. Tabitha was up to no good. “Let me in and let’s talk.”

“You have to go do the show.”

“So do you,” Kat said. “This is your dream, Marissa.” Silence. “Open up, honey. We need to talk.” More silence and then the lock on the door popped. Marissa appeared in the doorway with mascara dripping down her pale cheeks, her eyes red, her hair a dark, rumpled mess of curls.

Kat stepped into the bathroom and urged Marissa back inside. “Talk to me, Marissa.”

Marissa hugged herself. “This just isn’t for me, Kat,” she said, bypassing the sick excuse.

“Funny,” Kat said. “It sure looks like it’s for you when you’re dancing.”

“I…” She hesitated, her lip quivering. “No. I…don’t think so.”

“You do know that Tabitha wouldn’t waste her time taunting you if she wasn’t intimidated, right?”

Marissa cut her gaze away.

“Marissa,” Kat said softly. “Talk to me.”

She looked at Kat. “I don’t like the nastiness,” she said. “It’s not who I am or what I’m made of.”

“You’re talking about Tabitha,” Kat said, and it wasn’t a question.

“It’s not just Tabitha,” Marissa said. “It’s a lot of people in this business.”

“That’s true,” Kat said. “I’ve dealt with my share of egos, but I’ve met big stars who were humble, and who did good things for others with the rewards of their success, too. I focus on those people.”

“I just want to dance, Kat,” she said. “I don’t want to play the popularity contest. I don’t want to be threatened and bullied.”

“Wait. Who threatened you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. Who threatened you?”

“It wasn’t really a threat. Not directly.” She bent down and pulled something from a bag on the floor, a newspaper clipping, and held it out to Kat.

Kat took it and read the headline, about a robbery ten years before, and glanced up at Tabitha. “What does this have to do with you?”

“My father,” she said. “My mother had a heart condition and we didn’t have the money for her medical care. He tried to rob a bank. He’s out now and rebuilding his life. It would destroy him to have this all over the paper and it would be a scandal for the show.”

Kat’s heart squeezed. “Your mother?”

“Died six months after he went to prison.” Her voice cracked. “So you see why I can’t go on.”

“No,” Kat said, knowing now why she liked Marissa, and even felt protective of her. Marissa was a sweet girl and a good person. “I see a reason for you to do this show and rise to the top. Tonight comes with a big paycheck and a whole lot of exposure.”

“I know but—”

“Did you call Tabitha to take your spot?”

“Yes.”

“Because she gave you this clipping, didn’t she?” Kat asked, holding up the paper.

Marissa looked to the ground.

“That means yes,” Kat said, furious now. “Are you willing to write a statement about what happened tonight?”

Her eyes went wide. “No. Kat, no. If I do that she’ll call the tabloids and turn this into a nightmare.”

“She’s not dancing tonight in your place,” Kat said, “so I suggest you get to hair and makeup and then meet me on stage in fifteen minutes. We’ll head to the club from there.”

“I can’t do this, Kat.”

“You can,” she said. “And by doing so you’ll make a better life for you and your father. There will always be a bully in everything you do. That’s life. Face this down and fight for your dream. No one else can do it for you.” Kat hugged her. “Fix your face so no one knows you were crying and head to the dressing room. I’ll see you on stage for some last-minute instructions before we head to the club.”