Break

I scrub my fingers through my hair and try to reassure her. “We’ll figure it out, Sam. Just worry about yourself and getting better for now.”

“Thank you for being here,” she says before bursting into tears.

At the hospital, because I enter with Nubo, nobody asks who I am or whether I have any right to be there. Nubo lends me his phone to call my mom, and she assures me she’ll jump on a bus and be here within the hour.

Natayla is triaged but soon stabilized since she’s conscious. The doctor tells Nubo that IV hydration and a protein shake will do her a world of good, but they’ll run some tests and bloodwork to be on the safe side. We hang out in the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room until they tell us that we can sit with Taye until her parents arrive.

Nubo buys me a coffee which is kind of cool.

“What are you, kid? Sixteen?”

“Fifteen,” I say brightly.

“Wise beyond your years. You can dance, too, kid. Any formal training?”

“None. I watch a lot of YouTube videos on Breakers and other Street forms of dance. But I’m self-taught. My stepdad wanted me to play football. He likes to call me a fairy for dancing whenever he’s drunk, which is most of the time.”

Oops. TMI.

“Shit,” Nubo says.

It’s his only comment. I guess he’s heard a lot of similar stories during his years in dance. He puts a protective arm on the back of my shoulder as we walk into the curtained room where Taye is.

“Hey, Sam,” I say with a smile as we walk in.

She’s sitting up and sucking what looks like a protein shake through a straw. As usual, she’s so intent on the shake that she barely looks away from it when we enter. Taye holds up a finger as she sucks the last dregs out of the can.

“God, those things are awful,” I say.

“You mean delicious,” Taye says with a smile. “Did you cast the piece?” she asks Nubo. Always the dancer, always looking toward the performance.

“Yeah, you guys got the part. Didn’t need to kill yourselves to prove your talent to me, though. Next time, Koslova, say no. Don’t take yourself to the edge like that. Knowing your limits is a huge part of being a professional dancer.”

Sam barely notices because she’s shaking the can of protein shake upside down so the last few drops fall on her tongue. “Nubo, I’m always on the edge, FYI.” She zips her mouth closed as Mr. Koslova pulls back the curtain.

“Natayla,” he says and rushes to her side. He seems shocked to see her here and reacts like he cares about his daughter deeply.

“Hey, Dad. You didn’t have to come. I’m better now,” she tells him.

“What happened?”

I stand up so he can take the bedside chair. I cross my arms because I don’t know what else to do with them, letting Sam tell her dad in her own words what happened.

“We had gala auditions after Vauganova, and I collapsed. I must have passed out.”

“We’re you dehydrated?”

“Mom didn’t pack me a protein today,” she says straightforwardly.

Mr. Koslova puts his head in his hands in what looks like frustration and shame. It’s reassuring that he cares, that he appears unhappy with the mistreatment his daughter suffers at the hands of her own mother.

Shareen and Katerina arrive next in a flurry of tears and fuss with a giant bouquet of roses, which seems inappropriate.

Katerina looks at Nubo accusingly and then hits me with her death glare. She barely acknowledges us and turns back to her husband, preferring to ask him what happened.

“She passed out, Katerina. She needs to eat better,” he tells her. “More.”

The urge to stay and leave is equally strong. Stay to defend Sam against her horrible mother and leave to get away from the woman.

My mom arrives next, and the nurse shoos us all into the lobby except Katerina, who’s leaning over Natayla and whispering. I’m sure she’s telling her it’s all her fault or threatening her not to say anything about their diets or the calorie restrictions or the training half-to-death.

In the lobby, Nubo has Mr. Koslova cornered and seems to be giving him a piece of his mind while my mom and Shareen greet one another and then attack me with questions about what happened.

“She passed out while you were dancing, honey?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, and I feel like shit because I saw she was in a bad place, and I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mom says as she moves a supporting hand up and down my back.

“It’s Katerina’s fault—that witch. She’s gonna get an earful from me tonight,” Shareen says through her teeth. Shareen is fuming and worried like a mom should be.

I brush my hair out of my eyes and wonder whether Katerina is abusing Sam right now. Silencing her, accusing her of faking the incident. God knows what bullshit she might come up with.